SPENCER REID

need me my own spencer reid NEOW

𝜗𝜚 Every Shade.

Boyfriend!Reid x Avoidant!reader

series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: Your perfect boyfriend says a fun fact about the standards of beauty, and suddenly his words hit you harder than they should.

Words: 6k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!bau!reader. mentions of insecurities, beauty canons, serial killers, death and the reader wearing makeup. established relationship. spencer being an inexperienced boyfriend. lack of communication but happy ending. hurt/comfort. angst?. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I can seriously think of my inexperienced boy being a foolish or careless boyfriend even without meaning to be, so enjoy this!

Spencer Reid never thought of himself as the careless type of boyfriend. In fact, before you, the very idea of being someone’s boyfriend had never seemed possible, let alone something he could do well. He had always been more comfortable with facts, numbers, and patterns. Relationships had always been a different kind of mystery to him, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to solve. But when you came into his life, something shifted. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt an overwhelming desire to be not just a partner, but a good one. A thoughtful one. A boyfriend who paid attention to the details.

He knew your favorite coffee order without you ever having to tell him. He knew the exact shade of blue that made your eyes sparkle in a way that made him catch his breath and the way you furrowed your brows in concentration when you were diving deep into thought. He noticed the little things, like the way your fingers gripped the edge of your sleeve when you were lost in a difficult problem or how you would laugh softly at jokes you didn’t find funny just to make others feel comfortable. Every habit, every subtle movement, every fleeting comment you made was something he absorbed like a sponge, collecting the pieces of you that made you you. And it made him feel closer to you, more connected than he ever thought was possible.

But it wasn’t just the light moments he noticed. Spencer also understood the weight of your darker days, the ones where the world seemed to shift into shades of gray, where the air held a bite that wasn’t harsh but still cut through you. He knew when the seasons teetered between autumn and winter and how those melancholic in-between days clung to your spirit. On those days, the ones where you wore your sadness like a cloak without ever saying a word, he was there. He noticed when your smile didn’t reach your eyes, when your usual energy seemed dimmed. So, without fail, he would show up with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, a soft blanket, and arms that enveloped you like a cocoon. He would be your shelter, your quiet refuge from the world, without needing any words to fill the silence.

He loved knowing you this well, loved that he could anticipate your needs before you even voiced them. It made him feel closer to you, like he had earned a place in the most hidden corners of your heart. And to Spencer, there was no better feeling in the world.

He knows you; he sees you. He does it.

That morning, in the quiet hum of your office, was one of those moments where your boyfriend’s watchful eyes made all the difference. The soft glow of your desk lamp illuminated your face, casting a warm, golden light that contrasted against the coolness of the winter air outside. Before you, your makeup bag lay open, a chaotic yet familiar spread of tools—brushes, tubes, powders—all of them scattered like tiny pieces of armor you would need for the day ahead. You were preparing for the press conference, the one where you would stand in for JJ during her maternity leave. The pressure felt immense. It wasn’t just any press conference; it was the moment you had to prove you could handle the spotlight, the cameras, and the ever-watchful public eye. The weight of one of your best friends’ trust sat heavy on your shoulders, but it was a weight you were willing to carry.

As you smoothed foundation over your skin with careful, practiced strokes, you felt the weight of Spencer’s gaze on you. It wasn’t intrusive, never demanding, just there, steady and grounding, as if his attention alone could keep you tethered. He had a way of watching you that made you feel both seen and safe, as though he was quietly committing every little detail of you to memory.

Still, you glanced up, unable to resist.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those deep, knowing eyes—told you everything. He was looking at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world, his quiet reverence sending a warm, familiar hum through your chest. It made your pulse stutter, your breath catch just slightly.

Because, oh God, how much you loved feeling his eyes on you.

You swallowed, dragging your focus back to the mirror. Focus. Get it together. You’ve got this. JJ had entrusted you with this press conference, and you weren’t about to let doubt creep in, not now.

But from the corner of your eye, you caught movement.

Derek Morgan, leaning casually against his desk, arms crossed, wearing that signature smirk of his. It wasn’t just amusement playing at the edges of his mouth; it was something more entertained, more knowing. His gaze flicked between you and Spencer, and you could practically hear the teasing remark forming before he even opened his mouth.

You sighed. Here we go.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow as you reached for your concealer. “Never seen someone put on makeup before?”

His grin only deepened. “Nah, I’ve seen plenty,” he said, raising an eyebrow as if he were admiring a work of art. “I’ve just never seen someone prepare for a press conference like they’re getting ready for a red carpet event.”

You rolled your eyes. “Some of us like to be prepared. Looking good is part of that.” You injected confidence into the words, though if you were being honest, they felt a little hollow. Today, it wasn’t just about looking good, it was about feeling in control.

And right now, with nerves curling tight in your stomach, you weren’t sure you did.

Morgan’s smirk didn’t waver. He nudged your boyfriend with his elbow, dragging him into the conversation. “Come on, kid. Tell her she doesn’t need all that makeup.”

You looked up, expecting his usual reassuring smile, that soft look he reserved for moments when he knew you were nervous or self-conscious. You could always count on him to calm your racing thoughts, to tell you that you were perfect just the way you were. The kind of reassurance that made everything feel lighter.

Instead, Spencer glanced at you with that thoughtful frown he always wore when his mind was spinning through facts. “You know…” His voice was calm, detached even, like he was about to drop some piece of knowledge that he thought might help. “It’s weird, but studies show that people tend to take you more seriously when you fit the ‘beauty standards.’ You know, like…if you’re wearing makeup or have certain features that are seen as desirable, people will listen to you more in meetings.”

The mascara brush froze mid-air.

Oh.

The words landed harder than they should have, knocking the breath from your lungs in a way that felt almost embarrassing. Because this was Spencer, your Spencer, the one who had seen you at your worst, who had kissed you sleepy and messy in the morning, who had traced your bare skin in the dim light of your bedroom.

And yet, here he was, stating facts about beauty standards like they were nothing more than statistics. Like they didn’t mean anything.

You forced out a weak laugh, trying to brush it off, trying to tell yourself that he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. But the sting was already there, curling under your skin, settling deep in your chest. Was that how he really saw things? That your worth—your professional worth—was tied to how well you conformed to something so shallow?

That you weren’t enough without it?

You searched his face, hoping to find something, some flicker of understanding, some sign that he realized how his words had sliced right through you. But he wasn’t looking at you like a man who had just shaken your foundation. He was looking at you like a scientist reciting an interesting fact.

Like it wasn’t personal.

But God, it felt personal.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty, boy,” Derek said, messing with Reid’s hair, trying to break the tension, but the words didn’t quite hit the mark.

You tried to focus again, returning your attention to your makeup, but the weight of Spencer’s comment lingered in the air. Your hands felt unsteady as you finished applying the mascara, the brush shaking slightly with each stroke. Your voice felt tight as you responded, trying to keep it light, but your words tasted flat, like you were trying to cover up a bruise that wasn’t yet healed.

“That’s…interesting,” you said, your tone carefully neutral, though the insecurity that was now flooding through you was anything but calm.

“Yeah,” he said, still looking at you, his voice slightly absent. “And if you’re a woman, studies show that you’re more likely to be taken seriously in a professional setting if you wear makeup or—” His gaze seemed to soften, but it didn’t feel comforting. It just made you feel like there was something more he wasn’t saying. “Not that you need it, of course.”

You could feel your heart rate pick up as you tried to smile, but it didn’t feel natural. His words had drilled into you, chipping away at the small pieces of confidence you’d carefully built up this morning. The idea that your worth, in part, was tied to your appearance, to how well you matched up to some standard that was beyond your control, weighed on you like a heavy cloak. You thought about the days you’d come to work with little makeup, or none at all, when your boyfriend had seen you without the polished facade, the times when he had seen you just woken up or coming out of the shower. Did he see you as less then? Did he notice the imperfections when you were stripped of all that? Did he like you less when he saw you naked, unpolished, and unguarded? Were you enough for him in those moments? Did he still see you the same way? Or was there a shift, a moment when he realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t quite as perfect as the women he read about in his studies, the ones with their perfectly symmetrical faces, their natural makeup, their flawless skin?

“And, you know,” He added, still looking at you and Morgan like he couldn’t stop talking, “there’s this whole thing about how people with higher cheekbones are considered more attractive, and—”

You felt your breath catch. The fun facts about beauty standards kept coming, one after the other, each one a reminder of the ways you didn’t measure up. How the curve of your jaw wasn’t quite sharp enough, how your cheekbones weren’t as high as the models in the magazines, how you didn’t quite fit the mold your own boyfriend was talking about.

He wasn’t intentionally trying to make you feel insecure; he wasn’t even really paying attention to how you were really reacting, but somehow, his words echoed in your mind, like a chorus of doubts rising to the surface. Maybe you had been too focused on doing your makeup to feel like yourself today. Maybe you had gotten too used to hiding behind this mask to feel comfortable with who you really were underneath. Maybe you were pretty, but not pretty enough. Never enough. Never like a model.

You forced a laugh, trying to shake off the unease. “Yeah, I guess I’m just trying to keep up with all the standards, huh?” You said, your voice tight, and then quickly added, “But I’ll be fine. It’s just a conference, right?”

Something inside you was mentally begging him—pleading with him—to say something else. Something real. Something that had nothing to do with studies or statistics or the way the world decided who mattered more. Tell me I’m beautiful. Tell me none of that matters. Tell me I don’t have to measure up to a standard I’ll never fully reach.

But all he gave you was a weak smile, the kind he always gave when he thought everything was fine. He said, “You’ll do great. You always do,” as if that was enough.

But it wasn’t. Not this time.

Not when your heart was filled with doubts and insecurity, and all you really wanted was to feel seen. To feel like you were more than just the sum of your appearance.

“Thanks,” you said, the word small and insignificant, slipping from your lips like it didn’t matter at all.

Spencer didn’t notice the shift. He turned his attention back to his notes, his mind already back on its analytical track. He was already gone, lost in his thoughts, unaware of the storm that had stirred inside you.

And as you sat there, in front of the mirror, your perfectly applied makeup reflecting back at you, the weight of the silence between you grew. You had done everything right. You had made yourself look the way you were supposed to. But somehow, sitting next to the person who should have made you feel the most seen, you felt more invisible than ever.

The mask was still in place, but it didn’t feel like protection anymore. It felt like a cage.

The women’s bathroom buzzed with quiet energy, the soft murmur of conversation from the stalls, the clatter of makeup brushes on porcelain, and the steady trickle of a faucet someone had forgotten to turn off. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered faintly, casting everything in an unforgiving, almost surgical glare. Too bright. Too harsh. Every pore, every smudge, every slightly overfilled section of your eyebrow…ugh, why did it look so weird today?

You squinted at your reflection, lips pressed into a tight line, as if sheer force of will could stop the growing wave of insecurity curling around your ribs. Your hair was shining after so many new products, your foundation was patchy in places, and your eyeliner was untouched. You should have been focused and methodical, getting ready like you always did. Instead, your hands were unsteady, your thoughts tangled in something that had absolutely no right to be taking up this much space in your brain.

But it was.

Because Spencer Reid and his dumb fun facts had lodged themselves deep into your psyche, turning what should have been a normal morning into an existential crisis. The same babbling you used to love to hear now sounded like a nightmare. The same guy you had fallen in love with and loved to be with all day was now the one you had been avoiding looking in the face for more than three seconds.

On the counter was one of the magazines you had bought the other day, with a model looking back at you with her impossibly perfect cat eyes and flawless skin. Today you tried the same look. It hadn't worked. It looked good on her, perfect. On you? You looked like a raccoon trying to do a winged eyeliner tutorial while riding a roller coaster.

Suddenly, Emily’s voice sliced through the fog of your spiraling thoughts.

“Okay,” she said, her tone edged with concern and authority, “what the hell is going on?”

You startled slightly, mascara wand freezing midair. When you looked up, she was leaning casually against the counter, but her eyes—dark and sharp as ever—were anything but casual. She scanned you like a crime scene: the half-done eye makeup, the tense set of your shoulders, the way your lips were pressed into a thin, nervous line. You must’ve looked like you were trying to solve an advanced math problem, not get ready for a briefing.

You cleared your throat, forcing out the lie you hoped would be enough. “Nothing.”

Emily blinked slowly, unimpressed. “Right. Because people always look like they’re about to throw up when nothing is wrong.”

Damn profilers.

