When Are We Getting Part 4 Of “anything For Ellie”?? (no Rush!)

Dear all trick or treaters 😤😈🫦 I’m coming back for that ass 🫵🏼 if I ain’t get that butt last year?! Then this year getting smashed!! 💕😤🫵🏼🤭☺️🫦🩷🤤

dommy mommy emme is gonna get touched bro 💁‍♀️

DEVOUR ME NEXT 😋

not my edit but its so good i had to share it with yall

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.

Spencer and reader get stuck in the cold weather while on a case, and after Spencer rambles about body heat being a good source of warmth (or a similar fact); reader suggests testing that theory

oh i really liked this ask 😭 i always love writing for things i havent before! i actually thought id already posted this but i found it in my drafts

cw; 18+ mdni!! needy!spencer, softdom!spence if you squint, sexy science puns, lots of heavy petting, dry humping, fingering

The cold was unforgiving. It bit through every layer of clothing, sinking into your bones with a chill that felt almost personal. You wrapped your arms around yourself, blowing into your hands as you glanced at the snow-covered road stretching endlessly ahead. The SUV sat uselessly on the shoulder, engine dead, and the faint crackle of your radio confirmed that the rest of the team was still hours away.

Spencer stood a few feet away, pacing in a tight circle to keep his blood moving. His long coat whipped slightly in the wind, and his hair, unkempt from hours in the field, fell into his face. He pushed it back absently, his gloved fingers trembling slightly from the cold. His breath puffed in front of him like small, fleeting clouds.

“We’re going to freeze out here,” you muttered, your teeth chattering as you hugged yourself tighter.

Spencer paused mid-step and looked at you, his brows knitting together in concern. “Not necessarily,” he began, his voice wavering slightly from the chill but still steady enough to deliver one of his signature facts. “The human body has remarkable thermoregulatory mechanisms. For instance, shivering is a natural response designed to generate heat through muscle activity.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking despite the cold. “Not sure shivering is going to cut it, Reid.”

He blinked, his face taking on that familiar, earnest expression as he shifted gears. “Well, there is another method that’s proven to be highly effective in conserving warmth. Sharing body heat—specifically, skin-to-skin contact—can significantly reduce the risk of hypothermia. It’s a technique commonly used in survival situations.”

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a short laugh that fogged the air between you. “Skin-to-skin, huh?”

His eyes widened slightly, and he stumbled over his words, his hands flailing in a nervous gesture. “I-I didn’t mean it like that—I mean, not like that—just, you know, from a purely biological standpoint. It’s logical.”

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips, despite the fact that your face was half-frozen. “Relax, Spencer. I’m not accusing you of anything. You’ve got a good point.”

His head tilted slightly, his mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to decide whether or not you were teasing him.

“I’m serious,” you said, stepping closer and gesturing toward the SUV. “Let’s test that theory. Unless you’ve got another way to keep us from turning into popsicles out here?”

He froze for a second, his cheeks turning pink—not just from the cold, you noted. “Oh. Uh… okay. Yes. That—that makes sense.”

You led the way back into the SUV, grateful for even the limited shelter it provided. Spencer followed, his movements stiff and hesitant as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be there. You shrugged off your heavy coat, setting it aside, and gestured for him to do the same.

He hesitated, his hands hovering near the buttons of his coat. “You’re sure about this?”

You rolled your eyes, though your tone was light. “Unless you want to freeze out there alone, yes, I’m sure.”

Spencer nodded quickly, shedding his coat and draping it over the seat. His movements were deliberate, precise, as though he were calculating every step.

“You know, this is purely for survival,” you teased as you slid onto the backseat.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice a touch too high-pitched to be convincing.

Settling beside him, you turned to face him fully. “So, how does this work, Doctor?”

“Well,” he began, his tone shifting into that of a lecture despite the awkwardness in his posture, “the idea is to maximize surface area contact to facilitate heat transfer. The skin is an effective medium for conduction, and by—”

“Spencer,” you interrupted, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “Just hold me.”

His lips parted in a silent “oh,” and he nodded, his cheeks darkening further as he opened his arms. Tentatively, you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. His body was lean and sharp beneath the layers, and his arms wrapped around you with a hesitance that made your heart squeeze.

“Warmer already,” you murmured, closing your eyes as you pressed closer.

He let out a nervous laugh, his breath brushing the top of your head. “That’s… good. It means the method is working.”

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, save for the faint sound of his breathing and the occasional rustle of clothing. Gradually, his grip on you became more secure, his hands resting lightly on your back. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek—quick and irregular, as though he were nervous.

“You’re like a walking space heater,” you teased softly, breaking the quiet.

“That’s not entirely accurate,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of his usual matter-of-fact tone. “The human body only generates a limited amount of heat—around 100 watts at rest, give or take. It’s not comparable to a—”

“Spencer,” you said again, a laugh bubbling up despite yourself. “I was joking.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He cleared his throat, and you could practically feel the embarrassment radiating off him.

You tilted your head to look up at him, finding his gaze already on you. His brown eyes were wide, soft, and filled with something that made your stomach flip—curiosity, vulnerability, and a hint of awe.

“It’s okay. I like when you ramble. Especially when you get all excited about sciencey stuff.” Your voice was soft, meant to soothe, and you tilted your head to meet his gaze. The small smile you offered was an invitation, a reassurance that he hadn’t overstepped. “In fact, it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

The effect of your words was immediate. Spencer blinked rapidly, his expressive brown eyes widening as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. His eyebrows shot up, almost vanishing beneath the tousled strands of his hair. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow.

“Oh,” he finally managed, his voice unsteady. “I, uh... thanks.”

You could see the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, the way his eyes darted to the side, searching for an anchor in a moment that felt too big for him. Your heart ached at his reaction, and without thinking, you raised a hand to rest your palm gently on his chest. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, and you felt the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

The muscles beneath your hand tensed slightly, a reflexive reaction, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stood frozen, his eyes fixed on yours, his vulnerability laid bare in the way he held his breath. You let your fingers drift upward, brushing over the edge of his collarbone and the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. The movement was slow, deliberate, meant to ground him.

