He’s Giving Once-ler Is His “how Bad I Can I Be?” Stage 😭😭😭

I NEED MORE OF THIS OH MY G OD

End of Session spencer reid x fem!therapist!reader

wc: 4.7k

Summary: Spencer Reid regularly attends therapy sessions and although his therapist picks his mind apart during their time together, she doesn't quite seem to consider that he's been doing it back to her all along

warnings: +18, mdni!! therapy setting, explicit descriptions, oral (f receiving) fingering, no kissing, porn without plot, unprotected p in v (do as I say, not as I do), no y/n, reader is described as wearing a bra and panties, overstimulation, cockwarming/soaking if you turn around and squint, Spencer edges reader, not as soft!dom as I planned oooops

an: ahhh! my first one-shot ever! i hope y'all like it! i got right to work on it for you! therapy!spencer we love you <3

Smut below the cut!

Spencer Reid had been a client of yours for some years. From the loss of his friend Elle when he was just a young man finding his feet in the world, to the passing and resurrection of Emily Prentiss when you watched his clipped wings start to ruffle and break free one feather at a time, and since the death of his fleeting romance, Maeve, you had watched him grow. A kind man. A nervous man at times depending on what was on his mind. But all the same, a good man.

There were sessions where he wouldn’t stop talking, his mouth going a million-miles-a-minute and there were sessions where he would sit quietly and only answer questions when prompted. Often, in these silent kinds of sessions, his arms would rest on the chair and his fingers would tap and tug at the stitching of the armrest, his long, slender fingers meticulously tracing the thread that held the chair together. 

It was an easy bet that Spencer was one of your favourite patients despite the irregularity of his appointments due to his career. He never brought trouble to your door. He never turned down your offer of coffee or water, he was always kind when he spoke. “Yes, please.” or “Not today, thank you.” And he always, at the end of every session, asked how you were as he gathered his belongings and made his way for the door. 

You had him penciled that evening. 6:30pm. Your final session of the day. 

Since watching Spencer mature and bloom into the man he was today, you knew how inappropriate thoughts could be if they remained untethered. Having known him for so long in the most intricate of ways, your relationship had become somewhat of a relaxed professional friendship that he paid you for. But with that, came the leniency of your mind that sometimes would wander when with other clients. Spencer was far more intriguing. 

And you often took your sessions home with you. It wasn’t the topic of the session you focused on when alone at night reading your books or taking a soak with a glass of wine; instead, it was the feelings he had expressed, it was the deep timbre of his voice and the purse of his lips when he listened intently to your advice. Oh, how closely he listened as though hanging on every word like you were the woman with all the answers to the universe when you sat opposite him. Those thoughts were proving dangerous but it was a far too delicious treat to deny yourself. 

It had become almost a ritual before his sessions, to look at yourself in the bathroom mirror and give yourself a talking to. Should your mind continue to wonder, images growing more detailed and salacious, you would need to consider referring him to another therapist in the building in order to maintain the standard both of you expected. When his hair had started to grow long and he hobbled in to your office with crutches and then a cane some weeks later, it made your throat run dry for the first time. Of course, before that, in your natural human way- you observed a cute and smart man who just needed an ear to vent to. It was small at first, those mindless and fleeting ideals. When he picked at the edge of the chair, the bony structure of his fingers stirred and the thoughts started to linger for longer. Little moments, little mannerisms took root deep in your mind, eagerly awaiting the call from him to arrange his next appointment. You always made a point of taking his call personally, mainly to gauge a rough understanding of his reasoning for making the appointment but also to hear his voice and you even went to the lengths of sharing your direct office line. 

That evening when he arrived, you could tell it was a quiet session. You still asked if he consented to having his sessions recorded but this time, he refused. Respectively, you noted the change and decided to leave your recorder in your desk drawer for the night. Spencer didn’t take his regular seat opposite your own. He had a mystery about him tonight. His hands rested in his pockets and he ventured to the window of your office, head slowly tilting as he observed the street below. “Can I get you water, or coffee before we start?” You asked and closed the door. “Not tonight.” There was an edge. A clip in his tone. Something played on his mind and you tried to work out what it could be as you took your seat and crossed your legs. Your notebook was opened and you clocked the time. 6:34pm. “Okay.” You sighed and smiled, waiting for him to turn around, “Let’s get started.” “Let’s.” Spencer said but remained with his back towards you. He hadn’t brought any of his usual belongings. There was no satchel that always took its place next to his seat. He had no jacket or sweater, only a crisp white shirt covering his back. You maneuvered your pen between your fingers, waiting for him to begin. You noticed the difference in the atmosphere. Mellow and subdued but you could smell the electricity, like the thickness in the air before a storm. Brewing, looming, ready to crack at any moment. It was difficult to concentrate in the silent space, your eyes studying the structure of his stature. He was no meek creature anymore. There was a broadness to his shoulders, a subtle- “Can I ask you a question?” Spencer spoke up but didn’t turn around. “Of course.” You answered him and readied your pen against the paper. “Do you believe in physiological profiling?” “Studying body language?” You questioned, “I do. It’s a marginal part of what I do.” “It’s what I do everyday.” He responded and now turned to look at you. Your eyes caught his. They were burning and dark, a sternness shrouded his face as he awaited your retort. Your lips rolled together in thought, attempting to pinpoint the root of the question. “You do it too. Every client. You read them.”

“I try to focus on their mind, Spencer.” You smile politely.

“Try to?” His ears pricked up and he took a step closer. “You don’t intend to study them?”

“I don’t. I observe what my clients give. I don’t look much deeper than that.”

“You’ve been studying me.” Spencer approached, reminiscent of a pack-animal stalking close to its prey. 

“I’ve been working with you for a long time, now, Spencer. That’s why I record our sessions. I study your words, your cadence, your tone- it tells me more about you than your body-language could.” Your words made him stop and fix himself to the corner of the rug by your desk. His eyes narrowed slightly before he licked his lips and tugged a hand from his pocket to pull at his bottom lip. You tilted your head and watched him. Ever a stoic man, Spencer smiled and nodded after a moment before his hand dropped from his mouth. “Spencer, what brings you here tonight?”

“You do.” His other hand freed itself from his pocket and he gestured to the end-table by your chair, “Put it down.” He instructed and stalked that little bit closer. His command made you scoff lightly and you closed your notebook over on itself, placing it aside.

“Spencer,” You teased, “I have to make notes if you won’t consent to recordings. Completely confidential, I assure you every time you come here.”

“You don’t need notes, doctor. You know enough.” The words cut you to the quick, the quickening beat of your heart caused a flush of heat into your palms, your cheeks. “Do you know what I do when I’m here? Aside from the obvious?” Spencer asked and licked his lips a second time, the pink tip of his tongue dragging slowly back into his mouth over his bottom lip before closing again, waiting for an answer. You weren’t sure where he was going, you weren’t sure how you felt other than incredibly warm and in need of some water. His eyes remained on you, inescapable and fixed. 

“What do you do, Spencer? Aside from the obvious.” You echoed and he seemed to like that, bringing his steps closer once more until he stood by your chair, your table. “I don’t play guessing games. You know I’m not very good at them!” You try to joke and find your hands clasped now between your thighs in place of the notebook, “You should tell me.” 

This was the moment where his hand came to rest on the arm of your own chair, crouching at first and then kneeling. “Open.” He instructed carefully. At first your lips parted, speechless and you were aware in your rational mind that this was close to bordering on inappropriate. Secondly, your legs uncrossed and once more, this seemed to please him. “Do you know what I do when I’m here?” He repeated the question, moving himself to the front of your legs with a gaze that only encouraged you to open up a little bit more. Your heart was in your mouth, your clustered hands beginning to perspire and a heat built as a result. You shook your head, completely transfixed by the look in his eyes. The dark look that flit back and forth on your face and stole your ability to breathe. “I,” Spencer began, his free hand pushing one knee out of the way, “like to think,” the other knee. A space just large enough for him to push into, “about what you think.”

“W-What I think?” Your voice is barely a whisper. His hand remained on your knee and started to move down over your calf, tracing the definition and giving a soft squeeze before moving back up to the part of your thigh that joins to your knee. 

“I think,” Spencer said rather knowingly, his thumb and fingers pressing gently at the soft, malleable skin beneath your pants, “you think about me.” This made you hold your breath. Damn it all to hell, what was he doing?

“Spencer, this is becoming unprofessional.”

“Your thoughts about me are unprofessional.” He quipped and pushed his hand higher. “How long have you had them?” He asked and gave another firmer squeeze to the middle of your thigh. You could feel your breathing grow deeper, quivering in your chest as you attempted to keep your mind reeling over and over your code of conduct. Your silence must have been too long for his liking. “I said, how long have you had them?”

“Not long.”

“You’re lying to me, doctor.” 

“I-I’m not.” You defended and swallowed harshly, your hands coming apart to straighten yourself up in your chair. Your movement made him surge towards you, stopping just inches from your chest, both hands now on either of your thighs. “Spencer, is something going on? You’re not acting like yourself.” You tried again to keep your mind on an even-keel and remain the authoritative figure. 

“I am acting like myself. The part you don’t see,” His breath ghosted over you, “the part you think about when you know you really shouldn’t.”

How did he know? You had been so careful to remain professional and upright in his company. Whatever he had known, he gave nothing away until now. “You’re going to stand up for me and we are going to switch places, doctor.” Spencer said and his hands pushed further into your thighs, moving with a pressure so close to the heat that bubbled and swirled. There was nothing you could do except comply. When you tried to move forward, his force on your legs kept you down, “I didn’t say right now.”

“Spencer, w-what are you doing?” You asked with a hot anticipation, itching for the thumbs on the insides of your thighs to venture where you know they shouldn’t. Just a skim. Just a taste. His influence on you and control of the situation was melting your mind. 

“I’m doing what I want. What you want.” He looked up at you and took a firm hold of your legs, pulling your body closer to the edge of the chair. It made you gasp and his fingers felt now against your ass, deliciously sandwiched between the soft leather and the polyester of your tailored pants. “And you want to take these off.” He said as his fingers deliberately pushed into the seat of the pants. Without thinking, without arguing, you looked down at him, lips still parted and short breaths coming in and out of your mouth as your fingers unfastened the clip, the zip. He helped you to stand but didn’t move to his feet. Instead, Spencer fell back on his knees, only moving back just enough to remain faced with your panties as the black pants were pushed down your thighs, caught by him and ripped the rest of the way down with a fervour that took your breath away. When you sat back down, you kicked them off of your feet, Spencer’s hand feeling over the soft skin of your calf once more, his other hand unbuckling his leather belt.

“This isn’t-” he stole your words amidst the jingle of his buckle and the heat of his lips on your skin, “Oh-!” You could feel yourself grow hot, your hands remaining by your sides and holding onto your legs as he kissed and traced featherlight against you, edging closer to where you desperately needed him the most. 

“Do you always do as you’re told by a client?” Spencer breathed warmly against you, tricking into your core and you had no choice but to lean back and take a deeper breath. As you tried any attempt to cool yourself down, you felt his teeth graze closer, nipping the sensitively thin skin. “I asked you a question, doctor.” He spoke low enough to feel the vibrations ripple through your muscles, tantalising you further. 

“C-Clients don’t tell me what to do.” You managed to stagger the words out as his hands were placed at the bottom of your back, further edging you closer like a hungry child pulling their plate closer to the edge of the table. His eyes glanced upwards to you, an eyebrow raised and scanned down your neck, settling on your chest and you knew immediately what he was asking you to do without saying any word at all. You heed his instruction and unbutton your blouse with shaking fingers, his arms pressing against the spaces yours left behind and his hold was firm, head dipping back to your thighs and lips ghosting dangerously close. 

“Can you guess what I’m considering now?” He questioned  and placed a soft kiss to the hem of your panties before pulling your legs further apart from a simple tug of his fingers that slipped down beneath you. Spencer’s breath was hot and he licked a thick strip up and over your clothed cunt, relishing with a smack of his lips. You writhed and sighed, fingers hesitant to undo the last few buttons. 

“Please.” Your voice was quiet and you felt the air of his chuckle swirl around your core. 

“Can you guess what I’m considering now, doctor?” Spencer repeated himself again with an exaggerated punctuation and you nodded deftly, the only thing your body could think to do other than ooze with arousal. You let your head rest back on the chair, the task of your buttons completed and your hands rested over your stomach. You heard the snapping of his fingers, the absence of his hands on your skin but instead tugging your panties down instead of touching you. The snapping made you look down at him where he was already watching you on his knees and with almost no readable expression on his face. “I want you to look at me and compare this to your thoughts.” 

You weren’t sure when your panties were completely removed but they were and you were now laid mostly bare, your client placing one of your legs over his shoulder and kitten-licking his way around you. “You can look at me, can’t you?”

“Y-Yes. Mmmhmm.” You nodded and used your elbows to keep your view clear, your vision trained on him as his licks became shorter, slower and eventually right where you wanted them. 

