G4rvez-r3id - Mya

already told lover this but as a big chested woman, thank you for doing god’s work 🫡

MORE TO LOVE

In which Spencer proves to you how much he loves your big breasts.

pairing spencer reid x gf!reader genre smut (18+) cw reader has big breasts and is insecure bc of porn standards, just 6k words of tit worship: tit play, tit sucking, tit fucking. lots of teasing, oral (f receiving), p in v, cum play, creampie, reader wears a dress and lingerie, spencer is clingy and horny, spencer and reader are slightly tipsy, soft!dom!spence wc 6,3k a/n for my big tit girls <3 i hope someone can relate to this, and if you don't, i hope you can still enjoy! thank u lovely @esote-rika for proofreading

Everyone who’s had the honor of meeting Spencer Reid in an informal setting is aware of the fact that he isn’t a drinker. You’d score an indefinite amount of points in his book if you have something besides alcohol to offer. And Spencer isn’t picky — some trail mix in a bowl works as a good enough replacement. 

So, being surprised was an understatement when Spencer suggested coming to the bar where you were having drinks with your friends. The case he was on got wrapped up quicker than anticipated. He was about to walk to your apartment to spend the night with you when he remembered you were out with friends. 

It was the plan to pick you up and walk you home, making some light conversation with your friends while he was at it (for the amount of months you’d been dating, he should invest more time in getting to know the people who are close to you). He hadn’t planned on drinking, even surprising himself when he downed the two shots of liquor that one of your friends handed him. But he had no choice. Not when he walked into the bar and noticed you dancing in the crowd. Not when you were wearing that tiny black dress that was on his mind ever since he’d found it in your closet. Not when you turned around, your eyes twinkling and a bright smile tugging at your lips when you noticed him. And certainly not when his gaze had lowered and landed on the cleavage that was close to spilling out of your dress. He truly needed the liquid courage to get through the night. 

Now, standing on the corner outside of the bar, waiting for an Uber, you didn’t even notice the cold of the night as your body buzzed with the warmth of alcohol in your system combined with Spencer’s touches. He stood close to you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder as he pressed gentle kisses to the curve of your neck — acting uncharacteristically clingy now that there’s alcohol in his system. 

“So this is the real reason why you don’t drink, huh?” You ask Spencer in a chuckle, feigning annoyance while actually feeling very flattered by his sudden clinginess, which he rarely displays when sober. 

“You’re just so pretty.” He says in a lack of a better explanation. 

He had his palm placed flat on your stomach, the heat of him radiating through the thin fabric of your dress. He squeezed the soft skin before his hand moved up your body at a concerningly fast speed.

“Hey there, mister,” you say in a playful warning, placing your hand on top of his to stop him in his tracks. “We’re still in public. Remember?”

He grumbled some incoherent words as his fingers toyed with the underwire of your bra.  “I like this dress.”

You smile, a flush creeping up your neck, glad he can’t see how much you’re enjoying this. “Yeah?” 

He hums in confirmation. “I’d like it even better off of you.”

The flush has now found its way to your cheeks, heating your skin as your heartbeat raced.

He presses a kiss to your jawline. “Bet you’d look so pretty.”

Your cheeks were on fire at this point. The butterflies in your stomach set free. 

“Want to see you naked.”

Then, everything comes to a halt.

“N-naked?”

He nods against your neck, his soft curls nuzzling you. 

Spencer doesn’t notice the way you tense up. To be fair, he’s not noticing any of his surroundings, completely focused on the way you feel in his grasp. 

His statement wasn’t weird. It shouldn’t have thrown you off like it did. He’s been your boyfriend for over three months — nearing the four-month mark — and you’ve had sex a lot of times. Still, he has never seen you naked. At least, not completely. 

All the times you’d had sex, you kept your bra on. They were cute bras, sexy lingerie sets that had cost you a fortune — specifically because the bra sizes you were looking for were like trying to find a signed limited edition of Kafka’s Metamorphosis. (You spoke from experience, having fought everyone on the internet to get a copy for Spencer’s birthday). All this effort was to hide one thing, well, two things really: your breasts. And it worked. Spencer was always hypnotized the second you took your top off. He had asked before if he could take your bra off, but when you rationally responded with, “It was so expensive, it would be a waste to take it off,” he always agreed, cupping your tits through the lacy fabric and forgetting why he ever complained. 

This is a good example that shows how considerate Spencer is. He’d let the subject slide with every weak excuse you made, never asking any prying questions. You knew it didn’t make sense to think Spencer would be turned off by the way your breasts look without a bra. He is obsessed with them covered, let alone when they’re not, your friends had told you. Still, doubt gnawed at you. He was a man. Men watch porn. You knew of his exes, how they have a different body type from yours. You were just afraid you’d shatter the illusion — that he’d be disappointed when he found out that your breasts aren’t as perky without support, how your nipples aren't placed symmetrically in the middle, how stretch marks covered the skin. 

“Are you alright?”

Spencer’s voice rattles you out of your thoughts. You swallow. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The knuckle of his index finger tilts your chin, coercing you to look at him. His eyes looked sweet — a little tired, very lustful, but sweet nonetheless. 

“I love you. You know that, right?”

Three simple words, and still it felt like a large weight fell off your shoulders, allowing you to breathe again. “I know,” you respond with a nod, reaching out to cup his jaw. Your thumb grazes his light stubble, then gently brushes against the hidden scar underneath his chin. 

“I love you,” you say back.

The intimate moment is of short duration. Spencer tilts his head, then raises his hand to signal to the Uber, who just drives into the street. 

You mumble a soft thanks as Spencer holds the door open for you. You crawl into the backseat, and he follows behind you, clicking his seatbelt on and giving the driver the address to your home.

“Driver, roll up the partition, please,” you sing under your breath as the Uber driver does so.

“Beyoncé?”

You gasp, placing a hand on your heart to emphasize your surprise. “Wow, I’ve taught you so much.”

“You teach me lots of things,” he says with a goofy grin. 

And he meant it. You did teach the all-knowing genius quite a lot. Whether you’d consider sharing your excessive pop-culture knowledge as impressive as the facts he rambled about was questionable. But the information was useful, nonetheless. 

His eyes flicker from the driver back to you, saying his next words just loud enough for you to hear. “I don’t think it would be a smart idea if you were to get on your knees, though.”

Your lips curl, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth. His comment is a reference to the song; still you could tell there was a slight invitation behind his words. 

“You don’t think so?” You tease.

He scootches forward in his seat. His eyes roam over your body, halting on your cleavage, then move up to your pouty lips.

“It’s a pretty cramped space,” he settles on saying, his voice hoarse. “Not even mentioning the fact that partitions are made of polycarbonate — which does absorb up to 34 decibels on average, but that’s not enough for you.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Not enough for me?”

He places a hand on your bare knee, thumbing the skin. “You’re pretty loud,” he recalls, his eyes finding yours. 

You chuckle, your gaze falling down to his hand, which was slowly creeping its way up your thigh. His fingertips were digging into the muscle, massaging it with care. The act is enough to turn you on, though you were already turned on by the kisses that he had left on your neck earlier. The memory is still vivid in your mind. 

“It’s not fair to blame it on me,” you tell Spencer. “You’re the reason for making me scream.”

He breaks eye contact, but not before you could catch the sparkle in his dark irises. He was trying to hold himself together; you could tell. He licks his lips, tucking a loose curl of hair behind his ear, before leaning in. His shoulder brushes against yours, his hot breath leaving goosebumps as his mouth traces the shell of your ear.

“Will you scream again for me tonight?” 

-`♡´-

Spencer’s kisses were all tongue, holding your jaw as he claimed you. There was no fight for dominance — you had surrendered the second he had closed the front door behind you. You had kicked your heels off at the same speed as he had thrown his blazer and tie on the ground. 

Large palms grip your face, connecting his lips back to yours as you blindly stumble through the living room in search of your bedroom. You know you’ve reached your destination as the back of your knees hit the mattress. 

Spencer pulls back. A deep exhale leaves his lips, caressing your cheek with the knuckles of his hand. “So beautiful,” he whispers, taking you in. 

You pull him back in by his collar, kissing him fervently. The lace of your underwear is bundled up between your folds, the material completely soaked. You roll your hips, moaning against Spencer’s mouth because of the slight friction it causes. 