From across the room, Penelope was perched dramatically on the edge of the sink, legs swinging, a swirl of floral perfume and bubblegum. She blew a perfect pink bubble, let it pop, then gave you a long, knowing look as she chewed.

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, cocking her head. “That’s the ‘I’m having a silent breakdown but don’t want to talk about it face.”

You tried to scoff, but it came out weak. “I don’t have a face for that.”

Penelope arched an eyebrow. “Oh, honey. You absolutely do.”

“She’s right,” Emily deadpanned, crossing her arms. “It’s your second most common expression. Right after, I’m internally screaming but pretending everything’s fine.”

You let out a breath—sharp and tired—and pressed two fingers to your temple like that would somehow press the thoughts out of your head. But they didn’t go. They never really did.

“I just…” You trailed off, mascara wand still clutched in your fingers. Your eyes dropped to the cluttered counter: a foundation bottle left uncapped, brushes scattered, and a smudge of lipstick on a tissue like a failed experiment. “Do I look good?”

The silence that followed was brief but pointed. You could feel both women scan you with clinical precision: your rumpled hair, eyeliner started on one eye but not the other, and foundation patchy where you’d tried to blend too quickly. But it wasn’t just about that. They knew it. You knew it.

Emily gave a dismissive wave. “Why are you even asking? You know you look good.”

But the question still hung heavy in the air.

You set the mascara down with a quiet, deliberate click. A tiny sound, but final. “Spencer said something,” you murmured, your voice thinner than you wanted it to be. “A couple of days ago.”

Both women immediately stilled.

“About beauty standards,” you continued, eyes fixed on the magazine lying facedown on the counter, a model’s perfect eyes staring back in judgment. “He was talking about how people take you more seriously if you look a certain way. If you’re conventionally attractive. He was just rattling off facts—like he always does—but…it stuck.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed as she popped her gum again. “Ugh, that boy and his fun facts.”

You tried to laugh, but your stomach was turning like someone had twisted it into a tight knot and pulled. The memory clung to you: his voice so casual, so neutral, dropping that stupid statistic like it meant nothing. But it hadn’t felt like nothing. Not to you.

Emily straightened. She wasn’t amused. Not even a little. “He said that to you?”

You nodded slowly. “Not to me. He was just…talking. He probably didn’t even realize what he said. But now I’m in here, halfway through my makeup, spiraling over whether my eyeliner’s straight enough to be ‘taken seriously’ by the world.”

You gestured helplessly at the mirror, at your own reflection: smeared foundation, uncertain brows, the ghost of winged eyeliner clinging to your lid. “And I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Like…if I don’t pull it together, if I don’t look perfect, it’s not just that I’ll feel bad. It’s that no one will listen to me.”

Emily’s jaw tightened. “That’s bullshit,” she said flatly.

Penelope raised one hand and placed it dramatically over her chest like she’d been mortally offended. “The biggest load of bullshit.”

You let out a huff of air, something like a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, well. My brain didn’t get the memo.”

Penelope stood up then, with unusual seriousness softening her expression. “Sweetheart, let me tell you something. You could walk into that room with mascara running down your cheeks, wearing nothing but a coffee-stained hoodie, and people would still shut up and listen when you talk. Not because of how you look. But because you’re brilliant. And terrifying. In the best possible way.”

You swallowed, feeling something tighten in your throat. “No, but—”

“No buts,” Emily cut in. “Spencer Reid might be a genius, but sometimes he forgets how real people work. Especially the ones he cares about.” Her voice softened, just slightly. “But don’t let one stupid comment rewrite everything you already know about yourself.”

That startled a real laugh out of you.

Penelope nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! I adore that lanky little weirdo, but he says a lot of things without thinking about how they land. That doesn’t mean he sees you any differently. It just means he’s a socially awkward nerd who needs to learn when not to share his random knowledge with his girlfriend.”

You allowed yourself a deep exhale, some of the weight on your chest easing, if only a fraction. It felt like the first time all day you could breathe without feeling like you were suffocating under the pressure of everything you couldn’t say.

Emily’s voice, soft and steady, broke through the stillness. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “Not to Spencer. Not to the world. And definitely not to some arbitrary beauty standard that doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”

The calm conviction in her words settled over you like a warm blanket, soft and grounding, and Penelope added her own brand of comforting chaos. “But if finishing your makeup makes you feel good, babe, then go ahead and slay.” She flashed a wink, her smile wide and dazzling. “We’ll be right here, hyping you up, always.

You looked between them, their unwavering confidence in you, the way they stood on either side like a protective barrier between you and your own insecurities. The knots in your stomach loosened, just a little.

You finished your makeup with steadying breaths and Penelope’s steady stream of compliments in your ear like a lifeline. The eyeliner wasn’t perfect. The foundation still sat weird in that one spot near your chin. But it didn’t matter as much now. Or at least, you were trying really hard to make it not matter.

By the time you stepped out of the bathroom, the usual BAU morning chaos was in full swing, agents weaving in and out of the bullpen, papers rustling, and the echo of hurried footsteps down the hall. You fell into step behind Garcia, letting her take the lead as you clutched the folder to your chest with slightly sweaty palms.

And then you felt it. The subtle shift in the air that told you he was there before you saw him. Spencer.

He was already seated at the table, elbows propped up, flipping through the preliminary case file, his usual air of quiet concentration surrounding him. He lookedd so much like himself: cardigan slightly too big, curls falling just messy enough to look endearing, the corner of his mouth tucked between his teeth as he scanned the papers. So familiar. So impossibly distant.

You didn’t let your eyes linger.

Instead, you angled yourself toward the projector, using the task of setting up the slideshow like it required your full, undivided attention. Which it absolutely did not, but the alternative was accidentally making eye contact and seeing something in his expression you couldn’t handle. Confusion, guilt, or worse: nothing at all.

“Morning,” he said quietly. It was the tone he used when he wasn’t sure if he had permission to exist in the same space as you.

You responded too fast, your voice too sharp, too clipped. “Morning.”

There was a brief silence. You could feel his eyes on you, like a gentle tap on the shoulder you were determined to ignore.

And then, mercifully, Hotch walked in, his presence slicing through the tension. “Let’s get started,” he said, already flipping through the case file as he moved to the head of the table.

The team fell into their usual rhythm, a buzz of motion, chairs scraping back as people shifted into place. You slid into your seat at the front of the room, clicking the remote to bring up the first slide, and forced your voice into something steady, something professional.

“We’ve got three victims, all found in rural areas surrounding Baltimore. All women, ages 25 to 30, all brunette, similar build. There are signs of overkill, stab wounds well beyond what would be necessary to cause death.”

You moved through the slides with practiced precision, your voice even, your focus razor-sharp. You didn’t stumble, didn’t hesitate, and didn’t once let your gaze flicker to Spencer’s side of the table. You spoke to Hotch. To Rossi. To Emily. To Penelope and Derek. Even to the wall. Anywhere but him.

Only once did your composure crack, a tiny hiccup in your breath when you mentioned the geographic profile. It was something Spencer had taught you when you were still new, something he’d spent hours drilling into you, showing you how to see patterns in the chaos. And there it was, his head lifting ever so slightly, his mouth parting like he wanted to remind you of something. Maybe a fact you’d forgotten. Or just to remind you that he was still there, somewhere, waiting to bridge the gap between you.

You forced yourself to keep going.

When you finished, Hotch gave a brief nod. “Good work. Let’s move out in twenty.”

The team’s energy shifted, moving from the quiet tension of the briefing room to the familiar post-briefing buzz. Chairs scraped back, papers shuffled, and voices rose as people began to file out. But you stayed behind, pretending to organize the files in front of you, keeping your hands busy, keeping yourself from fleeing. The paper felt like the only thing in the room that didn’t carry the weight of unspoken words.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Spencer pause in the doorway, his silhouette outlined in the harsh fluorescent light. He lingered, hesitant, unsure.

“Hey,” he said, his voice almost tentative, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to speak to you in this moment. “Can we—”

“I have to double-check something with Garcia,” you cut in before he could finish, your words not unkind but firm, like a wall going up between you.

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. But it was enough.

You moved past him without waiting for a reply, your heels clicking sharply against the tile, the sound too loud in the stillness of the room. Your heart hammered in your chest, the echo of his voice a distant thing you weren’t ready to face. Not yet.

Maybe never.

You didn’t see him at first. You didn’t want to. The hallway of the precinct was quiet, almost too quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights above and the distant murmur of voices in the bullpen nothing but a dull backdrop to your pulse, racing in your ears. You had taken the longer route on purpose, weaving through empty hallways, hoping to lose yourself in the disarray of the building. You could feel the thick weight of the morning press down on your chest: the meeting, the case, the pressure to be perfect. You just needed a moment of stillness, a second of quiet.

But fate had a funny way of ruining plans.

The moment you turned the corner, you saw him. Spencer. Standing there, just a few feet away, shoulders slightly hunched as if he were bracing himself. His posture was that familiar mix of awkwardness and intent focus, like he was trying to decide whether to speak or stay silent, but there was something different about him today. His hair was messier than usual, curls sticking out in odd directions, and his fingers were twitching by his side, nervous. Almost like he was unsure of himself.

Your stomach dropped.

You tried to keep walking, tried to push past him, but the sound of your shoes clicking against the linoleum slowed as you drew near, the silence hanging heavy.

“Hey,” he said, soft and tentative, like he was trying not to scare a wounded animal.

Your body tensed. You didn’t respond right away, hoping maybe if you didn’t acknowledge it, he’d take the hint and let you slip away again, untouched. Unspoken to. Unseen.

No such luck.

“I was hoping we could talk,” he tried again, more gently. “Just for a second.”

Your grip on the folder tightened until the edge of the paper cut into your palm. “I’m kind of busy,” you muttered, finally, still not looking at him.

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, half a breath, half defeat. “Maybe because I am,” you murmured, eyes flicking down to the paperwork you clutched like a shield. “The profile’s not ready, the press is waiting, and if I don’t finish the summary, Hotch is going to breathe down my neck in fifteen minutes.” The words came out sharp and mechanical, like a rehearsed excuse. But your heart wasn’t in it. Not even close.

Spencer was quiet for a moment. You could feel the weight of his stare, not sharp, not demanding. Just there. Lingering. Like gravity.

“I did something,” he said finally, his voice thin and breaking at the edges. “Didn’t I? Something that hurt you.”

Your shoulders stiffened. The chill rolled in again, slow and insidious, sinking down through the fabric of your clothes and into your bones. You wanted to say no. Wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, that you weren’t affected. But your body betrayed you. Your jaw clenched. Your breath hitched.

“It’s nothing,” you said, but it cracked on the way out, barely held together by habit.

He took a careful step closer. You felt it. The shift in the air, the static tension that danced between the inches that separated your bodies. “No, it’s not nothing,” he said softly. “Tell me what I said. What I did.”

You could hear the ache in his voice, that rare, tender vulnerability he only let you see. It scraped at you, raw and irritating, because he sounded like he cared. Because he did. And that made it worse. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t try to reason his way in with statistics or logic. He just stood there, steady and open, letting you feel every inch of his presence.

“I know something’s wrong.” Spencer said. “You didn’t sit with me on the jet. You didn’t even look at me.”

The words made you flinch, just slightly. You hadn’t expected him to notice. Or maybe you had. Maybe you wanted him to.

“I know we don’t show affection at work. That’s always been our rule,” he continued, quieter now, more broken. “But you always touch my hand. Or bump your knee into mine. You always steal a sip of my coffee, even when it’s gross. But this morning…you didn’t even look at the muffin I brought you.”

You closed your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the guilt clawing at your chest. He’d noticed. Every small absence. Every little shift.

Finally, you turned. Slowly. Your gaze fell to the floor in front of his shoes, worn at the edges and slightly scuffed. Just like him. And then you looked up. Just barely. Just enough to catch the way he was standing. Shoulders slightly hunched, hands limp by his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. Like he didn’t know how to reach you.

And he didn’t.

Because part of you didn’t want to be reached.

Not yet.

“It’s just…” You swallowed. “It’s what you said the other day. When Morgan made that joke about my makeup.”

Spencer blinked, clearly trying to remember. “What did I exactly say?”

“You said people get more attention when they see someone pretty,” you said, each word carefully even, like if you didn’t control your voice, it would crack.

