Wip Ask Game!

when are we getting part 3 of “anything for ellie”?

I PROMISEEEEE SOOOOOOONNNNN i just got a second job so i’m trying to work my writing into my days off but i’m exhausted most of the time now🫠 i promise, it will be out- i’m aiming for beginning of/mid march <33

Let Me Ease Your Worries

Spencer Reid × Midsize!Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer finds it hard to understand when you need reassurance. When you tackle the topic, he wants to show you just how much he loves your body (smut with plot).

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: negative self talk, body dysmorphia (may be sensitive for people with ED experiences), swearing, kissing, nudity, oral sex (f!receiving), intimate touching (Spencer and reader touch each other's genitalia briefly), unprotected penetrative sex, creampie.

A/N: This is the first smut fic I've posted in literal years, so be patient as I edited this super quickly 🙏 there's no real sub/dom dynamic although there are moments where Spencer is on the subbier side. Although this is listed as midsize!reader, plusize!readers are also welcome, I just thought certain descriptions wouldn't fit the exact experience of a plus-size person.

Spencer was the smartest person you had ever met. IQ of 187 with 3 PHDs and 2 BAs under his arm deemed him an academic weapon. He was an expert when it came to statistics and basically everything else that piqued the genius’ interest. Literature and texts were no match for him as he whizzed through them at lightning speed, each glyph sticking to his brain in a lifelong bond.

With all his knowledge, it wouldn’t be unrealistic to assume there was nothing Doctor Spencer Reid could not achieve - except being able to comprehend the fact you needed constant reassurance, that is.

You had been dating the boy wonder for two years and it was safe to say you had never felt happier or luckier. He was sweet and caring, yet timid; but that didn’t stop him from worshipping the ground you walked on. Spencer thought he was subtle about it, but he clung to you like a lost puppy - he was hopelessly in love.

Thus, it was near impossible for the young man to think that there was ever a doubt in your mind that you weren’t the most beautiful girl to him.

Self-confidence was never your forte. Your childhood and teenage years were spent focusing on school rather than boyfriends and first kisses. Not that you wouldn’t have liked to. The opportunity just never revealed itself before Spencer - and you blamed that on your body. A soft, friendly face had no effect when paired with your round stomach and filled-in hips and thighs.

Spencer hadn’t actually realised you were insecure about yourself, because why would you be? All he saw was a natural beauty and happiness gleaming off of you.

So when the time came where your insecurities got the best of you, your boyfriend wasn’t the exact blueprint of awareness. Ever the oblivious boy, he couldn’t figure out why there were days when you went quiet or didn’t reciprocate his affection as much. Being a profiler at the BAU should have made him better at this, you thought.

That was until you had a particularly harsh day after work. With long shifts at the bookshop and days spent apart from Spencer because of his job, you were mentally exhausted. At 5.30pm, you shoved the key into your front door and sighed, happy at last to be home. A tired Spencer clad in red checkered pyjama pants and a Caltech t-shirt was sprawled on the sofa. He had messaged you a few hours before that the case had closed and he was returning home for the rest of the weekend.

He flashed you his signature toothy grin and got up from his comfortable place amongst the cushions and blanket, padding across the wooden floor in his cute purple and red socks.

“Hi,” he spoke softly as he leaned down to give you peck on your cheek. “I missed you.”

You smiled and nodded, reaching for his hand and rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. “Missed you too.”

Despite knowing each other for five years, you were both still shy in the other’s presence. You had had the occasional make out session and even managed to share a few nights tangled amidst the sheets after mustering up the courage. Nonetheless, you acted as if you had only been dating for a month.

After kicking off your shoes and throwing your bag on the floor, you plopped on the sofa in your usual corner, resting your head on the back.

Spencer remained by the front door, standing awkwardly and playing with the fingertips of his right hand. He looked utterly adorable with his pyjama bottoms loose at his hips and his t-shirt sliding off a shoulder - but his eyes hid something flickering behind them.

The sound of him clearing his throat resonated around the room and you looked upwards. Spencer opened his mouth to say something and then quickly shut it.

“What’s wrong? You’re gaping like a fish.”

You giggled and he smiled in return, letting out a light-hearted sigh.

“Is something up? You … you didn’t kiss me like you usually do when I’ve been away on a case.”

And he was right. It was like a routine to jump into his arms and cover him with kisses every time you were apart. But today you couldn’t shake the heavy feeling looming over you: that you were less than he deserved, both in actions and looks.

You didn’t want to display your worries so openly, so you beckoned him to come over with a stretch of your arm and a weak smile, holding his face between your palms once he neared. You craned your neck and placed a soft kiss on his cracked lips.

“I’m sorry, Spence - nothing’s up, just tired.”

Spencer quirked his head to the side as he looked down at you, the profiling cogs in his brain turning to read the expression on your sullen face.

“On average, women tell three lies to their partners and co-workers daily - and I can tell you’re lying.”

You rolled your eyes, avoiding his gaze to escape the intimidating and unblinking look he sported when trying to guess what was going on in your head.

“You’re annoying when you’re smart, do you know that?”

He knew you were teasing him and he chuckled, shaking his head before sitting down next to you. He hovered his hand over your thigh before setting it back down in his lap; outright displays of affection were still a guessing game for Spencer, never knowing if you wanted his touch or not, or if it was the right course of action.

“It comes in handy when I know you’re worried about something. You gave a vague answer, you avoided eye contact, and you scratched your neck before answering. All of those factors, especially self-grooming and self-soothing behaviours, are signs that one is lying.”

Although often a blessing, Spencer’s intellect was a curse when you tried to hide your anxieties.

“Just a bad self-image day, darling.”

Only confusion spread across your boyfriend’s face.

“What do you mean? You’ve never mentioned this before.”

“Because I didn’t need to before. I just …” You paused. “Not feeling very good about myself. About how I look.”

It should’ve been easy for him to understand what you were getting at, but he looked completely lost.

“I don’t follow.”

You shifted to better look at him and crossed your legs underneath you, Spencer mirroring your position. Somehow, you had to explain what insecurity felt and looked like to this supposed all-knower of things.

“Sometimes Spence, I don’t feel very confident in how I look. In how I am perceived.”

Spencer looked at his hands for a few moments before looking up and saying, “61% of adults express negative thoughts regarding their physique, but I wouldn’t think you’d showcase that. Did something trigger this?”

You shrugged, wrapping your arms around your torso in an attempt to shield your body from his strong stare.

“I feel like maybe … I don’t deserve you, like I should look better for you, be prettier.”

Spencer’s mouth fell slightly agape, the first time he had been rendered speechless all evening. His eyes seemed empty, searching for the next thing to say to an answer he never expected leaving your mouth.

“What do you mean prettier? You’re my girlfriend, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he said this with a slight tremble in his voice which indicated disbelief.

“You just say that because you have to.”

If he was puzzled before, now he was completely dumbfounded.

“I don’t understand where you’re going with this. No one forced me to say that.” He went silent for a second. “Covering one’s body with their arms is an attempt at shielding oneself, thus indicating fear and insecurity.”