Spencer notices what you’re doing. What you need. He grabs your ass, pulling you flush against him in a swift motion. Another moan escapes your throat as he locks his leg in between yours. Your dress rides up and he sees it as an invitation, rubbing his knee against where you need him most.

You let out a cry, the first one of the night.  

Spencer’s hands make way under the thin straps of your dress, pulling them down your arms, making your skin ignite. He pulls the dress down lower in a slight struggle as he tugs the fabric over your chest. Finally he frees your breasts, still covered with the lacy bra you’re wearing, but visible enough for his mouth to water. 

He pinches your nipples between both of his thumbs and index fingers, making your eyes roll back. “So needy, aren’t you, angel?”

His question isn’t meant to sound condescending — quite the opposite, actually. Still, you feel like he’s enjoying the way you’re all glossy-eyed and fawn-legged, feeling like you can come undone by the slightest of his touches. 

He continues stripping you down, revealing you inch by inch until the dress you had so carefully picked out in the evening is now pooled at your feet. 

Spencer gently presses you on the mattress, pushing your knees open as he takes place on the ground in between your legs. 

He hooks his hands behind your knees, scooting you a bit forward. His hands trail to your inner thighs, making you gasp as his fingertips dance over your skin ever so slowly. 

His touch was a delicious tickle, not one that you wanted to scratch, but one that you wanted to last forever. The heat in your core builds with every swipe of his digits. Your chest is heaving, his fingers so close to your throbbing pussy. 

“These are so damp,” he observes, curving his finger around the string of your underwear. “Think we should take these off, hm?”

A breathy moan leaves your lips. 

Spencer looks up at you, head cocking. He’s waiting for you to answer. You nod your head, hands gripping the bed sheets. “Yes. Want them off.”

He’s satisfied with your response, propping the material to the side to reveal your glistening cunt.

“God, you’re perfect.” He praises in awe. 

Perfect. 

You blink the thought away. There was no room for your anxieties as his tongue made contact with your pussy. You gasp, clenching your stomach and squirming forward, hands immediately finding their way into his hair. 

He uses the flat of his tongue to lick stripes up your folds, then uses the tip of his tongue to add pressure with every swipe against your clit. 

“Tastes so sweet,” he says, letting go of your swollen clit with a pop. 

You’re balancing yourself on the palms of your hands, back arched and head thrown back, giving yourself over to the pleasure. A rough hand gripped your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh. His curls disappear between your legs again. Then that same rough hand… but now around your breast. 

You didn’t notice anything at first — too caught up in the buzz of his hands and mouth on you. That was until he pulled the cup of your bra down, your breast spilling free.

“Spence!” You squeal. 

The sound could pass as a moan to anyone else, but Spencer knows the way you sound. His hands drop from your body, mouth pulling away, leaving you empty but giving you enough time to quickly cover yourself up. His pretty face is etched with confusion. “What is it?” 

“You pulled my bra down.”

“Did I break it?”

You didn’t even think of that. You turn your head to your collarbone, then pull on the strap. “No. It’s fine.”

“Then what’s wrong?” He repeats, golden-speckled eyes blinking up at you. “I told you that I can buy you some new brassières. I don’t mind.”

“It’s not that, Spencer,” you sigh. 

It isn’t fair to get irritated by him. The first step to a good relationship is communication — it’s a sentence you’ve become sick of with the amount of times you hear it, but that doesn’t make it less true.

“Do you…” you’ve now started your sentence. There’s no going back. “You… You like my boobs. Right?”

It’s like watching a mime; the way his eyes widen in surprise, then the wheels in his mind seem to turn, his eyes narrow, and a frown line forms between them. 

“Of course I do,” he says, standing up from his spot in between your legs. 

You’re scared that you’ve ruined it. That the mood is gone now that he’s aware there’s something keeping your mind busy. 

“I thought it was clear how much I like your breasts,” he assures, gently helping you up by your wrists and pulling you into a hug. His arms make you feel more covered, less vulnerable, because he’s still wearing a button-up and pants, while you’re merely clothed in your flimsy lingerie, wetness still coating your inner thighs. 

He presses a kiss to your hair. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I don’t like them.”

You still need to get used to being in a relationship with someone so emotionally mature. He truly had nothing to apologize for. It’s the voices in your head that tell you that he doesn’t like them. He’s never given you any reason to doubt yourself. 

“You haven’t, Spence. I swear. I’m just-“ you’re glad you’re talking to his chest right now, not having to face him as the next words leave your lips. “I’m scared you won’t like them anymore once you see them… bare. They don’t look the same as when I’m wearing a bra.” 

You can feel his slight chuckle reverberating from his chest. “I don’t look the same without clothes on either.”

Yes, he looks even better. His clothes hide the muscles in his arms, the thickness of his thighs, the soft flesh of his tummy. 

“They just… you know. Sag a bit.” You whisper the last words, feeling like you’ve just admitted to a foul crime. The room stays silent, and his hold on you lessens.

He pulls back enough to see your face, a playful glint still shimmering in his eyes. “I have three PhD's, one of them being in physics, and you don’t think I know how gravity works?”

Well, you weren’t expecting that answer.

“I know it’s natural and all,” you shrug. “They just don’t look like they do in porn. I felt like I needed to warn you.”

He cups your face, making you look at him; a sweet smile lingers on his lips. “If I wanted a pornstar,” the word sounded foreign on his lips, “I wouldn’t be here right now. I want you. All of you.”

You nuzzle your face into the warmth of his palm. Words were just words, but you’d never find out if he meant them if you didn’t give him a chance. You swallow, gathering courage as you take a step back, just enough room for him to fully observe you, his tall figure standing over you. 

Your fingers make their way to your back, trying to ignore their shaking as you reach the clasp of your bra. You maintain eye contact with Spencer, trying to see if he’d change his mind, but so far his hazel eyes are just filled with anticipation and need.

You take in a deep breath, then undo all three clasps at once, ripping the band-aid off. The relief is immediate, certain that there’d be marks on your skin because of the biting underwire. 

Spencer’s jaw slackens. His irises grow with every inch of skin that reveals as you pull the cups down. Then — in a quick move of your hand — you fully remove the bra from your body. 

“Jesus,” Spencer says breathlessly. 

Anxiety flashes through you like a sudden strike of lightning. Your hands reach out to cover yourself up. “I shouldn’t have-“

Warm hands lock around your wrists, gently pulling them away. “I didn’t even imagine you could look this beautiful.” 

His voice was tinged with complete adoration as he took you in. Your mind had to do a double take to signal to you that you’ve heard him properly. Beautiful. 

You play with your hands, squeezing the tips of your fingers to keep yourself from hiding the curves that were on display. “You don’t have to say that.”

He took a step forward, his fingers knitting through yours. “I’m not just saying it,” he guides your intertwined hands to his pants; your breath catches as you notice the outline of his cock bulging through the fabric. He places your hands on his cock, squeezing your fingers around his length. A breathy ah escapes his mouth, his head slightly thrown back as you start moving your hands on your own accord.

“This is all for you. This is what you do to me,” his voice rasps. 

Your thumb moves to his tip, circling the sensitive spot until you see a wet patch forming. Spencer’s hips stutter, bucking into your touch. “Let me prove to you how much I love you. Please, angel.”

His plea was one out of pure desperation. Not only was he dying to touch you, but it had been several hours since he’d first seen you in that dress. Several hours of fighting the urge to bury his cock deep inside of you. 

“I need you so bad, Spence,” you mumble back, nails grazing his clothed cock. 

A loud moan escapes from his throat. He doesn’t waste any time, holding you by your waist and letting the two of you fall onto the bed. You squeal, your tits bouncing from the effort. 

“God, look at you,” he groans, making way in between your legs as you lay down. Your breasts have fallen to the sides of your body, framing you deliciously. Spencer leans in, teasing you as he licks a wet stripe right up your breastbone, curls tickling your pillowy curves, but not yet touching them. 

He swallows your whiny moans by kissing you. His tongue hastily meets yours. He can’t help but grind himself against the softness of your inner thigh, seeking relief as his arousal continues to grow. 

Your mind is spinning. The contrast between his fully clothed body and your naked, vulnerable state is stark. His strong hands grip your delicate face as he kisses you deeper. 

With a catch for breath, Spencer pulls back. His dick twitches as he looks at you — eyes full of desire, pouty swollen lips, hard nipples begging to be touched, and your pussy glistening, ready for him to use. 