His brows furrowed. “I said that people tend to respond more favorably to those who fall within conventional beauty standards and that it has an unconscious effect on—”

“I know what you said,” you snapped, sharper than you meant to. The echo of your own voice in the empty hallway made your stomach twist. “You don’t have to repeat it like a textbook.”

That made him flinch, just barely, but enough.

“I didn’t mean it about you,” he said quickly. “I was just talking. I always talk too much, you know it.”

You gave a humorless laugh, turning your back to him, your arms crossed tight over your chest.

“That’s the thing, Spencer. You didn’t mean it. And you didn’t even realize how it sounded. You just threw it out there, like a fact. Like I wasn’t sitting right next to you, like I’m not already trying to compete in a world that picks apart every inch of me the second I walk into a room.”

“I didn’t think—”

“No. You didn’t.”

Your voice cracked this time, and you hated it. Hated the sting in your eyes, the tightness in your throat. You weren’t supposed to feel like this, not over something so small. But it wasn’t small. Not to you. Not when it was coming from him.

He stepped closer again, like he couldn’t help himself, and you stepped back just as fast.

“Please don’t,” you said quietly.

He froze.

“I know I’m not the only girl in the world,” you said, not looking at him. “And I’m not asking to be. But when you say things like that, even casually, it feels like I’ve already lost a race I didn’t know I was running. Like I’m not even in the frame.”

There was a long pause. Your boyfriend’s voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

“You’ve never been out of frame. Not for me.”

You shook your head, blinking hard, trying to will away the heat behind your eyes. “I’ve spent the last two days wondering if I’d be worth more to you if I looked different.”

That hit him like a blow. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t know. I didn’t think. But please believe me when I tell you…I see you. All the time. You’re someone I—” He stopped himself, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “You’re the only person I can’t stop seeing.”

Something in your chest pulled tight, twisted cruelly.

You stared at a fixed spot on the floor. The tiles blurred a little around the edges. You didn’t know what to say to that, not when your chest felt too tight, not when your emotions were running just beneath your skin, raw and humming.

“I don’t always think before I talk,” he continued, carefully. “Sometimes I share things like facts and research like they’re harmless, like they’re neutral. But I forget that facts aren’t neutral when they land on people I care about.”

That made you glance up at him. Just for a second.

He looked like he meant it: brows drawn, hands loosely curled at his sides, eyes locked on yours with that intense kind of focus he reserved for unsolvable puzzles and people he couldn’t let go of.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said, and there was no rush in it. No grand gesture. Just a quiet truth. “Not when you’re all put together. Not just when you wear makeup. Not just when you smile.”

You blinked. The air in the hallway seemed to still.

“I think you’re beautiful when you’re tired. When you’re pissed off. When you’re sitting at your desk covered in crime scene dust and snapping at Morgan because you haven’t eaten in twelve hours.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I think you’re beautiful even when you’re covered in blood, cursing at your vest because it rubbed your ribs raw…even if that sounds weird.”

A quiet laugh broke out of you, not a full one, but a cracked, genuine thing that caught you off guard. You shook your head, eyes misty despite yourself.

“Spencer…”

He stepped forward slowly, careful not to close the distance unless you let him. “You never needed to change anything. Not for me. Not for the world, either. But if you ever forget how amazing you are, I’ll remind you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your throat was too tight. But your hand reached out, just barely brushing against his. Not quite holding. Just…touching.

It was enough.

His fingers closed around yours, warm and hesitant.

“Okay,” you whispered.

And for the first time in days, the storm inside you quieted, not gone, but calm. Manageable. Because he didn’t just see you. He saw through everything you tried to hide…and stayed.

Friendly reminder ❤︎ : you are beautiful and "standards" are bullshit that don't matter, even if we sometimes feel like they do.

Take care and be kind to yourself, xoxo.

LOOK AT HIS ASS BRO 🤯🤯🤯

i can fix him (no really guys… i can)

i can fix him - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader makes it her entire life's purpose to restore the spark she's sure spencer reid used to have before prison turned him gray but it doesn't quite work out...

genre: angst with some smut wc: 1.3k warnings: post prison but no spoilers, grumpy x sunshine, sunshine!reader, age gap (reader is 25), lowkey enemies to lovers, spence chokes an unsub, sex used as manipulation, unprotected sex, teasing a/n: anon request!!! based on i can fix him (no really i can)

“He hasn’t been the same since he got out.”

The words rang delicately in the back of your busy brain like a constant dial tone. A conversation with Penelope brought forth a realization in you.

When you joined the BAU, replacing the youngest member with your fresh face and a childish desire to make the world a better place, you thought of Spencer Reid as untouchable. He was rational, scientific, gathering all of his beliefs from the articles he cherished. He was right, always. Every last syllable that left his chapped but plush lips was guaranteed to be the uttermost truth. Cited, sourced, and verified.

At first, it was irritating and unbearable. You couldn’t say one word without an infuriating, “actually,” following.

The fact that he practically ignored your existence didn’t help.

It wasn’t until an enlightening comment that your view changed.

“A day in a prison, how fun,” you had said.

Garcia, ever the one to gossip, had replied with, “yeah, poor Reid, I wonder if he’s going today.”

“Well, why wouldn’t he be?”

“You don’t know. Oh, you don’t know!”

Her eyebrows raised as her mouth gaped. But then she looked away, as if telling herself to keep quiet. “He should really be the one to tell you. Or Emily! Even–uh–okay, okay, I'll tell you!”

And so you sat, wide-eyed and shocked at the things she described so easily. All of it was bad. She had mentioned his mom and drugs which honestly left you confused.

Every time you looked at him, you saw the shadow of a man he has every right to be. You saw a heart that could grow three sizes if given reason.

You knew he wasn’t always this way. You could see it every time his eyes lit up when he was about to lay some new information on the team. Right before he was shut down.

Because nobody really cared about the guy who only has seventy-two items to his name (including his underwear).

You saw the way he looked at you.

With a longing–a pondering that you found yourself wanting to know its meaning.

The rest of the team communicated their impression with how wise you were despite your amount of acquired wax candles.

He never blinked.

You figured it had to do with his already large amount of knowledge. But it felt like more. Every time you contributed to a case with a smile that proved your pride, he stared at your profile almost like he could picture the day you would dwindle. And he never once allowed an UnSub to come near you.

It was like he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to protect your innocence or ruin it altogether.

Something that used to infuriate you now seemed so… insignificant.

It was wrong, you knew, to be feeling so sad for a grown man, but it came on its own. His random facts now intrigued you.

You were sure he picked up on the change in your demeanor. Because he changed too.

When you laughed at an unfunny joke, his lips would curl into this nervous but confused half-frown-half-smile that you were now determined to make last.

And so, with the knowledge that your very own laughter cracked his tough armor, you decided to take it further. You wanted him to be who he was before all the hurt. You knew you could bring back his spark if you tried hard enough.

An optimist at heart you were.

It started how it was destined to–with a convincing kiss.

Strategically, you asked for help with organizing your bookshelf. A few lingering glances and he was right where you wanted him.

Your lips met and you knew your plan would work.

Spencer was touch starved. The second you straddled him, he was yours.

All of him crumbled the first night he spent in your bed.

And then he never left your side.

Like a puppy, he followed you around and did everything you said.

It started with small things. You asked him to smile more, say “good morning” to Anderson, and remember that bad people will still be bad even if he stays the night at the BAU.

It worked too.

He was happier. He made jokes, he laughed, he did physics magic.

You trained him almost like a dog, praising him after every time he did something nice for someone else. Because–according to Garcia–he came to work and went home unlike how he used to be.

Since you, a younger, outgoing adult, forced yourself on him, he came out a bit.

O’Keefe’s was now familiar with him. Thanks to you, that is.

And, of course, an older man, you didn’t mind. Spencer was older, experienced. He made you feel grown. And you could fix him. You turned a cold, antisocial man into a silly, awkward man again.

But there were still setbacks.

For one, he allowed his anger to come through when he thought you were in danger.

There was a day where an UnSub was taking young girls who reminded him of his ex. You just so happened to resemble that ex perfectly.

When you cleared the bathroom, you forgot to check behind the shower curtain. A mistake you were sure had been made before quickly put you in the way of Spencer. His hand had wrapped around the guy’s throat so hard you thought he might actually kill him. Apprehending him against the hard tile wall, his eyes met yours in a silent scolding.

The EMT’s fingers brushed the wound on your forehead as she bandaged the cut. Spencer’s converse came into view but you didn’t look up.

Not until he spoke.

“Are you… okay?”

Two pairs of glass eyes met and you watched as his struggled not to dwell on the bandaid. “I’m fine,” you said.

But you resented how he couldn’t be the version of himself the world deserved.

For months, he’d been perfect, how come he couldn’t stay that way?

Your twenty-five-year-old brain wasn’t enough to fix the much older man in front of you. You thought that if he smelled enough strawberry lip gloss he’d change and become a boyfriend. Yet that change never happened. He didn’t seem as grumpy or isolated, sure, but it wasn’t enough for you.

You strived to fix him.

You remembered the first time you slept together.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, rolling his eyes.

You simply hummed, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “I was thinking… maybe… we could have some alone time? Just the two of us. Before O’Keefe’s?”

“I already told you I’m not going to the bar.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind? Be nice to a few people? I’ll make it worth your while…”

Another sloppy kiss to his neck.

“How about that?” you inquired softly.

No answer came, only a harsh kiss. His tongue parted your lips and his hands slid under your skirt. In a second, your panties were pushed over. His belt went to the floor.

You wasted absolutely no time in running yourself over him and sinking down immediately onto his length.

Spencer’s mouth dropped as he grabbed your ass. It burned every time he slammed into your cervix but you took it, because the look on his face was everything. Groans left him every time your hips met.

A quick, frenzied pace was set. It was pathetic how fast he unravelled.

Furrowed brows and a scrunched nose gave away how long he was going to last.

“Already close?” you teased.

“God–”

And he was coming inside you, messing your skirt effectively. But you couldn’t resist.

You felt him throb as your hips rose and fell slower. “Stop it,” he croaked.

Graciously, you nodded, pressing a sticky kiss to his lips. Your head found a resting place on his shoulder.

“O’Keefe’s?” you suggested after a few beats.

Of course, he agreed.

Because who was he to disagree with you?

10 things for people i want to know better

thanks for tagging me erika! @esote-rika

1. last song — we hug now by sydney rose

2. favorite color — yellow!

3. last book — the housemaid is watching by freida mcfadden

4. last film — harry potter and the order of the phoenix (currently on a binge)

5. last tv show — yellowjackets

6. sweet/savory/spicy — spicy

7. relationship — single *sigh*

8. last googled — jennifer carpenter gif pack

9. current obsession — harry potter

10. looking forward to — anything else but work

no pressure tags : @darkmatilda @angellic4l @beenreidingaboutyou sorry if y’all were already tagged!

ALYSSIA THIS WAS SO GOOD!!! EVERYONE GO LIKE, COMMENT AND REBLOG RN 😠 MY GIRL ATE UP HER FIRST FIC !!!

SIP AND STAND • SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: Navigating caffeine cravings and chaos, Reid finds himself drawn into a tense standoff, discovering that even in a coffee shop, unexpected alliances can brew.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer reid

a/n: this is my first time posting on here so pls be nice and lie to me even if it sucks cause i’m sensitive

this isn’t an actual reader x spencer fic cause i struggle with writing in first person and not writing a specific character so bare with me while i learn!

tysm to @g4rvez-r3id @dearlenore and @cerisereids for helping me navigate through this super overwhelming new process! <3

w/c: 2.2k

══════════════════

The fluorescent lights of the coffee shop hummed, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Reid's mind. The case they'd just wrapped up had left him feeling hollow. A six-year-old boy, missing for three days, found just in time – but Morgan had taken a bullet to the shoulder during the takedown. His teammate would be fine, just restricted from field assignments for a while, but the image of blood seeping through Morgan's shirt kept replaying in Reid's mind. He needed caffeine, and he needed it now.

He shuffled toward the counter, already calculating the amount of sugar he'd need to counteract the bitterness of the black coffee. Three packets? Four? He usually went for five. He knew it wasn't healthy, but right now, he craved the jolt of pure, unadulterated sweetness. He reached for a handful of packets, tearing them open and pouring them into his cup with abandon.

The bell above the door chimed, and a laugh cut through the ambient noise – warm and genuine, like honey over gravel.

A young woman walked in, her yellow sundress flowing down to her ankles, making her look like a ray of sunshine against the coffee shop's muted tones. Her brown hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and there was something gentle about the way she moved.