Spencer’s breath hitched audibly, a faint gasp escaping his parted lips. His wide eyes flickered back to meet yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you, the snowy storm outside fading into insignificance.

“Y/n?” His voice was barely a whisper, your name fragile and questioning on his tongue.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in, closing the small distance between you to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. The sound he made in response—a soft, involuntary whimper—sent a ripple of warmth through your chest. His lips parted slightly against yours, his breath mingling with your own, and you could feel the way his body trembled ever so slightly under your touch.

The kiss deepened by degrees, slow and exploratory, as if neither of you wanted to rush the moment. His hand came up tentatively to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. There was a sweetness to his touch, a kind of reverence that made your chest tighten with affection.

When you finally broke the kiss, you stayed close, your foreheads nearly touching. Spencer’s breathing was uneven, and his eyes were dark, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name but felt all the same.

“I like when you ramble,” you murmured again, letting your fingers trace the line of his jaw. “It’s one of the things that makes you, you. And I love that.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his lashes fluttering as he looked down at you. “I... don’t think anyone’s ever said something like that to me before.”

“Then it’s about time someone did,” you said, your voice firm with conviction.

His lips curved into the smallest of smiles, shy and a little uncertain, but so genuine it made your heart squeeze. You leaned up to kiss him again, this time lingering a little longer, savoring the warmth of his lips against yours.

“Tell me something scientific,” you murmured, your voice muffled as you turned your face into the curve of his neck. Your lips found the soft spot beneath his ear, and you pressed a gentle kiss there, feeling the slight shiver that ran through him.

Spencer cleared his throat, his voice a little uneven as he obliged. “Humans have a remarkable capacity to generate warmth through muscle activity. For example, shivering alone can increase your metabolic rate by up to ten times.”

“That’s interesting,” you hummed against his skin, the vibration making him swallow hard. Your lips trailed lower, brushing against the tender skin of his throat before settling at the hollow where his pulse beat steadily. You kissed him there, slow and deliberate, savoring the way his breath hitched. “Do you know what else can generate warmth?”

For a moment, Spencer froze, his body stiffening slightly in your embrace. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight, and the single word seemed to catch in his throat. “Uh... friction?”

You grinned against his neck, the curve of your smile pressing into his skin. “That’s a good one.”

His exhale came out in a shaky mix of a laugh and a gasp, his nerves and amusement intertwining. “You- you think so?”

Shifting beneath him, you arched your back just enough to press your hips against him, and the reaction was immediate. Spencer groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your chest as you undulated again, slow and deliberate. “I really do,” you clarified, your tone teasing as you moved against him.

Spencer dropped his forehead to your shoulder, letting out a low chuckle tinged with exasperation. “God, Y/n. You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, I learned from the best,” you shot back, your grin widening as you tightened your grip around him. The warmth of his body against yours was intoxicating, every slight movement feeding the growing tension between you.

He lifted his head, his expression softer now, his gaze locking onto yours. Without hesitation, he kissed you, his lips tentative but sweet as they met yours. “And I learned from you,” he murmured against your mouth, the words carrying a weight that made your chest ache. “Everything.”

His kiss deepened as he spoke, his tongue slipping past your lips to meet your own in a slow, intoxicating dance. “Everything,” he repeated, his voice husky as he pulled back just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. “Including this.”

Spencer rolled his hips against you, the hard length of him dragging against your center with a pressure that made your toes curl. The friction was maddening, delicious, and you gasped into his mouth, your hands clutching at his back as you arched against him.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” Spencer whispered, the confession raw and unguarded. Despite his words, he didn’t stop moving, his rhythm steady and almost instinctual. “I just—fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heart, the mix of lust and affection swelling in your chest until it felt like you might burst. “You could never mess this up,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as your fingers traced the lines of his spine. “Spencer, I—”

The words faltered on your tongue, the depth of your feelings too overwhelming to articulate. How could you possibly express how much you cared for him, how long you’d admired him, how deeply you craved this closeness? The enormity of it all made your throat tighten, the emotions too big and too raw to put into words.

So instead, you kissed him. You poured everything you couldn’t say into the press of your lips against his, hoping he would feel the depth of your emotions in the way your hands held him, in the way your body pressed against his, in the way your heart beat wildly in sync with his own.

Spencer's fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his palm tentative but burning hot against your side. His touch was so light it sent a shiver skittering down your spine, and your breath caught in your throat as he hesitated. “Can I...?”

“Spencer.” You reached down to capture his hand, guiding it higher and pressing it firmly against the flat of your stomach. “You don’t have to ask.”

He exhaled shakily, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, there was a hunger in his kiss that hadn’t been there before, an urgency that made your pulse race. His other hand found its way to your chest, and he palmed you through your bra, his movements still cautious but full of intent. “I want to be good at this,” he murmured, his voice low and raw against your lips.

You arched your hips into his, the movement slow and deliberate, eliciting a sharp gasp from him when his cock dragged against your clit. “You already are,” you whispered, your words a mix of reassurance and pure honesty.

He pulled back slightly, his lips parting as he searched your face. His gaze was soft but piercing, filled with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “Really?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard, your throat tightening with the weight of your emotions. “You’re perfect.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, almost bashful smile, his face softening at your words. His gaze drifted downward, his lashes dark against his skin as he took in the sight of your bodies pressed together. “You are, too,” he murmured, the sincerity in his voice making your heart stutter.

Without warning, Spencer pushed himself up, his hands bracketing your hips as he knelt between your legs. His fingers fumbled at his belt, his brow furrowing in concentration as he worked to undo it. After a moment of struggling, he gave up with a quiet huff, opting instead to slide a hand into his jeans. When he began stroking himself, his lips parted on a soft, unbidden moan, and your stomach clenched at the sight.

The way his hand moved, slow and deliberate, combined with the way his jaw tightened and his breath came in ragged gasps—it was intoxicating. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, your mouth watering as you imagined replacing his hand with your own, with your mouth. You wanted to feel him, taste him, make him lose himself in you.

“Spencer—” you breathed, the single word thick with want.