“You drive me absolutely crazy, sweetheart.”

You reach out to let your hands roam over his chest, pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Please, take it off.”

He nods, making a quick effort to take his shirt off, throwing it haphazardly to the ground. With slightly shaky legs, he gets to his knees on the bed, hands fumbling with his belt, too busy staring at you.

You can’t escape the moan that leaves your lips as you see the first dusty brown hairs appear on his pubic bone. He pulls his pants down lower, revealing the thick shaft of his throbbing cock. You’re not even aware of your own hand sliding down your body, gasping as your middle finger touches your swollen clit, the feeling electrifying.

“Getting yourself off just by looking at me? I thought that was my job.”

His slacks and boxers fall to his knees, his cock slapping up against his abdomen. You felt almost guilty for teasing him this long — his tip was just as red as his rosy lips, leaking shiny precum. And his cum-filled balls stood strained, like he could bust at any moment. Your middle finger slips into your warm pussy easily, eyes rolling back as you curve your knuckle, hitting that delicious spot hidden inside of you. 

Spencer takes his pants completely off, then grabs your wrist, pulling your finger out swiftly, the motion making a sloppy, wet sound. You whine, bucking your hips up in the air. He moves your hand to his mouth, connecting his lips around your wet finger as he sucks on the digit.

He swirled his tongue, collecting all of your sweet juices and moaning in appreciation. “You can wait a little longer,” he purrs as he pops your finger out of his mouth. 

All you want to do is touch yourself again, especially now that that finger has been in his pretty mouth, but he doesn’t give you the chance as he holds your wrists together, locking them above your head. 

“You can’t show me your beautiful body and then expect me not to worship it,” he softly breathes, leaning in, his lips ghosting your cheek. 

You wiggle in his grasp, making him squeeze his fingers around your wrist. “Be good for me and keep your hands up like this, okay?”

You could say no. Could decline his proposal and have his cock pounding into your aching pussy with just one word. But where would the fun be in that?

“Okay,” you nodded, anticipation bubbling in your core. 

Spencer let go of your hands, and as promised, you intertwined your own fingers, keeping them in place above your head. For a second he just looked at you, taking you in and not knowing where to start. Like a feast that looked delicious from head to toe. But he was the only guest, so he could take his sweet time savoring all of you.

He eventually made his decision. His thumbs and pointer fingers each cupped a breast from the side, then lifted them up so they pressed perfectly against each other.  

A groan left his throat as he bounced them, tongue darting out as he played with your tits in an adorable fascination. “Is this okay?”

You hum, a soft smile lingering on your face. “Yeah, you can be rougher; I won’t break.”

He displayed his fingers over your breasts, experimentally starting to massage the pillowy, plump skin like he’d do with your thighs. Your nipples hardened under his touch, inducing a moan from the both of you. 

His thumbs swiped over your buds synchronously, causing you to whimper. His brows rose lightly, the same look he’d have every time he’d have an epiphany; he then pinched your nipples, slightly turning them as he pulled. Your back arched on the bed, accompanied by a heavenly sounding moan. 

“So sensitive, aren’t you?” He muses. “My poor girl, depraved herself for so long.” 

You could only cry, begging for more. 

“That won’t happen again,” he gently reassures, thumbing your nipples, sending electrifying sparks to your clit. “I’ll make sure to give them all the attention they deserve, hm?”

You hastily nod in agreement, your voice a soft whimper. “Please.”

He leaned down, settling in between your legs, hissing when his cock grazed against your soft inner thigh. 

“Can’t wait to taste you,” he whispered, breath fanning your sensitive skin. He stuck his tongue out, and you couldn’t wait to experience how he’d feel lapping on your tits, if it were to feel just as incredible as having his tongue on your pussy.

Your question was quickly confirmed as he licked a wet stripe over the bud. The cool air that followed formed goosebumps on the skin. He cupped your breast tightly in his hand, leaning in again to repeat the motion, then again, until the bud glimmered under the bedroom light. He squeezed your other tit, making sure to give that one the same amount of attention as he swirled his tongue around the same bud. 

The only sounds that filled the space were your longing moans and the smooching of his kisses. You lay still, hands kept patiently up as you let him use you like a canvas, painting your skin with gentle strokes of his tongue.  

It was after a few more teasing licks that he closed his lips around the bud, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. You gasped, not being able to help yourself as your hands shot to his hair. He didn’t mind though, moaning around you as you tugged on the locks. He let go of your nipple, placing featherlight kisses and sucks on your chest before finding his way to your other breast, connecting his lips to it. The feeling was so dizzying, and you swore that you could come by just a single tap to your clit. 

He opened his eyes to look at you, blown wide pupils locking with yours as he continued to suck. His eyebrows were scrunched as if he was waiting for you to tell him that he was doing a good job, that he was pleasing you. 

“God, you look so beautiful,” you say in a moan. “Make me feel so good.” His eyes twinkled at the compliment, and he grinded his length against your leg as if to say the sentiment was mutual. 

He released your nipple from his mouth, hoisting himself up to press a kiss to your lips. His tongue moved around yours in the same way as it had done to your body just a moment ago. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” kiss, “can’t get enough of you,” another kiss, “need more.” 

An idea sparked in the back of your mind. It was something you’d never tried before, not with anyone, but you could imagine it feeling good. He has fucked your thighs before. Your mouth. Your pussy. The only thing that was missing was—

“Do you want to fuck my tits?”

“Oh God, yes,” Spencer instantly groaned in response. You giggled as he made quick work of moving up the bed, placing a knee on either side of your upper body. His hard cock was just inches away from you; a string of precum coated his tip, dripping onto you. You reached out, finger gathering the sticky essence before suckling on the digit.

Spencer’s hips twitched, releasing another thick drop of precum. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Why?” You teased, proudly showing your clean finger. 

He groaned, both in frustration and longing. “Because I will come all over you before I’ve even fucked you.”

You laugh, turning him on even more without it being on purpose. You placed your hands flat against your tits, squeezing them together invitingly. “Come on, then.”

Spencer grips himself by the base, tapping his tip against your soft cleavage before sliding himself in between your breasts. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he moans, throwing his head back. He’s too aroused to start out slow, instantly slamming his hips up in a steady rhythm. His upper thighs slap against your breasts, recreating the dirty sounds he'd make if he were actually fucking you.

“You feel so good like this,” he whimpers. “Always so good to me, angel.” 

He reaches out to pinch your nipples, making sure to bring you pleasure as well. Not like you weren’t enjoying this — Spencer was so, so pretty; you could stare at him for hours: his jaw slack, moans and groans spilling from his swollen lips like a song sung just for you, his chest and neck covered in red splotches from the heat of your bodies, his slick, pink tip rubbing against your chest, his veiny hands playing with your tits as he kept looking at you, his eyes filled with love and adoration… You couldn’t get enough. 

“I’m so close, baby,” he pants, his cock twitching, using the wetness that had gathered between your breasts as lube to move his hips faster against you. 

“That’s okay,” you encourage breathlessly, pressing your tits closer together, creating more friction for him. “Let go for me, Spence.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. One of his hands clasps around your shoulder, the other kneading the soft flesh of your breast as he thrusts his hips forward once more. His muscles tense, and you catch that look on his face — the look that tells you he’s right on the edge. Your prediction gets confirmed as a throaty whine escapes his throat, followed by warm spurts of white shooting onto your neck and chest. You’re able to catch a few drops by sticking out your tongue, swallowing, and sticking it out again to show him the proof.

“You drive me absolutely crazy, angel,” he says awestruck, climbing off of your body and staying seated beside you. 

You hum as you take in the way he has painted your chest, tracing your skin with your index finger, creating small drawings. He looks at you mesmerized, then blinks. “We should clean you up.”

“I got it,” you announce, cupping your breast up to your face and licking a firm stripe across the skin. 

A gasp sounded beside you, and you couldn’t help the sly grin that formed on your face as Spencer looked at you in pure surprise.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

You giggled, placing your lips around your nipple as you gave a gentle suck while focusing on your boyfriend, whose cock was hardening again. 

“Acting so needy when you’ve been pleasing yourself all this time,” he tsked. “Such a dirty girl.” 

He matched your smile, cupping your face and bending over to lightly caress your lips with his once again. You moan in satisfaction, licking his bottom lip to be invited in. Your lips acted in a familiar play, experimentally moving around each other until you figured out each other’s moves, able to feel the urgent need in the way his tongue stroked yours, signaling back to him that you’re feeling the same by biting down on his bottom lip.