Spencer wasn’t sure if he gave you a reason to feel insecure about yourself. Sure, he wasn’t the best person at expressing his love through words and physical affections, but to him it was undeniable that he adored you.

“Why do you feel insecure about yourself? Did I say something or imply that I don’t want you?”

The opportunity to speak up about the deep-rooted hatred you had for your physique had never surfaced until now. It was a situation you weren’t too keen on taking, even though you wished he’d asked about it earlier.

“No, no at all, you didn’t say anything! You’re nothing but kind to me.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows, urging you to continue.

“I feel like my body shape isn’t ideal and one day you’re going to realise that and leave me.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out all at once: a breath, a tumble of words, two years’ worth of worries and unsaid thoughts out in a matter of four seconds.

A tense silence blanketed the room, the small distance between you feeling larger than ever. It was difficult to decipher the expression on the boy’s face: his eyebrows furrowed deeply as he often did when he couldn’t grasp something and his mouth shaped itself into a sad pout. Spencer stuttered before speaking.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean I’d leave you? I- I- “

“Spencer, I’m fat.”

That was it, that’s what you had been implying all this time, what you ached to confess. His eyebrows went back into place, straight as a line.

“Actually, when it comes to measuring one’s weight in accordance to their height, you’re at a healthy weight. Although the BMI scale was used as a way to calculate this in the past, it has been deemed inaccurate because-”

“Spencer, stop! I don’t care about facts, I feel ugly and I’m scared you’re going to realise that!”

You huffed, the strand of hair which had fallen across your face flying out of the way. You rubbed your hands across the expanse of your thighs, squeezing your knees. Spencer’s erratic hand movements and scientific explanation were halted.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout,” you said more calmly.

It was clear he didn’t know what to say. You had never interrupted him mid-rant, you always reassured him you were more than happy to listen. He made a scratching sound at the back of his throat, shifting his eyes down before meeting yours again, his cheeks now flushed in embarrassment.

“I think you’re beautiful. I always have.”

The comment hit a sore point in yourself. Beautiful. A word only your boyfriend had ever told you; and well, your parents, but that was a different scenario. It felt foreign, like you were taking something that didn’t belong to you.

“Spence, please, you don’t have to say that-”

“I mean it. I truly mean it.” You could tell he was being honest because of his gentle voice and wide eyes. “I don’t lie about these things. I look at you and I see someone I love, and that someone happens to be beautiful in my eyes. Nothing about you could push me away, I’d be crazy to do so. You’re stuck with me forever.” He smiled softly, trying to ease the tension in the air.

His words were sweet, but not sweet enough to dissolve your doubts.

“But you work with women who are so much prettier than I am.” You paused and said the next part quieter. “Thinner than I am.”

“Yeah, I know that. And?” That wasn’t the response that would exactly help.

“And! And, Spence! Thinner is prettier.”

“Actually, aesthetics are subjective-” You glared at him before he could continue his next statistical lesson.

He nodded, playing with his fingertips again - a habit he had developed in order to collect his thoughts.

“The first time I saw you, I thought you were prettier than anyone else I had ever met. I liked how your clothes hugged you, the way your shirts and sweaters settled around your torso. I liked that pants and skirts looked a certain way on you, because your hips and thighs made them stretch out. I still hold those views.”

He lifted his head to utter the last part.

“If what you’re implying is that because you don’t have a flat stomach - the current beauty norm - I’m going to find you unattractive, then I’m going to have to ask you to re-evaluate your method of deduction, because I prefer your body over anyone else’s.”

That’s all you wanted to hear. “Thank you, sometimes I forget.”

Spencer took a few seconds to ponder before asking, “I’ve never told you that, have I? Like, out loud.”

You shook your head meekly, smiling at him to show that you weren’t angry. “No, not really.”

Now he understood. He had never expected that you needed to be told what he thought about you to know that he was crazy about your body, about you in general. Or that it needed to be repeated, or else you’d forget.

“Can you tell me when you’re feeling this way? I didn’t know you had these thoughts, you never told me. I assumed you just … knew that I found you attractive, always.”

Communication. This was new, but a step into the right direction.

“I’m sorry for never being open about it - I will from now on.”

The brunet placed his hand over yours, which had been resting on your knee for a while now.

“I really love you, I’m sorry I don’t say it a lot. I find the weight you’re at to be really appealing, although you don’t need my approval - weight has no correlation to the strength or amount of love one is capable of receiving.”

It was impossible not to kiss him: this perfect man sat in front of you in his home attire, messy strands and waves of hair surrounding his face, uttering the kindest words which were specifically directed towards you.

You grabbed his face between your hands once more and pressed a kinder, more loving kiss to his lips. Spencer further smooshed his face against yours, playing with the frayed ends of his pyjama bottoms to ground himself - that fluttery sensation in his chest when you kissed never went away after all this time together.

Once pulling back, you rested your forehead against his, blindly searching for his hands to take them into yours. You stayed like so for a while until your boyfriend whispered, “Can I try to show you how pretty I find you?”

You straightened your back in surprise. “Show me how?”

A faint blush tinted his cheeks as he traced the bumps of your knuckles with his forefinger. “I’m never the one to initiate this, but … I’d really like to be intimate with you. I-In bed.” His stuttering was nothing short of cute. Spencer wouldn’t be Spencer without being formal when it came to your sexual life.

“You want to have sex with me, is what you’re trying to say?” You couldn’t help but blush as well, at the fact the prettiest boy you had ever laid eyes on wanted to be intimate with you; touch your body and make you feel good.

“Y-Yes, that’s what I mean. Precisely.”

“That’s the first time you ever proposed that yourself, y’know?” you teased, knocking your fist into his shoulder lightly. He chuckled and shrugged. “I try my best.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, shifting yourself onto your knees. “You can show me. Right here.”

And that was the go-ahead he needed.

He surged towards your lips, covering them in a clumsy but loving kiss, while he held your face in his large hands. A whimper escaped your mouth at the sudden movement, letting Spencer lay his weight on top of you after pushing your legs forward by pressing his fingers on the bend of your knees. Your thighs encapsulated him, a feeling which he never admitted to enjoying so much - until now.

“I really like …” He kissed you. “The way …” Another kiss. “Your thighs feel around me.” Kiss, kiss, kiss.

Your thighs tensed around his waist, tightening the grip around his body in response. Your hands moved from behind his neck to his back, rubbing them up and down in a soothing manner.

You could already feel Spencer softly rutting into you, his body flush against yours as he ground his half-hard cock into your inner thigh. You had never seen him so eager, always hesitant and embarrassed to make the first move, or take the lead.

But this was different. Although nervous, he wanted to show you how much you meant to him, how beautiful he thought you were, how your body drove him insane.

Spencer started kissing down your neck, finding the way to the sensitive spot between your neck and jaw. “I r-really like kissing you, because your skin is so warm,” he whispered near your ear. You whined, gripping his t-shirt in your fists as your hips cant forward.