But before you could finish your thought, he was shifting back down, his body settling against yours as his lips found your neck. “I want you to get off on me,” he whispered, his voice rough and urgent against your skin. His mouth trailed along your jawline, the light scrape of his teeth sending sparks of heat through you. “Is that okay?”

“Fuck, yes,” you gasped, your hands finding purchase on his hips. You dragged him closer, your fingers digging into the firm muscle of his ass to pull him against you.

The friction was delicious, the slow roll of his hips against yours making your head spin. The heat of him, the weight of him, the low, breathy sounds he made—it was almost too much and yet not enough all at once. You tilted your head back, offering him more of your neck as you ground against him, losing yourself in the rhythm of his body against yours.

Spencer gasped as your hips rocked up against his, the friction of his cock sliding over your clit drawing a soft moan from you. The two of you found a rhythm, slow and deliberate, your bodies moving in perfect sync. Each roll of his hips sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins, the growing pressure between your thighs impossible to ignore. His hardness rubbed against you with each motion, his movements unpracticed yet intoxicatingly eager.

He dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot and erratic against your skin. His groan was low and guttural, the sound vibrating through you as his body tensed. You couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips in response, your hands sliding up his back to hold him closer.

He felt incredible like this—hot, hard, and trembling with need in your arms. You pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, feeling the dampness of his hairline as you drew back to take in his face. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted, and his eyes... God, his eyes. They met yours, dark and stormy with a desperate hunger that made your breath catch.

“What do you want?” you asked softly, your voice steady despite the hammering of your heart.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t waver. “You,” he breathed, his tone raw and unguarded. “I want you.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, high-pitched and giddy with affection and desire. You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over the sharp angle of his cheekbone. “You’ve got me, Spencer.”

His eyes fluttered shut as you rocked your hips against him again, drawing a sharp inhale from his lips. His voice was rough with longing when he spoke, barely more than a whisper. “I know. I want—I want to...” He trailed off, his brow furrowing in frustration as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.

You leaned in, your lips grazing his forehead before trailing down to his ear. “Tell me,” you murmured, your voice soft and coaxing. “Whatever it is, Spencer. Tell me.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against your lips as he searched for the words. His breaths were shallow and uneven, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and ragged. “I want—fuck. I just want to make you feel good.” He exhaled sharply, his hand sliding between your bodies to cup you through your underwear. His palm pressed against your cunt, tentative but deliberate, and your breath hitched in response.

“I want to feel you come,” he continued, his words spilling out in a rush. His fingers twitched against you, his touch gentle but insistent. “Is that—can I—fuck—”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips capturing his in a heated press that said everything words couldn’t. His hand flexed against you, and when you rocked against him, a strangled moan tore from his throat. You felt his hesitation melt away as his fingers pressed more firmly, his eagerness making up for any lack of experience.

“Yes,” you breathed against his lips, your hips moving in time with his touch. “Yes, Spencer. Please.”

The desperation in your voice seemed to spur him on, his confidence growing with every gasped moan and whispered plea that fell from your lips. His movements were clumsy but earnest, his need to please you shining through in every stroke and press of his hand. It was intoxicating, the way he gave himself to you so completely, so openly.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your breaths coming faster as the tension coiled tighter in your belly. “Spencer,” you gasped, your voice breaking on his name. “I’m—God, I’m so close—”

His response was immediate, his free hand sliding to your hip to hold you steady as he pressed harder, his movements matching the rhythm of your hips. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice shaking with both nerves and determination. “Let go. Please, I want to feel it.”

And when you did—when the tension snapped and a wave of pleasure crashed over you—it was his name that spilled from your lips in a cry, his hands anchoring you as you trembled in his arms. Spencer held you through it, his own breaths ragged and uneven, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered your name like a prayer.

let me tell y’all … i eat this fic up EVERY TIME

Angel

PART 5 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Single Dad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader Spencer likes having you around to look after his daughter, in fact, he likes you a bit too much.

content: (18+) 5.4k, breeding kink, fingering, fem oral, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, d/s dynamic but he still tries to be a gentleman although reader doesn’t want him to, mutual pining, body worship with slight religious metaphors bc he’s down so bad, and of course sweet aftercare a/n: 1) i know the gif isn’t spencer but i just had to; 2) i changed the title from the original plan bc i was listening to angel baby while writing this; 3) if i have the chance to describe his happy trail and tummy i will in a heartbeat; 4) this fic is basically the epitome of D-I-L-F!

“I want you to understand,” he mutters against your skin, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear, “that I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

A hand creeps up the back of his neck. “What if I want you to?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am serious. I’m not the one hesitating.”

His hand glides slowly up your side, fingertips barely ghosting over your skin, and a soft, shaky breath escapes his lips. “I’m trying to be responsible."

“I think we’re past being responsible,” you counter as his fingers trace your waist. “What are you so worried about, anyway? You’re not forcing me into anything.”

“I want to make sure you don’t feel like—” his fingers twitch, lingering over your bare skin, “—like I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

“I’m literally naked under you,” you remind him. “If anyone’s taking advantage here, it’s me.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he exhales. “You’re making this really hard, you know that?”

“That’s kind of the point.”

And it’s true, Spencer realizes with a rush of heat, because he’s incredibly hard, the heavy length of his cock pressed against your stomach while he braces his weight above you. His lungs tighten, squeezing around breaths that feel too thick to swallow as his teeth graze his lower lip. It takes everything in him to keep from losing himself when his mind is already slipping.

How could he have ever imagined it would go this far?

Spencer can’t quite make sense of how this quiet, unassuming crush that crept in the first time he saw you with his daughter has led to this. It wasn’t anything grand or sudden, just this slow bloom that unfurled every time he caught you reading to Violet or laughing with her over some little joke in the living room. There was just something about the way you slipped so easily into his life, fitting into the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty until you filled them.

He’d never let himself imagine it would go beyond that. He’d convinced himself those feelings for you were just something he’d have to live with quietly, a small ache that would fade with time. But somehow, despite his best efforts to keep it hidden, you’d found your way to him. And against all his expectations, you liked him back. You like him enough that you’re now wearing nothing but a smile.