“Clever girl.” His voice was muffled as he licked his way through your folds, brandishing your click with the flare of his tongue and making you whine each time. “I’ll know if you don’t look, doctor.” He warned before digging in. Spencer licked deep enough that you could feel it, your head spinning each time his nose brushed against the most pleasurable point of your body. The noises he made sent you reeling and panting. He was enjoying it, lapping you up with enthusiasm. Each groan drove deep into your body, into your bones and made your skin prickle. 

“Spencer-!” Your voice caught as he worked intrinsically against you, the hold of his hand sliding down the leg that now rested on his shoulder, fingers trailing from the front to the back and one slender digit found its way inside and you cried out a strangled moan at the intrusion. 

“You can take more.” He informed, another finger joining in the warmth. “You’re so fucking wet, doctor!” Spencer said quietly before tonguing and sucking at your clit as though you were melting right in front of him. “This all for me?” He asked between laps. His fingers curled within you, moving slowly back and forth in a fashion you could only describe as leisurely. The smacks of his lips and tongue only furthered your pleasure and you felt sure that your elbows would give out. As Spencer worked with devotion, your leg on his shoulder pinned him closer to you, your hips grinding slightly against his face and your fingers gripped at the leather they rested atop. With his fingers building a rhythm, his mouth slurping and canting at your core, you couldn’t help but notice the lack of contact from his other hand. It was nowhere to be found until you managed to tear our eyes away from the flashes of tongue. Spencer was touching himself whilst touching you and the sight had you insatiable. A particular moan that came from him had you sobbing quietly, 

“Spencer, plea-ah! Fuck, keep going-” You mewled. 

“You’ll finish when I finish.” Spencer said but continued to pump his fingers at a growing pace, tongue flickering and his hand working steadily on himself. You can’t contain the moans, you can feel your core tightening, your legs prepared to clench around his head like a vice. 

“Don’t stop!” You breathe, your hips bucking and you could feel the distinct shift of his mouth. A grin. It sent you so very close. His fingers were dripping, you could feel the never-ending flow of your slick teamed with his mouth and Spencer let out a jarring grunt, “Spencer, fuck- I’m close!” 

The words made him stop, violently removing his fingers and leaving you hollow, throbbing and desperate for more. His mouth gave one final suck of your clit and he pushed back from between your legs to stand and drop his own pants. “Move.” He commanded and you did just that. When you stood up, your legs were weak, you resented him partially for leaving you so close and he knew that. As though in a dance, you traded places, your eyes never leaving his, heady with desire for the rest of him. When he took the seat, his fist continued to pump at his cock, the pleasure evident from his own parted and glazed lips and you weren’t quite sure you were prepared. With his wet fingers, he beckoned to you. “Let’s go.” Spencer encouraged as though on a time-constraint and you did just as he asked.

With your legs on either side of him, your breasts pressed against his body, he removed his hand from himself in order to palm at your breasts, teasingly at first and then toughening after you were instructed to “open” once more. There was nothing else you could do than comply and your lips opened slowly. Too slowly. His wet fingers dragged over your lips before pushing their way in and resting at the second knuckle and your mouth enclosed on his fingers. “Thatt’a girl.” He mused and teased at your nipple with his thumb. It made your eyes close, the electric-pleasure halting you in your tracks and your suckling at his fingers ceased. You could feel the tip of him brush against your cunt, eagerly awaiting his next instruction. You tried to hold back but ended up slowly and surely lowering yourself just enough to gain the friction you required. “So, you do think about me?” Spencer asked and with his fingers in your mouth and your cheeks hollow, you nodded. His hand tugged down from your bra, fingers catching at the rim of the cup and snapping back against your skin and making you freeze. You felt the trail of him down over your ribs, destined to touch you. “Hop on, doctor.” He said breathily. 

You were nothing if not obedient by now and you teased yourself a little more to make up for the loss of your orgasm. Your eyes opened and you watched him- Spencer was enamoured by the way your mouth worked on his fingers, tasting the sweetness of yourself and you started to move down slowly, his tip stretching just enough for you to hold his fingers in your teeth and pant. His lips fell open more, allowing you the time to adjust and take him inch by inch. The hot stretch was intoxicating and you settled on top of him with a whine. Spencer removed his fingers from your mouth and his hands held you tightly. You were aware of how full you were, of how much he would knock against you when you decided to move. “You can take me.” He reassured you. 

Steadily, with your forehead clocking onto his, your hips started to move. Slow at first, finding your centre and reveling in the thickness and fullness that made you gasp with each fragment of movement. You lifted yourself and dropped yourself carefully, his tip pushing deep against your cervix and you felt him start to work on your clit. Fingers unable to gain any purchase due to the sheer wetness you had created. “Fuck, you’re so tight f’me!” Spencer groaned but you retorted, “You’re bigger than I’m used to, Spencer!” With a squeal, you settled against him, moving back and forth instead of up and down where he could hit that mouth-watering spot over and over. Your cries made him moan, his hand on your hip so tight and sharp but it only added to the experience. The grip he had on your skin gestured for you to move more, tugging up, signalling he wanted to feel you rise and fall. The feeling of being stretched and played with in tandem had you incredibly close, oh, so incredibly quickly. Paired with his hot breath that skated down your chest and over your breasts, the only thing you managed to do was weakly grind up and down. “That’s it.” Spencer nodded, his lips now deftly open and the odd groan came from deep within his throat. “Ohhh, good-girl! More.” He instructed, helping lift and drop you with the hold on your skin. 

After a while of finding your feet, the cacophony of pleasure rang through your office. Once certain you knew exactly how he wanted you to move, Spencer’s hand felt its way across your back, grappling with the touch of you and you bounced steadily. His curses were music to your ears, his fingers increasing quickly against you and you were fit to burst. You could feel yourself throb and twitch, the hot coil grinding tighter and tighter as Spencer relentlessly fucked over your clit with his fingers. Your hand tugged at his hair for leverage, squealing and whining as he helped in fucking up into you with even more wonderful moans. “Oh, fuck!” You whimpered at the speed he had chosen, the friction he was causing and you were close. So fucking close you could taste it. 

“You want to cum?” Spencer asked and took one hand from his hair, guiding it down between your bodies before completely enveloping you in his hold, “Work for it.” 

You had to. Your fingers replaced his, his arms around your body tight enough to crush as he moved up into you feverishly. “I’m want to cum, fuck-!” You panted into him, “l-let me cum!” You winced and sent him off on another long groan, “Cum. I want to feel you fucking cum on my cock, doctor!” He commanded and with your fingers moving quickly, a heavy sigh from him sent you over. You spasmed, moaning and wailing his name but your fingers pushing you through it, his cock forcing into you as you clenched with a shudder and your head fell into the crook of his neck with sobs spilling down onto his shirt. Spencer’s thrusts never faltered, however. “You can take another!” He decided and unwrapped one arm to bring your face to his, pleasure taking over his lips, his eyes, everywhere, he looked completely bewitched. “One more, my clever-girl. Just one more.” “I can’t-” You choked with your hand going slack between you. 

You weren’t sure how, but he managed to take you to the desk, landing you down with a slow and achingly long drive into you. When did he get rid of his pants? You didn’t remember. Spencer pulled himself from you with abandon and stood you up, “Move.” He commanded and turned you with a flick of your shoulder and with your back to him and stars in your eyes, you felt the stiff wetness of his cock tease between your folds as his hand easily bent you over. You were jelly at this point, prepared to go wherever and however he wanted. Spencer didn’t give any time for adjustments on this go-around. He was quick to slam deep into you, your hands grasping whatever they could on your desk to steady yourself as he pounded deep and quickly with his hands grabbing at your hips and giving him stability. “You’re taking me so well!” He panted against you, everything becoming too much but somehow not enough. Your breasts brushed over pens and papers and your hand finally grappled on to the edge of the desk as Spencer laid you out, “So fucking good!” He moaned and with each snap of his hips, he dragged you closer and closer to that deliciously familiar edge. You gagged and choked and moaned and whined each time his tip burgeoned against you until his thrusts became erratic, infrequent, “Cum on my cock, doctor! Fuck, I-” Spencer panted and he gave three deep and bruising thrusts before stilling and grunting a weak attempt of your name. He was white-knuckling your hips and as he spilled hotly into you, and you cried out once more, a final strained cry and you started to drip down your thigh. As you moved wave after wave through your climax, you felt the throb of Spencer, deep and hot against that perfect spot that had your knees buckling and shaking. For good measure, he continued to pull out and drive back in, all the while he muttered “you did so fucking good!” and variations of “good-girl, clever-girl!” in much softer, breathier tones. With each drawback, he spilled a little bit more down your thighs, dripping and mingling with your own fluids until eventually, he was gone entirely. 

You tried to piece yourself back together, exposed and weak but completely high on the feeling of your client. The clarity dawned on you. You listened to the ruffle of clothing, the jangle of a belt  and quick-snap of a zipper. “I won’t pay you.” Spencer spoke as he placed your panties that had been cast aside now on your desk by your hand, “That’s prostitution.”

Your voice trembled, body close to convulsing from everything that happened. “Spencer-”

“This will be our last session, doctor.” He said, his hand leaving the panties to gently lift your chin before he pulled away and headed for the door. “Our time ran over. Sorry to keep you.” Spencer informed in a polite voice before closing the office door behind him.

i come back to this one so often 😈 tell me why i just realized arya’s the one who wrote it 🤭

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows. 

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy. 

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch,  you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point. 

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured. 

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere. 

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

OH MY GOD…

me and eliza rn:

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 & 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫

Pairing: Spencer Reid x femBAU!reader x Chip Taylor. Category: smut 18+ MDNI  Summary: Pining after your coworker is a difficult thing, but you’re a bona fide professional. No hooking up with colleagues. As fate would have it, a case brings you to Louisiana, where you meet a man who looks frighteningly similar to one Dr. Spencer Reid and, well, the locals aren’t off limits, right? Except, Dr. Reid discovers your rendezvous, and you find yourself dealing with more than you bargained for. Content: 7.5k words, porn with some plot, reader is horny and pervy (she’s ovulating guys it’s not her fault), reader wears a skirt, mentions of smoking, semi-public fingering, jealous!post prison!Spencer, PROBABLY OOC!!!, dom!Spencer, sub!reader, Chip is just there for the ride, dirty talk, threesome, edging, blow jobs, reader has a massive fucking praise kink, slight degradation, spitroast, unprotected p in v, reader cries and Chip thinks it’s pretty, creampie, cum shot, POV changes without warning, aftercare because they adore reader so much. A/N: Finally sat tf down and finished this. I’m heading into finals season and won’t be online as much, so I hope this makes up for the forthcoming absence; I figured I’d post it since I’ve been teasing it for so long. Don’t ask me the color of anything, I’m certain I blacked out while writing this. Most likely OOC but it’s hot so… I hope that forgives it. This was a request. I hope it’s to your liking, Eliza.

The universe must be playing you for a fool. Truly. How else do you explain this forced proximity—being paired off to interview potential witnesses, and then later having to share a room with the one man you shouldn’t be trusted alone with? 

Louisiana is humid this time of year, and after having spent the day walking around the sleepy streets of the small town that have called for your help, Spencer has retreated into the shower of your shared motel room to wash the day off.

You’ve left the room; you don’t trust that you wouldn’t do anything stupid while he’s in there. Like trying to sniff his dirty clothes. Or worse, try to join him in the shower. 

The thought makes your face flush, sweat trickling down the back of your neck tauntingly. A reminder of your lecherous thoughts. With a groan, you pace around the parking area, and when that doesn’t alleviate your restlessness, you walk through the perimeter of the motel as well. It’s a tiny town, this had been their only place of accommodation. Not that you mind, of course, you’re not really picky. A place to rest your head is all you need.

Rounding to the back is where you see him, leaning against the wall in a denim jacket. Curls haphazardly arranged over his forehead. Jesus Christ, why is he here? 

“I thought you were showering?”

The man looks up, startled, and that’s when you notice the cigarette hanging from between his lips.

“When the hell did you start smoking?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. How strange. Even his clothes. You had never pegged Spencer to be a denim on denim kind of guy, even on casual days.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, but since I was seventeen.”

It’s here that you detect your mistake. His accent. Not as strong as Will’s, who you’ve met on a few occasions with JJ, but the unmistakable drawl is there, urging you to look closer. This man’s eyes are darker, his cheeks somehow more gaunt than your coworker’s, the stubble on his jaw more prominent. His hair is shorter too, reminding you of Spencer from a few years ago. But other than that, he looks nearly identical.

“Hey, miss, you alright?” He takes a tentative step closer, brows furrowing in the exact same way Spencer’s does when he’s confused.

You squeak and shuffle back, eyes wide.

“Okay, okay,” the man lifts his hands in apology, chuckling lightly, “God, I thought you’d be tougher, carrying around a gun like that.”

Your hand automatically rests on the gun at your holster, something familiar to keep your panic at bay. However, he seems to mistake it as a defensive move, because he steps away from you, both hands still in the air.

“Whoa, hey, hey, easy—”

“Sorry,” your voice returns, breathless from confusion. You hold your hands up as well, showing him you’re harmless, “Sorry, no, I wasn’t gonna—I’m sorry. You just remind me of someone, is all.”

He seems wary, but he lets one arm fall to his side, while the other lifts the cigarette from his mouth, “The one takin’ a shower?”