You wanted to say so much, needed to. However, you were caught in the feeling of the brunet’s lips moving downwards, carefully pushing the buttons of your shirt through the slots as his open-mouthed kisses trailed across the top of your bra.

He finished unbuttoning your blouse and knelt down between your legs, cautiously placing his large palms over your clad breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze. You could tell he was mindlessly ogling them, focusing on the way the flesh moulded into his touch, and this made your face heat up.

“I don’t t-think I need to explain how much I like your um …” He cleared his throat. “Y-Your chest.” He flicked his eyes upwards to meet yours, smiling bashfully - you bit your lip and nodded. Spencer took it as a sign to take off your bra, reaching his hands behind your back to unclasp it. The garment billowed and he quickly pulled it away before discarding it onto the floor.

His pupils dilated when he glanced at your breasts, all bare in front of him, only for him to see. You felt exposed and went to cover yourself with your arms before he grasped your wrists. “You’re beautiful, you don’t need to cover yourself.” His expression radiated warmth and comfort. I have to trust him, you told yourself. With hesitation, you set your arms aside and Spencer’s hands were instantly on your chest again, his fingertips digging into the supple flesh and leaving red dotted marks behind.

You squirmed underneath his touch as you felt so seen, so exposed. It was still hard to focus on the moment and let the boy you love so dearly show his attraction to you. It was always such a challenge to do so, but now more than ever because the little confidence you had had a minute ago slipped away from your grasp when he started to undress you.

You clenched your fists by your sides, looking anywhere but at Spencer as the anxiety bubbled at your sternum. Suddenly, your face was moved and you were looking at your boyfriend again, his palms warm against your already-blazing cheeks.

“Do you need to stop?” You shook your head, unable to speak.

Spencer bit his bottom lip in thought. “I know I don’t express it well, b-but I really am attracted to you. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re beautiful. We’ve done this before, h-haven’t we?”

You nod.

“Then trust me when I say I want to see all of you. I just want to …” He swallowed deeply. “Want to be close to you.”

In reality, you were both nervous and you knew that Spencer was probably just as self-conscious about his own body as you are about yours. With a deep sigh through your nose, you nod once more to tell him to continue.

His lips were back on yours and his hands moved down to grip your hips, squeezing the fatty tissue; you felt so undeniably soft, between his fingers and against his stomach.

You pawed at his t-shirt, signalling him to take it off. He clumsily pulled back and attempted to remove it in typical Spencer Reid fashion: his head got stuck and his right arm bent in the most uncomfortable manner. You snorted underneath your breath and helped him out by pulling the bottom of the shirt over his head.

“Are you that eager?” you teased, slowly easing into the atmosphere and finding comfort.

“I’ve literally been trying to tell you that,” he exclaimed with a huff and pulled your body down from your thighs, scooting himself down until his face is hovering over your stomach.

“Spencer, what are you-”

“Please, I just want to taste you”, he said with doe eyes, his fingers already on the button of your jeans.

You shifted your hips a little, now extremely aware of yourself and how your tummy looked from Spencer’s angle where he was situated between your thighs.

“I’m not sure, my stomach looks odd-”

“I’ve dreamt about having your stomach pressed against my forehead as I eat you out for the entire week I’ve been away, please just trust me.”

Your face heated up.

“Fucking vulgar, I thought you were a sweet boy.”

His face flushed in embarrassment at realising what just left his mouth. “Can we stop focusing on what I said and just let me get on with it?” You giggled and agreed with his statement.

In a few seconds, your jeans were slipped off your legs and Spencer’s nose was buried in your panties, nuzzling the faint wet spot in the middle of the fabric. Your breath hitched at the sensation as you tried to mentally convince yourself to enjoy the moment.

His index and middle fingers hooked around the edge of your underwear and moved it to the side, finally revealing your glistening pussy. He sighed and his eyes fluttered shut once his tongue met your slit for the first time in ages, dragging the muscle along your sex.

Your thighs shuddered around his head and you tried your best not to let out a sound. This was soon deemed useless once Spencer flattened his tongue against your clit, gently spreading your lips with his index fingers.

“Oh shit.”

Your brain already felt like mush - your hyper-sensitivity was something you were ashamed of, but it deeply pleased your boyfriend.

He hummed in approval of your comment, pushing his nose against your clit to slip his tongue into your entrance, basically tongue-fucking you at a slow pace. It contrasted the usual way he hastily lapped at your pussy and made a mess of the entire thing, getting drunk on your taste. This time, however, he was really trying to show you how much he worshiped your body, despite his shy demeanour.

It eventually got impossible to stifle your sounds, even if a hand was clamped over your mouth. Soft breaths and gentle moans floated around the room, while you subconsciously moved yourself against his face.

In order to get a better hold of you, Spencer hiked your legs over his shoulders after removing your panties and placed his hands on the smooth expanse of your tummy, tenderly kneading it. What you could only describe as butterflies, although cliché, erupted inside of you. You wanted to move his hands away, tell yourself that part of you was disgusting and unworthy of admiration, but the pleasure Spencer was giving you and the love radiating off of him stopped your worries.

He continued to suck on the raw skin and flick his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves, every so often pushing his entire face into you and exhaling out of pure hunger. You loved how he always made sure you were enjoying yourself when he went down on you, how he showed no discomfort in having his mouth, nose, and chin buried between your legs and getting drenched in your arousal. And you knew how much messes rubbed him the wrong way, but he surely seemed to be relishing in making a mess of you.

You hadn’t noticed yet, but Spencer had been rutting his hips into the cushion of the couch for a while. He was aching to be inside you, to have your warm walls tighten around him; but your pleasure came first and foremost, especially since you were so concerned about him not being attracted to you - that was definitely not happening.

He whimpered into your cunt as he grew harder, his poor weeping cock restraining against the fabric of his boxers, his pants, and the surface beneath him.

“Fuck, I’m c-close”, you gasped, sooner than usual.

The comment sent Spencer into overdrive: he alternated between sucking harshly on your clit and spreading his tongue all over your lips and inside of you, just dying to have you cum on his face. One of his hands was still on your stomach, but the other was holding onto your waist tightly. All he wanted was to feel your soft flesh between his fingers, against any part of his body. Even the pudge of your stomach that you tried so desperately to hide drove him mad.

With one last lick to your clit, your orgasm hit you abruptly. Your hands fumbled until they found Spencer’s hair and tugged and pulled, pushing him deeper against your pussy as you soaked his face in arousal. You felt him groan as it vibrated against you, mirroring the way you were gasping for air and moaning out in pleasure. His arms were wrapped tightly around your thighs, using them to ground himself as he suffocated between them.

After a few more laden breaths, you relaxed your legs and loosened your grip on his hair. You peered down to see a blissed out Spencer resting his cheek against your inner thigh, his thumb drawing circles into your hip.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said with a laugh.

He hummed as he pushed himself upwards, subtly moving his crotch to settle against your pelvic bone for more friction.

“I should be saying thank you really.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, a thank you for what a wonderful job he had done. The taste of yourself lingered in your mouth.