He groaned in response, his hands sneaking around your waist to hoist you up. “You’ve done enough hard work; you deserve to lie down now,” you joke as he gently makes way onto the soft bed sheets, holding onto your even softer thighs as you straddle him. 

His cock feels heavy in your hands as you position it underneath your throbbing pussy, shuddering as you tease your walls with the slick head. 

“You look so beautiful,” he praises, moving his warm hands up and down your hips, easing the strain you feel when you slowly sink down onto his length. You gasp when his thick tip disappears between your folds, but his sweet moans calm you down. Oh, you’re so tight. Just a little more, just like that. You’re doing so good for me, angel. 

“Oh my God, Spence,” you moan as your hips make contact with his. The stinging has eased into a delicious sense of being full, placing your hands on top of his tummy to keep yourself steady as you start rocking your hips. Spencer gives a firm squeeze, fingertips digging into the curve of your ass, sure it’s going to leave marks. 

You move your body up and down, breasts swaying with every one of your movements, the act completely hypnotizing Spencer. His head feels fuzzy and his throat dry as he watches you, not being able to believe how lucky he got. 

You up your speed, moaning and whimpering as you use his cock as your personal toy, his voice and face working as porn as he shudders in pure bliss underneath you. 

“Taking me— fuck — so well, baby,” he whines. Spencer places the soles of his feet flat on the bed, holding you tightly by your waist as he lifts his body up.

“Spencer!” you cry as his cock drives deeper into you. 

“Hm, I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs in apology. “Just want to help you out.”

You nod — because even though you’re very much enjoying taking the lead, you know how good it feels when Spencer helps you out by pounding into you. So that’s what you do: sinking down onto him, meeting each of his thrusts as he bucks his hips up.

“Is it painful?” he asks considerately, nodding toward the way your heavy breasts bounce with each push of his hips.

You shrug, “Just a bit.” To be fair, you’re way too focused on the way your core tightens every time he buries his cock in your pussy, hitting that sweet spot inside of you as the veins decorated around his shaft tease your inner walls — to even care.

His large hands find their place on your breasts, squeezing them once, then twice, then looking back in your eyes. “I can work as your personal brassière.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Ah, how civil.”

“Did you know brassières were only invented in 1893? It’s fascinating because technically the first brassières dated back to ancient Greece. Actually, in Book 14 of Homer’s Iliad, there’s a reference to Aphrodite’s embroidered girdle.”

You hum, leaning forward to catch his lips. “And did you know that you talk too much?” You tease as you press another kiss to his mouth. “And did you know that no one uses the word brassières anymore?”

“But it’s the correct term!”

There’s only one other way to shut him up. You cradle your hands underneath his head, bending while tilting his head up to press his face against your tits. 

“Hmpf,” he mouths against your breasts, before easily finding your nipple to latch on. 

You hold onto the headboard, relishing in his touch as you pick up your rhythm again. His cock hits even deeper inside of you in this position. There’s something so electrifying about the stimulation of your breasts in combination with the pleasure against your G-spot. A feeling so electrifying you doubt you can hold on much longer. 

“Getting close, Spence,” you cry as his hands cradle your ass, holding the cheeks open as he pumps his length in and out of you.

“Not yet, sweetheart. Wait on me.”

His hot breath fans against your wet nipples, and you cry loudly, gripping the headboard until your knuckles turn white.

“I can’t, Spence. I can’t — feels so fucking good.”

“Yes, you can. Just a little longer. Make me proud, angel; I know you can.”

You tighten your walls around him — maybe it can be considered as cheating — but it works. Spencer groans as he bites down on your breast, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you squeal.

Spencer holds you tight against him, chests pressing together as he moves his hips with force. “That’s it — Oh, I’m close. Let go for me.” 

With one more jolt of his hips, you come undone. You cry incoherent words in the crook of his shoulder. Your legs are shaking from the strain of holding them open for so long. Your pussy flutters around him repeatedly until Spencer’s legs quiver in the same way as yours, filling you up with his warmth.

He groans in satisfaction, pushing his hips up a few more times to make sure his release is buried deep inside of you. The round head of his cock slips out of your folds. You let out a sharp gasp, still feeling the print he had left inside of you. You can feel the way your pussy twitches as his cum drips out of you and dribbles onto his thighs.

Spencer pulls some hairs out of your face, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple as you settle your head down on his sweaty chest.

“It's okay,” he soothes you. “You did so good.”

You smile sheepishly, drawing figures on his chest. “Yeah?”

He mirrors your smile. “Yeah. You did perfectly.” Another kiss to your face. “My beautiful, brilliant girl.”

Your heart does a leap out of joy. It’s easy to say afterward, but you can’t believe how you were ever scared to show yourself to him. Now only regretting not having done it sooner as you see the physical proof of how enamored he is with you. Maybe you didn’t fit the ideal you’d been forced to fit in all of your life, but if anything, there’s only more to love.

spectacular gimme fourteen of em rn 💳💥💳💥💳💥

gala

who? spencer reid (season 7) x fem!reader summary: when you need a date for a gala in DC, there's only one person you're willing to call on, and spencer has to make it known how hard it is to restrain himself around you, especially in that dress. word count: 2.4k content warnings: munch!spencer, spencer calls r ma'am and sweetheart, r wears a red silk dress, no use of y/n, 18+ minors dni a/n: can you tell i stole the gradient idea from @mggslover? thank you for enabling me tonight bby <3 check out more mayor!reader here

You hadn’t meant to call him — debating it in business class with your entourage settled in around you. The press secretary insists that it’s bad PR to go to the gala alone, held in honour of the city officials of California after some of the worst wildfires you’ve seen in history. The thought makes you uncomfortable, especially with the kinds of dresses that have been packed for you.

Still, you think, at least I’m not giving a speech. Even if the realisation that you wouldn’t be getting any airtime at the gala had made the PR team livid. And having passed the midpoint of your second term made it worse, knowing that the next target was a governorship. As much as it made your skin crawl, the team had pulled together an elaborate set-up in the wake of the fires, propping you up to give one of the best speeches of your career, rallying first responders and the neighbourhood.

The handwritten letters had been your idea, personally writing to grieving members of your community, and the people had taken to social media, making you one of the highest rated city officials in the state over your response to the fires. The fact that public rating hadn’t been the point went over everyone’s heads.

Part of you is tired of this — of the constant hovering, checking your angles, turning you into the perfect doll. It’s a halter-top dress, red silk hugging your waist, and matching heels that are gonna be murder at the end of the evening, hair swept into a chic bun to show off pearl earrings. Perfectly put-together for the camera.

You’re going over the itinerary of the evening when he knocks on your door, already ajar, and stepped inside, closing it behind him, wearing a tuxedo, the bow-tie slightly wonky — something that would give your press secretary a heart attack. His lips parted a little at the sight of you, hazel eyes tracing the outline of your dress, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, mustering the courage to meet your eyes. “Hi,” he said meekly at your apologetic smile.

“Hey,” you murmured, slightly out of breath already. The last time you’d seen him had been in your car, dropping him off at the airfield, leaving you with a lingering kiss that had you staring into space for a minute before you were sober enough to drive back. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” you started, having practiced what you were gonna say in the bathroom mirror.

“I’m glad you called,” he assured you, feet finally moving towards you.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” you murmured. “Some public spectacle because ratings say I look better on someone’s arm—”

“You look amazing,” he rushed to cut you off, hand twitching with the effort of not touching you. And just like that, three words rendered you speechless, colour rising to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the make-up artist’s blush.

“Thank you,” you managed, taking an infinitesmally small step to correct his tie. His eyes never leave you, nor do you want them to, as you smoothed down the lapels of his tux.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he confessed, it taking every ounce of effort and willpower not to just reach out and touch you.

“I’m pretty sure Maria would kill you if you did,” you murmured, looking up at him, the corner of your lip curling up in a smile.

“It’d be worth it,” he whispered, unable to help himself as he slid his hand over your waist, leaning in closer, watching your pretty eyes close with his proximity.

“We really shouldn’t,” you whispered back, and you’re gonna need a chaperone at this point to make sure there’s at least a foot between you both.