“Yeah,” you let out a soft chuckle, tucking your hair behind your ears, “Yeah, my colleague.”

“Ah,” he nods, something lighting up in his eyes, “You’re the fancy police that arrived this morning.”

“We are,” you look at him, marveling at how much he looks like Spencer, “My god, you’re nearly identical.”

“Must be a handsome guy, then.” The man smirks, boyish and lovely, and you see he even has dimples too, though they’re a little lower than Spencer’s.

You feel your cheeks warm at that, “He—uh, I guess you can say that.” So handsome you want to jump him at every opportunity. 

The man laughs, venturing another step closer. This time, you relax enough to let him. 

“What’s his name, then, this handsome coworker?”

“I—I don’t know if that’s any of your business.” you say, raising a brow at him.

He shrugs, another chuckle leaving his lips. You find that you like his laugh. It’s carefree, light. “All right, fair point. What’s yours?”

Your teeth catch your lower lip for a moment, before you relent and give him your name. 

“Pretty name for a pretty lady,” he tips his head, “I’m Chip Taylor.”

“Chip. It’s nice to meet you.” you reply, leaning on the plaster wall, “Mind if I keep you company?”

“I’d never say no to a pretty woman,” he says, offering his cigarette. You shake your head, already imagining Spencer’s spiel about the effects of nicotine, and how secondhand smoke is just as bad, if not worse. 

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, taking a long drag. You can’t help but watch his lips wrap around the end, the way they purse together to blow out the smoke. He looks so much like Spencer. It’s easy to imagine those lips as Spencer’s lips, puckering for a kiss…

“Hey, you still with me?” he’s laughing, a light and teasing sound. 

You feel warmth on your cheeks, looking away, “Yeah.”

Too late. He seems to have caught your staring, the single minded focus your eyes had on his lips, “See something you like, pretty girl?”

You huff, eyes flitting back up to glance at him. Relaxed, with an easy going smile on his face. And he looks like Spencer. 

If you can’t have your coworker, then the next best thing is this handsome stranger, right? This doppelganger, who the universe seems to have dropped upon your lap as an apology. Besides, you’ll be gone after the case wraps. You’ll never see him again. The perfect hook up. 

Your lips curve up, “Matter of fact, I did.”

His smile turns cocky, voice lowering to one laced with seduction, “Is that right?”

“Mhm,” you tilt your head to the side, lashes fluttering as he steps closer, caging you against the wall, “Just wondering what those lips would feel in other places.”

Chip tosses the cigarette to the ground, “Well, baby, you don’t have to wonder.”

His lips are on you in an instant, every glide against yours firm and sure. You’re forced to follow, mouth yielding to his, parting to open and accept the press of his tongue. A whimper is swallowed by his eager mouth, and his hand comes up to cradle your face, tilt your head back. His tongue pushes farther, the acrid, smoky taste of his marlboro reds filling your mouth. Your moans barely make it out of your mouth, muffled immediately by his breathtaking kiss. You’re first to pull away, panting heavily for breath. 

His mouth travels down, leaving moist kisses along your jaw. Rough stubble scratches at your skin, but the sensation only sends shivers tingling across your spine. “Your fancy FBI man won’t take care of you, huh?” he whispers against your jaw, “Don’t worry baby, I got you.”

“I don’t have too long,” you mumble breathlessly, leaning back on the wall as he unbuttons the top of your blouse. 

He chuckles, “Won’t need too long.” cocky words, but spoken with surprising tenderness. Your thighs clench in response. He abandons your blouse, the first three buttons undone, just enough to expose your collarbone and the tops of your chest. His hands find your skirt instead, tugging it up over your thighs. “Can I?”

“Yeah, please.” 

A chuckle, and then a kiss to your throat. “So fucking polite.” 

Chip’s hand finds the soaked fabric of your panties, running two fingers over them. A soft, croaky laugh leaves his lips when he makes contact with your arousal, and he latches on your collarbone. Teeth nips at the skin, before they are replaced by lips that suck rough and demanding, all while his fingers locate your clit through the lace. You moan as he laves your skin with kisses and his fingers rub soft little circles on your needy center.

“So fucking wet, baby,” he cooes, finally pushing your panties to the side. He chuckles when he feels your hot core, folds and entrance completely dripping, “Jesus, what a needy little thing. Don’t worry, I got you.”

And he does. As if he’s taking your time crunch into consideration, he teases at your entrance only briefly, and slides a finger past it. Your  pussy swallows the digit without problem, and it disappears inside you to the knuckle. 

He chuckles, “There you go,” he adds another finger, stretching you perfectly, then dips down to kiss your collarbone again, as though intent on leaving a mark there. You’re relieved he’s giving you a hickey somewhere you can easily conceal by clothes. 

You clench around his fingers as they pump in and out of you, throwing your head back as your moan fills the humid evening air. “Need more.” “Yeah? Not just needy huh, greedy too.” he chuckles, crooking his fingers as they are buried deep inside your pussy. It hits your g-spot perfectly, sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body.

“God, yes!” you gasp, arms tightening around his neck. You lean into him with a whine, moving your hips to match the pace of his fingers, “Yes, just like that, Chip.”

“I gotcha, baby, I gotcha.” he murmurs, his voice sweet as he wraps his free arm around you. Held to his chest as he slides a third finger inside your pussy. It’s a snug fit, what with his long, thick fingers, and you’re stretched so deliciously you can’t help but moan again. You’re thankful for his arm around your waist, as your knees are shaking, ready to give out as he increases the pace of his fingers.

“Fuck, yes!” you moan, biting into his clothed shoulder.  You hear him chuckle, and his thumb presses into your clit, adding another source of pleasure for you. “Chip!”

“Yeah? I can feel you clenching baby, you’re close, aren’t you?”

“Mhm hmm,” you nod, trying to breathe, trying to maintain some semblance of yourself, but everything is him. The smell of Marlboro reds and leather mixed with his sweat. It’s all so very hot, heady, your body pressed into a motel’s dingy walls by a handsome stranger and his familiar face, with three fingers buried deep inside your fluttering cunt. 

“God, baby, can feel how tight you are,” he murmurs, pushing you harder into the wall. It gives him more leverage to increase both the speed and impact of his digits, pumping them into you deliberately, “What I’d give to feel this sweet pussy around my cock.”

That’s it. Words. Words tip you over the edge, not his fingers, not the tongue running over your ear, but those nasty words being uttered under his breath, into your ear. You groan, shuddering in his arms as your orgasm hits you. He continues to finger you, thumb rubbing figure eights on your clit, slowly helping you come down from your high. 

“That’s it baby,” he pulls back slightly to watch your face, grinning as he takes you in. You’d been so lovely when he first laid eyes on you, put together and rigid, but now you’ve come undone in more ways than one. Completely dishevelled, skirt askew, shirt half unbuttoned. “Goddamn, you’re so pretty like this.”

You hum, smiling back at him as he slowly pulls his fingers out. They glisten even in the dim light, completely sticky with your cum. You can’t stop the gasp when he brings those fingers up to your mouth. Taking advantage of that, he pushes his index finger past your parted lips. 

Your eyes flutter closed as you take it in, sucking on the digit as he pushes it deep into your mouth. The salty, bitter taste of yourself explodes in your mouth. His chuckle hits your ears, and you open your eyes to meet his heady gaze again.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out with a pop. He licks and sucks on the other two fingers, smirking at the dazed look in your eyes. “You know, when that case of yours is done, come find me.”

“How will I know where you are?”

“I’m usually at the bar, babe,” he helps you button your shirt, his movements deft and gentle, “”And if I’m not, just ask old Deb, the bartender. She’ll give me a call.”

You understand what’s happening. Not even bothering to give you his number. It’s just a hookup, nothing more. Honestly, it’s what you need too, so you grin, “Deal. I’ll see you around, then.”

After helping you straighten up, he leans in to give you one last kiss. “I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”

Spencer is pacing along your room when you return, his hair still weighed down by the water and curling at the ends. It makes you pause, seeing him in a plain t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, looking so much like the man from the alley that you felt another burst of heat at your core.

“Where on earth were you?”

“Out.” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can.

“You’ve been gone for nine minutes and eighteen seconds,” he frowns, “But that’s not even counting the time I was in the bathroom.”

Your cheeks flush at the realization that you’d met a dude, hooked up with him, and came around his fingers in such a short amount of time. Under fifteen minutes. God, that’s a little pathetic.

“I just needed some fresh air, Spencer,” you say placatingly, ignoring the frown on his face as you brush past him. You rummage through your go bag quickly, finding the sleepwear you’ve brought with you, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna take my shower.”

You wash away the trances of Chip from your body, letting the water cool your heated skin and drag the scent of cigarette smoke away, down down down the drain. After getting dressed, you pad back into the room, where Spencer is bent over his bed, poring over the case file. At the sound of your shuffling footsteps, he looks up, eyes narrowing but staying silent. The intensity of his gaze makes you want to shrink back. It's an obvious scrutiny, cold, a look that is meant to cast judgement upon you. 

You smile at him and get to your bed. Wet hair and all.

The case resolves within the next few days, a conclusion so comically mundane in comparison to the severity of the crimes. Arrested in his home while he's mowing his lawn. With the search warrant, it had been easy to sweep the house and find evidence of the stalking, and the trophies he had kept of his victims.

Throughout the case, Spencer had been keeping an eye on you. Ever since you returned that one evening smelling of cigarettes and sweat, he’d been suspicious. The small, purple mark that poked through your tank top that same night simply raised his senses even more. Judging by the color, it’s new. He’s suspicious, wondering what the hell you’d gotten into while he was showering.

So when you tell Emily that you won’t be flying back with the rest of the team, he perks up. Once again, he doesn’t say anything to you, but he does make an excuse as well, telling Emily he liked Louisiana enough to spend more time there.

Emily had looked at him with the same suspicion he regards you with, but ultimately allowed him to stay. 

It was easy enough to follow you (okay, so he enlisted the help of Garcia, offering to help her organize her office in exchange for her sworn secrecy), which is how he finds himself inside a seedy bar in the outskirts of the small town.

The heat is  even more oppressive inside, a humidity that seems to press in from all sides. Spencer makes quick work of the scene, locating your figure with such an ease that one would think his eyes are magnetically drawn to you regardless of the circumstances. All of his suspicions are confirmed when he catches sight of the tall man leaning into your space, a hand resting on your hip. 

Your body language, even from afar, tells Spencer that this isn’t the first time you’ve met this other man. That this is okay, encouraged even. He watches with narrowed eyes, hidden in plain sight amidst other bar regulars, as you lean into this stranger’s touch, how his fingers slip and settle upon the skin under your shirt. Such a casual assertion of  familiarity. The heat that unfurls in his chest surprises him. 

It’s ridiculous. You’re not together. He has no ground to stand on, no real reason to ask you to leave. Yet here he stands, fighting against the urge to tear you away from this other man’s grasp. Stupid. What had been his goal, coming here? Following you? Now that he knows you’re staying to hook up, what is he supposed to do? Obviously, he can’t try to change your mind. You’re a grown woman, after all, and completely single at that. It shouldn’t matter what you do during your free time. The case is wrapped up, who is he to judge you for however you want to celebrate that?

His feet refuse to move. 

Unfortunately for him, he’s hovering right around the doors—which serve as both entrance and exit—so when the man leads you away from the counter, the collision is inevitable.

And for a moment, Spencer Reid’s world seemed to stop. Not out of jealousy or betrayal (which he, admittedly, is nurturing somewhere in his chest), but from sheer bewilderment.

Because the man you’re leaving with is identical to him.

“Spence!” your voice is uncharacteristically high when you see him, eyes wide with panic.

The strange man looks between you and Spencer, lips pulling into an easy smile, “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding. We really do look alike.”

Spencer is rooted on the spot. Genius mind, astronomically high IQ, none of them seem to matter when he realizes that you’re leaving, most likely to sleep with, a man who looks exactly like him. 

“This is why you stayed back?” Spencer tries not to sound accusatory, he really does, and when you flinch at his tone, he softens immediately, “You—you don’t even know this man.”

“That’s kind of the point,” you reply, meeting his gaze squarely, “It’s just a one time thing and it’s not like he’s a total stranger. I met him before.” 

Something in Spencer’s chest clenched as he watches you shuffle closer into the other man’s side, bodies flush.

Why him, he wants to scream, why sleep with someone who looks like me instead of just me?

Before he can articulate his thoughts into more acceptable words, you’re already rambling.

“This is Chip. It’s nothing serious, really, just you know, physical. I’ll be completely safe with him, I promise, I know it sounds stupid but—”

“Let me come with.”

Spencer doesn’t even realize that the words came from him, until he catches the look of confusion and surprise on your faces.

The other man, Chip, whistles in amusement, joining the conversation for the first time. His eyes glint in the lowlights of the bar, darting between Spencer and you, “To watch or to join?”

Spencer straightens, ignoring the drumming in his ears. He trains his eyes on you, ignoring the other man, as he answers, “To join. You’re not the only one who needs release after that case.” 