Although you attempted to lengthen the kiss, he pulled back and heaved, “now please can I be inside you, I really need it so badly, it hurts.”

There was the usual needy and whiney boy you knew.

“Yes yes, I’m not going to leave you hanging, pretty boy.”

You swiftly pushed his pyjama bottoms down with his boxers and Spencer kicked them off to help. His length was hard against his pelvis, the tip all red and swollen after having nothing but humping the couch to help him get off. Gently, you wrapped a hand around the base and squeezed. That got a whine out of him, his jaw slack and still covered in your slick. You slowly dragged your hand up his shaft, tightening your grip as you neared the head and circled your thumb over his slit that was already spurting pre-cum.

“Please f-fuck, please just let me inside you, I’m already close to coming.”

“Already?” You raised your eyebrows teasingly.

“S-Shut up,” his voice wavered as he struggled to hold himself up, his hands planted on either side of your shoulders.

You let out a chuckle before letting go and resting your palm on his waist to encourage him. Nervously, he lined himself up to your entrance and tried his best not to push in all in one go. In his excitement and neediness, he missed and his cock slid up between your folds, his tip rubbing against your clit. You both exhaled.

“F-Fuck sorry, I just-” Spencer could hardly speak. His knuckles were turning white from the way he was holding the arm of the couch; he was dying to have you engulf him so he could place his hands all over your sweaty skin.

“It’s okay,” you breathed out. “Let me help.”

You reached down and grabbed his cock once again and pushed the head against your pussy. Spencer could already feel the heat emanating from you and it only spurred him on more.

With a little wiggle of his hips, he started to inch himself inside you. The warmth of your cunt gradually surrounded his dick. So warm, so wet is all he could think about.

You took him further by placing your hands on his ass and pushing. Once he was fully sheathed inside you, your boy genius could no longer think straight. All he wanted was to cum and tell you how much he loves the way you make him feel.

Hurting you or causing any pain was the last thing Spencer wanted, so he carefully pulled back until he was almost entirely out and then pushed in again with a quiet squelch.

“G-God, you feel so g-good,” he whined.

Honestly and truly, you hardly heard what he was saying because you were completely focused on how he was stretching you out so deliciously, mouth agape and eyes closed.

It didn’t take long before Spencer started to shallowly thrust into you, your gummy walls fluttering and spasming around his throbbing cock.

In an effort to be closer, Spencer laid on top you, chest to chest, and hid his face in your neck. His hands found a home in your hair, gently massaging your scalp.

Nothing could have felt any better than this: your lovely boyfriend making love to you, his nimble fingers caressing your body into a state of peace and bliss. And for him? Well, his girlfriend’s plush body pressed against his skinny figure was better than anything he could imagine.

You lazily ground into each other, whimpers and hot breaths leaving the both of you. Your hands were splayed across Spencer’s back, desperately keeping him as close as possible.

“I love you, I love you so much,” he whispered.

This man was a dream come to life and he was so sweet while being so.

You swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth before replying. “I love you too, a lot.”

He peppered kisses across your neck and traced your skin with his lips, leaving a layer of dew behind. In return, you left a few kisses on his shoulder when your head wasn’t tilted back in pleasure.

You were so tight around him and you felt so unbelievably full. Now, you weren’t going to say that Spencer had the biggest dick you could think of, but that wasn’t the point - you fit perfectly with each other and your pussy had basically moulded itself to fit snuggly around his length like a glove. You couldn’t imagine yourself having sex with anyone else, not that you wanted to anyways.

You moved your head to the side and kissed his cheek, moving a hand to rest amidst the mess of hair you loved so dearly. He had just shaved that morning so his stubble wasn’t there to scrape against your lips.

“I r-really love- oh fuck.” Speaking during intercourse wasn’t a skill Spencer had mastered as of yet. The feeling of his approaching orgasm had him reeling and he was mustering all the strength he had left to express how much he enjoyed your body and how it made him feel.

“I love … I love how you feel a-against me. You’re so soft and warm.” He gasped as he teetered on the edge.

“Your s-stomach and thighs and h-hips … God.” He hiccupped. It was hard to talk, his hands holding onto your waist.

“They’re all s-so … so soft. It drives me … insane, it- fuck drives me insane.”

Never had you felt so loved as you did at this very moment: enveloped in the arms of the boy you loved, skin-to-skin, whispering the most heartfelt words into your ear.

You wanted to reply, tell him that his words meant so much to you, but the way his tip was stamping into your sweet spot had stolen the breath out of your entire body. All you could do was gasp and let out moan after moan.

Spencer’s bony hips were smacking into the plush of your ass as he fucked into you deeper, his rhythm faltering as it all just became erratic.

“Gonna come,” Spencer whispered, as if he was asking for permission.

“Y-Yeah, go ahead,” you managed to mumble. And that’s all he needed.

With a high-pitched moan, he spilled into you as his hands moved around, just trying to grab any inch of you that he could, loving the feeling of the fat around your thighs and waist. I love you’s were muttered into your skin while his orgasm kept hitting him in waves. His hips stuttered as rope after rope of cum was milked from his tired cock, your cunt pulsating at the fact you were so close as well.

The brunet finally stopped thrusting after a while, going soft inside of you as his breathing slowed down.

“I love you too by the way,” you said quietly, scared to break the silence.

You could feel his smile on the side of your neck.

“You didn’t come yet,” he murmured before his hand found its way between your bodies, a thumb pressing onto your clit. Your body jolted in surprise.

“You really don’t h-have to, darling.”

“But I want to, want to make you feel good.”

You giggled. “You already have, silly.”

“Yeah, but you deserve more.” What an angel.

At least, you weren’t so far off from climaxing and thus a few tight circles helped you come for the second time that evening.

You laid on top of each other, not wanting to move from such a sweet embrace. Spencer had shuffled a little lower once he pulled out of you, not caring that his cum had started to ooze out of you and smear against his upper thigh, and rested his head on your chest. He couldn’t resist putting his hand on one of your boobs either.

“All that I said … it’s true,” he confessed. “I love you a lot and I think you’re pretty. And I love the parts you hate about yourself.”

You hugged him tighter, not sure how to express the appreciation you had for him. “Thank you, you don’t know how much you mean to me, Spence.”

He left a kiss on your collarbone before saying, “We need to get you cleaned up before you get a UTI. Do you know that up to six out of every ten women in the United States experience one?"

💳💥💳💥💳💥

The Taste of Her.

She’s weaponized sweetness.

And I am entirely at its mercy.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Rating: (18+)

Word Count: ~6.3k

Category: Smut | Public Tension | Soft Dom!Spencer

Summary:

A single bite undoes him.

You taste like fruit and heat and something he was never meant to touch.

She’s flushed before we even finish the first aisle of the farmers market. Not in the embarrassed way, not in a way she’s trying to hide. Just… sun-warmed. Pink with heat and cotton sticking to her skin. The air is heavy, and her dress isn’t doing her any favors—thin, pale, clinging. It moves like a second layer of breath. Straps falling off her shoulder, one at a time. Her skin’s glowing. Damp. Her hair curls slightly at the ends from humidity, and the curve of her chest glistens in the sun where a drop of sweat has pooled and caught the light. She doesn’t wipe it away. She doesn’t even notice.