“What if I can make it so noone needs to know?” Spencer asked, nose nudging yours a smile playing on his lips. His grip was growing firmer, more confident, guiding you to the nearest surface, but loose and slow enough for you to stop him if you wanted to, and the next thing you know, you’re pressed against the writing desk. His hand cupped one side of your neck, nose trailing over your cheek as his lips found purchase on the other side, just under your ear, the faintest swipe of his tongue electrifying your skin. Your head hung limply, betraying your logic as he overwhelmed you completely. “Need to hear a yes, sweetheart,” he whispered, a slight rasp to his voice.

“Y-Yes,” you whispered and his lips drifted lower, careful to keep you as pristine as your team had left you. His hand dragged under the hem of your thigh, sliding over the outside before gently lifting you up, setting you on the desk, slotting between your knees.

“Christ, I missed you so much,” he whispered, dragging his callused finger tips over your thighs. “Want to kiss you so badly.” He's so careful, so gentle, but you can tell he's holding back, his breaths turning just a little ragged and his grip becoming a little possessive. Spencer's so close you can feel the warmth radiating from him, the hand on your thigh sliding up, just under the silk. Your heart's pounding so hard it's a wonder he can't feel it, and there isn't a damn thing you can do but watch as his nose brushes over your jaw.

Your hands gripped his forearm, fingers digging in when he finds the hem of your panties, lifting your hips ever so slightly in permission. He dragged the lace fabric down, simultaneously using his foot to hook around the chair to bring it closer so he can sit between your knees, looking up at you.

The room is eerily silent apart from your heavy breaths, and he's looking up at you with a heady mix of desire and reverence, before his mouth drags over the inside of your knee. His other hand slides over your hip, gripping you tight, as he slowly, so slowly, plants warm, wet kisses along the soft skin of your inner thigh.

"Fuck," you breathed out, elongating the word, gripping the edge of the table to hold onto some semblance of cognitive function. But one look at Spencer between your thighs, marking up soft skin, robs you of any of that.

He can feel the heat radiating from you as his nose trails over the sensitive skin, and his tongue darts out for a split second, before his mouth is back, leaving a trail of bruises along your trembling thighs.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, and even he's surprised at the amount of want in his voice. "You're killing me here."

You want to laugh, but it's strangled in your throat. "I'm killing you?" you scoffed in quiet disbelief.

"You should see yourself right now," he murmured, glancing up at you beneath his eyelashes, but the view is too tempting, and he couldn't help but kiss his way up past your knee, hands cupping your calves. "You're so close to me, and I can't even kiss you because of that stupid, stupid makeup. I'd kiss you so hard, sweetheart. You've no idea," he voiced, punctuating random syllables with open-mouthed kisses.

Your heart jumped at the rasp in his voice, the sheer extent of his desire, and you believe him, so much that you have to shift uncomfortably, clearly needing him to relieve you. He noticed the restless movement, the way the muscles in your thighs tensed, and his mouth curled up in a faint smirk.

"You want something, sweetheart?" he murmured, his thumb stroking the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, so close to where you wanted him. He was trying to keep his voice steady, his composure, although it was quickly crumbling.

"You're being cruel," you whispered.

He chuckled, the sound low and rasped against your skin, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your heated skin. He was close, so close, to where you needed him, but he was holding back, drawing it out. "Me? Cruel?" he echoed, his breath ghosted over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. "You're the one sitting up there, all dolled up for the cameras, driving me insane."

"Hardly on purpose!" Your protest comes out as a childish whine. "I'm just trying to do my job."

Spencer hummed, hands reaching your hips and pulling you close to the edge of the desk. “May I, ma’am?” he asked, smirking from below you, fingers already tracing the edge of your panties and you screwed up your lips, trying not to smile at the title as you nodded, tucking strands of hair behind your ear. Your hips complied to his pull, red lace coming down to your ankles, then disappearing into his pocket.

Before you can come up with something smart to say, his head dipped under the red silk, and Christ, his tongue has your knuckles whiten, fingers digging into the desk. It’s a sharp flick that has you mewling already. The tip of his tongue swirls around your clit so lightly, it’s all you can do not to gasp and push his face closer. Your hips twitch and squirm, already so sensitive from his lightest touch, only his hands keep you still with a firmness he never had before.

“Spencer,” is all you manage to breathe out, and his voice is too muffled. You never get to ask him to repeat, the flat of his tongue parting your folds, running over your centre and wrapped his lips around your clit like he was making out with your cunt. It was all you could do to stop yourself from pulling at his hair, breathy gasps turning into soft whines as he played around with a rhythm, finding one that worked for you, and going crazy with it.

Your thighs threatened to close in on him, only for firm, vein-riddled hands to push them wide. Your grip on the table gives out as he coaxes you to your peak, landing on your elbows with a quiet thud, a fuzzy sting that rivals the fuzziness in your head. Your hips attempt to jerk closer to him, and his arms have to wrap around your thighs to keep you still, making your frustration so much worse, your sheer helplessness to his onslaught making you needier. “Please,” you gasped, needing release. How did his jaw not hurt at this point?

His lips wrapped around your clit, nose rubbing against it, tongue sliding lower, lapping against your entrance. You’re almost sobbing when he eases two fingers into your cunt, curling deep, crooking and finding a slow but hard rhythm that has you clenching around him — almost desperate. You’re barely holding on, legs shaking around him. “Please, Spence, I’m–“ but you can’t form any more words, so close, just teetering at the edge, his fingers still going and his mouth still going and it’s just too much. “Please, please,” you whine out, desperate for relief, trying so hard not to pull on his hair.

His fingers curled, seeking that one spot, the one that had you trembling against him. Your voice rose in pitch, nearly cracking, words turning back into mewls and moans. Your hips jerked desperately, seeking more that he was just barely keeping from you, and your eyes fluttered shut, the heat in your core growing impossibly tight, threatening to spill over. He didn't show any signs of letting up, the relentless rhythm he had set up driving you to the brink. "Please, Spence, I’m so close," you begged, and he could hear the tension in your voice, the desperation, the need that mirrored his own.

His fingers curled, finding that sensitive spot inside you, his tongue flicking over your clit with perfect pressure. You could feel yourself trembling on the edge of your orgasm, and he knew exactly what you needed. "Please," you gasped again, and he pressed against that spot in response, feeling your body tense up even more. He could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, before relaxing entirely, your body going boneless as relief warms your entire body.

Spencer takes a breath before lapping your cunt clean, at a slow and leisured pace, sliding his fingers out. Silk fell away from his face, draping your lap as he pulled away, watching you catch your breath. The air was heavy with the smell of arousal, the taste of you still on his lips and the fingers that he licked clean. Your breathing slowly returned to normal, the tension fading from your body. He couldn't help but admire the sight of you, completely undone, your figure draped in red silk, the usually composed and articulate city official now utterly wrecked. It was a sight he could easily get used to.

“You… I don’t— how are you so good at that?” you asked, breathlessly, looking at him in awe as he stood between your thighs.

“With a lot of self-restraint,” he admitted, making you huff, shaking your head. You moved your hands to straighten his bow-tie, well aware of your proximity to him, your hands smoothing down the lapels of his tuxedo, and the door to your room opened up.

“Car’s waiting for you downstairs, Madam Mayor,” your assistant reported, her clear gaze not missing the proximity between you and Spencer and barely restraining a smirk. “Dr Reid,” she added in acknowledgement, Spencer raising a hand to greet her with a sheepish smile and then the door closes, leaving you both alone for a moment.

You let out a sigh, slipping off the table, smoothing down your dress as Spencer watched you. His gaze never left you as you composed yourself, straightening your dress and fixing your hair, transforming back into the poised city official in a matter off seconds. The transition was almost seamless, but he couldn't help noticing the slight redness on your cheeks, the remnants of your earlier activities.

Spencer's heart, after spending the last few moments going at a pace that would've concerned a cardiologist, finally began to settle. He had been reckless, and perhaps a little selfish. But as he watched you, he couldn't bring himself to regret a thing. “This is gonna be a long night,” you murmured under your breath, taking his arm. He couldn’t help but agree.

comments and reblogs always appreciated xoxo

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

joyce : hopper and i are getting married!

eleven : what is "married"?

hopper : it's what two people do when they both love each other very much.