You sputter, indignant and disbelieving, “J—join? Are you serious? Spence—”

He narrows his eyes, “What, afraid you can’t handle it?” There. Posed as a challenge, he knows you well enough to know that you’d never back down.

“Of course I can.”

Hook, line and sinker.

“But,” you turn to Chip, brows furrowed in concern, “Are you okay with this? It’s not exactly what we originally planned.”

Chip only smiles, “The more the merrier. Just as long as you’re sure you can handle it, baby.”

Spencer isn’t sure what he wants you to say. Stuck in some sort of limbo, he’s prepared for either option—to go to the motel alone, or to participate in an impromptu threesome with his beautiful co worker and a stranger who bears his face.

When you agree, he lets out a breath, unsure of whether it’s dread or relief.

The walk to the motel is inevitably awkward, almost businesslike. Talk of birth control and STDs—Chip assure you both that he’s clean, you tell them you’re on birth control. It must be a weird conversation to overhear from an outsider’s perspective. Once inside the room, Spencer finds himself oddly at ease. Level headed and calm, he closes and locks the door while the stranger, now identified as Chip Taylor, sinks into one of the motel chairs with a lightness that reminds Spencer of his own younger self. 

“C’mere, baby,” Chip says to you, patting his lap enticingly. 

Wide eyed and disoriented, you look at Spencer. His brows raise, taking in the shadows that seem to plague your cheeks, the confused expression on your face. “Well?”

You bite your lip, glancing at Chip who’s an open invitation, legs spread and smiling easily, before your eyes inevitably return to Spencer. Almost as if asking for permission. 

Oh. 

“Go ahead then.”

That’s all you needed to cross over the room and stand between Chip's thighs. Words. Spencer’s words, spoken so clearly they cut through the heady tension of the room. His instructions. Spencer is powerless to stop the smirk playing at his lips when he realizes.

Chip doesn’t miss it either. He laughs, good natured and teasing, “I see how it is, pretty girl.” His kisses on your neck are soft, slow, clearly taking his time getting you worked up, “Good thing I’m not the jealous type.”

Spencer finds himself shifting, pants beginning to feel tight as he catches sight of a pale pink tongue darting out, dragging over the hollow of your throat. Chip’s hands tug at your skirt, the fabric descending down your thighs and legs until they pool on the floor. Both men’s eyes admire your legs with openly hungry gazes, pinning you frozen on Chip’s lap. Your underwear follows, a scrap of lace landing on top of the twill, shockingly, scandalously red against black. 

Chip shifts, arms straining as he rearranges you on his lap so that you’re straddled over his thighs, but facing Spencer. You let him, completely pliant in his arms. You can’t decide if your cheeks are burning from embarrassment or desire. Spencer’s eyes are wide, nearly black as he takes you in, your spread legs revealing an already glistening pussy.

“Why don’t we show Dr. Reid right here how you like to be touched, huh?” Chip murmurs, rough pads of his fingers making gentle circles on your clit. Your neck arches back, head slotting perfectly on the crook of Chip’s shoulder. Your mouth parts ever so slightly, a rosebud on the cusp if bloom, emitting soft sighs of pleasure.

The sight makes Spencer stagger onto the bed, chest rapidly rising and falling as he takes in the scene in front of him. Inappropriate. No, it goes beyond that, he’s sure there’s at least twenty rules he’s crossing right now, social boundaries and work rules. Somewhere in the back of his cloudy mind, he thinks this is headed towards sexual deviance, but the years of training and his eidetic memory are no match for how utterly arresting this is.

He can’t tear his eyes away from the smooth line of your neck, the goosebumps on your bare arms and thighs as this other man—Chip—plays with the slick folds between your thighs. Completely enthralled as two long fingers find your entrance and push into it. Knuckle deep, Chip twists his fingers the same way he had done a few days ago, an action that has you letting out the most pornographic sounds.

Unable to help himself, Spencer’s palm presses into his crotch, palming his erection through his trousers. For the first time, one of his sounds join the twisted melody of the room, a soft groan escaping from his lips as a result of the delicious friction  from his hand. The sound seems to excite you, as you squirm in Chip’s arms. Your head lifts from Chip’s shoulder, hazy eyes focusing just enough to meet Spencer’s gaze. 

Chip laughs, “I think the lady wants you,” he tells Spencer.

Spencer stares at you, eyes dark, feeling petty, of all fucking things. “Does she? She seems perfectly content right there,” he raises a brow, “Aren’t you, sweetheart?” The nickname is spoken with such cloying sweetness it makes you flinch.

The cool haughtiness of his tone doesn’t escape you. It’s a struggle to sit up a little straighter, seem a little more respectable (how do you even achieve that when they’re being fingered right in front of their coworker?), but really you’re just trying to get a better glimpse of Spencer. 

The sight that greets you doesn’t disappoint. There he is, Spencer Reid, your normally calm coworker, sitting on the edge of the bed, fondling his obvious erection through his trousers. You moan again, walls clamping hard around Chip’s fingers.

“Is that right?” Chip’s teeth nip at your earlobe, his breath hot and smelling of whiskey, “See, I’m not a jealous man, babe, but I think Dr. Reid’s a little different.” He crooks his fingers, hitting that sweet spot inside, and you squirm in his lap. Ruthlessly, Chip continues the pace, pumping his fingers in and out while he murmurs in your ear so casually one would think he’s simply exchanging pleasantries with someone on the street. “I think he’s a little upset that you went out of your way to find me, and that we’ve shared something real special a few days ago. I think he wants his share of you too, baby, and I know I’m making you feel real good, but  you don’t want him to feel left out, do you?”

“N-no, I don’t.” your voice sounds foreign. Is this really you, breathless and nearly pornographic?

“Of course not,” Chip coos, “Because you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” You clench tightly around his fingers. He laughs, grinding the palm of his hand to your clit while his fingers work your walls relentlessly.

“You’re so close, huh? Can feel you clenching.”

And then the pressure is gone, so quickly you’re left in confusion. Blinking rapidly, you look at Chip with a wounded expression, which only makes him grin.

“No cumming yet, baby, the night’s still young.” he kisses the tip of your nose, a tender move amidst the wanton craziness happening, “Now, go and give poor Dr. Reid some attention.”

Spencer has been silent this entire time, eyes regarding you with an intensity that feels as though it’s sinking into every pore of your skin. Even with Chip’s steadying hands on your waist, you stumble as you climb off his lap and cross the short space over to your coworker. Strangely, your heart’s drumming in your chest, and you’re suddenly unsure of what to do. Chip had been easy—eager to start, lavishing you with so much attention you didn’t really have to do anything but take it. 

Spencer… Well, you don’t even know what Spencer is like one on one, much less right now when the presence of a third person hangs heavy in the room. Much less when he’s like this—jealous, was that what Chip had said? In your fantasies, Spencer is thorough and attentive, honey eyes full of unadulterated adoration.

Right now, he’s staring at you with a mixture of lust and haughty disdain.

And heaven forbid, it’s making you even wetter.

“You like that, huh?” he says finally, so softly you have to strain to hear him, “Like being touched by some stranger?”

“Yeah.”

Hands splay over your thighs, and you can distinctly tell the difference between his touch and Chip’s. Spencer’s is softer, certain calluses formed at specific points from writing with a pen and holding a gun, but otherwise, his fingertips are smooth. They sink into your flesh with ease. You gasp at the strength, not expecting such a display. Chip’s hands may be rougher, but Spencer holds onto you with the intention to possess—unyielding and firm. 

It’s gone just as quickly.

“Get on your knees.” he says.

Oh, shit. Without needing to be told twice, you kneel in front of him. Behind you, you hear Chip’s carefree chuckle, and your cheeks burn. You like this, some sick voice in your head whispers, and you flush even more, the warmth spreading down your chest. 

“God,” Spencer hisses. You watch as he undoes his pants, and his cock springs free. It’s already bright red, viscous liquid leaking from the tip, evidence that your little performance with Chip had gotten to whom you had assumed is an impassive coworker. Almost automatically, your hand wraps around the base, stroking up.

A low, throaty laugh escapes Spencer’s mouth, “Oh, sweetheart, you’re just so eager, huh?” his hips buck into your hand, head thrown back, curls hanging off his head haphazardly. “Use your mouth, come on you know you want to.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You lean in, alarmingly hasty, dragging your tongue along the underside of his shaft. He lets out a groan, so you continue, licking his length teasingly, before moving to the tip. Your tongue swirls around the swollen head, collecting the salty precum and gliding back and forth over the tip. It twitches against your tongue, an affirmation that what you’re doing feels good.

Peeking up from beneath your lashes, you make sure Spencer’s eyes are focused on you. For a second, you simply look at him, your own eyes blazing with desire and confidence, every single notion of embarrassment seems to have been expelled from your person. And then you wrap your lips around the tip. 

Spencer’s eyes slip shut, head thrown back as you suck at the head of his cock while your hand pumps up and down the rest of his length. His hands come to your hair, tucking the strands back with his long fingers. In response, you work his cock deeper into your mouth, cheeks hollowing out as you continue to suck. Another moan joins the wet sounds of your union, but Spencer is in a breathless, silent daze.

Chip has taken things upon himself, stroking his cock as he watches you give head to his lookalike. “Goddamn, this is surreal.” he chuckles, craning his neck for a better view, “Like a mirror, but not quite.”

Spencer manages to reply, looking down at you, “Mhm. A mirror—ah—that’s right, she’s just eager for some cock. Weren’t you?”

“Wanted yours specifically.” Chip points out through a breathy moan.

“Yeah?” Spencer tugs your hair, forcing your head back so he can look more clearly into your eyes. His cock twitches at the sight of you—cheeks hollowed, eyes watering from how deep he’s making you take him— and he smirks, “Wanted me so bad you would fuck a random stranger just because he looked like me, huh? That’s how low you would go, sweetheart?” 

You moan around his length, unable to answer. It sends vibrations up his spine, and you feel his cock pulsing as it rests heavily against your tongue. Bringing up a hand, you cup his balls in your palm, adding another layer of stimulation for your coworker.

“That’s enough.” Roughly, he tugs you away from his crotch, “Get on the bed.”

You stay kneeling for another moment, trying to catch your breath, but then Spencer hauls you by your hips and tosses you unceremoniously on the bed. You squeak as you bounce on it, clutching the sheets to steady yourself.

“H-how do you want me?” you ask, voice hoarse and meek. How embarrassing. 

“Hands and knees.”

Chip lets out a whistle as he approaches, “Am I allowed in on the fun, bossman?” he grins at Spencer, completely undeterred by the resemblance. In his mind, there’s a stunning woman who wants to be pleasured, and he’s more than willing to help out, weirdness be damned. 

“Sure,” Spencer says, undoing the buttons on his shirt and tossing it somewhere on the floor, “She said it herself, didn’t she? She can take us both.”

Your gaze travels between them alternatively, watching as they both strip off their clothes and reveal more and more skin. Chip’s blue collar lifestyle once again bears witness in the lines of his body, lean muscles obviously honed from working with his hands. Spencer’s arms are wiry, but his stomach is softer, skin paler from always being in long sleeved button downs.  

You scramble to your hands and knees, your head near the edge from where Chip stands. Meanwhile, Spencer settles beside you, sitting down and cupping the swell of your ass with one hand. Two fingers slide into your pussy. With a quick curl, Spencer finds that sensitive part within your walls, fingertips dragging against it as he thrusts his fingers in and out. 

“God, he wasn’t kidding,” Spencer murmurs, brows knit as he marvels at how soaked you are, “You really are needy. One man wasn’t enough for you, huh? Got yourself worked up over the thought of taking two cocks?”

He’s right, you realize. You’re eating up the attention, arms and thighs shaking not from the strain of holding yourself up, but from anticipation. 

“Y-yes,” you manage to reply, squirming from his assault. You’re pulled taunt, desperate to come, having been denied by Chip earlier.

“You’re just a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” Spencer’s harsh words are tempered by the soft coo of his voice. He doesn't wait for a response, adding a third finger. It stretches you out deliciously, and pulls a breathless cry from your lips. His fingers fill your walls, finding a rhythm that has you mewling as he assails your g-spot with quick movements. Spencer chuckles, marveling at how prettily your pussy flutters around his digits, “Such a needy, needy girl. Don't worry, we'll take care of you.”

Never, in your entire career, have you heard Spencer speak this way. There’s something exhilarating about it, allowing yourself to be at mercy. Complete submission turns you on, apparently, and so does degradation. Being confronted with this fact makes you moan, tightening around his fingers in response. 

“Needy and obedient.” Chip agrees. He’s been surveying the scene with that easy smirk, as though debating the best way to join. You help him make a decision by opening your mouth. He chuckles, cupping your jaw, thumb running over your bottom lip. “And so pretty.” he murmurs before pressing his thumb flat on your tongue. Immediately, you close your mouth around it and begin to suck.

“That's it,” Chip chuckles, eyes dark as he takes you in, “You just like having your holes filled, don't you baby?”

At that, you feel a sudden emptiness at your core, Spencer having pulled out his fingers, “Course she does.”

At your muffled whine of protest, your coworker laughs, “See, your pussy already misses being stuffed.”