But I do.

I notice everything. I always do.

She walks a few steps ahead of me, humming to herself, the sound low and tuneless, some soft rhythm she always slips into when relaxed. She stops at a table of peaches and starts testing them one by one, her thumb brushing against the skin like she’s feeling for a pulse. Her hands are always soft when she touches things. Like she doesn’t realize she’s allowed to grip.

She picks one up and turns to me with a smile, cradling it in both palms. “This one’s gorgeous.”

I step beside her before anyone else can. Close. Not touching, but near enough that my presence is felt. I glance at the fruit in her hands. A subtle mark along the seam is barely visible, but it’s been handled. Someone gripped it too tight.

“It’s too soft,” I murmur.

She frowns. “It feels perfect.”

“There’s bruising.” I nod toward the top. “See the indent? Someone else already tried to make it theirs.”

Her mouth parts just slightly. Her fingers loosen around the fruit. I take it from her gently and hand her another, firmer, smoother, untouched.

She holds my eyes when she takes it. She smiles like I’ve just done something unusually kind. Then she takes a bite.

And moans.

It’s soft. Almost accidental. But it knocks the breath out of me. She pulls back with wide eyes, laughing under her breath, wiping at her chin with her wrist. Juice slides down her hand, curling toward her elbow. She tries to catch it with her tongue, then presses the fruit against her chest for balance while dabbing at her mouth. The juice smears down the slope of her breasts, right into the cotton, and she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing.

Or maybe now she does.

She laughs, tilting her head, licking her finger in slow, thoughtful circles. “Oh my god, it’s so good. I wasn’t ready.”

No one is. Certainly not the vendor, who’s paused what he’s doing to stare. Indeed, not the man next to us, who doesn’t even pretend not to look. I can feel something sharp uncoil behind my ribs.

She turns to me, still breathless, holding the fruit toward me. “Here. You want the rest?”

I take it.

Her fingers brush mine.

I sink my teeth into the bite she left behind and let the juice coat my tongue. Sweet. Ripe. Still warm from her lips. Still soft where her mouth pressed into the flesh. I can smell her on it—on my hand, in the air. My pulse is low and heavy.

I’m picturing her already. In my lap. In the car. Flushed from the heat, dress pushed up around her hips, thighs sticky and trembling as she rocks down onto me. Her voice soft and desperate as she whines my name, her breath catching as I lick the juice off her chest—slow and reverent, my hands cupping her ass, keeping her steady as she moves. Her hair sticking to her temples. Her fingers knotting in my shirt. The windows fogging while she lets me ruin her for anything else.

Instead, I offer her a napkin. My voice stays steady. “You’re always like this.”

She blinks. “Like what?”

“Sweet,” I say. “Unaware.” I glance down at her chest. “Messy.”

She looks down, gasps, and laughs again. “God, I didn’t even notice.”

“I know.”

She bites her lip. Then she hands me the pit like it means nothing. “Here. You keep everything I touch, anyway.”

I slide it into my pocket without a word.

We don’t talk again until we’re in the car.

The second the door shuts, the silence swells. Not comfortable. Not neutral. It’s thick with want. With frustration. With restraint tearing at the seams.

She shifts beside me—thighs pressed together, her dress clinging to her damp skin, her lip caught between her teeth. My knuckles go white on the steering wheel.

I shouldn’t be looking.

Not again.

Not when I’ve already looked too long — back at the market, at the way the sunlight kissed her skin, at the way the juice ran down her wrist and into the hollow between her breasts.

Not when I can still taste it.

The fabric of her dress drags against her thighs, sticking to the heat. My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I count to five. Then ten.

Don’t look.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice soft. Innocent.

I nearly laughed. I’m anything but okay.

“You keep moving,” I murmur, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

She blinks at me like she doesn’t know what she’s doing — but she does. She has to. The way she sits and her legs part just slightly before she adjusts them again — she’s weaponized sweetness. And I am entirely at its mercy.

“I’m warm,” she says. “Sticky. From the heat.”

Sticky.

Jesus.

I don’t answer. I can’t.

She stretches then, arms over her head, the movement lifting her breasts and tugging the neckline of her dress down another sinful inch. One strap falls. Then the other.

My jaw locks.

“Sweetheart,” I warn. It comes out harsher than I mean it to.

She tilts her head. “I’m not doing anything.”

You’re doing everything.

You’re pink-cheeked and flushed, your thighs stick to the seat, and you let that dress ride up like it means nothing. But it means everything to me.

“You’ve been so fucking messy today,” I whisper.

Her eyebrows lift. That soft, puzzled look. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You moaned when you bit into that peach and licked juice off your fingers like it was instinct. You let it drip down your chest and didn’t wipe it. You’ve been walking around like a wet dream and pretending you don’t notice what it does to me.”

She blinks slowly. Like I’ve spoken a language she understands but wasn’t expecting to hear aloud.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispers.

I groan under my breath. “That’s what ruins me.”

She shifts again. I hear the slick sound of her thighs moving, the faint hitch in her breath. My pulse kicks hard in my throat.

“It aches,” she says, voice quiet. “I didn’t know it could. Not like this.”

No.

Not now.

Not here.

“Please,” I say, already feeling the panic rise. “Don’t touch yourself. I can’t pull over.”

She doesn’t answer. But I hear the rustle of her dress. The wet sound of her fingers sliding between her legs. My body reacts like it’s mine in name only — hips shifting, cock twitching hard in my pants.

“Sweetheart,” I beg, my voice broken. “I’m trying to be good.”

I glance at her, just for a second. Her lips are parted. Her cheeks are flushed. She looks soft, dazed, like a dream folding in on itself.

“I just want to know how wet I am,” she says, and the sentence nearly kills me.

“Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought you wanted to know.”

She lifts her fingers. They glisten in the low light. Her smile is soft. Innocent.

“Didn’t I let you watch me lick peach juice off my hand?” she says. “It’s your turn.”

I groan, ruined.

I reach for her wrist, slow, like it’s fragile. And when I pull her hand to my mouth, I don’t just taste her.

I savor.

My lips wrap around her fingers—my tongue slides between them. I moan around them before I can stop it. She watches me, eyes wide, lips parted, as if she didn’t expect me to take it this far.

But she tastes like everything I’ve ever denied myself.

When I pull back, my voice is shaking.

“You taste like sin.”

She doesn’t say a word. Just lowers her hand back to her lap. I hear it again — that wet sound as her fingers slip between her folds.

I nearly cry.

“Please,” I whisper. “Be my good girl. You can’t do this here.”

“But you like hearing it,” she says, her voice light, teasing. “You like knowing how wet I am for you.”

“I like knowing you’re mine,” I say, “and hating that anyone driving by could see you like this.”

She moans softly.

“Spencer…”

“Don’t,” I beg. “Don’t say my name like that. You’ll make me come untouched.”