Flushed skin kissed by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Innocent eyes touched with a hint temptation.

It all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

The moment that led to this replays in his mind, clear as daylight even if it happened well past midnight. He’d gotten home somewhere between too late and way too late, running on nothing but caffeine and sugar, and there you were, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You started talking about your day with Violet, recounting how you’d taken her to the park, read her favorite book before bed, and how she’d peppered you with endless questions about why the sky changes colors when the day changes into night. But something was different in your voice, a softness to the way you said his name, and your gaze lingered on him just a beat longer than usual. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing he could point to and say that’s it, but he felt it. An almost imperceptible shift in the air.

Before he knew it, he had crossed the room and kissed you. He should’ve thought it through or paused to consider the consequences, but the way you responded made it clear you’d been waiting just as long for his attention.

His shoulders fall with a quiet exhale.

“This could get complicated,” he continues, as if reminding you (and maybe himself) that there’s a line between employee and employer that he’s about to cross. A line that could change everything between you both once it’s blurred. “We should think about what this means.”

“We’ve had plenty of time to think. If you wanted to stop, you would’ve done it already.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Then please enlighten me.”

Instead of answering right away, he leans in, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and then he’s gently pulling the tender flesh between his lips that draws a sudden moan from your throat. The sound seems to fuel him, and before you can even register what’s happening, his fingers are already slipping lower, exploring the soft space between your thighs.

“What if I want more than this?” His fingers inch closer, teasingly brushing against your heat with a slowness that borders on torment. “What if I want everything?”

Your hips buck against his hand. “Everything?”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Not just tonight.”

The words send a ripple of electricity that blooms deep in your core. When his fingers finally slip between your folds, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

“You… you mean you want… more than this? More than just us… here?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice catching like gravel in his throat as his fingers trace over the slickness he’s found. “Does that scare you?”

For a moment, words fail you. The slow, coaxing rhythm of his fingers pulls you deeper into a haze where coherent thoughts are hard to grasp. There’s a pause, a heartbeat where he stops. Waiting.

“No,” you confess, the truth slipping out more easily than you expected. “It doesn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “It doesn’t?”

Your lungs expand, filling with a rush of oxygen and a nervous flutter that lands somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “I think this is the right time to tell you I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

Spencer stays motionless for a beat. Then something shifts—his gaze softens, and a small, almost incredulous smile curves his lips. “You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah.”

“As in… you have feelings for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you’re not just… turned on right now?”

“Well, that too,” you admit with a grin, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “But it’s more than that. I really like you.”

His smile widens, and his fingers begin to move again, circling your clit with just the right pressure to pull a sharp intake of breath from you. It’s as though your confession is a final green light he’d been waiting for. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Your teeth catch your lip, struggling to hold back fragments of breath. “I thought it was obvious,” you manage between heavy exhales. “Why do you think I always stay late?"

"To avoid traffic?"

You huff. "I tried to be around you as much as possible, Spencer."

His fingers toy at the edge of your entrance, tracing the slick, warm wetness that clings to his skin as a quiet hum rumbles in his chest. “You know I’m not always the best at picking up social cues.”

“You’re a profiler.” Your breath catches halfway between a gasp and a sigh when he slides a finger in. “You're supposed to notice everything."

He lets your words settle, eyes narrowing slightly as he turns them over in his mind.

“I guess I was too focused on trying not to cross any lines to see the ones you were trying to draw."

A soft moan escapes your lips as another finger slides in.

“I'm… glad you finally caught on."

"I'm catching on now.”

His eyes drop to the way your body greedily takes his fingers. The sight alone sends a rush of heat straight to his gut like a line of fire winding up through his chest and spreading into his limbs. You’re dripping, the slick sound of your arousal nearly derails him as he continues to watch the wetness coat his fingers with every slow thrust.

“Since when have you had this crush?” He asks curiously.

There’s a beat of silence, only punctuated by the soft, breathy noises escaping you. When he finally looks up, he catches the way your face scrunches in pleasure, brows furrowed and eyes barely open, and he can’t help but find it almost unbearably adorable. The corners of his lips twitch with a quiet laugh before he leans in, pressing the softest it’s okay, you can tell me kiss against your lips.

“Since when?”

You blink your eyes open at his question, and there’s a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Since—” you start, but your voice catches when he curls his fingers slightly, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a barely-contained grin.

“Since?” he prompts again.

You swallow the lump tightening in your throat. “Since you interviewed me for the job."

He absorbs your words. "That’s… more than a while."

"It was innocent at the time," you confess, trying to regain some control over your thoughts. "Just a silly little crush."

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, and whatever sense of composure you had left is slipping away piece by piece. “What changed?”

Desperation claws at you with every passing second, your hips moving against his hand as you scramble to gather your thoughts. But the way his fingers are mapping every sensitive spot makes it nearly impossible to articulate anything coherent. He doesn’t miss the way your breath stutters, or how your words break apart into fragmented attempts to answer.

“I-I—” you stammer, wincing as the words catch in your throat before you finally manage to continue, “I probably shouldn’t say…”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing."

He lets out a soft laugh. “Tell me anyway,” he urges. “I want to hear it.”

You fall quiet again, and the only sounds that fill the space between you is the ragged pull of your breaths and the slick rhythm of his fingers pumping lazily inside you. The words sit heavy on your tongue, threatening to disappear if you don’t say them quickly enough.

"Remember when… you taught Violet how to… ride her bike?”

He tilts his head slightly. There’s a furrow in his brow as he searches your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, there were a lot of lessons.”

“The very first time.”

“Ah,” he muses. “Around June, then.”

You nod. “When I… saw you with her that day, I-I… I got curious.”

His fingers falter, just slightly, the subtle pause enough to show that you’ve grabbed his attention. “Curious?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You were so adorable with her… and I started thinking about what it would be like… to have your kids.”

If there was ever a moment to leave him utterly speechless, this was it. His brain seems to stall, the gears grinding to a halt as the reality of what you’ve said settles in. He’s spent so much time trying to be the one holding it all together, but now? Now all he could picture was you holding a baby—his baby—and the thought sent his mind reeling, knocking him off balance in a way he didn’t expect.