Immediately, you feel movement behind you. Slick, warm thighs position against the backs of your own. The bed dips from his weight, and Spencer's unmistakable erection presses into your ass. You feel it pass through your folds, the blunt tip collecting your slick, sending shivers of pleasure in the process. 

Eyes flutter close. Something thick and burning unfurls deep inside you, simultaneously in your chest and the pit of your stomach. 

“Ah, ah,”Chip pats your cheek gently, “Open your eyes, pretty girl.”

With a muffled whimper, you obey. A grunt of assent comes from behind you. Spencer's hand lands on the small of your back, applying just enough pressure to make you arch your back just a little more. “There you go.” he murmurs, his tip teasing at your sodden entrance. Slowly, you feel him push forward, the engorged head of his cock spreading your hole farther than it has ever been tonight, and you find yourself tensing. 

“Shhh, you’re doing so well.” Chip coos, dragging his thumb out of your lips when he notices the crease at your brow. He bends down, kissing you lightly, tenderly, coaxing his tongue into your mouth. Doing your best to keep up with his sure movements, you focus on the way his lips move, the lingering taste of whiskey mixing with the acrid cigarette smoke that clings to him. He kisses you deeply, distracting you enough that you lose your rigidity. This allows you to relax, and Spencer takes advantage of that, plunging the rest of his cock inside your walls.

Chip’s mouth muffles your cry of surprise. There’s a slight sting as you flutter around Spencer’s length, your pussy adjusting to accommodate all of him. 

Despite every inch of his body yelling at him to move, to take you and give in to the overwhelming bliss that spreads to every muscle, Spencer steadies himself. He lets you get used to the intrusion, knowing that this snug fit could potentially cause pain. No amount of his pleasure would ever surpass his concern for your comfort. Large palms skim over your hips in slow circles, while he keeps himself alert, feeling you relax and loosen the heavy grip you had on his cock. 

He gives a tentative roll of his hips, shallow thrusts to test your readiness, eyes trained on your figure while you engage in a heated, messy kiss with Chip. You seem receptive, slick and at ease, so he builds up a steady pace, holding your hips still as he fucks into your warm cunt. 

The motion completely makes you lose focus, your mouth falling slack against Chip’s, who only laughs and  pulls back. The man straightens up, watching as Spencer finally fucks you from behind, before lining up his own cock at your parted lips.

“Come on, pretty girl, let’s see you make good on your promise.” he murmurs, letting the heavy tip rest on your bottom lip. Spencer doesn’t stop thrusting into you, and the impact has you rocking forward slightly, smearing Chip’s precum all over your lips and chin. With a groan, you wrap a hand around the base of Chip’s cock, helping guide it into your mouth. 

You listen triumphantly at Chip’s low moan, the sound telling you that you’re doing a good job. Humming in the back of your throat, you bob your head down, taking in more of his cock. A hand wraps around your hair tightly, making you halt your movements. You wait, bleary eyed but eager, sucking on the tip as Chip considers the scene. 

He is watching Spencer’s rhythm, studying the way every plunge of the other man’s length sends you careening forward. Pushing down Chip’s cock deeper into your throat. Once he has it figured out, Chip moves, his own hips tilting into yours every time Spencer thrusts in, ensuring that you’re stuffed deep and full at the exact same time. 

You can do nothing but take it, eyes blinking with a lethargic slowness as you remind yourself to hollow your cheeks around the cock in your mouth. You’re rewarded by a groan from Chip, his hands gripping your hair tighter as he pushes into your throat. Tears fill your eyes and your entire body tenses, squeezing around Spencer’s cock just as he’s pulling out of you.

“God,” your coworker hisses, “You’re so tight.”

He thrusts in, roughly, and the impact tips your body forward again, sending Chip’s length deep inside your throat. The helplessness of this moment should make you feel scared, worried. You can barely move, too busy balancing yourself on this wobbly motel bed, too cock drunk to really make any sound decisions, physical or otherwise. Instead, being caught between two men as they insert themselves into your holes just makes your entire body sing with pleasure. Goosebumps erupting over exposed skin, toes curled and tucked tight into themselves, hands digging white knuckled at the sheets.

You come apart under Spencer’s expert thrusts, his cock hitting that delicious spot deep inside you with a nearly terrifying precision. The orgasm hits you hard, elbows nearly giving out, if it weren’t for Chip’s hands—one aty your jaw, the other at your head—holding onto you firmly enough that he’s able to help you hold your upper body. 

But Spencer’s not done. He speeds up, the sound of his sweat slick thighs hitting your ass filling the room. His cockhead brushes against your cervix, and you’re sure you lose your vision for a moment. 

It’s an assault to all your senses, what little air you can breathe reeks of sweat and musk and leather, your skin feels white hot and ready to burst into flames at any given moment, and the tangy, bitter taste of Chip’s length is so distinct you’re sure you’ll be tasting him on your tongue for weeks. 

You love every single moment of it. 

You don’t even squirm when Spencer’s fingers find your oversensitive bud, circling it over and over again as he coaxes you into another orgasm.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know you have another one in you.” he murmurs, one hand gripping your hip tight. 

Chip’s thumbs come up to your cheeks, brushing them away as he pulls his cock almost all the way out, allowing you to suck on the tip. “That’s it, baby, be a good girl and come again for us.” he cooes, “You’re so pretty like this, tears running down your face. You’re taking us so well, baby.”

Your face scrunches up in pleasure, their words pushing you to the edge as another climax hits you. This time, you’ve no more strength to hold yourself up, arms trembling and giving away. Chip’s cock slips from your lips but he doesn’t seem to mind, his soft chuckle fills your ears as you succumb face first into the sheets. Body shaking as Spencer fucks you through your orgasm, rough pads of his fingers gently pinching your clit. 

“Mind flipping her over?” Chip’s voice fills the air, “Wanna mark up her pretty face.”

Your pussy clenches deliciously around Spencer’s cock in response. Your coworker makes a sound that’s half groa, half laugh, quickly easing himself out of your hole. His hands guide you to lay on your back, a welcome reprieve that has you moaning in relief. This way, you see both of them too—Chip standing over your head, pumping his fist up and down his cock, Spencer parting your thighs and reentering your heat to chase his high.

“God, you’re so good.” Spencer murmurs, fucking into you with quick, decisive strokes, “Gripping my cock so tight—”

At that moment, Chip groans, his orgasm hitting him like a truck. His cum spurts out in long, thick ropes aimed right at your face. You open your mouth, tongue sticking out in hope of catching some of them inside. The warm liquid paints your face, and the very act of being marked in this way makes you squirm, the familiar heat building up again low in your belly.

“You look so good like this, baby.” Chip murmurs, still stroking his still erect cock and collapsing beside you on the bed, “Bet you’ll look even prettier with some dripping out of you.”

You moan, loud and clear for the first time, back arching off the bed as they whisper praise to you, sweet, filthy words that join the wet sounds of sex. 

“God—fuck, sweetheart, I’m coming.” Spencer groans, collapsing on top of you, his body twitching as he buries his cock inside you. Warmth shoots up inside your walls, filling you up as his cock pulses out his load. You bite into his shoulder, tears streaking down your face and mixing with Chip’s release. 

Stillness invades the room for several long moments, stark contrast to the previous, sex riddled chaos. And then Spencer pulls out slowly, kissing your sweaty neck in the process. 

“You okay? Did we hurt you?”

“I’m good.” you’re exhausted, mind empty except for the memory of pleasure that still lingers, the perfect cocktail of hormones that leaves you limp and soft.

You hear a laugh from Chip, feel the bed shift as he moves. “Here,” his footsteps fade, and reappear, an arm extending to your coworker. He’d dampened a washcloth from the bathroom for you.

Spencer looks up, smiling in acknowledgement before taking the warm washcloth from Chip. Gently, he wipes your face, chasing away the traces of Chip’s drying cum from your skin. As he moves down to clean between your legs, Chip guides your head onto his lap, fingertips gliding tenderly across your cheeks.

“You sure you’re good, baby?” Chip asks, thumbs making mindless circles on your skin. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, eyes closing.

“Don’t fall asleep on us yet,” Spencer speaks up, slowly cleaning away between your thighs, making sure not to put too much pressure on your oversensitive, swollen folds. “You need to pee.”

“D’I hafta?” you slur your words, nuzzling into Chip’s touch.

“Yes, sweetheart, unless you want a UTI.” Spencer says, tossing the washcloth aside. 

“Can’t feel my legs.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Chip laughs, propping you up, “Don’t worry, pretty girl, we’ll help you.”

And just as they’d done previously, they guide your pliant body between them, this time not to chase and provide pleasure, but to make sure you properly come down from it. Once you’ve peed and slipped into Spencer’s button down, they tuck you to bed where you fall asleep almost immediately, curled up in between their warm bodies.

it's two am where i am btw. i feel feverish. thank you for reading

jesus christ… i’ve never felt truly seen my god

hey hii how are u ??

I was hoping u could write something where reader has a tough relation with economy bills etc, cause in her child and teen years she heard her parents always fighting and struggling with it, so when spencer gives her gifts or they are doing the shopping it brings her memories etc.

if u are not comfortable, skip this hehe u can add more things to the fic if u want, but that's the basic idea, u have an incredible imagination!!!

The Price of Love

Spencer Reid x reader

w/c: 3.4k

a/n: I hope I did this prompt correctly 😰

You never quite learned how to enjoy the sound of a cash register.

The chime of it at the self-checkout aisle, the low mechanical clunk of coins dropping into a machine, even the smooth slide of a credit card being swiped—it all used to send a little wave of nausea to your stomach. Still did, sometimes. It wasn’t rational, you knew that. But feelings weren’t always logical, and your brain had spent too many years listening to dollar signs scream louder than lullabies.

“Are you okay?”

Spencer’s voice pulled you back, warm and soft like a cotton sweater on a cold morning. He stood beside you in the checkout line, a box of your favorite tea in one hand and a small pack of strawberries in the other. He was smiling, gentle and curious. His scarf—a soft gray one you’d picked out for him—was half slipping off his shoulder.

You blinked. “Yeah, yeah, just thinking.”

“You get quiet when you’re thinking.” He nudged your side playfully. “Statistically, people spend more money when they’re stressed during shopping. Maybe your brain’s protecting your wallet.”

You tried to laugh, even though your chest was tight. “Maybe.”

The total on the screen blinked up at you: $67.42.

You wanted to flinch.

Spencer moved like it was nothing, pulling out his wallet and sliding his card in without a second thought. The screen flashed “Approved.” Your stomach flipped.

“I could’ve—” you started, but the words felt like gravel.

“I wanted to,” he said softly, handing you the strawberries like a peace offering. “I always want to take care of you. That’s not a burden to me.”

You nodded, but something deep in your ribs twisted anyway. You knew he meant well. He always did. But the ghosts of your childhood had long fingers, and they tugged at your mind with every gift, every swipe, every whispered “don’t worry about it.”

Because you did. You always did.

The apartment was quiet that night, save for the rustle of pages and the occasional clink of Spencer’s teacup against its saucer. He was curled on the couch with a book in his lap—The Little Prince, this time, because he said it reminded him of the way you see the world when you’re tired but still hopeful.

You sat beside him, knees tucked under your body, chewing your thumbnail like it owed you something.

“Your tea’s getting cold,” he murmured, not looking up from the page.

“I know.”

A beat. Then, softly, “You’ve been quiet since the store.”

You sighed, rubbing your hands over your knees. “It’s dumb.”

“I like dumb things,” he said, setting the book aside. His tone was gentle but unwavering, the way it always was when he was trying to make space for you. “Especially when they live in your heart.”

You glanced over at him. His hair was slightly messy from where he’d been running his hands through it, and his eyes—those warm, stormy eyes—were completely focused on you.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “When I was a kid, my parents used to fight about money all the time. I mean, all the time. Screaming matches over electric bills. Silent nights because someone overspent on groceries. I’d pretend to be asleep, but I always listened. Every argument felt like a countdown.”

Spencer didn’t interrupt. He just let you talk.

“I think I started to associate spending money with guilt. Like, even if I’m not the one arguing, even if no one’s mad, it still feels like… I don’t know. Like I’m doing something wrong when things cost too much. Especially if it’s not even my money.”

You swallowed hard and looked down at your hands.

Spencer was quiet for a moment, and then he reached out, threading his fingers gently through yours.

“I know what it’s like to grow up around fear,” he said, voice low. “Mine looked different. Hospitals. Needles. People whispering outside my door about whether I’d be ‘normal.’ But the way it settles in your bones? That’s the same.”

Your eyes met his.

He gave your hand a squeeze. “So… when I buy you strawberries, or tea, or that candle you liked last week, it’s not because I think you need them. It’s because I want you to feel loved in small, quiet ways. Even if it takes a while for your brain to let that in.”

Tears blurred your vision, but they didn’t fall.

“You’re not a burden,” he added. “You’re a gift.”

——

You fell asleep with Spencer’s arm wrapped gently around your waist, his breath steady against the back of your neck, your fingers still interlaced like they’d promised not to let go even in dreams.

It wasn’t the easiest sleep. Your body wanted to relax, but your mind kept whispering things like you don’t deserve this and what if it’s too much. But his warmth made a soft cocoon around you, and eventually, exhaustion won.