Her breath catches. Her thighs twitch.

“I’m gonna—,” she whispers. “You want to hear?”

God, help me.

“Yes,” I say.

And she does — whimpering, gasping, her head tipping back against the seat as her fingers work her through it.

I drive. Shaking. Destroyed. Silent.

Because I can’t touch her.

Because I can’t stop.

Because when we get home…

ME NEXT

…

who said that?

A history of kissing Adam Driver

<33

just had to gif this

I’M WATCHING CHARMED WHERE MISHA COLLINS IS IN AN EPISODE AND HE LOOKS LIKE JACK OMG I—

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

me if joyce and hopper don't get together this season :

hi. ily. 🫶🏼 you’re amazing, never forget that.

Ps. Spencer Reid loves you. 😉❤️

hi ilyt <333 and of course he does, he’s my bf duh 🤭

matilda’s writing is to die for 🤧 i want him to call me angel so bad 💳💥💳💥

𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend decides he’s going to start calling you a cute pet name, but the problem is, none of them seem to suit you perfectly

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses reid x baumember!female reader, so sweet you'll puke, case in the background, unsub is abducting elderly people, text messages, reader is kinda clingy, use of y/n because i had to

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by @trulymadlydarling <33 sorry if it ended up a bit too long again, but im starting to suspect that im physically incapable of writing a drabble lmao

"I'm tired. When will this week be over?"

"It's 9:13 on Monday."

With a groan, you leaned back against the seat in the corner of the jet, feeling the caffeine craving slowly take control of your body. 

"Just the thought of going to sleep sends intense shivers through me, caused by a heart-wrenching longing, and heavy tears slowly start gathering in my eyes," you complained, resting your head to the side.

Slightly turned, so you could look at Spencer sitting right next to you. His eyes, behind his glasses, also seemed a little tired, though he didn't manifest it as loudly. When you sat down next to him, he partially closed the book he was reading and rested it against the edge of the table in front of him.

"When you're sleep-deprived, you tend to get a bit dramatic," he pointed out in an analyzing tone, though you could catch a slight twitch at the corners of his lips.

"It's not drama, silly. It's the personification of pure exhaustion speaking through my lips."

"I love it when you try to argue with me and end up agreeing with me."

"You just love being right, don't you, smarty?" you huffed. "You love me too, but that's just a side note."

"Oh, now you're teasing. That's good. Means the sleepiness is wearing off," he diagnosed.

Sometimes you were genuinely amazed by how well he knew you, despite being together for such a short time—though maybe you shouldn’t have been. He was a profiler, just like you. Both of you were exceptionally good at reading each other, picking up on moods and small, everyday habits. You used to worry a little that this might make your relationship boring, stripped of surprises. But you quickly realized there’s nothing more captivating than another mind that matches your own and deeply understands its struggles. And sometimes, that feeling itself was a pleasant surprise.

"Next weekend, we're not going anywhere, okay?" you asked in a dreamy tone. The day before, you’d gotten back way too late, which was mostly to blame for your sleepiness. "Not even out of bed."

A look crossed Reid's face, somewhere between eagerness and a grimace.

"I’d love to," he assured with a genuine sigh, but then quickly added, "But I’m afraid I’ve already got something planned."

You tried to keep up the facade of your role, not showing too much excitement. You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"I'm starting to suspect you have plans for every weekend for the rest of our lives."

"Actually, just for the next fourteen weeks," he admitted with a slight shrug, as if it wasn’t anything to be impressed by.

You weren’t sure if he was joking, and you didn’t get the chance to find out.

"Hey, lovebirds," Morgan called from the other end of the jet, where the whole team was gathered around a small table, ready to start discussing the case. "We're waiting for you."

For a while, you kept it a secret from them that you were starting to expect, but eventually, you had to come clean. Especially when Penelope, who knew everything, started taking every chance to send you suggestive glances or drop not-so-subtle comments. The rest of the team’s reaction wasn’t particularly emotional. They didn’t start screaming in surprise or jumping up and down in disbelief. They were profilers—they had figured it out. But they had enough decency to wait until you told them yourselves. No hard feelings, sweet Penelope.

You took the empty seat next to Gideon, right across from your boss and JJ. Reid settled into a chair on the side, where Morgan immediately poked him with his elbow.

"So, how’s it going in love land today?" Morgan asked, smirking. "Are puppies falling from the sky, and is it going to rain hearts this afternoon?"

You’d gotten so used to these kinds of jabs that, in perfect sync, you both rolled your eyes and opened your mouths to defend yourselves. It wasn’t like you two were constantly all lovey-dovey, exchanging kisses and holding hands at every chance! Morgan just loved to tease you, knowing how much it irked both of you when someone accused you of being unprofessional.

“Take it easy, it’s just the honeymoon phase," Gideon warned, not even looking at you as he adjusted his small square glasses, focusing instead on the folder in front of him. "You grow out of it."

On the laptop screen, Garcia’s face appeared, complete with an orange rose headband in her blonde hair.

"Well, hello there, babygirl," Derek greeted her, a small smile spreading across his lips.

"Hello, you charming, sweet, handsome thing…

Hotch exchanged a knowing look with Gideon.

“As you can see, not always," he muttered under his breath so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. JJ, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, briefly lowered her amused gaze, trying to hold back a smile. "Shall we get started?"

The atmosphere shifted instantly, as if with the snap of fingers, when you began discussing the case. This time, it was a series of murders targeting men around the age of seventy-four.

"Are we sure this is the work of a serial killer?" Derek asked, his earlier light tone replaced with focus and seriousness. "I mean, looking at it, these guys don’t have much in common aside from their age."

“They’re all from the same area,” you noted, flipping through the victims' files. “But yeah, they don’t have much else in common. Different jobs, some married, some not…you think age is the reason the unsub picked them?”

“Looks that way,” Hotch said.

“About two weeks ago, his granddaughter reported him missing,” JJ informed you, pointing to a photo of an older man. “Ben Murphy, seventy-six years old. He’s from the same area, and all signs point to him being the unsub’s next victim. Each of the victims was held for an estimated three weeks, so there’s a good… a good chance he’s still alive.”

A brief silence settled over the room, heavy with the pressure of time.

“But why keep them alive for that long?” Spencer muttered, his brow furrowed in thought. “None of the bodies show signs of physical torture. They were killed with a lethal dose of insulin. If he chose that method, it doesn’t seem like he wanted to hurt them directly. The motive…the motive is unclear.”

The rest of the discussion revolved around trying to find connections and similarities to other crimes you were all familiar with, but you didn’t come up with anything groundbreaking that would significantly push the investigation forward. However, this didn’t stress you. You were just heading to the place where everything had taken place; you hadn't yet spoken to the victims' families, which often turned out to be crucial.

Just before the jet landed, you found yourself next to Reid, resting your elbow on his shoulder like it was some kind of convenient armrest while you pondered which card to discard from the ones laid out by JJ. This position made it much easier for him to sneak peeks at your cards, which he took full advantage of whenever he thought you weren’t looking (you were looking), so you had to hold them in a very awkward way to prevent him from seeing.