*later on*

eleven : hey, mike? when are we getting married?

mike :

happy national boyfriend day to spencer reid

i wanna lick his stubble

“can i be the little spoon” all day EVERYDAY SIR 🫡

Baptized In Fear

Summary: Spencer struggles to fight the demons that haunt him through withdrawal. You're there to remind him he doesn't have to fight alone.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Mentions of previous drug addiction/withdrawal. Mentions of sleep paralysis. Some religious verbiage in a non-religious setting. Fingering (f!receiving), unprotected P in V sex (birth control mentioned), dry humping (my beloved), some praise, creampie (fingers burning as I type that). Best friends to lovers/two idiots in love (giggling and kicking my feet)!! A little angsty (I'm SORRY).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This song-fic is based on Baptized In Fear by The Weeknd, so I strongly recommend listening to it while you read, but it's not mandatory :) God I've missed writing LMAO I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!! :') <3 and if you DO enjoy it, please feel free to like, reblog, drop a comment, whatever your heart desires because I truly do appreciate any feedback I get on my works :) Friendly reminder that my requests are open btw okay I love you all MWAH!!

I fell asleep in the tub, I was met with paralysis

My foot hit the faucet, water started flowing in

Spencer woke with a sharp gasp, his gaze darting toward the frigid water now pouring over his skin. His fingers twitched at his sides, submerged and pruny. His eyes fluttered as he fought to keep them open. When had he dozed off? 

Couldn't scream for help, I just slowly felt the pressure hit

Moving one toe was the only form of motion left

Can't breathe for air, can't breathe

It was almost as though cement flowed through his veins instead of blood, keeping him anchored to the bottom of the porcelain tub. His pulse skyrocketed at the sound of the doorknob twisting followed by a sharp bang against the solid wood, but he couldn’t move. Logically, he knew that auditory hallucinations were normal for sleep paralysis. That didn’t stop them from being horrifying each time they happened. 

Spencer’s heart pounded in his throat, threatening to leap from the seam of his lips and dive for the drain if he were to open his mouth even a fraction. He was dizzy. Debilitatingly dizzy. The bright fluorescent light stung his eyes and made his head throb. 

He had to get out of this tub. 

Spencer focused all of the energy he could muster on wiggling his toes. He knew that once he got his toes to move, the rest of his body would follow behind shortly after. The sound of footsteps outside of the bathroom sent another pang of icy panic shooting up his spine, tightening the band-like sensation currently squeezing the air from his lungs and causing his ribs to ache. It felt like a rock was lodged in his throat, blocking his airway as he struggled to just wiggle his damn toes. 

Trying to remember everything that my preacher said

Tryna right my wrongs, my rеgrets filling up my head

All the timеs I dodged death, this can't be the way it ends, no

Spencer’s eyes slipped shut, exhaustion weighing them down. He was clammy despite the freezing water steadily rising, filling the tub beyond its normal limits. The gurgling sound of the overflow draining was muted by the incessant pounding at his bathroom door, the knocks sounding urgent and threatening. 

A tear dripped down his cheek as he recalled what his recovery coach had preached to him about withdrawal. Testaments about how excruciating it would be, how it would test his sanity… but it was a necessary evil. His only choice was to fight the craving for the sweet relief of the needle or lose the career he worked so hard to excel in. Lose the family he’d made from said career. Lose you. 

The water was now tickling Spencer’s chin, having slumped down into the tub presumably before he’d drifted off. His body was shivering violently, yet he still couldn’t lift a finger. Memories flashed behind his eyelids as he recounted every near death experience he’d had since joining the BAU. As he recounted literally dying and coming back to life at the hands of Tobias. In a way, he found it sardonic that he’d survived everything that he had just to die in a bathtub. All because he was too weak from withdrawal to fight the crippling grip of sleep paralysis. 

Figure in the corner I can't quite see 

I just know the shadow's staring at me

It gets closer, it gets closer, it gets closer now

Spencer’s eyes fluttered, opening in silent protest and staring unblinking up at the popcorn ceiling above. If this was to be the only movement his body would allow, then so be it. At least now he had something to focus on besides the barrage of memories blurring together in his mind or the overwhelming guilt consuming his entire being. 

His heart nearly stopped on its own accord when he caught sight of a dark, shadowy figure in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t move his eyes to bring his gaze to it directly, something he was both grateful for and terrified about. It felt as though whatever it was was staring directly at him, pleased by his unfortunate predicament. 

A tear dropped down into the water as the figure began to glide forward. Then another. And another. No matter how many times he repeated to himself that this was just a hallucination conjured up during the worst episode of sleep paralysis he’d ever experienced, the figure persisted, inching closer and closer. 

Figure in the corner laughing at me 

Water fill my lungs, vision blurry

Heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower

A low, rumbling chuckle filled the air as the water rose past Spencer’s lips now. The figure stopped at the edge of the tub now, its presence sinister. It was as though it was taunting him, gloating about its existence outside of the godforsaken bathtub he was about to drown in. 

His shallow breaths rippled the water as it began to rise underneath his nose, then above it, smothering any last shred of hope he had of breaking free of his paralysis and escaping what was about to become his ceramic grave. His body instinctively began to choke, fighting with strength he didn’t have to try to rid itself of the intrusion, but it was in vain. 

The popcorn ceiling blurred as muted sobs bubbled beneath the surface, his lungs burning with each failed breath. Spencer felt his pulse slow, the once frantic rhythm of his heart diminishing to a haunting lento. His eyes drifted shut as the water caressed his eyelashes, the final image his mind could summon being the first time he made you laugh, your head thrown back and your hand clutching his arm for support—the moment he’d fallen in love with you. 

Voices will tell me that I should carry on

Voices will tell me that I should carry on

“Spencer!” 

Spencer woke with a gasp, an intense wave of Deja-vu crashing into him as he jolted up. The freezing water that had surrounded him was gone, replaced by the comforting pressure of your hands on his shoulders and the blanket pooling in his lap. He blinked hard, trying to clear the haze from his vision as he took in his surroundings. The bathroom walls were no longer there. Instead, he found himself facing the plain, impersonal walls of the hotel room where they were staying while on the case. Spencer met your concerned gaze, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized not only had he woken you, but he had also worried you with his nightmare. 

Hotch had paired you together to double up, since the available rooms were limited. He figured that, as best friends, neither of you would mind. And you hadn’t—if anything, it gave you a chance to watch over Spencer, knowing he wasn’t doing as well as he’d claimed. You knew him too well to believe that. 

After Spencer was rescued, you started noticing the signs of addiction almost immediately. The shift in his personality was expected, given everything he’d been through. It was painful to accept, but you knew he would never be the same person he was before Tobias—and that was okay. You’d adjust to whatever version of him emerged. You were just happy that he was alive. But when the fidgeting grew constant, when his eyes seemed to drift into nothingness, when the bruises on his arm appeared, hidden under layers of long sleeves and cardigans… that’s when you knew it was time to step in. 

You’d confronted him about it, promising to not say a word to Gideon or Hotch as long as he swore to get help. And he did. The following day, he joined The Beltway Clean Cops, and to celebrate, you treated yourselves to takeout from your favorite spot and spent the day binge-watching movies together, enjoying the rare day off. For the first time since facing the needle that fateful night, Spencer felt hopeful. He felt seen. He felt loved. 

“Spence?” 

Your hushed voice snapped him out of his thoughts, his hazel eyes re-focusing as they traced your face. Your hair was tousled from sleep, your t-shirt wrinkled and pajama shorts askew, and your eyebrows were pinched together as you studied him in the dim light. But even so, he thought you looked like an angel. His angel. 

“Are you okay?” You whispered, moving your hand from his shoulder to press it to his forehead with a small frown. “You were crying in your sleep.” 

Spencer nodded, sucking in a shaky breath as he felt his pulse slowing. “I-I’m sorry for waking you. I just–” He swallowed, savoring the feeling of your hand now carding through his hair to soothe him. “I’ve been having these awful nightmares, and when it’s not nightmares then it’s episodes of sleep paralysis. A-and I know that’s to be expected with withdrawal… they’re just getting worse and more frequent and it’s making me want to avoid sleeping if it means I can avoid them.” His voice cracks on the last word, a tear slipping down his cheek as his eyes flicker down to his lap. 