"I know, Mom, I know," she said into her phone, her voice edged with frustration as she joined the line, running her free hand through her hair. "I wish I could visit this weekend, but this paper on evolutionary psychology is killing me. Like, I get the basic premise of cognitive adaptations, but trying to explain how modern behavioral patterns evolved from ancient survival mechanisms? I'm completely stuck."

Reid's ears perked up. He found himself unconsciously leaning closer, stirring his coffee slower than necessary.

"The professor wants us to focus specifically on mate selection theories," she continued, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I've got three days to figure this out, and I just... I don't know. It's overwhelming."

Her mom's voice on the other end must have been comforting because she let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I know Dad would say it's all a bunch of hooey. But you know how he is with anything that doesn't have a clear-cut answer."

As she listened to her mom's response, her eyes caught the movement at the door. A man in an expensive suit walked in, took one look at the line that wrapped around the counter, and headed straight for the front. He brushed past several waiting customers, ignoring their pointed stares and muttered complaints.

"Mom, something just came up," she said, her voice shifting to a more serious tone. "I'll call you back in a little bit, okay? Love you."

She slipped her phone into her purse and stepped directly into the guy's path.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice firm but polite. "There's a line."

The guy paused, looking at her with a patronizing smile. "Ah, but rules are for those without charm, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart," she replied, her voice cooling several degrees. "And you can wait in line like everyone else."

The guy stopped, turning to face her fully. "Look, I'm in a hurry," he said, his tone impatient. "I don't have time for this."

"Well, that's unfortunate," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, the kind that could cut like ice. "The line starts back there."

The guy's face flushed with anger. He took a step closer, invading her personal space. "You need to learn to stay out of people's way," he said, his voice low and aggressive.

She didn't back down, though Reid noticed her fists clench at her sides. "And you need to learn basic manners," she retorted, her voice slightly less steady than before.

"Listen here, you little—" the guy sneered, leaning in closer.

Reid abandoned his half-empty coffee cup on the table. The statistics on public harassment flashed through his mind – how often these situations escalated, how many victims never reported. He calculated the probable outcomes and decided it was time to intervene.

"Is there a problem here?" Reid's voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward.

The guy turned, irritation flashing across his face. "Mind your own business," he snapped.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Reid replied, his voice calm. "You see, social dynamics in public spaces can be quite fascinating. Did you know that intervention by a third party decreases the likelihood of escalation by 50%?"

"Who the hell are you?" the guy challenged, turning to face Reid fully.

"FBI Special Agent Dr Reid," he said, pulling out his badge. "And harassing people in public spaces is very much my business."

The guy scoffed, though Reid noticed him take a small step back. "You expect me to believe you're FBI? Looking like that?"

"Would you like to verify my credentials with the local field office?" Reid offered calmly. "Or perhaps we should discuss the legal definition of harassment in public spaces. The statutes are quite specific about—"

"This is ridiculous," the guy cut in, but his confidence was clearly shaken. He looked between Reid and the woman, jaw clenching. As he turned to leave, he muttered, "I don't have time for this shit," before shooting one last look at the woman. "You got lucky this time."

Once he was gone, Reid turned to her. "Are you okay?"

She let out a long breath, her shoulders finally relaxing. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Just a bit shaken, I guess. That was..." She ran a hand through her hair. "Thank you for stepping in. I was trying to act tough, but he was starting to scare me a little. I really don't like entitled jerks."

"Most people wouldn't have said anything in the first place," Reid offered.

"I usually don't," she admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. "But something about his attitude just... I don't know. I couldn't help myself." She shook her head slightly. "I should probably learn to pick my battles better, huh?"

"Actually, speaking up against threatening behavior can help prevent future incidents. Though perhaps with backup next time," he added with a small smile.

She laughed softly. "Yeah, well, thankfully my backup today came with a badge." She gestured to the counter. "Let me buy you a coffee? As a thank you?"

Reid glanced at his abandoned coffee cup, already forgotten in the whirlwind of the encounter. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"Please, I insist," she interrupted. "It's the least I can do for my knight in..." she paused, glancing at his mismatched socks and cardigan, "...academic armor?"

He nodded, intrigued. "Sure, I'd like that."

They moved to the counter together, and as they waited for their drinks, she seemed to relax more, the color returning to her cheeks. Her eyes caught on the book tucked under his arm. "Wait, is that 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'?"

"It is," Reid replied, suddenly aware that his heart was beating faster than usual. "Though I find Wilde's short stories more psychologically complex, particularly 'The Happy Prince.'" He paused, then added, "I couldn't help but overhear – you're writing about evolutionary psychology?"

"Oh god, yes," she groaned. "And completely drowning in it. I thought I understood the basics, but trying to connect everything together..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"I actually have BAs in Psychology and Sociology, along with PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering and I've done extensive study in evolutionary psychology for my work with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," Reid said, then hesitated for a moment. "If you'd like, I wouldn't mind helping you work through some of the concepts?"

Her eyes lit up. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Reid took both their coffee cups before gesturing to an empty table by the window. "Not at all. Actually, the evolutionary basis for altruistic behavior is fascinating. Did you know that reciprocal altruism was first mathematically modeled by Robert Trivers in 1971?"

She smiled, following him to the table. "I have a feeling I'm about to learn a lot more than just that."

══════════════════

The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky as their conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through topics of evolutionary psychology, literature, and the quirks of human behavior. Reid's explanations were met with keen interest, and her questions were insightful, sparking lively debates between them.

"You know, the way you explained the evolutionary basis for altruism really helped me see the connections," she said, jotting down notes in her notebook. "I never thought about how reciprocal altruism could be mathematically modeled."

Reid nodded, clearly in his element. "It's fascinating, isn't it? Trivers' model from 1971 really opened up a new way of understanding social behaviors."

Just as she was about to respond, Reid's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it and saw Garcia's name flashing on the screen. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, stepping aside to take the call. His demeanor shifted immediately, becoming serious as he listened.

When he returned, he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. There's a case."

She nodded, understanding. "Duty calls, huh? You know, for a moment there, I almost forgot you were an FBI agent."

Reid chuckled softly, appreciating her light-hearted approach. "It was nice to forget for a bit."

As they gathered their things, Reid courteously opened the door for her. He noticed for the first time how petite she was compared to him, her presence both delicate and confident in contrast to his taller frame. "Thank you. It's nice to share what I've learned with someone who's genuinely interested," he added, feeling a bit flustered by the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

She stepped out into the cool evening air, the bell chiming softly behind them. "I have a feeling my professor is going to be impressed too. Thanks to you, I'm actually looking forward to tackling this paper."

Reid hesitated for a moment before speaking. "If you get stuck on any more complex theories," he offered, trying to sound casual, "I'd be happy to help. You know, for the sake of academic rigor."

She smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Is that your way of saying you'd like to see me again, Dr. Reid?"

Reid's cheeks flushed slightly, but he met her gaze with a shy smile. "Maybe it is."

"Then I suppose I'll have to take you up on that," she replied. They exchanged numbers, and she gave him one last wave. "Thanks again. For everything."

Before she could turn to leave, Reid hesitated, a hint of his usual earnestness returning. "Are you sure you'll be okay walking home? Statistically speaking, the probability of encountering a dangerous situation increases by approximately 30% when walking alone compared to walking with someone."

She grinned, appreciating his concern. "I'll be fine, Reid. But thanks for the stats lesson. And don't worry, I'll keep my phone handy."

══════════════════

Back at the office, Reid walked in with an unusually cheerful demeanor, his steps lighter than usual. Morgan noticed immediately and exchanged a bemused glance with Emily. They both observed him for a moment, enjoying the rare sight of a visibly happy Reid.

Emily raised an eyebrow, sharing a knowing smile with Morgan. Without saying a word, they both seemed to agree: something was definitely up.

Finally, Morgan couldn't resist breaking the silence. "Reid, you look like you're on cloud nine. What's going on?"

Reid glanced over, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

Emily chimed in with a teasing tone. "Come on, Reid. You can't fool profilers. You're practically glowing."

Morgan leaned in, pressing a bit more. "Yeah, pretty boy, you look like you just won the lottery."

Reid smirked, opting for a classic comeback. "You know, the odds of winning the lottery are approximately 1 in 292 million. Statistically speaking, I'm more likely to be struck by lightning."

Emily laughed, shaking her head. "Nice try, Reid. You're trying to change the subject."

Reid shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "I just had an interesting conversation this afternoon."

Morgan's curiosity was piqued. "Interesting enough to put that smile on your face?"

Reid nodded, keeping things light. "Met someone at the coffee shop. We talked about evolutionary psychology—altruism, reciprocal behavior, the usual."

Emily's curiosity was piqued. "That sounds like quite the conversation."

Reid offered a noncommittal smile, allowing a hint of mystery to linger. "It was... engaging."

As they were about to head to the conference room, Garcia intercepted them, noticing Reid's flustered demeanor. "Hey, what's going on with our boy genius? He looks like he just solved world peace."

Morgan chuckled, sharing a knowing glance with Emily. "Just a little coffee shop chat, babygirl."

Emily grinned, offering Garcia a playful shrug. "Yeah, he's had a... stimulating afternoon."

Garcia gave Reid a teasing smile, then turned her attention to Morgan with a flirtatious tone. "Well, sugar, you can fill me in on all the juicy details later."

Morgan grinned back, clearly enjoying the banter. "You know it, gorgeous. I'll bring the popcorn."

With that, they all headed to the conference room, the air filled with the warmth and camaraderie that defined their team.

══════════════════

If you liked this, please don’t hesitate to tell me because I’m about to throw up out of nervousness!

If you didn’t, pretend you didn’t read it !

Dream A Little Dream

Bf! Spencer Reid x Gf!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Spencer comes home from work and finds you sleeping in bed and he’s completely mesmerized by you as you sleep.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: spencer likes watching you sleep (but not in a creepy way), fluffiest of the fluff, cuddling, talks about weird dreams and dream analysis, spencer is completely infatuated with you 🤭

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! i got this idea bc i love love love cuddling fics with reid 🤭 i wish this man were real so bad :( anyways i hope you enjoy this hehe

“Honey, I’m home,” Spencer smiled gently to himself as he heard the words leave his mouth. He never imagined he’d ever say that out loud to anyone. But now he had you. It was as if he still couldn’t believe it every time he said it.

He’d called out to you but there had been no answer. Granted, it was three in the morning, he figured you were probably asleep by now.

Spencer softly closed the door and he placed his satchel down by the door and removed his converse off from his feet, placing them next to your shoes near the table they’d had near the door. He scrunches his nose as his mismatched socks (he’d opted for a light blue sock paired with a yellow sock with patterns on it) patter on the floor as he walks towards the kitchen.

By the evidence on the stove, you’d made chicken Alfredo pasta. A good chunk of the pasta is left on the stove — you most likely saved it for him because you worry about how skinny he is — and he smiles to himself. At least you ate.

He makes his way over to your guys’ shared bedroom and that’s when he sees it. You’re on the bed, sleeping soundly and bundled up under the covers but sprawled across the bed, holding his pillow, no less and wearing one of his old CalTech sweatshirts. On the bed is your laptop laid far away but not too far where it would fall off the bed. No, it looked like you were in the middle of work and decided to take a break and instead had fallen asleep.

Spencer leans against the doorframe with crossed arms and a warm smile as he watches you sleep. He’d often took advantage of the times where he’d come in from work late.

He liked watching you sleep. But not in a total creep kinda way, absolutely not. He more so liked seeing you so well-rested since you were always up on your feet, dealing with work and stress and never really taking a break from anything since you were so independent. It was one of the many things he liked about you. But in all seriousness, it might’ve been his favorite thing about you.

He adored the way your nose would scrunch while you slept and the way that you snored softly into the pillow. Sometimes, you’d even had a dribble of drool onto the pillow and he even found that cute. He’d found everything cute about you.

Eventually, he’d had enough of just looking at you and decided to join you. The first thing he’d done was remove and close your laptop and carefully place it on the dresser. He even opts to put it on the charger for you.

He begins slipping off his slacks along with his dress shirt and cardigan and puts on a gray t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms and quietly climbed into the covers next to you.

He carefully places his hand on your arm and rubs it soothingly and you stir a bit and scrunch your nose up once more and open your eyes to see your boyfriend, smiling warmly at you.