“C’mon,” JJ urged, as the time you were taking to think started to drag on.

You bit your lip.

“Easy for you to say. You’re winning,” you huffed, to which she flashed you a confident smile. “Great minds need time to come up with a solution. Right, Spence?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes…”

"Ugh, I wanted you to defend me, you silly..."

“Guys, do you know what I’ve been thinking?” Morgan appeared above you, pulling his headphones off his head.

“Scientists haven’t figured out a way to peek into other people’s thoughts yet,” Reid answered him, staring at the card you had just discarded and raising an eyebrow. Seriously? You shrugged. You knew it was a pitifully bad move. “So no, we don’t, Morgan.”

“I went over the case files again…” Derek continued, completely ignoring the ironic comment from his friend. “Mr. Murphy went missing right after a date with his wife…”

“...And may I ask why you’re sharing this incredibly sad fact with us?” you interjected.

“They went to the botanical garden,” Derek continued.  Everyone stopped, staring at him with completely baffled expressions. “Then they hit up the American Revolution Museum. And I couldn’t help but think of you two. Sounds like the perfect date for you, right?”

You were the first to react, rolling your eyes dramatically. You placed your cards face down in front of you, then rested both hands on Reid's shoulder, leaning your chin on them. You let out a long sigh.

"Can we get just one day without fighting off the nerd allegations?"

"Hey, I'm not mocking you," Morgan said, raising both hands in the air. "Just pointing it out. So, what did you two get up to over the weekend?"

Reid turned his face slightly toward you, exchanging a look. Given how you were positioned, the frame of his glasses lightly brushed your forehead. Well, if you answered your teammate's question honestly, you’d be proving him absolutely right. Before you could manage to turn the question back on him, you were preempted.

"We went up to the hill to try and watch the meteor shower," Reid answered, sticking to the truth. Morgan tilted his head, staring at both of you with interest. "But the sky ended up being too cloudy, so we ended up finding a night exhibit at the museum about space..."

You could see the victorious expression slowly spreading across Derek's face.

"You’re sinking us, silly," you muttered into your boyfriend's arm.

"She's right, silly," Morgan echoed the nickname with exaggerated emphasis. "Anyway, I won’t bother you any longer. Enjoy your game. Oh, and by the way, JJ peeked at your cards when you weren’t looking…"

 "JJ!"

 "That’s a lie—"

"Did he really come over here just to compare us to a pair of retirees?" Reid wondered, watching Derek walk away.

"And to expose a cheater," you added, shooting a look at your friend across the table. You’d lifted your chin from Reid’s shoulder, but your hand still rested there, your fingertips lightly brushing against him—not that you even noticed. Did that even count as touching?

You pointed at JJ with determination. "We’re starting over."

"We’re about to land," she noted, placing her cards on the table and revealing her hand. "So I’ll let it go. But you’re getting your rematch, trust me."

 "Oh, I can’t wait."

She walked off, leaving the two of you alone in the corner of the jet. You noticed Reid had been watching you for a while, his expression unreadable. When you finally caught on and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, he just shrugged and gathered the cards from the table. His fingers shuffled them with effortless precision, the motion smooth and almost hypnotic.

You shook your head, tearing your gaze away from the cards and focusing on his face again.

“What thoughts are you hiding in that brilliant mind of yours, smarty?”

“Those exactly,” he replied almost immediately. He fell silent for a moment as he tucked the cards back into the box. You watched him closely, curiosity piqued, waiting to hear what he’d say next because you didn’t fully understand his response.

“You always call me something,” he added after a pause. “You know…”

“Pet name,” you supplied the term he was missing.

He nodded, and you stayed quiet for a brief moment, wondering if you really used them that often. You’d never given it much thought—they just slipped out naturally when you were teasing him. He’d never reacted to them before, and it had never even crossed your mind that it might cause him any discomfort.

Your expression grew a bit more serious as you shifted in your seat to face him directly.

“Does…does it bother you? Because, you know, if it does…”

“No!” he denied quickly, a faint hint of embarrassment flashing across his face, as if wondering whether he’d been too eager. He shifted into a calmer expression, letting out a small sigh. “No, that’s really not it. Actually…I like them. I like when you use them.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as he admitted it. But the question still lingered in your mind—if that wasn’t it, then what was?

"I just realized…" he continued slowly, with a hint of hesitation. You noticed that both of you had lowered your voices compared to the lively chatter during the card game. It was as if, unintentionally, you'd created a small bubble, separating this moment from the rest of the team.

You liked his whisper. Sometimes, it felt stronger than his regular voice, mostly because whenever he lowered it, it was usually tied to some genuine emotion.

"That I never use them myself. I mean, I don’t call you anything other than your name."

"I don’t…I don’t expect that from you."

"I know. I know, it’s not like I thought you were expecting it. I just started wondering if maybe you'd like me to... to start doing it too. I admit, it’s not something I’m used to—"

"If you’re comfortable with it," you interrupted him without meaning to, feeling the need to emphasize it. Until now, it hadn’t mattered how he addressed you; it didn’t bother you when it was just your name. After all, hey, it’s not really the most important thing in a relationship. But when he suggested it, you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach. "I’m serious, Spence. Don’t force yourself if it feels unnatural," you added, slowing down a bit, feeling the slight tremor in the corner of your lips. You noticed how his brow furrowed slightly when he caught that movement. Usually, it meant there was an idea forming in your head, and this time, it was no different. "But if you really want to…you should know I have some requirements in this area."

"Requirements?" he repeated, sounding confused, as if he thought he misheard. "Sorry, but what kind of requirements could you possibly have when it comes to pet names?"

“Oh, you have no idea how many,” you scoffed, leaning slightly toward him with a mischievous gleam in your eye. Reid blinked, clearly both curious and a bit apprehensive. “I know you, your mind... so I guess you shouldn’t be surprised that I’m expecting you to be creative. I mean no babe. No honey. 

Spencer stared at you for a moment, a look of disbelief crossing his face, before he let out a soft laugh.

"Alright, I’ve got it. No babe, no honey. Anything else to add to your list of demands?"

"Hmm, let me think," you murmured, to which he rolled his eyes. You didn't actually have anything else in mind; you just wanted to keep him in that state of uncertainty. But then, an additional thought occurred to you. "Oh, I know. It has to really fit with me. And with you. I want using it to come as naturally to you as possible. And I don't want you complaining to Penelope later, saying I forced you into it."

"Seriously, do you think I'd complain about you to Penelope behind your back?" he asked, pretending to be offended. He shook his head as if disappointed. "It's obvious I go straight to Morgan with stuff like this..."

You lightly tapped his arm.

"Is everything clear?" you made sure to ask, keeping your hand on his shoulder.

He glanced at your hand briefly before nodding.

"As clear as the sun. Has to be original and fit," he recited the two demands in their briefest form. He left his mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to add something, as if he was about to come up with the perfect nickname, but clearly, he hadn’t thought of one yet. He let out a short sigh of surrender. "This...this might take a while."