Your frown deepened, your heart tightening at his words, until a thought crossed your mind. The room had two full-sized beds with a small nightstand between them, but that was easily movable. “What if…” you started, rising from where you sat beside him on the edge of the bed. “What if we push the beds together? I could hold you, and if you have a nightmare, I can wake you up. Would that help you get some rest?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the right words. He wasn’t sure if it would help him rest or keep him awake, given how he'd stayed up all night just to make sure he wouldn’t pop an erection from being so close to you. From the moment he’d met you, he’d been smitten, but he quickly accepted that you probably wouldn’t feel the same. So, he’d kept his feelings to himself, never crossing the line into anything more than friendship. “U-um… yeah. Sure. We—we can do that.” Spencer cleared his throat, nodding before awkwardly scrambling to his feet.

After arguing over where to put the nightstand and a few lighthearted jabs at Spencer’s strength (the beds were heavier than they looked), the beds were pushed together and the both of you were settled underneath the covers. Spencer was as stiff as a board, staring straight up at the ceiling while you set the alarm to wake you both in the morning. Turning the lamp off and rolling over onto your side, you stifle a chuckle at how rigid Spencer is. 

“Spence? Are you cold?” 

Spencer shook his head, his taut face barely visible in the moonlight streaming through the cheap, thin curtains. “No, no I’m not cold at all. I just—” he cut himself off with a huff. “I-I’m not used to sharing a bed with someone. That’s all.” 

You hummed in acknowledgment, propping yourself up on your elbow. There was almost a foot of space between you, leaving Spencer dangerously close to the edge. “C’mere, doc. I won’t bite.” Your voice was teasing yet gentle as you reached out, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “I can’t hold you if you’re about to fall off the bed.”

Spencer sucked in a breath, his eyes closing momentarily as he tries to cling to his composure before he shuffles closer to you, almost resembling an inchworm with the jerkiness of his movements. Once he’s laying a few inches away, you grin softly. You close the gap between you, resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arm around his waist. 

“Is this okay? Or, if you’re comfortable with it, you can be the little spoon,” you whisper, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart underneath your ear. His hands lay stiffly at his sides, picking at the sheets nervously. After a beat, he finally relaxes, sinking into the mattress with a shuddered breath before he answers. 

“Can I be the little spoon?” 

His voice is meek and trembling, like he’s on the verge of crying. But you don’t question it. Instead, you nod, moving so he can roll over onto his side. When he’s settled, you curl into him from behind, snuggling into his back and wrapping your arm around his waist once more. 

The warmth of his body pressed against yours is more comforting than you expected, and with a soft sigh you surrender to the lull of sleep. 

I've been baptized in fear, my dear

I've been the chief of sin

Washing my soul within

Spencer lied awake, the minutes ticking by agonizingly slowly while he stared at the bleak wall and counted every one of your soft breaths puffing against his neck. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep. Quite the contrary, actually. He was desperate for even just a few hours before you both would have to wake up and meet the others at the precinct. But he had a problem. 

Somehow, in your sleep, you’d managed to shift so that your face was only centimeters from the back of his head, rather than pressed against his back. Your arm, once draped around his waist, now hugged his chest, while your thigh rested across his hip and your calf dangled in front of him. You were practically curled around him like a koala.  

Normally, he wouldn’t have any qualms with that. He’d longed for the chance to be this close to you for ages. But your calf was pressing against his crotch in an infuriatingly enticing way, and he was stuck in the dilemma of moving your leg and risking waking you or letting your leg stay where it was and use all of his will-power to stay awake so he wouldn’t drift off and subconsciously hump against your leg like a frantic animal from the wet dream he was bound to have. 

He finally opted on moving your leg once the feeling of your face pressing into his neck and your lips skimming across his skin caused all of his blood to rush south. Slowly–oh so slowly–he brought his hand up to gently grab your calf. Your bare skin was silky and warm in his hand, making his eyes flutter shut as he fought the urge to groan. 

A murmur slipped from your lips at the feeling of his touch, causing him to pause out of fear that he’d woken you. After counting the seconds between your breaths to ensure you were in fact still sleeping, he eased your leg up, ready to move it off of him when you stirred. Your grip on him tightened, pulling him impossibly closer as your leg pressed down into him even harder than before. 

The friction from your leg pressing against his now aching cock made his breath hitch, a whimper slipping free into the night air before he could stop it. He was convinced now that, for whatever reason, the universe was pulling a cruel prank on him. Punishing him with the feeling of your body pressed against his but not allowing him to actually touch you. Not in the way he craved to at least. 

The sound was enough to rouse you from sleep, a result of becoming a light sleeper since joining the BAU. Spencer stiffened, his body going rigid as he felt you lift your head, gathering your bearings. Then he felt your leg press into him again, this time intentionally. 

“Spence?” 

Your whisper in his ear sent chills down his spine. He swallowed hard, praying to whatever could hear him that you weren’t disgusted or upset at him because of his erection digging into your calf. After a beat, he finally whispered back. 

“Yes?” 

Shifting again, your hand trailed down his chest to rest on his tummy. Spencer was convinced his heart did an actual somersault in his chest. 

“Do you want help with that?” 

If words could stop a heart, then those surely did the trick. Spencer blinked hard before pinching himself, ensuring himself that he wasn’t dreaming again. When he winced from the pinch, he did it one more time for good measure. Nope. He was awake. 

When he didn’t answer, your hand slipped even lower to tease the waistband of the pajama pants he wore. His cock twitched at the sensation of your nails slightly dragging back and forth along the sliver of exposed skin there, and his lips parted in shock as you whispered into his ear again. 

“The hormones released during sex help promote sleep…” Your voice was raspy still, adding a sultry edge to your already sinful offer. “...which you really need.” 

Spencer swallowed, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally managed to speak. “Y-you don’t have to offer something you don’t want to do just because you f-feel bad for me.” His voice cracked with a mix of defeat and embarrassment. 

That cleared any remaining sleep from your veins as you moved to sit up. A frown pulled at your lips as you rested a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to turn over. “Hey,” you murmured, sadness lacing your tone. “Spence, look at me.” When he finally turned over, your heart broke into fragments. Tear streaks glistened on his cheeks in the dim moonlight, his face forlorn and downright pitiful as his lower lip trembled. 

“You know me better than to assume I’d ever offer something I didn’t want to do.” 

Spencer knew you were right, but his mind couldn’t bring itself to accept it. To him, it had always seemed utterly illogical that you could ever feel even a fraction of what he felt for you—let alone be drawn to him enough to offer that. And yet, here you were, looking at him with a fondness that made his heart stutter. 

“Are you…” He swallowed hard, reaching up to wipe his tears away. “Are you sure?” 

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Of course I am, Spence. I–” Sucking in a breath, you averted your gaze to the bed before continuing despite the heat rushing to your cheeks. “I know it probably wasn’t my best idea to make a move the way I did, but I’ve… um. I’ve had feelings for you for a really long time and I just figured since you were hard that that was as good of a time as any to finally say something about them.” Your fingers picked at the fabric of the sheets, your nerves running rampant now that you’d finally put your feelings out into the open instead of keeping them tucked away. 

Spencer stared at you in silence for a moment, slack-jawed and doe-eyed. When you finally brought your gaze back up to his, the sight made you chuckle. That snapped him out of it, his face flushing as he cleared his throat and sat up. 

“I-I feel the same way,” he said less than elegantly. Fumbling for words, he continued. “You are… everything. You’re everything to me. You always have been. I knew you would be the moment I met you.” 

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes at his words, and a small, disbelieving laugh left your lips at his admission. Instead of replying with words (which were failing you at the moment anyways), your hands cupped his cheeks, pulling him into a kiss. 

I've been baptized in fear, my dear

Like Paul, I'm the chief of sin

Washing my soul within 

Spencer gasped in surprise against your lips, stiffening for half a second before melting into your touch. His lips sought yours out tentatively, his head tilting just enough to find the perfect angle. His hands found your waist as your mouths worked together, resting hesitantly there as though he were afraid that if he touched you too hard you’d disintegrate into thin air and he’d wake up alone and aching like he had so many times before. 

But this was real. 

Your hands slid from his cheeks into his hair, tugging gently as you pulled him closer. A soft groan slipped from his lips as your tongue brushed his lower lip, silently begging for entrance. He eagerly granted it, whimpering slightly at the molten sensation of all of his blood rushing south once more. 

Spencer, in a surprisingly brazen move, pulled you into his lap, propping up against the headboard. His hands slid from your waist up to rest on your ribs, his thumbs tracing the space below your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. He reveled in the shiver that coursed through your body, taking it as a sign that you were enjoying his touch and letting his hands trail higher until he was gingerly cupping you, thumbing over your pebbled nipples. 