“Hi, honey.” He whispers and you inhale deeply as you smile sleepily at him. “You’re home!” You cheer tiredly as you scoot closer to him, you head resting on his chest and inhaling his scent as you snuggle as close as you can to him.

“I am home,” He smiles as he holds you impossibly closer. He looks down at you as you keep your eyes closed and hold him as tight as you can. “Are you okay, sweet girl?”

You nod into his chest as you open your eyes and look up at him. “I’m perfect, now that you’re here.” Spencer smiles softly at you as you rest your head again on his chest.

“Were you in dreamland?” Spencer asks with a crooked smile.

There was an abundance of times where you’d dream strange dreams. Like one time you were being chased by a hot dog or the other time you were awake on a gurney while doctors performed open-heart surgery on you. Point of the matter was, you had weird dreams.

And you could brush those off as getting food poisoning from a hot dog and never eating them again or when you fell asleep watching Grey’s Anatomy but you always dug deeper into your dreams.

Like you being chased by a hot dog could meet something that’s entirely harmless is causing you stress or overwhelming you. Or the fact that maybe you had a fear or an anxiety of being awake while having open heart surgery. You were one of the few people in Spencer Reid’s life that read into your dreams. He wasn’t one to believe in dream analysis, but you did. And so he’d often asked what you dreamed about this time, since you had dreams like that so often.

“Mhm,” You smack your lips with a sigh and curled up impossibly deeper into his chest. “This time, I was flying without wings.” You said and he furrowed his brows with an amused smile on his face. “Flying without wings?”

You nod once more, “I was suddenly floating and all of a sudden, I was falling and right before I hit the ground, I woke up.” You told him and he thinks to himself at this.

“When you dream about falling and then suddenly wake up just before hitting the ground, it's usually due to a "hypnic jerk,"” Spencer tells, being the rambler he was. And you gladly listened every time. The first time you’d gone out with him, he kept apologizing about his rambles about whatever was on his mind. You assured him that you really didn’t mind, you loved listening to him talk.

“It’s an involuntary muscle contraction that happens when your body is transitioning between wakefulness and sleep, often interpreted by your brain as a sensation of falling, causing you to jolt awake.” Spencer tells and you shrug, “Yeah, it was something like that.”

Spencer smiles softly, pulling a strand of hair behind your ear as he rubs your back, back and forth with his hand. You drifted off for a moment before looking back up at him and he kept his eyes trained right on you. Like you were his only given vice, something worth living for and fighting for. To which, you were. To him, at least.

“How was work?” You asked and he turned away from you as he answers, “We can talk about it later.” Which was code for, ‘I really don’t want to talk about it right now but I mean it when I say we can talk about it later’. And when he was ready, he’d talk about with you. Eventually, he did.

“Right now, I just wanna stay here with you.” Spencer told and you smile into his chest, “I missed you.” You tell and he chuckles, “I missed you, too, sweet girl. And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You snuggled with him, hiking your leg across his torso and holding onto him as you closed your eyes and your breathing evened once more. He smiles, looking down at you and not wanting to move a muscle to disrupt you. He probably wouldn’t get much sleep tonight since he’d be too busy staring at your sleeping features and silently thanking God you were in his life and that he could share these moments with you.

And in the morning, he’d tell you that he asked Hotch for a few days off in advance because he wanted to spend as much time as he could with you. Your guys’ schedules always seemed to be opposites and the only time you’d ever really get together is in bed, like this. You deserved a few days to be with him and he you.

But for now, he’d let you sleep and veer off into dreamland again.

PORNSTAR ★

spencer reid

summary; struggling under the weight of student debt and barely scraping by on a minimum-wage job, Y/N is desperate for a way out. When an old college friend sends her a link to an unusual job posting—camera operator for a top-tier adult entertainment studio—she hesitates but ultimately applies. The promise of competitive pay and discretion is too good to ignore.

She’s even more surprised to meet Spencer Reid, a nervous and awkward man who she initially assumes is part of the camera crew. Spencer’s stammering and shy demeanour put her at ease, but when she learns he’s not behind the camera but the star in front of it, her world is turned upside down.

cw; 18+ mdni, pornstar!spencer, camera crew!reader, spencer is not straight (neither is the reader), face-fucking, doggy, unprotected p in v, masturbation (f), spencer is still a sweetheart, bodily fluids, cum swallowing, dom!spencer but also dom!reader, reader is not very good at her job to be honest, "good boy", unprofessional relationships, FILTHY NASTY, praise, finger sucking, sub!spencer 🤭, handjobs, "slut", overstimulation, oral (f. receiving), threesome (mmf), filming for porn, whiny spencer, oral (m. receiving), pure filth, cowgirl, cumming inside, slight aftercare, pretty much fade to black

an; lots of love from beyond the grave, im still very ill. i hope you all enjoy this, please do not mind the spelling mistakes! i tried my best to proofread in my current state 😭

wc; 8k

The sharp, acrid smell of burnt coffee weaves through your tiny apartment, clinging to the fabric of your couch and the cluttered corners of the room. It lingers in the air, an unshakable reminder of your life’s current state: stagnant, suffocating, and just a little bitter.

You sit at the wobbly kitchen table, staring at your laptop screen like it holds the secrets to the universe. Instead, it shows a spreadsheet that hasn’t changed in weeks, no matter how many times you open it, no matter how hard you will the numbers at the bottom to magically disappear. $89,563.47.

That figure is more than a debt. It’s an anvil crushing your chest, a constant shadow in the corners of your mind. It’s the dream-crusher, the thing that keeps you up at night, whispering that you’ll never escape. With your minimum-wage job barely covering rent and bills stacking higher every day, every road out seems endless and uphill.

You exhale shakily, pushing your chipped coffee mug to the side as frustration wells up in your chest. The universe, it seems, has no plans to cut you a break. You let your head fall into your hands, fingers pressing against your temples.

And then, out of nowhere, a soft ding pulls you from your spiral.

Your phone lights up on the table, screen glowing with a notification. It’s from an old college friend—a name you haven’t thought about in over a year, someone who faded from your life the moment you both graduated.

“If you’re desperate enough… this is worth a shot.”

The message is short, cryptic, and followed by a link.

You hesitate, thumb hovering above the screen as your mind races. It could be a joke. Or a scam. But the weight of your desperation gnaws at your common sense. Against better judgment, curiosity wins out.

The link opens to a job posting.

“Camera Operator Needed for Top-Tier Adult Entertainment Studio. Competitive Pay. No Experience Necessary.”

You blink at the words, half expecting the screen to vanish in a puff of smoke. It doesn’t. Your first instinct is to laugh, a sharp, incredulous sound bubbling in your throat. But then, you see the salary.

Your breath catches in your chest. The number is real. The kind of real that could actually change things. A few months, maybe a year, and you could obliterate a chunk of that debt.

You sit back in your chair, the idea burrowing into your mind like a persistent whisper. It’s insane. Ridiculous. But it’s also tempting. One word, bold and unyielding, flashes on the screen: Discreetly.

You read it again and again, the weight of it heavy in your chest. That’s the catch, isn’t it? The only thing holding you back.

By the time dawn filters through your dingy curtains, your application is sent.

The sleek office building feels completely at odds with what you imagined. Its polished floors and glass panels scream corporate professionalism, not… this. Even the receptionist greeted you like you were interviewing for a finance job, her tone cool and efficient.

Now, you sit in the waiting area, hands folded tightly in your lap. The quiet hum of productivity around you is unnerving, and your pulse drums in your ears.

When the door finally opens, you glance up.

A man approaches you, clutching a clipboard. He’s taller than you expected, with a mop of brown hair that looks like it has a mind of its own. His glasses sit slightly askew on his nose, and he exudes an awkward kind of energy—nervous but strangely endearing.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice soft and hesitant, with just the slightest upward lilt.

“That’s me,” you reply, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from your shirt.

“Great! Um, I’m Spencer Reid. I’ll be showing you around today.”

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard. This is Spencer Reid? His name had been listed in the email, but somehow, you’d pictured someone… different. More polished, more self-assured. Less professor who forgot his lecture notes.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, smiling politely.

He nods quickly, adjusting the clipboard in his hands. “Yeah, uh, you too. So, um, if you’ll just follow me, I’ll… show you around.”

Spencer leads you through the maze-like studio, his steps hurried yet deliberate. The place is a whirlwind of activity—bright lights overhead, cameras perched on sturdy tripods, people buzzing with purpose.

As you follow him, he rattles off bits of information about the space, gesturing to equipment and rattling through explanations. His sentences stumble over themselves, his words tumbling out in fits and starts like he’s rushing to get them all out before they escape him.

“So, what do you do here?” you ask, trying to break the tension.

Spencer hesitates, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Oh, um, I work… mostly in front of the camera. But I, uh, know how the equipment works too, so I can help. If you have questions. About cameras. Or lights. Or… yeah.”

You suppress a grin at his stammering, chalking it up to an attempt to make you feel at ease. He must work behind the scenes, you think.

Maybe he interviews the actors or films promotional material. He doesn’t strike you as someone who could handle the spotlight. The thought settles you. At least he’s not intimidating.

The director greets you with a curt nod as Spencer leads you to the main set. Before you can take in your surroundings, Spencer slips away for a moment, leaving you to absorb the controlled chaos around you.

When he reappears, your jaw nearly drops.

Gone are the glasses and sweater vest. Instead, he’s wearing a tailored button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal toned forearms. His hair is neatly tousled, his posture more confident, though there’s still a faint awkwardness clinging to him.

You blink, struggling to reconcile this Spencer with the nervous man who had stumbled over his words minutes ago. And then it hits you like a freight train. He’s not part of the crew. He’s not here to run the cameras or adjust the lights.

He’s the talent.

Your mind scrambles to process the revelation as you watch him step onto the set, chatting easily with the director. Someone hands him a script, and he scans it with an easy familiarity before nodding in agreement.

Meanwhile, you’re standing frozen, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing.

“Y/N, you ready?”

The director’s voice snaps you back to reality. You nod stiffly, moving into position by the camera, but your gaze keeps flicking to Spencer. He glances at you once, his lips twitching into a nervous half-smile like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. It doesn’t help. If anything, it makes everything stranger.

You grip the camera tightly, your heart pounding in your chest. You thought you were prepared for this job, but nothing could have prepared you for Spencer Reid.

You can’t believe you’re actually doing this. The scene in front of you is far more intense than you had imagined. It’s your first real day on set, and Spencer is working with one of the female talents. From this distance, all you can focus on is the way he moves—sure and confident, his hips snapping rhythmically against his co-star’s body.

You fumble with the camera settings, trying to ignore the wet, sloppy sounds of sex that fill the room. You can’t tear your gaze away from Spencer’s cock, slipping in and out of her pussy like a well-oiled machine. Her hands clawing at his back as she gasps around his cock when he pulls out to force it in her mouth.

He threads a hand through her hair, the movement almost… tender. As tender as you can be for bruising the back of someone’s throat, anyway. She looks up at him, a smile on her lips, before he presses his cock to the back of her throat and lets her work him over. His face tightening, lips curling up into a smirk as she brings a hand up to hold what she can’t fit in her mouth.

Your stomach tightens at the sight of them together. You’re not sure if you should be so… invested in this. But it’s hard to tear your eyes away when he moves like that. You can’t stop watching.

“Focus on the face,” the director’s voice rings out. “We need her face. We need reactions.”

Your head jerks up, camera lens refocusing on the woman’s expression. It takes every ounce of your control to keep it steady and ignore the fact that Spencer is still balls-deep down her throat. It’s surprisingly easy to tune out, at least, until he flips her over, pinning her face-down to the bed. His cock pummeling into the woman from behind, her head turned to the side with glossy lips and tear-stricken eyes.

Spencer leans down, then, and you watch as he murmurs something in the woman’s ear, something you can’t quite hear. Her response is immediate—she gasps, her eyes going wide before her lips stretch into a perfect O. Her fingers dig into Spencer’s back as his thrusts become more frantic, and then he’s groaning, hips slamming against hers as he fills her with his cum.

The moment he finishes, the spell is broken. The camera drops to your side, and you breathe for what feels like the first time since the scene began. The director calls cut, and Spencer pulls out slowly, being careful of the woman underneath him, a small smile on his face as he reaches down to help her stand on shaky legs. He glances over, and for just a moment, his eyes lock on yours before he turns away to clean up. It’s stupid. It shouldn’t mean anything.