“You… thought about that?”

Your fingers trails his shoulder before slipping up into his hair, curling gently at the nape of his neck. “It crossed my mind more than once.”

“That’s—” wow. He leans his forehead against yours. “Not embarrassing. At all.”

“Really?”

“That’s probably the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

You let out a soft chuckle, gently pulling on his curls before drawing his bottom lip into a gentle suck. “It’s never been innocent since then.”

Goosebumps rises along his skin, and the heat pooling low in his stomach tightens as he grows impossibly harder. “Yeah?”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time.”

His jaw clenches.

He’s so close to completely losing it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he mutters, pressing his fingers deeper inside you.

“Why.. why not?”

“Because I might give you exactly what you want.” When he feels you clench around him, he huffs in amusement. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a tender spot he finds deep inside, one that feels achingly sensitive, and your mouth falls open, a soundless gasp escaping before you can catch it.

“You really mean it,” he says, more a realization than a question, as he watches your body go pliant beneath his touch.

“I do,” you manage to say.

“You want me that way?”

You nod frantically. “Want your cum in me.”

The second those words leave your lips, his groan rumbles through his chest, and you swallow it down as his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in a chaotic rhythm that’s both desperate and needy. When he finally pulls away, you’re left panting, your lips swollen, his forehead resting against yours.

“Never would’ve guessed you had such a dirty mouth."

"There's a lot of thing you don't know about me."

His breath brushes against your lips as he whispers, “I’m starting to figure that out.”

When he slowly withdraws his fingers, you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your throat. Your eyes follow his every move as he sits up and settles between your thighs. You’ve always thought Spencer was an attractive man, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t admired the way his shirts fit just snug enough to hint at what was underneath. But seeing him naked like this? That was a whole new level of breathtaking.

Your gaze trails down his frame, landing on the soft curve of his stomach, something you'd secretly adored every time it pressed against his dress shirts. It was even more captivating without anything hiding it now, especially with the trail of dark hair leading down. Soft, scattered strands, drawing your eyes right to the place where you can’t help but stare.

He gives himself a slow pump. Once. Twice. And then, finally, you feel the firm pressure of his tip pressing between your folds.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the head of his cock sliding over your sensitive skin. “There's a condom in my drawer."

Your body tenses at the thought of him pulling back, and without thinking, your hand reaches between the two of you, wrapping around his cock before he can pull away. “When was the last time you got tested?”

He exhales sharply. “A few months ago,” he mutters, hips twitching against your grip despite himself. “If there was any risk, I wouldn’t even consider this without telling you.”

“I got tested last month,” you assure him quickly. “We’re both safe.”

He nods absentmindedly. “We can… still grab the condom if you want…”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, gently brushing the bead of precum that had formed at his tip. “I thought I made it clear I want you to cum inside me.”

He can only stare as your delicate finger trails along the thick vein. It feels like all the oxygen he’s desperately clinging to has been sucked from his lungs.

“I know you said you don’t want to take advantage of me…” you continue, guiding him right to your entrance. “But I really want you to.”

He finally lets out a low, gruff sound, something between a growl and a sigh as he slowly pushes himself in. His eyes are locked on the sight of your walls stretching to accommodate his size, watching as your body struggles to take him.

"You should stop talking like that," he rasps through gritted teeth. "I’m barely holding it together."

"Here's another thing you should know about me.”

He ruts gently into you. A push. A pull.

A heartbeat in between.

“I really like it rough."

That’s all it takes.

He slams his hips into yours.

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels. It’s more like a surge, a rush of heat and desperation that floods every inch of him the same time you cry out. His throat tightens, constricting around breaths he can’t seem to catch as he resorts to inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Jesus… you feel so—” His words falter, his voice rough and breathless as his fingers figs into your skin. His chest rises and falls with each labored breaths, and his eyes squeezes shut for a moment.

Tight. Warm. Wet. That’s exactly how you feel.

"Perfect." His large hands grips your waist. “You’re perfect.”

You mewl at his words, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it, and the soft, needy noise is enough to make his eyes flicker open. He begins to pull back, just enough to make you whimper from the sudden loss of contact, but before you can catch your breath, he snaps his hips forward with a rough, powerful thrust.

Your hands fly to his arms, holding onto him tightly. "Spencer… Please…”

He lets out a sigh.

No man is immune to that tone of desperation, least of all Spencer. Not when you’re offering yourself to him like something out of a dream. Not when your eyes lock onto his with a look that belongs more to an angel—if angels could be so helpless and desperate. Because what angel pleads with every breath for more?

What angel cries out as he holds your hips firmly in place and thrusts with a force that drives you to the brink of sanity?

He’s mesmerized. His eyes track the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips. There’s something almost greedy in the way his gaze roams over you, but it’s when he locks onto where your bodies meet that he really loses himself. A glossy ring coats his cock each time he pulls out, and when he pushes back in, the friction between your bodies creates a lewd, wet sound that fills the room.

He laughs. Not out of mockery, but out of sheer delight.

You’re an angel wrapped in sin.

“I can’t—oh god, right there—” Your nails leave little crescents moon on his skin. “You’re so… so deep.”

You’re really testing his limits, and Spencer knows he’s very far from a violent man, but right now, the temptation to cover your mouth with his hand is becoming dangerously real. Although with the way you’re writhing beneath him, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, he’s sure you’d probably enjoy it.

“Spencer…”

His balls slaps your ass as he slams into you.

“O-Oh—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He squeezes your waist tightly. “Already?”

“Ngh.”

Your grip loosens on his arm, and before he can fully process what’s happening, your fingers dance along your clit. It takes all his willpower not to spill into you right then and there when he feels you tighten around him in response. But he holds on, because he needs you to cum first. He needs to feel your velvety walls flutter along the rigid veins of his cock, needs to watch the way your body tenses with pleasure.

He needs to feel it more than once.