When you woke, the sun was just beginning to brush gold against the edges of the curtains. The air smelled like cinnamon and something softly sweet.

Spencer wasn’t beside you.

You sat up slowly, heart fluttering with uncertainty, until your eyes landed on the small, folded note on the nightstand. His handwriting was instantly recognizable—neat, slanted slightly to the right, like he was always just a little too eager to say the next word.

Went to grab us breakfast. The cinnamon rolls you like. Also got the kind of juice you pretend not to like but always drink half of anyway.

P.S. No, you’re not allowed to Venmo me.

P.P.S. I love you.

You smiled before you could stop yourself, blinking hard to chase away the sting in your eyes.

In the kitchen, he’d already set out your favorite mug, a soft pink one with little stars on it, and beside it—a post-it that said Refill me with love, and also coffee. His thoughtfulness wrapped around you like a blanket warmer than any money ever could buy.

By the time he returned, paper bag in one hand and a sleepy smile on his face, you were waiting for him barefoot in his oversized sweater.

He froze in the doorway, eyes softening. “Hi.”

You crossed the room slowly, heart in your throat, and wrapped your arms around his waist. “Thank you.”

He hugged you back, one hand resting lightly on the back of your head. “For what?”

“For not making me feel like I owe you anything,” you whispered into his chest.

He kissed the top of your head. “You don’t. I give because I love you. That’s the only price, and you’ve already paid it.”

——

It started with a list.

Not a grocery list. Not a bill-tracking spreadsheet or a carefully budgeted monthly planner like you’d grown used to making. This one was written on a piece of plain notebook paper, torn from the spiral at the edge. You started it on a quiet Sunday, Spencer dozing beside you with his face buried in your shoulder, arms lazily looped around your waist.

At the top, you scribbled in tiny letters:

Things I Can Give Back

It wasn’t that you felt like you had to give him something. He never made you feel like your worth was measured in things. But you needed to prove to yourself that you could still give in your own way. That love didn’t have to be purchased. That you could fill a space with softness too, even if your credit card stayed in your wallet.

#1. Bake him the pumpkin muffins he likes.

You remembered him telling you once, in passing, that his mom used to make them in the fall before her illness took more of her time than she could spare. He hadn’t eaten them in years. So you looked up three recipes, practiced twice, and filled the kitchen with warm, cinnamon-sweet air before he got home from work one day.

He smiled when he saw them on the counter, one eyebrow raised.

“Are these for…?” he started.

You shrugged, trying not to grin. “Unless you’ve got another brilliant profiler hiding in your apartment, yeah. They’re for you.”

The way he looked at you—like no one had ever made him feel more seen—was more rewarding than any bouquet of roses or wrapped-up gift box.

He ate four that night. One right out of the oven, too hot to chew, and still grinning like a little boy.

#2. Plan something for just the two of us. No distractions.

The BAU had been brutal that week. A case in Montana that Spencer wouldn’t even talk about, his eyes going distant when he mentioned the victim’s name. He came back quieter, less inclined to read, more inclined to hold you for hours without speaking. That’s when you decided to make your own kind of healing space.

You borrowed an old projector from a friend and turned the living room into a blanket fort of warm fairy lights and too many pillows. You made popcorn from scratch, melted a little chocolate on top the way he secretly liked, and stacked his favorite books beside a handwritten sign that said:

“Welcome to the no-trauma zone. Stay as long as you want. No bad dreams allowed.”

When he walked in that Friday night, wearing a worn-out cardigan and the weight of the world in his eyes, he froze in the doorway.

“Did you do all this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, suddenly shy.

He turned to look at you, that same look in his eyes as when he saw those muffins. Like you’d somehow reached into the part of him no one else dared to touch and said, you deserve softness too.

Spencer stepped forward slowly, pulling you into his arms, burying his nose in your hair. “You make the world feel… quieter,” he whispered.

#3. Write him something.

This one was hard. Not because you didn’t have the words, but because you had too many. So you started small.

One morning, you left a note in the book he’d been reading—folded into page 198, because he once told you that was his favorite number (for reasons too nerdy and statistical to explain).

It said:

You’re my favorite place to be quiet and my favorite person to be loud with. Thank you for being home when I never thought I’d have one.

He didn’t say anything when he found it. Just walked into the room that evening, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and whispered, “Page 198.”

You smiled into his sweater. “I hoped you’d find it.”

“I’ll keep it forever.”

One afternoon, as you both lay tangled on the couch with soft music playing from an old record player, you finally told him what all of it meant. What the muffins, and the projector, and the little notes were really about.

“I think I was always scared,” you said quietly, fingers brushing the inside of his wrist where his pulse fluttered. “That I’d never be able to match what you give me. That you’d wake up one day and realize I’m just… complicated. Too used to surviving to know how to just be with someone.”

He looked at you for a long time, brows pulled slightly together, expression unreadable. Then he sat up slowly, pulling you with him, cupping your face in both hands like he was trying to memorize every line of it.

“Do you want to know something true?” he asked.

You nodded.

“I grew up surrounded by chaos. Hospitals. Institutions. People who thought loving meant fixing. And for a long time, I didn’t think anyone would ever see me without seeing all the parts of me that broke first. But then I met you.”

His thumbs brushed your cheeks, soft and reverent.

“You don’t try to fix me. You see me. And you let me see you too. Even the scared parts. Especially the scared parts. That’s not weakness. That’s the bravest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Your heart was beating so loud, you were surprised he couldn’t hear it.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth—slow, lingering, like he had nowhere else to be. Then another. And another. Until his lips met yours in full, and the world quieted to just the two of you and the warmth blooming between your ribs.

When he pulled back, he whispered, “Let me keep loving you, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

Tears slid down your cheeks, and he kissed them too.

That night, you lay curled together under a woven quilt, facing one another, noses almost touching. His hand rested against your back, fingertips drawing slow, absentminded circles that made you melt into the mattress.

“Do you know,” he whispered, “how many languages have words for love that also mean ‘gift’?”

You blinked sleepily. “No, but I feel like you’re about to tell me.”

“Finnish. Sanskrit. Ancient Greek. Even some Indigenous languages from the Americas,” he said, voice soft and low like it was lulling you. “They knew something we forgot. That real love isn’t currency. It’s presence. Safety. The way someone makes you feel when they just exist beside you.”

You smiled against the pillow. “And you make me feel… safe. Like I don’t have to be on edge every time someone pulls out a wallet.”

He kissed your forehead. “Then I’m doing something right.”

Silence stretched between you again, but it was the kind you liked. The kind that meant everything had been said.

A few weeks later, while cleaning out an old drawer, Spencer found your list.

You’d meant to hide it, but you’d forgotten, and there it was—creased, stained with a drop of muffin batter, and filled with the most beautiful, imperfect handwriting he’d ever seen.

He sat with it for a long time, hand resting over his heart.

Then, with your favorite pen, he added one more line at the bottom:

#4. Let him love me, without guilt. Every day. Every hour. Always.

And beneath it, he wrote:

Already happening.

A Sunflower in the Graveyard

Post Prison!Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Synopsis: You’re the new kid on the block— joining the BAU during Spencer’s prison sentence and since then, he’s ignored you despite your efforts in trying to start a mere friendship with him. But when all hope seems lost, Spencer seems to show his soft spot for you when a case really gets to you.

Category: Angst/Fluff

Warnings: mentions of an abduction case, mentions of violence & SA, mentions of child murder, please tread lightly! reader taking case to heart, reader breaking down/crying, spencer lowkey being cold towards reader but opens up a bit, reader & spencer being lowkey simps for each other, spencer relating to willy wonka lmao, mentions of the prison arc and spoilers for 12x21 ‘Green Light’ and 12x22 ‘Red Light’

Author’s Note: hey lovelies, so i’m supposed to be taking a break from writing but this one came out of my ass and boom this was the result- i’m really proud of it so i hope you enjoy!

A fourteen year old girl by the name of Alyssa Carter was abducted. And the stakes were high since the BAU team knew that the first 24 hours were very crucial when it came to child abduction cases.

It’d been your first child abduction case since you joined the BAU, which hadn’t been too long. But you couldn’t lie and say this didn’t affect you. Cases regarding children were the worst for you, if you were being honest.

It could’ve been the fact that children were helpless, fragile, unable to defend themselves like adults could. How could anybody treat a child in such a cruel way? This was the reason you wanted a job like this anyhow, right? You wanted to stop bad guys from hurting people. And so here you were. After pining for this job for years, you finally got it at the expense of another agent being wrongfully accused of a crime he didn’t commit.

You’d arrived in Manhattan, where you’d been searching for a preferential child molester who’d already struck twice before by leaving the bodies of the children he’d killed and buried them near a lake stream.

Alyssa Carter’s parents were in hysterics when you got to the PD, since Emily had wanted someone with a lighter touch to speak with them. You’d been good with the families of victims, always talking to them with understanding and even shedding a few tears with them because of how empathetic you’d been with them.

You’d hit the 24 hour mark and the likeliness of Alyssa Carter still being alive was unlikely. It would only be a matter of time before you hit a wall in the case. But you kept the work up, not even wanting to rest until you catch the son of a bitch. You’d been hopped on four hours of sleep and coffee when you’d found it.

The connection with all the crime scenes — a motel six in the smack dab middle of the hunting area. And with the help of Garcia, you were able to find the motel so Emily had joined you, Luke, Matt, Spencer and JJ down there.

You’d questioned the motel employee to see if there had been any suspicious characters or any sign of a young girl matching Alyssa Carter’s features and the motel employee didn’t hesitate to give you the information of a visitor that frequented the motel often.

The name Greg Taylor would probably haunt you forever as Spencer gave the name to Garcia and she’d informed you with a disgusted tone of what Greg Taylor was fully capable of and the horrible things he’d been arrested for prior to this.

You’d found the room and Spencer banged on the door and announced that the FBI wanted to speak with Greg Taylor. It was over two minutes when the door finally opened and the man, who you presumed was Greg Taylor — stood there, skinny and lengthy, tattoos covering his body, only wearing boxers and he’d looked like a deer in headlights.

Spencer had told the man to sit down, that all they wanted to do was talk with him — when you’d heard it. A faint whimper in the bathroom. You’d decided to check the room as Spencer told the man to sit down when he tried to stop you from opening the door.

When you opened the door, you found Alyssa Carter, only in a top and shorts with tear-stained cheeks and pleading for help. You quickly assured to her everything was going to be okay and that she was safe now, quickly calling JJ on your mic and notifying her that you’d found Alyssa.

Once JJ came to retrieve Alyssa, Greg tried to lie his way out of this but you weren’t letting him off easy. Soon as he stood up, you were quick to grab him and turn him around, aggressively pushing him against the wall, telling him just what a piece of scum he was.

Spencer stood there, he’d never seen you get this worked up before over a victim. You were usually the calm and collected one but he knew you were also hopped up on four hours of sleep and coffee, despite how many times Rossi had to tell you to get some rest but you’d refused to listen.

You dug your elbow into the back of Greg Taylor’s neck, like how he manage to subdue his victims. “How does this feel, huh? Do you feel powerless? Do you feel afraid? Well so did Janet MacGee, Ellie Oswald and Alyssa Carter. But we got you, you son of a bitch.” It got to a point where Luke walked in and basically had to pry you off of Greg Taylor. “Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa! L/n, just back up. Come on. It’s not worth it.”

You marched outside, refusing to be scolded like a child, despite knowing how wrong it was. You stood outside of the motel and squatted down on the gravel, taking a moment as you tried to control your angry breathing. You’d never felt this heated before, especially not about an unsub. But something about Greg Taylor made you furious. Made you want to stomp the bastard’s head into the ground.

As you calmed yourself down to the best of your ability, you registered the hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles and even the words — “Are you okay?” Even jolted you into the realization that you weren’t alone anymore. You turned with wide eyes to see Spencer comforting you and that’s a surprise in itself.

You see, you joined the team when he’d been rotting in prison — you essentially replaced him for the time being. He’d been dismissive towards you, cold even since he got out of prison. And you’d no idea why, you were nothing but warm and kind to him. So, you’d taken the liberty in just ignoring him to the best of your ability. If you were paired together, you minimized your conversations to the task at hand, not even making small talk at the coffee machine or when you happened to be sitting next to each other on the jet.

It didn’t help that you also thought he was attractive. It was already tough speaking to him as it is when you found him to be intimidating due to how handsome you thought he was. You’d tried a few times to speak with him but it seemed like he wanted nothing to do with you. So, you stopped trying. You knew when you weren’t wanted, no one needed to sugarcoat it.

But for him to come and ask if you were okay, of all people — you never expected for Spencer to do so.

“Are you okay?” Spencer repeated. It took you a second to realize you were just staring at him. You shake your head, probably from the whiplash you were experiencing with him asking you if you were okay. “Yeah, I guess.” You end up answering.

You look up as Luke takes Greg Taylor into the back of a police car. And you take a sharp breath. It’s okay. You got him. He’ll be locked up for life. You got him. “We got him.” Spencer’s voice turns into one of the mantras you’re saying to yourself internally.