But… you can’t help the fluttering in your chest at the realisation that he was looking at you, even if only for a second. You try not to think about it too much as the day goes on, focusing instead on your job and taking in the sights and sounds around you.

It’s far more fascinating than you anticipated—watching the director’s decisions play out, watching the actors navigate their roles with ease.

But then, as the afternoon wears on, Spencer appears by your side again. He’s back in the clothes from this morning, and the awkward, shy energy has returned in full force.

“So, uh, you get a lunch break. And um, I was wondering… if maybe you wanted to grab something together. If you’re not busy. I mean, it’s okay if you are. I just…” His gaze darts to the side, voice trailing off. “I figured maybe we could talk more about your job, make sure you know everything you need.”

You blink at him. “You don’t have to do that,” you tell him. “I’ll be fine.”

Spencer shifts on his feet, looking slightly disappointed. But he nods anyway, turning to leave.

“Wait.”

The word slips out of you before you can catch it. Spencer looks over, eyes brightening ever so slightly. “Yeah?”

“Lunch sounds… nice.” Your voice is soft, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him as you say it.

When you finally meet his gaze, it’s the most natural thing in the world to see his lips curve into a small, shy smile.

Spencer Reid is a walking contradiction.

On camera, he’s a vision of dominance and raw confidence—a sex god, to put it bluntly. Every movement he makes is purposeful, controlled, and exudes a confidence that seems almost unnatural. But off-screen? He’s a different person entirely. Awkward, shy, and endearing in ways you hadn’t expected. He stammers, blushes, and struggles to find the right words in nearly every conversation. But every time he does, it only makes you smile. It’s impossible not to be drawn to him.

You sit across from him in a small café just a few blocks from the studio, the warmth of your coffee mug grounding you. The café is quiet, a peaceful haven far from the chaos of the city, where the sounds of honking horns and chatter fade into the background, leaving only the soft hum of conversation and clinking cups.

“So,” Spencer begins, his voice still soft and a little unsure, “how do you like the job so far?”

“It’s… interesting,” you reply, a laugh bubbling up.

“Good interesting or bad interesting?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “It’s just… not at all what I expected. The studio, I mean. It’s so professional. Like any other office.”

Spencer nods, the nervous tension in his posture easing slightly. “Yeah, it really is. Most people think it’s all…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “They think it’s just… sex all the time, you know?”

You snort at the absurdity of it. “Definitely not.”

The thought of Spencer—the shy, uncertain man in front of you—being the confident, sexual force he is on camera is hard to reconcile. You can’t imagine him ever making the first move with anyone. It seems almost… impossible.

“We have contracts with each other,” Spencer continues. “And there are all kinds of protocols to follow for the scenes. It’s actually pretty strict.”

“That makes sense,” you reply. “I guess I never really thought about it like that.”

Spencer shrugs, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “A lot of people don’t. It’s weird, I know, but… it’s still work. And if anything goes wrong…” He trails off, his expression growing darker.

A sudden curiosity prickles in you, but you don’t push for answers. Instead, you ask, “How did you end up doing this?”

He scrunches up his nose, looking almost embarrassed. “It’s a long story, but… my friend convinced me to try out once. And then I just… liked it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. The image of someone convincing Spencer to do something so bold is almost too perfect. It’s exactly the kind of thing you could picture him doing—reluctantly agreeing, then discovering something unexpected about himself.

“I can’t really imagine that,” you say, your laugh light and teasing. Spencer blushes, his cheeks tinting pink as he shifts uncomfortably.

“What, you think I’m too shy for something like this?”

You nod, not hesitating for a moment. “Maybe just a little bit.”

“Yeah,” he admits softly, “I guess I am. I’ve gotten pretty good at switching it off when I’m being filmed. But in my day-to-day life… it’s like I can’t move past it.”

The words linger in the air between you, a strange kind of tension rising. You can’t help but wonder what else he’s been talked into. But before you can say anything, the door of the café chimes as a new customer enters. Spencer glances at the clock, his expression shifting into a look of reluctant understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up. “We should get back. But hey, maybe we can grab lunch again tomorrow?”

You smile up at him, your heart beating just a little faster. “Sure.”

For a moment, you think he might say something else, but instead, he simply nods and turns to leave. You watch him walk away, a quiet disappointment settling in your chest. It’s not what you wanted—not exactly—but there’s something about Spencer Reid that pulls you in, something you can’t quite place.

Maybe it’s the awkward energy he exudes, the way he fumbles over words yet still manages to be endearing. Maybe it’s the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, or the way he transforms so seamlessly into the confident, dominant figure on camera. Whatever it is, you want more.

When you get home that evening, your mind keeps wandering back to Spencer. His eyes, his smile, the way his cock had moved inside his co-star. You replay the scene in your head again and again until it feels like you can almost hear the sounds of sex, almost smell his cologne wafting in the air.

It takes you a while to realise your hand has wandered down your body, fingers slipping between your legs as you imagine Spencer touching you.

The thought sends a thrill through you. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve gotten off thinking about someone, but… this feels different. This feels real.

You press a finger to your clit, applying a little pressure. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but it’s better than nothing. The image of Spencer’s face appears in your mind, his lips twisting into a pained expression as he comes. You imagine him over you instead of his co-star, his cock sinking into your pussy, his hands gripping your hips as he fucks you.

Your muscles clench at the thought, and a wave of desire surges through you. Your hand moves faster, fingers pressing and rubbing over your clit. You picture Spencer’s lips on yours, his breath hot against your skin as he speaks. You imagine the way his tongue would feel on you, the way his mouth would taste if he kissed you.

You come quickly, the pleasure overwhelming and swift. You barely have time to process it before the orgasm hits you, your body quaking as you climax.

When you open your eyes, your gaze falls on the ceiling. You feel dazed and far away, like you’ve left your body behind for a minute. It takes a while to come back to reality, to process what just happened.

But as you do, a sudden guilt creeps in. It’s not like this is something you’d never done before. But with Spencer Reid… it feels different.

When you wake up the next morning, you’re groggy, still caught in the afterglow of last night. It takes a few moments to remember the job, and another few to get out of bed.

As you shower, you can’t stop thinking of Spencer. The image of him on camera yesterday keeps popping up in your mind—his hips pumping between the woman’s legs, his fingers digging into her hips as he thrusts. And when he flipped her over… fuck. You can’t believe how much that got you going.

The way his cock disappeared into her, the sound of her gasps as he pounded into her.

You think of him behind you, his cock filling you, the length of him stretching your walls as he thrusts in and out of your body. The feel of his hands on your hips, holding you steady for his pleasure.

The image makes you gasp, and a wave of heat surges through you.

But as you stand there, water pouring down your body, another image pops up in your mind. Spencer across from you at the café, his cheeks flushing pink as he talks to you. His eyes brightening when you ask him a question, his smile growing ever so slightly as he answers.

You can’t help but be drawn to the contrast. Part of you wants to know more about his confidence on camera, to see what it’s like up close. Part of you just wants to pull the awkward, shy version closer and tell him that everything is okay.

There’s a lot you don’t know about Spencer Reid. But one thing is for sure.

You want more.

It takes a lot longer than usual to get ready for work, your mind wandering to all the possibilities. When you arrive, you head straight to the set, a strange mix of nerves and anticipation churning in you. It takes you a while to spot Spencer, and when you do, he’s chatting with the director.

It’s different now, somehow, seeing him in this space. He’s still awkward, still shy, but there’s an air of confidence around him that you didn’t notice before. You wonder what it would be like to be his co-star on camera. What it would be like to feel his hands on you.

The thought is a little startling, but you can’t deny it.

You watch as Spencer finishes speaking with the director, then turns towards you. His steps falter as he catches your gaze, and for a moment, it looks like he might change direction entirely. But then he pulls his glasses off, setting them down on a table near the door. Slipping his button-up over his head, leaving him in nothing but dress pants and an undershirt. He moves slowly, each action deliberate, and his gaze lingers on yours for a moment before he ducks into a nearby room.

When he comes back, his shirt is gone, and all that remains is smooth skin. You try not to stare, but your gaze tracks him anyway, watching as he makes his way to the main set. When he passes you, he catches your eyes again, giving you the tiniest smile.

You try not to wonder what that means, but it’s hard to focus on anything else.

When the director calls places, Spencer steps into position next to the female lead, and you take your spot behind the camera. As you adjust the settings, you try not to think too much of yesterday’s scene, but it’s impossible. The image of Spencer fucking his co-star from behind is still etched in your mind.

The director calls action, and Spencer launches himself at the woman, his mouth descending on hers. But as he kisses her, another man steps into view, and your gaze darts towards him.

He’s not as tall as Spencer, but his body is toned and well-defined, his cock already hard. He pushes Spencer against the woman, then starts to strip his pants off.

Your cheeks flush at the sight, and your mind struggles to make sense of what you’re watching. This isn’t how you imagined it would go, not at all.

Spencer presses his body against the woman’s, his lips moving against hers. He shifts her slightly, spreading her legs so the other man can take position between them.

You fumble with the camera for a moment before your gaze returns to the action. The sight of them all together is almost surreal. The other man slips his cock into the woman’s pussy, starting up a slow rhythm. He leans forward, and Spencer’s mouth drops to his neck, sucking a bruise onto his skin.

The woman gasps, pushing her hips back against the other man’s cock. Spencer shifts her again, and this time, he pulls away slightly, his mouth drifting lower on the other man’s chest. He sucks another mark onto his nipple, and you watch as his tongue teases over it for a moment.

Spencer pulls back then, his eyes darting towards you, before he glances down at the woman. He doesn’t need to say anything—his intention is clear. And without hesitation, the woman turns onto her hands and knees, the other man pulling out and flipping her over in one swift motion.

You shift the camera to capture the new angle, watching as Spencer moves behind the woman and slides his cock into her pussy. The other man moves with him, his hand wrapping around the woman’s neck as he slides his own cock inside her mouth.

The sight of them both fucking her is almost overwhelming. Spencer’s hand clamps down on the woman’s hip, his thrusts growing more frantic as he pounds into her from behind. The other man’s fingers dig into her hair, holding her still as he fucks her mouth. And when they both pause, you feel yourself holding your breath in anticipation.

Then Spencer’s mouth descends on the other man’s, and everything freezes. The sound of their kissing is loud and wet, and you try to remember to breathe, to remember to keep filming as they move together.

The camera shakes in your hands as you adjust it, trying to capture all three of them. You move closer, trying to take in everything at once. The sight of Spencer fucking the woman, of the other man fucking her mouth, of the three of them together. It’s almost too much to take in.

Spencer’s hand drifts down the woman’s back, then reaches up to tangle in her hair. He pulls her head back, and you can only imagine the sensation of his cock stretching her walls as he fucks into her. The other man pulls out of her mouth, then, and Spencer guides her down to take his cock instead.

The image sends a wave of lust through you. You can feel your pussy clenching at the thought of Spencer fucking her like this, at the thought of feeling him inside you. A sudden need surges in you, and before you can stop yourself, you whisper, “Fuck.”

The word is quiet, but it echoes in the room. Spencer’s eyes dart to yours, a look of surprise crossing his face. He falters for a moment, then continues, his hand reaching up to guide the woman’s head back and forth on the other man’s cock.

But his eyes remain locked on yours. And when you don’t look away, he starts to fuck the woman harder, his hips thrusting against her ass.

You’re frozen, unable to move. The camera is forgotten in your hands, your gaze fixed on Spencer as he fucks the woman in front of you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

The sound of his breathing fills the air, along with the sound of the woman’s gasps as he pumps into her. Then, without warning, he pulls out, his cock dripping with cum and precum.

He reaches for her, his mouth crashing down on hers as he pushes her back onto the mattress. The other man positions himself above her, and Spencer moves to kneel at her head. Then Spencer’s lips drop to the woman’s clit, and your gaze is drawn to the sight of him eating her out.

He sucks and licks at her pussy, his mouth moving over her clit. The other man groans, his hips starting up a slow rhythm as he fucks into her mouth. Spencer’s fingers move to her tits, playing with her nipples as he continues to eat her out with fervour.

The sounds of their fucking fill the air—the sound of the woman gasping, of Spencer moaning, of the other man’s breathing growing more rapid. You’re frozen in place, unable to tear your gaze away from Spencer as he eats her out. He pauses for a moment to pull back and look at you, then his lips drop back down between her legs.

It’s hard not to imagine him like this over you—his mouth moving between your legs, his tongue teasing over your clit.