He lets you have your first orgasm. Although letting seems like the wrong word. There’s nothing passive about it. He’s making you cum, driving you to it with each calculated thrust. You’re toying with your clit, rubbing in frantic circles just like you do whenever you touch yourself with the thought of him, but this time, it’s even more intense. This time, he’s inside you. And this time, it takes only a few moments for the tension to snap.

You clamp down on him. Hard. So hard that his movement falters for a second, but he quickly recovers, thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm. Just as you start to catch your breath, he pulls out, and you’re left in that delicious, dizzy haze, but your mind is even more disoriented when his face suddenly lowers between your thighs.

“Oh, you’re gonna—” you moan as his shoulders nudge your legs apart, opening you wider for him. “Spencer, you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, before you even take another breath, the tip of his tongue flicks out.

“I want to.”

And he means it. He dives in with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt. His tongue starts firm and flat, pressing against you before dragging slowly upward, gathering your slickness in one deliberate sweep. Then he changes rhythm, the broad strokes shifting into something more focused, alternating between gentle flicks and deep, hungry pulls, and it’s doing things to you that no amount of late-night fantasies could have prepared you for.

Your head is all over the place that you reach out blindly, trying to find something solid, but the air merely glides over your skin. You stretch for the edge of the bed, fingertips just skimming the surface before your arms flail helplessly in the empty space. He notices your struggle almost immediately, and without missing a beat, he pulls back, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Here,” he says, reaching out his arms toward you. “Give me your hands.”

Gladly. The second your fingers lock with his, a sense of grounding floods you, though it does nothing to ease the intensity of what he’s doing. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders flex under your thighs as he positions himself. And sure, your legs somehow feel weightless, like they’re floating in the air, but the rest of you?

You’re a mess of nerve endings on fire.

It’s impossible to think clearly when every cell in your body is buzzing. Your thoughts scatter the second his mouth moves in that devastating way, driving you out of your mind. You try to hold on to some semblance of control, but who are you kidding? He has officially turned you into a puddle of desperate, needy nerves, and you don’t even care.

It doesn’t take long before that coil snaps, and when it does, your entire body trembles. It’s always the second orgasm. The first is a tease, a little warm-up. The second one is the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. It doesn’t just tug at your edges, it tears right through, leaving you gasping and shaking and completely undone like every part of you has been pulled apart and put back together very wrong.

His mouth is glazed with your slick when he finally pulls away. “Good?”

You can barely feel your legs.

“Speechless,” is your answer.

His nose twitches in amusement as his hand leaves yours only for them to slide down your body, gently coaxing your legs to wrap around his waist. “Continue?”

“Please.”

A palm slips down your thigh. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as he hovers above you. “About what?”

“About taking advantage of you.”

You huff out a sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Say it again,” he urges, guiding his cock smoothly along your folds before your whines travel into his ears. Ah, there it is. This is the sound that would greet him in heaven, if such a place existed for someone like him. Men who’ve taken lives to save others. Men who carry too many regrets to count. Spencer knows he’s not the kind of person heaven was built for, but if it were, he’s certain it would sound exactly like the breathy moan that escapes your lips.

And he’s tasted the afterlife, once, when he was younger—drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion with a ghost of a needle stuck in his arm. But nothing about that brush with death was like this. This feels like he’s been pulled back into something he didn’t believe he deserved.

“Say it again.”

He’s pleading now. It sounds awfully like a prayer.

“I want you to take advantage of me,” you say, the words spilling from your lips like a soft, sinful confession, music to his ears. An angel. “I want all of it.”

He takes your hands again. “So you won’t be mad if I get a little rough?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

That’s all he needs. He gently pushes your hands above your head, pinning them to the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours as his weight presses you into the bed. There’s a sudden rush—like a switch has flipped that it knocks the breath out of you. Your heart skips a beat, but not from nerves. No, this is anticipation, excitement.

You test his hold on you, just to see what happens, but his grip stays firm, almost daring you to resist.

“You asked for this,” he warns as he shifts his hips, aligning himself right to your entrance.

You shake your head. “I begged for this.”

He laughs, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “Yeah,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he presses deeper, “you did.”

A breathless whine escapes your lips as he fills you.

Angel, angel, angel.

He looks at you with a kind of reverence that borders on worship, though his movements are anything but saintly. There’s nothing gentle or innocent about the way he’s taking you, and there’s a quiet madness in the way you respond. Making love would be too tame, too soft for what this is. But fucking seems too crude, too disconnected for the way your eyes meet his, for the way you say his name like a prayer and a demand all at once.

The moment your voice breaks, breathless and needy, something inside him snaps. He feels the tightness coiling in his gut, and once it starts, there’s no stopping it. The pressure is mounting, and with every hard thrust it becomes harder to hold back. He knows he should slow down, give you a moment to catch your breath, but he can’t—his body won’t let him.

His fingers tighten around yours. He’s moving with a single-minded intensity now, pushing you flat against the mattress, your body pliant beneath him. The bed creaks every time he moves and your legs wrap tighter around his hips as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer leans down, brushing his lips against yours, so close but never quite closing the distance, like even the simplest kiss would shatter him too soon. Instead, he rests his forehead on top of yours and whispers, “l’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, like he’s stuck on some endless loop. It’s not a real apology, not for anything he’s done, but for how much he needs you and how he’s afraid of breaking you with how much he can’t hold back.

He’s so close and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m—” He groans as he feels the tension in his body snap, the wave building up in his spine and crashing down with brutal intensity. “I—fuck—I can’t hold it—”

You’re barely coherent yourself, but your voice comes out strong. A little breathless.

“Inside,” you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it inside.”

Your words push him over the edge. He shudders, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can the moment the last thread of his restraint snaps. He can feel it, the way he pulses inside you, filling you completely. Every thrust is accompanied by a harsh groan as his release paints your walls, and the sound of your soft, desperate whines only pushes him deeper into the overwhelming pleasure.

When it finally becomes too much, he carefully pulls out. But the intensity is still coursing through his veins, and he’s too addicted to the sound of your sound, too drawn to the way your body trembles beneath him.