And it’s sudden. You break down crying, nearly falling forward on the gravel and you would have face-planted if Spencer hadn’t been there to catch you. Your cries echoed in your ears as you felt Spencer’s arms tighten around you in comfort. For a moment, he went stiff— almost not knowing how to hold you or what to do and not wanting to mess it up— but the way you’d melted in his touch was enough to make him melt with you and hold you as you wept.

After you’d landed back home, Spencer kept an eye on you. And even offered to walk you home so you got to your destination safely. You didn’t say a word to him — maybe a meek ‘thanks’ but other than that, not a word. He didn’t say anything either and perhaps, he didn’t have anything to. So, you both relished in the silence, in his protective nature that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you while he was around.

Once you got to the door, you looked at him — wondering if maybe he’d leave soon after. He stayed standing right there and well, you didn’t want to send him off just yet, if you were being honest. You didn’t feel ready to.

“Y-You can come in,” You offered with a small shrug. “If you want.” Spencer nods at you and you unlock the door and open the door to your apartment.

You take off your coat, walking into the kitchen and placing it on the chair in front of the table. Spencer takes a look around your apartment, the scent of autumn hits him like a wave and he notices your knick-knacks around the apartment. The bookshelf intrigues him, quick to inspect it as he spots the classics such as To Kill A Mockingbird and 1984, suggesting you were a fan of English literature. He even takes notice of your VCR under your TV and the stacks of films next to the VCR— spotting tapes like The Princess Bride and Grease, also telling him that you’d liked classics and that you weren’t exactly living under a rock.

He knew that maybe he shouldn’t be profiling you the way he was doing now but everything about you was interesting. Which was why he was keeping as far away from you as he could. He was already breaking his own moral code by being here at your apartment, afraid to damage you with his ignorance.

Spencer looks over and finds you, trying to preoccupy yourself awkwardly, like you’re trying to casually deal with the fact that he’s in your apartment right now.

“I…” You quickly turn as Spencer finds his voice. “I can leave, if you want me to. I don’t have to stay.” You shake your head, dismissing the idea. “No, no, I want you to.” You find yourself admitting and Spencer bites his lip as he stares at you and you look like a deer in headlights at your eagerness. “I… I just…” You shut your eyes at the embarrassment of your next sentence. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

The words repeat in Spencer’s head. I just don’t want to be alone right now. And you chose him to accompany you in your time of need? Why him? He’s far too damaged for you. No good for you. But you didn’t even ask. He chose to be here. For you.

“But you can leave, if you want to.” You say, trying not to sound disappointed in your tone but Spencer can definitely tell you are, which is why he removes his brown satchel strap from around his neck and places his bag on the floor. “I won’t leave. You need somebody and… well, I can be that.” No matter how much he wants to run for the hills.

So, you opt for offering him a drink— which he declines and you ask if maybe he wants to watch something while he’s here. You decide to put on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (since you’d discovered he’d never seen it before and well, him being uncultured just won’t do) and change into some comfy clothes and relax while he’s here.

Spencer had never seen you in casual clothing before. In your baggy sweatpants and argyle wool sweater and white socks— you looked ethereal. He’d never seen you in such a domestic light before. His stomach churns at this, the fear of getting too close to you is strong. His Adam’s apple bobs as he moves closer towards the arm of the couch, maintaining as much distance as possible between you two.

You don’t seem to mind or pay attention to the distance, at least— more so paying more attention to the film you’re watching instead of him and Spencer sits there, trying to pay attention but he can’t — not while you’re sitting next to him, at least. He figures the longer he can stare at the screen, the more he’d be able to focus but he can’t. He really can’t seem to focus around you.

As Spencer watches the scene of Augustus Gloop getting stuck into the chocolate pool, he’s finally enthralled with the film — of course, it’s totally unrealistic because how does Willy Wonka manage to have a pool full of chocolate and why are the parents of these children that were chosen full entrusting into this strange man? But in a way, Spencer finds himself relating to the whimsical man in a sense.

“I don’t know why kids affect me a lot.” You find yourself speaking halfway through the movie and Spencer then turns to you. Catching as you’re deep into thought, like you’d been thinking for a while now and you were just now voicing it. “I don’t have any of my own, I don’t know any kids. It’s just…”

“They’re young,” Spencer finds your voice, adding to your segment. “Defenseless.” He’d remembered this conversation with Morgan before he’d left. When Little Hank was a mere baby in Savannah’s stomach and how Morgan started taking these cases regarding children to heart. Spencer wondered if that had a play into Morgan leaving and he knew it most likely did. And he told him the same thing he’s telling you now.

You shake your head, “You just don’t do that.” Your voice is quiet and soft, Spencer’s not sure he’s ever heard you this quiet. Usually, you’re loud and bubbly and happy-go-lucky. He’s never seen you this sad before. But he’s discovering now that he hates it.

“What matters now is that we caught him,” Spencer tells, looking into your eyes as he speaks carefully. “And that Alyssa Carter is home now with her family.”

“Not to mention a load of trauma.” You add with a small sniffle. “What she went through—” Spencer looks down. “That’s hard for anybody. But she’s gonna make it. And she’s alive. What matters is we did our jobs and Greg Taylor can’t hurt anyone else ever again.”

You bite your lip and you nod at that. Spencer was right. You did your job, you got your unsub, you saved Alyssa Carter. You’ve done everything right. And you need to stop beating yourself up over it.

After that, you and Spencer don’t talk again. And by the time the movie’s over, Spencer looks your way and finds you asleep on the other side of the couch. He smiles to himself, happy that you’re getting the rest like you deserved. He stands up, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV and looks over towards you.

You’re peaceful as you sleep and he’s not sure he’s ever seen anything more angelic in his life. Looking at the throw blanket on the couch, he grabs it and throws it over your body so you can sleep comfortably and he looks down at you a moment longer.

He’d pushed you away. He had to keep you at this distance because he was afraid of hurting you. Prison had broken him down beyond repair. After all the crap he had deal with Delgado, this whole catastrophe with Scratch, which ended up being Lindsey Vaughn and Cat Adams. Having to deal with inmates, threatening his identity and beating him up every chance they got.

And then he met you. And you were the complete opposite of what he was now. You’d extended your hand, you gave him a big grin and the whole ‘I’ve heard a lot about you’ schpeal when you’d first met. He thought you were beautiful, inside and out — that’s how Garcia described you at least when he’d found out about you on one of her visits to see him in prison.

But he’d simply waved with a tight smile and said it was nice to meet you and walked away. After that, you tried with him, trying to say and asked how his day went but he often dismissed— only dealing with the small talk. And he’d kept his distance, not wanting to hurt you but little did he know, his absence just hurt you more.

The day you walked into the office and decided to ignore him, grabbing your coffee next to him and going about your day without a word — sent a sharp pain in his heart. He supposed that things were better now that you ignored him, that he’d finally gotten what he wanted. But this wasn’t what he wanted at all. And he knew that deep down.

And when he saw you tonight, how angry you were, how you didn’t get any rest until the case was solved, he’d wanted to comfort you. He wanted to comfort you in a way he needed back then. And when he saw you squatting with your head in your hands, he found his opportunity and he refused to leave your side until he knew you were alright. And he’d stay for as long as you liked him to.

But he didn’t want to intrude while you slept, he’d had no idea how you felt about him staying the night — no matter how much he’d like to in entirely different circumstances— so he decided the safe bet was to leave. He didn’t want to leave with no goodbye, so he’d left you a note and left your apartment quietly.

When you woke up the next morning, you found the note on the table in front of you and smiled warmly as you read it.

Y/n,

I didn’t want to wake you, so I saw myself out. I hope a good night’s sleep is all you need to feel refreshed. Adults usually need seven to nine hours a night. Anyways, I‘ll see you at work.

-Spencer :)

Hmm… perhaps the Dr. Spencer Reid, the man that barely talked to you, that hardly looked your way, that you’d found attractive regardless of everything that was wrong with him… wasn’t so cold after all.

🤓☝️ may i request for your first time series the first time spencer lets reader take control during sex? not too sure how you feel about sub spencer but im horny for it and i’d love to see what you do

edging sub spencer genre: smut 18+ cw: sub!spencer x dom!reader, mentions of spencer being insecure about his masculinity, mentions of p in v sex, tied hands, handjob, edging, breastplay, oral (f receiving), thigh fucking, bit of degradation, religious comparisons wc: 2,4k a/n: am i a sub spencer fan?! pull up in the- yes lol i very much am. i cannot even call these drabbles anymore. if anyone is wondering why your requests are taking so long, this is the reason. my first time exploring this dynamic. i hope you'll enjoy, let me know your thoughts!

“Come on, baby. You’re the one who begged me for this.”

Spencer whimpered underneath you in response. He sat up straight on your shared bed, upper body rested against the headframe, long legs spread over the sheets, as your naked body hovered over his. And most importantly, his hands were tied behind his back with a silk red fabric.

Spencer craned his neck, trying to press his lips to yours, but you simultaneously leaned away from him. You shook your head, tsking. “What did I tell you?”

Twinkling hazel eyes blinked up at you, his eyebrows caught in a slight furrow.

“You can’t tell me you forgot,” you purred, fingertips trailing the curve of his jaw. “What did I tell you, Spencer?” you repeat with more force in your tone.

He visibly swallowed as your nails dragged down his neck. “That I’m not allowed to touch you.”

“And why’s that?” You hummed.

“Because sexual denial will increase the release of dopamine, and—oh…” he closed his eyes in delight as your nails continued their path down his chest.

“—and the release of oxytocin and serotonin. It will… in general… Jesus… make you more sensitive, which will heighten your pleasure.”

He had hurriedly finished his last words, letting out a deep breath of relief once you nodded in confirmation. 

“And all we want is for you to feel good. Isn’t that right, baby?”

He nodded fervently, a deep moan escaping his throat as your fingers grazed the skin of his upper thigh, carefully avoiding his throbbing length.

-`♡´-

It had all started last week, when you came home on a dreary Thursday evening. Immensely frustrated from your day at work. 

Spencer oftentimes suggested sex when you were feeling stressed out. Sexual intercourse is known for lowering blood pressure and boosting happy hormones.

Usually this would result in him leading you to the bedroom where he’d gently press you down onto the mattress. He’d crawl on top of you, lips immediately finding yours, giving gentle pecks as his hands roamed up and down the sides of your body. 

You’d have sensual sex. Sweet. Vanilla. It was the norm, and when it came to sex, Spencer wanted to keep to the norm. Sexuality and masculinity were deeply intertwined for him, and in both of these aspects, he felt like he didn’t fit into the traditional roles of a man, causing him to feel the need to approach sex textbook-wise.

The sex was good for the both of you. You never minded seeing your boyfriend on top of you. His lips slightly agape as he fought back his moans, hair falling into his face with every push of his hips, shoulders shuddering as he came inside of you. And for Spencer, he was always happy to be there. 

So, it was entirely new when you came home that day and tugged him by the collar of his shirt the second you entered the house. Spencer’s mouth was still in a gasp when you hungrily pressed your lips to his, tongue finding his without building the moment up like you’d usually do. 

Your body pulled flush against him. The softness of your breasts pressed against his hard chest. He was able to feel the peaks of your nipples even through the fabric of clothes.

“Are you okay?” Spencer choked out as you cupped him roughly through his pants. 

“I just need you, Spence. I need to use you.”

Those words were almost enough to make him spill in his underwear. And indeed, the second you had moved to the couch and straddled him (an entirely new position), taking his cock in your soft hand as you sunk down onto him, it took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to fill you up with his release.

You needed the control and security after having been bossed around at work. Spencer, on the contrary, felt too much in control at his job. Setting a profile and finding evidence and whereabouts on an unsub was very precise work, not even mentioning the huge amount of pressure on saving people’s lives. 

He never realized how good it felt to let go. To trust someone else in taking charge, in taking care of him. At that moment he didn’t think about portraying a certain type of masculinity. Instead of holding back his moans and settling on deep groans, he whimpered against your mouth as you fucked him. Squirming and whining underneath your touch as he begged you for more. 

His reactions didn’t go unnoticed by you. When you both had recovered and were cleaned up, you brought up the subject of this sub-dom dynamic, and it was very easy for Spencer to give in to exploring it more.

-`♡´-

“P-please.”

“What’s that?”

“Please touch me,” Spencer softly cried, fisting the pillow behind his back with the little grip he had.

You leaned in closer. Your breath tickled against his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before you licked a bold stripe up the skin. 

A strangled moan left his throat. You smiled at him, pleased with yourself. It deeply turned you on that you could do whatever you wanted to him, that he’d beg you for anything that you could give him. 

His body responded to every ghost of your touch. Your lips trailed his throat, feeling the heat radiating off of him. Occasionally leaving lingering marks and bites until you made your way up his jaw.

“Is this what you wanted, Spence?” You teased as you put your hand around his thick shaft. 

“Yes,” he moaned, his head falling back against the headboard. “Exactly that.”

You pumped his length in a steady rhythm, flicking your palm to enhance the sensation. 

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. Such a pretty boy. Your cock is so hard and ready for me.” 