“Spence,” you breathed, breaking the kiss. Your chests heaved, the both of you panting and wild-eyed as your gaze met. “You can take it off. I want you to… Please?”

That one simple word was almost his undoing. Please. You’d said it so sweetly. So needy. He’d gladly give you everything your heart desired and more if that’s how you asked for it—though he knew he’d give it to you regardless, no begging necessary.

Spencer nodded, letting out a shaky breath as his fingers found the hem of your shirt. He tugged up, lifting it over your head and tossing it to the ground without a second thought.

He might as well have tossed his brain with the fabric, considering that it was now rendered completely useless at the sight of your bare breasts right in front of his face. His eyes widened in awe, making you duck your head into the crook of his neck to shy away from the intensity of his gaze.

“Like what you see?” You murmured teasingly, nipping at his skin gently before placing an open mouthed kiss on his jaw.

“There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe how much I like what I’m seeing right now.”

Spencer’s answer sent the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy, fluttering wildly as you pulled back to grin at him. Your hands found his chest, steadying yourself as you shifted in his lap. A breathy groan filled the air as the movement pressed your hips together, the hint of friction feeling almost electric as pleasure zipped through the both of you.

You repeated the motion, grinding against him with a soft sigh. His hands fell to your hips, squeezing as he guided your movements. His head tilted back, smacking the headboard with a quiet thud.

“Ow!” He huffed out indignantly, but he was grinning, savoring the giggles bubbling from your lips as you laughed at him.

“Guess you could say I’m a real knock out, huh?” You teased, squealing as he pinched your side and rolled his eyes at your lame joke.

Your giggles devolved into muted moans as he leaned forward to mouth at your nipple, pinching the other between his fingers as you rocked against him. Your eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation, the desire pooling in your lower stomach growing hotter by the second. Your hands drifted up his chest to rest on his shoulders, using the leverage to rock against him even harder.

The ache between your legs was dizzying. A whine slipped free from your lips when you felt his muffled moan on your skin, his tongue laving across your nipple before he switched sides. The cold air against your warm, spit-slicked skin sent chills down your spine.

“Need you,” you mumbled, letting your fingers slide down to the bottom of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

Spencer nodded, releasing your nipple with a soft pop as he sat back just enough to pull it off and toss it to the floor to join yours. Your eyes greedily drank in the sight of the newly exposed skin, taking note of every single freckle and scar you saw before you leaned in to kiss him again.

This time, it felt desperate. Messy. Primal. Gone was the hesitation, the exploration of something new, instead replaced with a hunger only each other could satiate.

Hands roamed across skin, silently pledging your devotion to one another as your hips continued their frantic movements. Spencer’s fingers dug into your hips as he broke the kiss, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

“I-“ he swallowed hard, fighting to hold back a moan as you rubbed against him just right. “C-can I please fuck you? Please?”

It was your turn to fight back a moan as you gazed down at him, the dim moonlight illuminating his features in the most hauntingly beautiful way possible.

“God yes.”

At your answer, Spencer found the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your thighs with a newfound urgency. You rolled off of him, ignoring his whine as you shimmied out of them.

“Well? Aren’t you going to take your pants off?” You arched a brow, motioning to his still-clothed lower body with a sly grin.

Spencer was frozen, his kiss-swollen lips parted as he stared at your now completely naked body. You hadn’t been wearing any panties under your shorts, a revelation that had him almost cumming on the spot. Blinking, his mouth opens and closes a few times before his brain finally catches up.

He hurriedly shoved the plaid fabric of his pajamas pants down, kicking them off the end of the bed along with his boxers. “There,” he whispered, moving to hover above you. Before you could respond, his lips were on yours once more.

A shocked gasp caught in your throat as his fingers found your core, running up and down your slit to collect your wetness before dipping into your folds. A groan rumbled against your lips as he pressed a finger inside of you, pumping it in and out slowly as the heel of his hand pressed against your clit.

“You like that?”

His question wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t arrogant. It was genuine curiosity, wonderment threaded through his hushed words as he pulled back to take in the sight of you underneath him. When you nodded, he grinned, kissing your forehead before whispering again.

“Can I add another?”

“Please do.”

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He added the second digit, thrusting his fingers and curling them to try to find that small patch of nerves tucked away inside you. A smirk graced his lips when your back arched, the small cry leaving your lips letting him know he’d found it.

Your body writhed under his as he pounded his fingers into that spot, unrelenting in his mission to make you fall apart beneath him. He could feel your walls tightening, your wetness coating his hand as you neared the edge.

“I-I’m—Spence!”

Your legs thrashed, your eyes squeezing shut and hands gripping the sheets as you came hard. Spencer watched, his gaze reverent as he slowly pumped his fingers, coaxing you through your orgasm.

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your open mouth. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Trembling, you let out a breathy laugh as you finally opened your eyes. “Fuck, Spence. C’mere.” You pulled him down, threading your fingers through his hair with a dopey smile.

He settled between your spread legs, his breath hitching as his hard cock pressed against your thigh. “I… um…” His eyes fluttered shut as you angled your hips, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. “I didn’t bring any protection—“

“I’m on birth control, sweetheart. And I’m clean. Does that work for you?”

Spencer groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck and nodding against your warm skin. The idea of fucking you already had his knees weak. But fucking you raw? He felt like the most blessed man alive, favored by whatever entity existed.

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to immediately cum as he sank into you, inch by devastating inch. The feeling was pleasure in its purest form. Redemption. Salvation.

A guttural groan ripped its way from his throat as he bottomed out, panting into the crook of your neck as your fingers carded through his hair. Everything about you felt perfect. Too perfect.

“I won’t last long. I’m so sorry,” Spencer murmured sheepishly, lifting his head to look at you. His cock twitched at the sight of you, all flushed and spread out beneath him. He gave a tentative thrust, moaning at how your body seemed to grip him, pulling him back in as if he belonged there. He’d spend forever inside of you if he could.

You shushed him, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “That’s okay, baby. Don’t apologize,” you reassured him, dragging your nails gently down his back.

He shivered, swallowing hard before nodding. His hips began to move, slowly at first before his control dissolved completely. His hips began rutting into yours, the lewd sound of skin against skin filling the air between pants and moans.

Within minutes, Spencer was trembling in your arms, his pace faltering. You brushed his hair back from his face, a satisfied smile lingering on your face as you looked up at him through hooded lids.

“That’s it, Spence. You’re doing so good. Made me feel so good, sweetheart. Cum for me.”

Spencer’s hips jerked at your words, his mouth falling open around a moan as he filled you with everything he had. He swore his vision gave out for a second, replaced instead with explosions of color behind his eyelids. His chest heaved as he gulped down air, rolling off of you with a quiet groan before flopping onto the bed beside you.

Once he’d caught his breath, Spencer leaned over to press a kiss to your temple before urging you to get up and go pee. You whined, shoving him away playfully and grumbling the entire ten steps it took for you to reach the bathroom (and flipping him off when he cackled at your awkward waddle to try to prevent his cum from dripping down your legs and onto the floor).

Figure in the corner I can't quite see 

I just know the shadow's staring at me

It gets closer, it gets closer, it gets closer now

When you returned, Spencer opened his arms, pulling you into them and whispering about how thankful he was for you and how, now that he had you, he’d never let you go. He peppered soft kisses along your jawline, then across your cheeks, murmuring about how beautiful you were as you dozed off against his chest.

For once, he finally didn’t feel the gnawing craving that usually chipped at him throughout the day. He finally felt like he could breathe.

Figure in the corner laughing at me 

Water fill my lungs, vision blurry

Heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower

Lying there with you, holding you in his arms and cradling your body against his, he finally felt at peace. So much so that when he started to drift off, he didn’t panic like he usually would. No.

Instead, he simply pulled you closer, finally allowing sleep to take him. Because he knew if his demons came back to haunt him at any point during the night, you’d be right there beside him, fighting them with him.

Voices will tell me that I should carry on

Continued A/N’s: I’m a dumbass and accidentally fell asleep without setting an alarm so I’m posting this just a little later than I want to but here it is!! :’) Again, I hope you guys enjoyed 🫶🏼 -K

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

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

dommy mommy emme is gonna get touched bro 💁‍♀️