Your pussy clenches at the thought, and you realize you’re soaked. The sound of your own breathing echoes in your ears, and you try not to look at Spencer, but you can’t help it. He glances up at you, his eyes locking on yours.

The connection between you is sudden and intense. You want to do something, to say something, but before you can, the other man groans. His hips start to pump harder, and Spencer moves back, his body positioning between the woman’s thighs.

His cock is still hard, still wet with precum from fucking her before. He positions himself against her pussy, then pushes in, his body shuddering as he sinks inside her.

The sight of him fucking the woman is almost too much. His thrusts are slow and deliberate at first, but soon he’s pounding into her, his cock moving in and out of her pussy in quick, slick thrusts. His hand reaches down to play with her clit, and her gasps grow more frantic as he rubs her towards climax.

The air is thick with tension, your breath coming in quick gasps as you watch them fuck. You can barely hold the camera still, your fingers shaking with anticipation.

The woman’s gasps turn into a cry, and she starts to come. Her pussy clenches around Spencer’s cock, and his body shudders with pleasure. The other man grunts, his cock erupting in cum as he shoots onto the woman’s chest. And Spencer fucks her through her orgasm, his cock moving faster and faster until he comes with a cry, his cum spilling into the condom.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped filming until it’s all over. The camera hangs in your hand, forgotten as your gaze lingers on Spencer.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath. When he does, his eyes flicker towards yours, Spencer smiles, then ducks into the bathroom. He emerges a few minutes later with a towel around his neck and his glasses back in place. You try not to laugh at the sight—he still looks like the same awkward nerdy boy from before. But now, when you look at him, you can’t forget the image of him fucking a woman from behind, his cock sliding in and out of her as he sucked bruises into another man’s neck.

And you can’t help but wonder how it would feel to have him do that to you.

It’s hard to get any work done for the rest of the day. Your mind keeps wandering back to Spencer, to his mouth moving on the woman, to his cock fucking her from behind.

When it’s finally time to leave, you grab your bag and head towards the door. But before you make it, a hand reaches out, tugging you into a dressing room.

You stumble as you enter, nearly crashing into the person who pulled you in. But when you turn around, you realize it’s Spencer.

His cheeks flush a deep red, and he shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I just… wanted to talk to you.”

A small laugh escapes you, and you smile at him. “It’s okay, I didn’t mind.” Then you add, “I guess this is your dressing room?”

He nods, looking around. “Yeah,” he says, “They gave me my own room.”

It’s not hard to see why. The room is small, but there’s enough space for a bed and a bathroom, and there’s a table near the door with a couple outfits laid out on it. You move towards the bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress as you look around.

Spencer takes a seat next to you, his fingers picking at a loose thread on the bedspread. The silence grows thick between you, but instead of feeling uncomfortable, it feels strangely intimate.

You lean back, shifting your body slightly so your thigh is brushing against his. He looks up at the movement, his cheeks flushing again.

A smile plays across your lips. “Did you like me watching you fuck her?” you ask.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering towards yours for just a moment. “Yes,” he says finally, his voice low. “I really liked it.”

You lean in then, your shoulder brushing against his. “You wanted to fuck me instead, didn’t you?”

Spencer swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Yes.”

You smile at him, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. He shivers at the touch, and a little thrill of power shoots through you. “You were really hot today.”

He ducks his head at the words, but you can still hear a whisper of “thank you” from him.

You move closer, your arm winding around his shoulders and pulling him against you. His head drops to your shoulder, and you shift slightly, letting your lips brush against his ear.

“I really liked watching you,” you say, your voice soft and low. “Watching you eat her out, watching you fuck her like that. I wanted to be underneath you.”

Spencer swallows again, his breathing growing shallow. His hands move to your thighs, squeezing your legs slightly.

“I wanted to feel you inside me,” you continue, “To feel your cock stretching me open. I bet you’d fuck me hard, wouldn’t you?”

He moans at the words, his fingers tightening on your thigh. You can feel his body shudder against yours, and the knowledge that you’re turning him on like this is intoxicating.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you ask.

He groans again, and this time there’s a yes, yes, please.

You reach up, running your fingers through his hair. “I want you to touch yourself while you think of me,” you say. “While you think of me underneath you, of your cock sliding into me.”

He moans, and you can feel his cock growing hard against your thigh. “And if you’re good,” you add, “Maybe I’ll let you fuck me.”

Spencer groans, and his hips push forward slightly. You can feel him growing more aroused, and for a moment you’re tempted to give in and let him fuck you now.

But then you remember the quiet, nervous boy who took forever to approach you at the café. And the idea that he’d let you control him like this—both in front of the camera and in private—is too enticing to ignore.

You lean back, taking your hand off him. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll even let you cum inside me.”

Spencer gasps, his breath catching in his throat.

His eyes drop to yours, filled with a desire. You smile back at him, but you know this isn’t over yet.

“Tell me again,” you say. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

He swallows, and you can see the hesitation in his eyes. “Please,” he says finally. “Let me touch you. Please let me fuck you.”

The words send a rush of power through you, and you have to work to keep from smiling. “Keep begging,” you say instead.

Spencer nods, his eyes wide. “Please let me fuck you,” he says again. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

He’s growing more desperate by the second, his fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt tightly. You can hear the whine in his voice now, and you wonder how long he can hold out.

“Please,” he says again.

You watch him for a moment, studying him. He’s looking more and more desperate by the second. You wonder how much it would take to push him over the edge.

“You have to promise to do whatever I say,” you say finally. “Whenever I tell you to.”

Spencer nods so fast it’s almost funny. “Anything,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

A thrill of excitement shoots through you, and for a moment, you forget about anything other than the power he’s giving you. You could make him do anything—make him get on his hands and knees and beg for permission to touch you. Make him eat you out until you’re screaming and dripping with cum, and not let him stop until you’re satisfied. Make him fuck you until you can’t walk straight, until you’re sore and aching from taking his cock.

You shiver at the thought, your pussy growing slick with arousal. But you don’t stop, not yet. You reach for him, taking his face in your hands and making him look at you.

“You’re mine,” you say. “Do you understand?”

He nods again, his breath coming in quick pants. “Yes,” he gasps. “Whatever you want.” Then he adds, “Please.” The word is a moan, filled with desperation and need. “Please, fuck me.”

Your fingers tighten on his jaw, and you lean in closer. “Say it again,” you say.

He nods, his eyes growing desperate. “Please fuck me,” he says again, his voice a low whine. “I need it.”

A soft laugh escapes you, and you move closer to him, your lips brushing against his forehead. “I love the way you beg,” you say. “It makes me so wet.”

He shivers at the words, and you can hear the breath hitch in his throat.

“I can’t wait to feel you inside me,” he says. “To feel you fuck me until I’m raw.” He pauses, then adds, “Until I can’t take it anymore.”

The words are almost too much. You can feel your own arousal growing, your pussy aching with the need to be fucked.

“Maybe,” you say, “If you’re good enough, I’ll let you.”

Spencer whines at the words, his body shaking slightly. You lean in, your mouth moving to his neck. “Will that be enough?” you ask.

“Yes,” he gasps, his fingers clenching against your thighs. “Whatever you want. Just please let me fuck you.” The words are a moan now, filled with need.

The word sends a rush of arousal through you, and before he can say anything else, you pull back. “Good boy,” you say softly.

His fingers tighten on your leg, but he doesn’t say anything.

You smile, reaching for his glasses and pulling them off his face. “Get on your hands and knees,” you say then.

Spencer nods, moving to do what you said. You watch as he gets into position, his hands and knees on the mattress, his ass in the air. You move behind him, running your fingers over his hips, teasing his skin.

“Spread your legs,” you say. “I want to see how desperate you are for my cunt.”

Spencer does as he’s told, spreading his legs for you. And you can’t help the groan that escapes you at the sight. His cock is already leaking with precum, and you know he’s aching to be touched. To be fucked. To have your pussy wrapped around him, to feel him sink inside you until he’s balls deep.

The thought sends a rush of lust through you, and you lean forward, running your hands over his back. You move up to his shoulders, then run your fingers down his arms. When you get to his hands, you reach for the lube on the table.

“Get yourself nice and wet for me, baby,” you say, squeezing out a generous amount on his palms.

He does as he’s told. And when he looks back at you, you nod to his cock. “Touch yourself,” you say. “Show me how much you want to be inside me.”

He nods, and without hesitation, he reaches for his cock, his hand wrapping around it. You watch for a moment as he strokes himself, his movements slow at first. But it doesn’t take long for his hips to start pumping, his hand moving faster and faster as he strokes.

“Mmm,” you say, smiling at the sight. “I like that.”

Spencer moans, but he keeps going, his hand pumping his cock until he’s fucking his fist. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, and you can’t help your own arousal from growing. Your pussy is slick with need, and all it would take is one touch from his hand and you’d be cumming.

You shift closer to him, reaching out to run your fingers over the small of his back. Spencer gasps, his hips stuttering for a moment. But then he continues, his hand stroking his cock until it’s almost too much.

“Can you cum like this for me?” you ask.

The words are enough to push him over the edge. His hips thrust into his hand, and you can hear his breathing grow ragged. “Yes,” he whines. “God, yes.”

A smile plays on your lips. “Then do it,” you say. “Cum for me.”

He cries out at the words, his cock pulsing in his hand as he cums. The sound of his orgasm fills the room, and for a moment all you can do is watch him in wonder.

When he’s finished, he collapses back against you, his body relaxing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, holding him to your chest as you smile.

“Good boy,” you say. “Just like that.”

And when Spencer nods, you can’t help but feel a rush of pride at the thought of your obedient little slut. You’ll break him in slowly—letting him touch you and taste you until he’s desperate for your pussy. And then, when you’re ready, you’ll let him fuck you.

And once he has your pussy, he’ll never let go. He’ll be obsessed with it, with the feeling of being inside you. With the way your muscles clench around him, with the way your cunt grips him tight as he fucks into you. With the feeling of your thighs wrapped around his hips, with the way your pussy milks him until he cums deep inside you. With the sound of your moans as he fucks you until you’re aching and raw. With the taste of your pussy on his tongue as he eats you out until you cum on his face.

Spencer whimpers against you, and you run a hand through his hair, petting him. “Shhh,” you say. “That was good. You’re doing so well.”

He moans against you, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods, leaning back against your chest.

You smile, your fingers moving to his hair again. “There’s my good little slut,” you say.

He groans at the words, his breathing growing faster. You move your hand to his cock, running your fingers along the length. “Look how hard you are,” you say, stroking him lightly.

Spencer moans again, and you can feel him shudder against you. “Are you ready for more?” you ask.

“Yes, please,” he gasps.

You smile at the desperation in his voice. You pull back, looking down at him as you run your finger along his lips. “Open your mouth,” you say.

He does as he’s been told, and you push your finger between his lips until he sucks it into his mouth. You pull your finger away, smiling at him. Then you reach for a condom, and stand up. “Take off your clothes,” you tell him, tearing open the package.

Spencer’s eyes flicker to yours, but he moves quickly to comply, pulling off his pants and shirt until he’s naked. You take a moment to study him, to study the way his cock is hard for you, the way his chest rises and falls as he breathes.

Then you reach for him, guiding him back onto the bed. You push him down, spreading his legs as you move between them. He whimpers as you pull his thighs up, and for a moment, all you can do is look at him like this.

He’s beautiful—spread out on the bed for you, his thighs spread wide and his cock hard. His eyes are glazed with lust, and he’s breathing hard. You can see the way he’s shaking slightly, and you know how much he wants to be inside you.

A soft smile plays across your lips, and you reach for your clothes, pulling your skirt up around your waist. You can’t help the moan that escapes you as you sink down onto him, the feeling of his cock filling you almost too much to handle.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he gasps as you sink down further.

You moan at the words, your head dropping to his shoulder as you take his cock deeper. You can feel him stretching you, filling you until you’re almost too full to move. When you’re finally seated on his hips, you pause, looking down at the sight of his cock disappearing into you.

Spencer groans again, his hands moving to your thighs. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers. “Your cunt is so perfect.” His hands tighten on your thighs, and he pushes up into you, making you moan.

You nod, and then lean down, taking his mouth in a kiss. You move slowly at first, your hips shifting back and forth as you grind down on his cock. But it’s not long before you’re fucking him in earnest, your body riding him until you’re gasping with pleasure.