"Take your time, babe."

"Hey, you said we're not using that..."

"I only said you’re not using that”

"So what’s the point of giving me all these demands when..."

You both fell silent only when the jet neared its landing.

*

Working on the case had put a bit of distance between you. Well, it wasn’t unusual—there were often plenty of witnesses to interview, multiple locations to visit or search, and the team simply had to split up. Whenever Hotch assigned you somewhere, he always paired you up in the most complementary way possible, ensuring that your skills and experience balanced each other out. As the youngest members, relying more on brains than brawn, you and Reid rarely ended up partnered together.

And this time was no different.

You sat in the front seat of the car beside Gideon, who was driving. The two of you were headed to one of the victims' homes in silence, and you used the moment to glance at your phone—only to spot a message from none other than Reid.

spence: I’ve been thinking about what we talked about on the jet, and I think I have a few suggestions that meet all of your conditions.

spence: Sorry for texting, but I’m not sure if we’ll get a chance to see each other today, and I wanted to tell you that.

y/n: tell me

y/n: i mean u should be thinking about the case rn not about me

y/n: but i’m just gonna assume ur brain is multitasking enough to do both

spence: Because it is.

y/n: wow so humble

y/n: so???

y/n: what’s with the pet names

y/n: surprise me, genius

spence: Sorry, I don’t have time to write proper explanations for all of them or explain why I think they suit you.

spence: But a few of them are love, dear, darling.

y/n: sweet, but kinda basic

y/n: anyway up to you

y/n: u’ll be the one saying them

spence: Yeah, but you’ll be the one called them, and it has to be something you like. What do you think?

spence: Maybe something less typical like pumpkin

y/n: pumpkin HAHAHA

spence: ?

y/n: sry, i just can’t picture u saying that out loud

y/n: u browsing some top 100 pet names for ur gf site rn?

spence: No

y/n: i’m telling garcia to check ur browsing history, silly

y/n: don’t even delete it she’ll find it anyway

spence: I admit, pumpkin is awful

spence: I really like daisy, but i know you're allergic to pollen

y/n: how do u know i’m allergic to pollen?

spence: 👍🏼

It was truly an exhausting yet enlightening response. Anyway, you didn’t dwell on it too much. Sometimes he just knew. Together with Gideon, you had already arrived at the right address, so you shoved your phone back into your pocket and got ready to get back to work.

*

The words we are ready to deliver the profile were a milestone in every case you worked on.

They marked a gathering of the entire team, where you would collectively organize the information you had gathered during the investigation. Together, you had managed to uncover the unsub’s identity, but there was still the task of determining their motive and locating where they might be holding their still, as you hoped, victim. 

"The unsub spent most of his life caring for his severely ill, mentally abusive grandfather, of whom he was the only relative, which is why he now targets victims of a similar age," Derek began, crossing his arms over his chest. "He holds them for twenty-three days, mirroring the twenty-three years he dedicated to caring for him."

"He sees it as lost time, wasted. He never finished school, he was socially withdrawn. By repeating the same pattern with his victims, he believes he's getting something back," explained Reid, standing beside you, tapping one hand thoughtfully.

"This is all we have,” you muttered under your breath. ‘But we're missing the most important thing. Where is he? Where is he holding this man?”

“Garcia is working on that,” Hotch reassured you, pressing his finger to the earpiece.

“Give... give me some time,” Penelope asked in a distant tone, drowned out by the sound of keys being pressed rapidly. “ I think I have something... I need to check...ugh, fifteen minutes!”

After those words, she fell silent, leaving you all in anticipation. With a sigh, you crossed your arms over your chest, hoping she would find something. Reid stood by your side, slightly separated from the rest. Yet when he spoke, he lowered his voice to a murmur.

You stepped closer to hear him better.

"Vivi," he said softly.

You frowned at him, and his gaze hesitantly met yours—but once it did, it refused to let go.

"From the Latin vivus," he explained. "Full of life, vibrant."

You remained silent for a moment, savoring the echo his words left behind and the look on his face—just a hint of uncertainty creeping in as he waited for your reaction. If it weren’t for the fact that your team members were bustling around and the circumstances weren’t exactly romantic, you might have slipped under his arm. Instead, you settled for a small, sweet smile.

"That’s really pretty, Spence," you admitted, catching the faint shimmer in his dark eyes. "You think it suits me? Do you like it?"

He nodded slowly. You couldn't shake the feeling that something didn’t quite fit, that it didn’t sound natural coming from him. Maybe it was just your imagination? Or perhaps he was distracted, lost in more important thoughts while you were bothering him with pet names? You didn’t really have time to figure that out. At that moment, Garcia’s raised voice cut through the line, announcing that she might know where the unsub is holding his victim.

In the next moment, you were already on your way to the given address, listening to instructions on how to get inside without causing harm to the elderly man being held captive. When you and Reid reached him, he was loosely tied to a chair with rope, his head hanging limp against his chest. You crouched beside him, checking his pulse. It seemed like a simple loss of consciousness, likely caused by the stress and exhaustion of being held captive for over two weeks.

"Untie him," you said automatically to Reid, even though he had already started doing it before you spoke. "Can you hear me, sir? Damn it, I think we’ll need an ambulance..."

"Since when do angels curse?" A hoarse, weak whisper escaped the man's throat.

You exchanged confused glances with Spencer, momentarily frozen in place. The man's temples twitched before he gently lifted his head. His gaze landed on your face, and very slowly, he began to regain full consciousness.

"I died. And you're an angel, right?" he asked.

You sighed with a certain sense of relief. He was a bit delirious, but it seemed nothing serious was wrong with him.

"Don't worry, you’re not dead, sir. Actually, you’re perfectly fine and will be home soon..."

"Whatever you say, angel."

You saw Reid, who was untying the man, try to hide a amused expression on his face. Even after two weeks spent in captivity, Mr. Murphy managed to muster a bit of stubbornness. He told the arriving paramedics that he would only get into the ambulance if the angel who freed him went with him. And since you felt really sorry for the elderly man who had been kidnapped and whose mind was a bit frail, you did it.

You didn’t get back on the jet until late at night. Throwing yourself into the seat next to Spencer, you struggled to suppress another yawn. You didn’t even realize when your temple lightly rested against his arm, but through your partially closed eyelids, you noticed him closing the book he had been reading and placing it in his lap.

"Long day, huh, angel?" he asked. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, brushing your ears as you leaned against him.

"So, you spent the whole day trying to come up with the perfect pet name and ended up just going with the one some confused old guy called me?"you asked, opening your eyes and turning your head to look at him. Or rather, from the position you were in, at his jaw. "Watch out, Spencer Reid. I might accuse you of being lazy."

"I'm not lazy," he denied. "I'm just looking for inspiration in unusual places. Besides, it fits, don't you think? Angel."

"Mhm. Lazy."

With those words, you closed your eyes again, snuggling against him more comfortably. Spencer shifted slightly in his seat, using his free hand to tuck the hair falling onto your face behind your ear.

"Sweet dreams, angel."