He shivered at your words. He didn’t know how he got so lucky to have you hovering above him, breasts swaying with every movement of your hand. You were so good to him. When his gaze blinked from your breasts to your face, seeing you seductively smile but your eyes radiating a gentle sweetness, he started wondering if there might really be a God. You were too heavenly to be here on Earth, pleasing him like there was no better enjoyment in life.

Your eyes were fixed on his cock, watching his precum gather at the tip. You circled the sensitive skin with a soft stroke of your thumb. Spencer used the momentary distraction to dive in, his lips catching around your nipple. “Oh god,” you gasped in pleasure, the sensation going straight to your core. His tongue made quick work of stimulating the nub. His cheeks were hollowed as he sucked, giving his everything for the mere moments he might get of tasting you.

Spencer was internally grateful when you didn’t stop him. As a matter of fact, your fingers knotted through his hair as you tugged him closer to you. It helped him keep his balance as his still tied hands clenched around the air. 

He continued his kisses to the rest of your breast once he was confident enough that you wouldn’t tell him to stop. He sucked on the soft, full flesh, leaving marks that would remind you of this moment days from now.

“Look at you sucking on my tits. You’re so desperate, aren’t you? Such a little slut for me.”

He moaned around your nipple, a wave of need fluttering through your stomach. You pulled on his hair, sharp enough to leave a pleasurable sting of pain. “Look at me.”

Wide doe eyes met yours. “‘m sorry.”

“Too distracted by having my tits in your face to look me in the eyes, huh?”

“Sorry, you’re just too pretty,” he truthfully muttered, eyes fleetly falling onto your breasts before blinking back up.

He looked so pretty like this. A red flush painting his neck and cheeks. His lips were just as swollen and red as he pouted at you. A smug smile lingered on your face, and you pulled him back in, leaning forward to not have him stretch his neck too far. The kiss was sloppy, hungry. You were not able to tell whether his whimpers were because of the kiss, or because of your touch as your hand had found its way back to his cock.

You fastened the motions of your wrist. His mouth was parted, a pretty song of whines escaping. You sucked down on his bottom lip, mirroring the action he always did when kissing you. 

“Oh, baby.” The moan came out in a gasp. His hips started stuttering, stomach clenching as he neared his release.

“Are you almost there, Spencer?”

“Yes! I’m almost there, I’m almost there baby. Please don’t stop.”

You released your grip on him. His length remained hard, standing upright as if you were still holding him.

The desperate cry that left his lips should have made you feel bad. Instead, you found yourself getting even more turned on. Sure that your thighs were slick with your wetness by now.

“Why—why did you do that?” He whimpered accusingly, as if betrayed. “I was so close.”

“Ah, I know, baby,” you faux pouted. You had to bite your lip to hold back a sadistic smile as you noticed his glossy eyes, looking more green than they usually were.

“I’m just keeping you to your promise,” you reminded him. He tilted his head like a confused puppy. “When you told me you’d always make sure to make me come first.”

“But we weren’t—”

“Uh, uh, uh,” you shushed him, index finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t you want to please me?”

He softly kissed your finger, “Of course I do.”

“Then start using your mouth for better things than complaining,” you cooed at him before carefully standing up on the bed, making your way forward until his face was right below your cunt. Spencer wiggled on the sheets until he lay flat on his back, arms in a bit of an uncomfortable position, but not enough to bother him as he had a perfect view of your dripping pussy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in a prayer. You softly chuckled, bending your legs so that they were spread on either side of his face. Slowly, you lowered yourself until his tongue, which was already sticking out, made contact with your folds. You hissed at the sensation, your clit throbbing in the same way it always did before he ate you out.

He started lapping at your pussy, gathering your sweet slickness and spreading it over the lips. He flicked his tongue over your inner lips before sucking on them. As much as Spencer adored giving you the reins, nothing compared to the shaky, uncontrollable whimpers that left your mouth. Sounds that were made because of him. Sounds that were made for him. 

“Keep making those sounds, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your pussy, the vibrations echoing through your body.

After more worshipping kisses to your cunt, his lips finally settled down on your clit. Your back arched when he started sucking on the sensitive button while simultaneously pressing on it with the tip of his tongue. He truly was your toy, no silicone object giving you the ecstasy that he could give you. 

“Oh God, Spencer. You’re so good at this,” you stated in a heavy breath. The feeling of your orgasm coming up was close to overwhelming, and you were whimpering as your vision hazed.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. Oh, fuck, I’m—”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence, instead crying out a moan as your release hit you. Your legs started shaking uncontrollably, your pussy pressed even harder against his mouth as you rode out the aftershocks, muffling his deep moans. The feel of his nose against your overstimulated cunt was dizzying. 

“I need to lie down,” you said, out of breath. Shaky Bambi legs as you climbed off of him. Your body didn’t allow you to move much further. Settling on lying down on top of his body, spreading your legs to give his achingly hard cock room to breathe.

Your cheek rested against his sweaty chest. Spencer reached out to trace your face, huffing in annoyance when he remembered his hands were still tied behind his back. 

He hummed when you pressed a wet kiss to his chest. “Finish for me, baby.”

Then you squeezed your thighs together. Spencer swallowed when he realized what you meant. His cock was enveloped between your plush thighs, and when he experimentally lifted his hips, he discovered how good the act felt. 

“Jesus, that’s nice,” he groaned. 

Wasting no time, he started pumping his hips up, using your thighs as a cocksleeve. The wetness that was gathered on your inner thighs (and was still dripping out of your pussy) working as lube. 

Your fingertips lazily trailed over his chest. “Doing so good for me, baby. Show me how good you can make yourself feel.”

He nodded, a whine leaving his lips as he fastened his speed. His eyes were transfixed on the curve of your ass, craning his neck to get a better look.

He’s never experienced a feeling as sentimental as this. The rough pleasure of the sex mixed with the gentleness of your head resting against him. He couldn’t get closer to Heaven than this.

“You feel so good,” he whined. “You’re not stopping me this time. Right?” He asked for confirmation, his voice shaking in doubt. 

You laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest. “That really took a toll on you, huh? I won’t, I promise.”

The slight tension in his body resolved. Making him feel enough at ease to let go. He placed his feet firmly on the bed, using his knees to lift himself up, making you let out a yelp as he fucked your thighs.

The silk wasn’t enough to hold him back, the fabric tearing as he moved his wrists. His hands immediately found your head, holding you against him as his hips stuttered. Your moans were entangled in each other as he spilled his cum all over your ass. 

His stomach clenched underneath you, and you soothingly shushed him. Reassuringly caressing his chest and shoulders as he came down from his height.

-`♡´-

“You okay?” You softly mumbled once his heartbeat had calmed down.

He nodded, a lazy smile displayed on his lips. “I’m okay.”

“I wasn’t too rough with you. Was I?”

“No,” he answered, holding you closely against him. “You were perfect.”

i wanna lick his stubble

Bad Day

Boyfriend! Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: You come home from a really bad day and your boyfriend, Spencer is there to save the day… and hold you while you cry.

Category: Fluff, some Angst

Warnings: reader having the worst day of her life, crying, mentions of having bad days, kissing, spencer being the best bf ever- ig that’d be it 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! so this is more of a blurb bc i had a bad day today soooo this was the outcome of said bad day and how spencer would be 😌 can you tell i’m projecting again? oops. oh well.

This was probably the worst day of your life. Okay, it may not have been the worst day of your life per se, but it seemed like it was in the top ten at the very moment.

Everything that could’ve happened today happened. You woke up late, causing you to be late to work, you missed the bus on top of that, the customers in the store were horrendous and rude and you’d miscounted the deposit in the store at least a hundred times, causing you to be late to your other bus. Oh, and it was raining. Today was just not a good day.

And after your ten hour shift, all you want to do is just go home and cry yourself to sleep and forget this whole day. You’d arrived back home, holding yourself back from crying until you got into your bed. But you unlocked the front door and came home to a pleasant surprise.

Your boyfriend, Spencer was in the living room, reading a book, feet rested on the couch — showing off his mismatched socks — with a small smile on his face. “Hi, angel!” He diverts his attention from the book to you, closing it as he stood up from his spot on the couch. “How was work?”

You look up at him and his face makes you sad. He’s so happy to see you, so joyful even if he has a job being one of the most important people in the world, catching serial killers. He was a hero, essentially and had seen the worst of the worst out there and still managed to put a smile on his face whenever he saw you.

Your shoulders sank and your head fell against his chest and you began to cry into his sweater. And you cried hard. To the point where you were soaking Spencer’s sweater with your tears. Spencer, being the concerned boyfriend he was frowned and rubbed your shoulders, pulling you away from him so he could see you. “Hey,” He spoke softly. “Hey, honey, what’s the matter? Come here.”

He led you over to the couch where you sat down and he kneeled in front of you. “Are you okay? Did something happen?” Spencer asks as he rubs your thigh soothingly and your eyes are shut as you cry but you can feel him staring at you, awaiting an answer because he hates seeing you in this state.

“Everything that could’ve happened happened,” You sniffle. “I’ve had such a horrible day, Spencer.”

Spencer frowns as he sits next to you on the couch and lets you lean on him as you continue to cry and cry. “It was a bad day, that’s all it was.” He says as he rubs your arm. “Shh.” He says as he holds you close.

Eventually, you’re done letting it all out and take a deep breath and you look up at Spencer. You had kept your feelings in all day today until you got home and the minute you saw Spencer, you broke. Mostly because it was easier to be vulnerable with him. He made it easy to. And you were never afraid to express it to him.

Spencer looks at you with a fond, sympathetic smile as he takes the opportunity to wipe the tears away from your cheeks. “I’m sorry.” You tell him as you looked down at his soaked sweater. “Don’t be,” He assures. “It’s normal to have bad days. Bad days are a common human experience, it happens to everyone. It often stemming from stress, poor sleep, or a series of minor inconveniences and while they can feel overwhelming, they can also be a learning opportunity to build resilience and understand yourself better.” He gives you a tight lipped smile after his little fact. And somehow, it makes you feel better about your bad day. “Do you feel any better?” He asks and you shrug with a sniffle, “A little.”

“Well, then how about you hop in the shower and I’ll get your bedroom made up since I put your sheets in the dryer —” He checks his watch. “A little under an hour ago — and I’ll order us takeout and we can have a movie night. And I’ll put on a Disney movie since those seem to cheer you up a lot. Is that okay?” Hearing him say that just makes you want to cry again. Not because you’re ungrateful but because you feel as if you don’t deserve a kind man like Spencer in your life.

Often, people told you to suck it up and get over it and grow up. But Spencer never did. He listened when you had bad days, he sat there when you vented and needed someone to listen to and vice versa. You’d felt vulnerable with him like he had with you. And at first, you weren’t like this. You never opened up to him because you were scared you’d get the same reaction — telling you to get over it, but he never did. He wouldn’t dare to.

“Please don’t cry, my love. I’m sorry.” Spencer says with a small loving smile, holding your face in his hands but you shake your head as him, “I’m not sad,” You tell him. “I’m just… emotional now because… you are seriously my dream man.” You say to him with a small smile and he chuckles at that and pats your thigh as he stands up and goes to the bathroom to get your shower ready.

After you get out of the shower, you go to your room and find Spencer has made your bed, the takeout is here and your TV is on, ready for any streaming networks.

You get into the bed and Spencer happily joins you, opting to turn on Wreck-It-Ralph since you both agreed on it and as the movie starts, you watch him with a small smile.

As he focuses his attention on the screen, you focus your attention on him. His perfect nose, the way it twitches when he’s happy. His brown-on-the-outside, gold-on-the-inside eyes, always so mesmerized in you. And the way they crinkle up when he smiles. And speaking of his smile, the most perfect you’d ever seen it. Next to his hair, which you are currently raking your hands in and brushing through with your fingers. He was so lovely, in your eyes. He was the flower petals to a beautiful rose, he was your everything. Just as you were his. What did you do to deserve him, you wonder.

“No wonder I had a bad day,” You spoke, causing him to turn his head to you and furrow his brows in confusion. “I didn’t have my lucky charm with me.” You say as you brush through his locks.

Spencer has a baffled look on his face at that sentence alone. “I’m your good luck charm, huh?” He asks, raised eyebrows and a small smile appearing across his face.

“The best good luck charm ever.” You lean close and peck his lips with your own and that’s what you’ve missed this entire time. His lips against yours and you can’t help but smile in the kiss.

Blushing like a schoolgirl, you back away from the kiss but he wants seconds. And he grabs you by the chin gently and kisses your lips one last time, so passionately and lovingly and he waits there after the fact, faces close and looking into your eyes as if you made the world stop turning.

You rest your head on his shoulder as you get impossibly close to him as you watch the movie with him and fifteen minutes later, Spencer looks over and sees that you’ve fallen asleep and he lets you rest. And he hopes that your bad day may have turned into a good one at the end of the night.

Spoiler alert: it did.

Hello!! I just wanted to say I loveeeeeeeeeed anything for Ellie! It was soooooo cute!!! I was wondering if you were interested in writing a part 2 with the birthday party maybe with a confession 👀 anyways take care ♥️♥️

ahhh thank you so much!!! i am planning on writing a part two 🤫 maybe a part three, if we see what goes on from there that is 🙈