His hand drifts from your wrist almost on instinct, tracing its way down between your legs. He doesn’t need to see the mess he’s made—he can feel it. There’s a fleeting moment where he pauses, almost in awe, before his fingers brush over your clit, and your hips jerk in response. He’s not even sure if he’s teasing you or himself at this point, but he’s too far gone to care.

He slides two fingers inside you.

Your back arches instantly, your nipples brushing against his chest, and you gasp, fully aware of what he’s trying to do. “Oh… I—I can’t…”

He shakes his head. “You can,” he reassures you, watching in fascination as he pushes the white liquid of his release deeper into you. His gaze snaps back to yours. “I think you can give me one more.”

Your body trembles, and you can’t hold back the soft, broken cry that escapes your lips.

“Spencer…”

He loosens his grip on your hand, guiding it gently to rest around his neck. “Please,” he begs, his lips brushing your skin, “for me?”

The way he says it makes it impossible for you to deny him. And he knows it. He feels it in the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the tension inside you builds again. His fingers work faster, more desperate now, curling inside you just the way you like.

He’s watching, waiting, and when you finally cum again, it’s like witnessing something so divine. Your body shakes beneath him, a violent, beautiful quake that feels like it’s pulling him into its orbit. He’s unable to tear his eyes away as your head tilts back, lips parting with a choked moan that’s as delicate as it is devastating like an angel’s breath caught on the edge of rapture.

If angels looked this breathtaking in heaven, no wonder people were willing to risk damnation.

Spencer smiles wryly to himself.

Since when did he become so religious?

Another strangled moan escapes your lips. When your orgasm finally subsides, your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, and with what little strength you have left, you reach up and yank weakly at his mop of brown curls.

“…no more.”

He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “No more,” he agrees, pulling his fingers from you carefully.

Without saying a word, he slips off the bed and disappears from the room, only to come back with a damp towel in his hand. You expect him to hand it over to you, but you’re surprised when he kneels at the edge of the bed, gently spreading your legs apart.

Your skin tingles under his gaze as he stares at the mess between your thighs.

“That was…” he starts as he begins to wipe the towel over you. “…very reckless of us.”

With a small, tired smile, you mutter, “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

He glances up at you. “I’m not,” he admits, finishing his cleanup and setting the towel aside. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least pretend to be responsible.”

You reach for him as he climbs back into bed. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m on birth control?”

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his body visibly relaxing as he lets out a quiet laugh. “It definitely helps,” he says, tucking you under his chin, “but I’m still going to try to be more careful next time.”

Your grin is as wide as the warmth spreading through your chest. “Next time?”

He smiles softly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part? You said a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean,” he insists.

“I know. But I want to hear it again.”

The tip of his nose brushes yours. “I want everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single part of you.”

You take a deep breath. A whiff of his sweat and the faintest trace of soap clings around your senses until you release a happy sigh. “Do you think Violet will be okay with this? With us?”

His hand slips to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head to look at you. “She already loves you,” he reassures you. “She’s more adaptable than you think. And she trusts you.”

“But... what if it changes things for her?”

“It will change things,” he admits. “But all the changes will be good ones."

You mull over his words. “You think so?”

“I know so, because you make her happy. You make both of us happy, an—”

He stops, his lips just barely parted as he catches himself.

He almost said it. He almost called you angel.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly, a faint embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m just really happy,” he explains, his fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. There’s a curious look in your eyes, but instead of pressing him, you bury yourself into his neck, which he’s quietly grateful for because he’s not sure he could have explained himself without sounding like a total sap.

And maybe he is a sap, but even he’s aware that words like that shouldn’t be thrown around too soon, especially after just one night. Not before things settle in, before everything feels a little less like a dream and more like reality.

But he thinks about it. Oh, he thinks about it. The word stubbornly lingers at the edge of his mind he’s keeping for another time. He imagines letting it slip on some quiet morning, when you’re half-asleep and bundled in his shirt, golden sunlight filtering through the window to cast a warm glow across your skin. Or maybe when you meet him at the door after a long day, and Violet runs up, chattering away while you smile at him with that look that feels like coming home.

He can picture it falling easily from his lips someday, maybe even in a future where you’re holding the baby you had wondered about having with him and he’s standing there, watching you like someone who can’t quite believe his luck.

He’ll say it with a kind of certainty then. Not as a prayer, not as some lofty declaration of divine grace.

And when that moment comes, without hesitation, he’ll finally call you his angel.

the way i’d be flustered around this man-

heatstroke

shy!reader is flustered around spencer. he mistakes it for a heatstroke.

pairing: spencer reid x shy!reader warnings: fem!reader, post prison reid, spencer being oblivious, fluffy fluff prompt: here wc: 0.7k

Your heart is hammering so hard you’re half-convinced it’s about to burst straight out of your chest, grow legs, and scuttle off into the nearest storm drain. And now, standing so close you can map every anxious burst of breath ghosting hot across your cheek, Spencer is mumbling something rapid-fire about heatstroke of all things.

“It’s eighty-five degrees out, you know. Do you feel dizzy? Disoriented?” he asks, forehead crinkling adorably — no, anxiously — in sincere concern.

You’d answer, really, but all that escapes is an embarrassingly squeaky semblance of language. Because Spencer Reid, who is the intellectual equivalent of chugging an ice-cold slushie way too fast on your best days, is currently ushering you toward a shaded lounge chair, fingertips pressing cautiously into your side as if the slightest pressure might crumble you into dust. 

Which, honestly, that's not far off.

“You really don’t look good,” Spencer says, lowering himself into a squat directly in front of you. 

You want to protest, or at least pretend to be mildly insulted, but your lips part uselessly, mouth suddenly dry. 

This close, Spencer is a potent distraction — big, worried eyes, dark lashes clinging wetly together, a single bead of water tracing the strong line of his jaw before disappearing beneath the edge of his collarbone. 

Your vision is swimming, and it definitely has nothing to do with the diagnosis he’s busy concocting.

How did this even happen? One minute, you were innocently (fine, not so innocently) ogling Spencer as he laughed in the pool, sunlit water streaming over smooth skin and muscles you absolutely did not know existed beneath all those layers he normally hides behind. 

The next, your knees had given out, quickly followed by your dignity.

Completely understandable, really, given the visual stimulus. And clearly, it was symptomatic enough to convince him of a medical emergency. 

Now he’s fussing over you like a patient, touching you gently, speaking softly, and effectively making your current Spencer-induced predicament exponentially worse. 

“I’m fine,” you manage to croak, forcing your lips into a shaky approximation of a smile, hoping you look convincing and not completely deranged. “Just, um — hot. It’s hot. You’re hot — I mean, it’s… the weather. The weather’s hot.”

Amazing. Truly eloquent. You doubt a toddler would fall for such an amateurish charade, let alone Spencer.

His head cocks to the side in the confusion, and now you’re stuck looking at lips that seem entirely too kissable for your current mental state. 

Spencer blinks slowly at you and somehow, inexplicably, moves even closer, fingers brushing against your forehead.

“Your skin is really warm,” he says, almost to himself, his palm shifting to cup your cheek. 

A barely contained shiver ripples through your body, originating exactly where Spencer’s hand rests and working its way down your spine, turning you into a shaky disaster in seconds flat. Which, of course, is incredibly helpful, given that he currently believes you’re overheating.

Tremors in blazing sun. Makes sense.

“Can you try taking a deep breath for me?” he urges, thumb sliding smoothly across your cheekbone, and suddenly you’re wondering if this is how cats feel when someone scratches exactly the right spot behind their ears.

You drag in a tight, somewhat strangled breath, probably miles from the smooth, relaxing inhale Spencer intended. But considering there was only a microscopic gap separating your faces, successfully intaking any oxygen feels nothing short of a miracle. 

Spencer, clearly agrees, because his face breaks into an immediate, heart-stopping smile.

“Good,” he whispers. “There you go.”

You briefly wonder if praise-induced death is a thing, because Spencer’s clearly testing the theory.

When his hand finally withdraws, leaving your cheek strangely cool, you’re amazed at how quickly your body rights itself, as though your lungs had just been waiting politely for him to stop wreaking havoc on your nervous system. 

"Stay here, I'll grab you some water," he says softly, already halfway turned toward the house before pausing, reconsidering. "Or, actually — do you wanna come inside? Air conditioning might help."

"Oh — no," you blurt quickly, nervously adjusting your bathing suit strap for what feels like the millionth time. "I'm fine out here, really. The fresh air is good."

Fresh air, you think, nodding to yourself like a total idiot. Yes, fresh air is good. Fresh air means witnesses, and witnesses mean accountability. People who can vouch that your complete breakdown is purely situational and definitely not a daily occurrence.

He hesitates, obviously conflicted, before exhaling with a sigh of surrender. "Okay, but I'm setting up a fan. It'll make us both feel better."

You manage a nod. "Fan sounds good."

The second Spencer’s safely indoors, Rossi lowers his sunglasses just enough to shoot you an amused glance.

“Kid might be a genius, but when it comes to anything social —  especially romantic — he’s about as perceptive as a brick,” he says breezily. “Lucky for you, huh?”

Laughter washes around you, and all you can do is tug your hat down over your burning face as if that might make you invisible. When no helpful sinkhole opens up beneath you, you sneak a glance toward the house.

One day, Spencer’s bound to figure it out. You wonder briefly if you’ll survive it… but you’re dangerously tempted to find out.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

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i think i just discovered something new about myself- thanks min 😮‍💨

thinking about Spencer secretly taking me in public. that’s it that’s the thought

i was gonna turn this into a fic but decided a blurb would suffice lol

nsfw | mdni | spencer reid x reader | public sex

spencer wasn’t usually one to initiate anything in public spaces. mostly because he never really thought about sex when he was out and about unless you brought it up first. but today? today was certainly different.

you guys had just gotten back to the bureau after a very long case. it was stressful, unnecessarily so. and that stress radiated between the two of you. the two of you were walking in the parking garage with no one else around, making your way to your car. and the moment you did? spencer dropped his things and pushed you against the car before kissing you with intense hunger.

and eventually, you were turned around and bent over against the car with your pants pulled down just enough for spencer to slip into you.

there was no time for him to be slow and gentle. the two of you were stressed and pent up. not to mention the compromising position of being in a parking garage. spencer had one hand on your hip and the other on your mouth to ensure you didn’t moan loudly and pathetically as his cock thrusted in and out of you quickly.

“fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my cock,” he groaned into your ear, his breath hot against your skin as his hips slammed against your ass.

you let out a muffled moan, eyes rolled back in the pleasure of spencer’s cock moving inside of you. your hands were pressed against the driver’s side window, holding yourself up as spencer had his way with you.

“i couldn’t wait until we got home,” he said breathily. he licked his lips before continuing. “been needing you since we left the police station earlier today.”

you let out a shaky breath, relishing in the pleasure of spencer’s cock inside of you. his hips moved with a harshness and quickness that felt just right for a situation such as this. and the fact that anyone could catch you at any moment? that added to the sexiness of the situation, especially as the sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the garage.

you reached a hand down to your clit, rubbing circles to draw you closer to your orgasm. spencer’s thrusts began to get sloppy, signaling he was getting close. and with a few more thrusts, he was burying his head in your shoulder, trying his best not to moan loudly. a small whimper escaped his lips as spencer filled you up with his cum. you followed quickly, rubbing your clit until your orgasm overcame you. you let out a muffled moan as you closed your eyes. your body shook as your orgasm took over.

and when you were both finished, the world felt still and all the stress that encompassed your bodies had left the two of you. the sound of a car unlocking snapped the two of you out of your post-orgasmic daze, causing spencer to immediately pull out of you. the two of you pulls your pants up and got yourselves together.

you grabbed your keys and unlocked the car before opening the driver’s side door and getting in. spencer grabbed both of your guys’ things, placed them in the car, before getting into the passenger side. the two of you glanced at each other, suddenly feeling giddy at the fact that the two of you just had sex in a parking garage. and like any normal person in this situation, the giggles overcame the two of you.

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.

the people have spoken! smut it is 🙈

SOMEONE ASKED ME SOMETHING AND IT GOT DELETED