He’s so good, you realize. He feels so good inside you, better than anyone you’ve ever had. His cock is thick and full, and you can feel the way it’s stretching you until you’re aching. The knowledge that he wants you—wants to fuck you and fill you with his cum—only makes it better.

You move faster, your body grinding down on his cock as you fuck him. Spencer is moaning now, his breath hot against your ear as he groans. His hand moves to your ass, his fingers gripping tightly as he pulls you down onto him.

“Yes,” he moans. “Like that. Fuck me like that.”

You nod, your hips picking up the pace until you’re bouncing on his cock. You can feel yourself building, the pleasure growing with each thrust until it’s almost overwhelming. You cry out as you cum, your body shaking with pleasure as your pussy clenches around him.

Spencer cries out with you, his hips bucking up into you as he cums. You collapse against him as he finishes, his cock throbbing deep inside you. You stay there for a few moments, until the last tremor of pleasure fades away. Then you pull off him, reaching for a cloth to clean yourself with.

When you look back at him, he’s watching you with wide eyes. “Was that…good?” he asks finally.

You smile at him. “It was amazing,” you say, and you mean it.

Spencer smiles back at you, then nods. You can see a little blush on his cheeks, and you can tell how pleased he is with himself.

You reach for his hand, taking it in yours as you smile again. “You were perfect,” you add. “Just like I knew you’d be.”

He flushes a little more at that, but you can see how happy he is. You squeeze his hand once more, then let go. “Come on,” you say. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You help him up, then reach for his clothes. He watches as you hand them to him, and you can still see how aroused he is.

He moves to put his pants on, but pauses when you stop him with a hand on his shoulder. “Not those,” you say. You point to the corner of the room, where you can see his boxers. “Those.”

Spencer pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering to yours. “Okay,” he says softly, and he moves to do as he’s told.

You can’t help the smile that comes to your face at the sight, at the way he obediently puts on the boxers you tell him to.

“Come here,” you say when he’s done.

He moves to you, and you take his face in your hand. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” you say.

His eyes widen at the words, but he nods. “Yes,” he says, his voice soft.

You pull him closer, your lips moving to his ear. “And what do I want?” you ask.

“To fuck me,” he whispers.

You smile at that. “And you’ll do anything I want,” you say.

“Yes,” he agrees.

You run your thumb along his jaw, smiling at the sight of him standing there in boxers and a tee-shirt, waiting to do your bidding. “Good,” you say. “My good boy.”

Spencer moans at the words, leaning into your touch. “What do you want?” he asks.

You study him for a moment, then smile again. “For now?” you say. “Nothing. Just you.” You lean in, taking his mouth in a soft kiss. “I’m so lucky to have you,” you whisper against his lips.

Spencer makes a soft noise, then kisses you back. “I’m the lucky one,” he whispers against your mouth.

You smile at that, then pull back and take his hand. You lead him to the bed, then guide him onto it. “Stay,” you tell him as you pull the covers back.

He nods, watching you as you climb in next to him. You reach for his hand, then settle back against the headboard.

“I don’t have to leave?” he asks.

“No, baby, of course not, ” you reply. “You can stay.”

You watch as a smile spreads across his face, and he leans into you, his head resting on your shoulder. You can feel his fingers tighten on yours, and the knowledge that he wants to stay with you like this—that he wants to curl up in your arms and let you comfort him—is so sweet it almost hurts.

You wrap an arm around him, then move to pull him close. “Sleep,” you tell him softly.

“You deserve it.”

He doesn’t reply, but you can feel him relaxing against you, the tension in his body easing as you hold him. He’s warm against your side, and you can smell the scent of soap and lube on him. You hold him for a moment more, then reach to turn off the light.

“Rest now,” you say. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Spencer nods, his fingers tightening on yours one more time. Then he drifts off to sleep, and you stay with him until you fall asleep too. You dream of the next time you’ll fuck him, of the things you’ll do to him until he’s begging for your mercy.

★

Too Much, Pretty Boy?

Summary: Spencer discovers that he not only has mommy issues but that they run deeper than he previously thought. You discover that you don't mind it one bit.

Requested fic!! 🥳: hey can you do a story with sub!spencerreid and softdom!reader and spencer has a mommy kink? oh and he whines and loves to be praised!

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. This is literally pure porn LMFAO whoops. Oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation (both m and f receiving), unprotected p in v (don't do this pls pls), creampie, crying during sex (Spencer is pathetic and we love him for it), praise kink, mommy!kink, very brief mention of a safeword but it isn't used, sub!spencer x softdom!reader my beloved :') (Also!! This is a reminder that the pictures used do NOT depict how reader looks at all!! <3)

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

A/N: So sorry for the brief unplanned hiatus but I am back :') Thank you so much to the anon who requested this! I'm so nervous posting it but I hope you guys like it <3 As always, please tell me what you think! :) If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all MWAH!!

Never in his life did Spencer ever see himself developing a mommy kink. It was something he never could grasp the appeal of, having spent way too much time with his head in different psychology books and swearing he didn’t fit the criteria of someone with “mommy issues” (though the only person he was fooling was himself). Then he met you.

You were so kind. So nurturing. You made him feel safe. Loved. Wanted.

The first time it happened came as a complete shock to both of you.

A rough day at work had led you to be a bit more… demanding with your sweet boyfriend. Instead of the slow, tender kisses you’d usually greet him with when he came by your place, you’d all but shoved him onto the couch in your haste to scramble into his lap, eager to feel his lips against yours after everything you’d dealt with that day.

The noise of surprise he’d squeaked against your lips only spurred you on, desperate to hear more of the sweet sounds he could make.

“Sweetheart—“ Spencer mumbled against your lips, a low whine rumbling in his chest as you ground your hips down against his growing erection. His head tipped back to rest against the back of the couch when your lips began to trail down the column of his throat, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. “W-what’s this all about?”

You pulled away from him, leaving only enough space between your bodies to yank your shirt over your head and toss it carelessly to the ground. “Rough day.” Was the only grumbled response he got before your greedy hands continued to rip off every piece of clothing in your way.

The two of you had had sex before, having been together for almost a year. It had always been sweet and gentle, almost a little awkward as Spencer learned how to be intimate with you. You always let Spencer choose the position so he’d feel more comfortable as he explored his newfound sexuality, and he almost always chose missionary.

That night, you rode him into the couch so hard you learned that not only did he whimper like the sweetest whore on the planet (the man would almost bite through his lip before to stay quiet because he thought his noises were embarrassing), but that you much more enjoyed watching his pretty little mouth hang open while he gazed up at you in an almost trance-like state instead of him burying his face in the crook of your shoulder.

His hands, usually timid and shaky, now roamed your body shamelessly as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders, groping and squeezing anywhere that he could while whining pitifully. You could tell he was close by the way his body was trembling underneath you, and you were right there with him, clenching around his cock and murmuring into his ear about how good he was making you feel. His hips began to rut up helplessly into yours, triggering both of your orgasms as he dug his fingers into the flesh of your ass and—

“I-I’m cumming, ah—MOMMY!”

You cried out, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as you rolled your hips against his to draw out both of your climaxes. Once you’d slowed to a stop, you pulled away with a breathless grin, only to immediately frown upon seeing Spencer’s shocked and shameful expression. Then it processed what he’d just screamed as he came.

“Hey,” you cooed, caressing his face gently as his eyes began to water and he averted his gaze. “Spencer… look at me, baby. It’s okay.”

“No it isn’t!” Spencer exclaimed, trying to sink into the couch and away from you as he scrubbed his face with his hands. “I-I just called you mommy, a-and you probably think I’m some freak loser now—“

“I thought it was hot.”

That had stopped his panicked ranting dead in its tracks, his brows furrowing as he eyed you skeptically, searching for any signs of deceit. Finding none, his shoulders relaxed a little, and he let his hands find your waist again. “Really?” He asked meekly, his face flushed from both embarrassment and exertion.

“Really.”

That night sparked a lengthy, much-needed, and long-overdue conversation that inadvertently changed the entire dynamic of your sex life (in the best way possible).

Which led to where you two were currently.

“Like this, mommy?” Spencer murmured against your skin, crooking his fingers and thrusting them harder.

“Fuck, baby— yes, just like that—“ you crooned, tightening your grip in his hair as you writhe in his lap. “So good for me, Spence. Such a good boy. God—“

Spencer had come home agitated out of his mind after a long case, stressed and exhausted. All he wanted was for you to take care of him. To make him feel better and forget—at least momentarily—all of the gruesome things he’d had to witness for the past two weeks.

And when the words “Please… I don’t want to think anymore. Just tell me what to do. Make it go away…” slipped from his mouth, you knew you’d be cruel if you didn’t do exactly that.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, a muffled whine vibrating against your skin and causing your breath to hitch. Your knees wobbled from where you were hovering over his lap, riding his slender fingers like your life depended on it. Your impending climax sent ripples of pleasure up your spine and all the way down to your curling toes, causing your moans to grow in both volume and consistency as you panted above him.

“That’s it, baby,” you panted, interrupted by your own obscene moan as his fingers repeatedly brushed against the patch of nerves capable of rendering you brainless. “I’m so close— Fuck!”

All it took to send you toppling over the edge of ecstasy was a few swipes of his thumb over your clit. Spencer pulled away from your chest to watch as your face screwed up in pleasure, a sight that he’d never grow tired of seeing. Your pussy clenched hard around his fingers, the sensation making his cock twitch in his slacks.

Spencer stared in rapt fascination, his hips bucking instinctively under yours as he whimpered, working you through your orgasm until you were grasping his wrist and shoving it away despite his protests. A breathy laugh made its way from your lips at the sight of his frown.

“Be a good boy and be still for me, hm? Can you do that for mommy?”

Spencer stilled immediately, his lips parting as he nodded eagerly. Once he'd stopped squirming, you gently patted his cheek before lifting from his lap with shaky legs. You caught his tie between your fingers and tugged it, the force pulling him from the couch with a soft, almost imperceptible whimper. Smirking, you led him toward the bedroom, the fabric of his tie taut in your grip.

The door opened with a creak, sending a pang of anticipation racing through Spencer's veins as he trailed behind you. His eyes followed you as you let go of his tie, turning to sit on the edge of the bed and motioning to the ground in front of you with a flick of your wrist. He sank to his knees between your spread legs, nuzzling into your touch when your fingers card through his hair.

"You're being so good," you murmured, a soft smile curling on your lips as you gazed down at him. "My pretty boy." Your hand slid from his hair to gently cup his face, your thumb tracing the curve of his cheekbone as you drank him in.

“Always wanna be good for you,” Spencer murmured, his breath tickling your skin as he turned his head to press his face into your inner thigh.

Your eyebrows raised as you chuckled, using your finger to tilt his chin up so he was facing you again. “Yeah?” You crooned, swiping your thumb along his bottom lip. “Show me just how good you can be then.”

He didn’t have to be told twice.

The second he was given permission, his mouth was on you. Spencer was ravenous, licking into you as though he’d never experienced your taste before. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping them pried apart as his tongue circled your clit.

“God, you’re so good for me—Spence!”

The vibrations from his needy moans only added to your pleasure, his grip on your thighs the only thing keeping you anchored as he devoured you. He shifted slightly, just enough so that his nose brushed against your clit as he began to thrust his tongue inside of you.

Spencer lived for the praise that he could coax from your precious lips. Nothing was more rewarding than hearing your encouraging words, soft and full of warmth, urging him on.

Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling him against you as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into you. Your thighs trembled in his hold, and your mouth parted in a silent moan as your eyes squeezed shut. Spencer groaned into you, unrelenting in his ministrations as you fell apart, addicted to your taste and the way you moaned his name.

"Baby—"

"One more," he begged against your slick skin. "Please, mommy? You taste so good."

As tempting as it was, you shook your head and gently pulled him away, ignoring his soft protests. Your gaze flicked to his pout, and you raised an eyebrow before motioning for him to lie on the bed. "Really, Spencer?" you asked as you straddled him, your tone teasing but stern. "Are you going to complain? Because we can stop right here, and you can handle your problem alone. Is that what you want?"

Spencer shook his head frantically, a panicked look crossing his face at the thought of stopping. "No! Please, mommy, I'm sorry," he whimpered, looking particularly pathetic underneath you while he pleaded his case. "I'll be good, I swear—"

A high-pitched whine spilled from his lips as you spit into your hand before shuffling down his body, wrapping your hand around his neglected cock. "That's it," you cooed, stroking him in small, teasing motions. "There's my good boy." His hips bucked instinctively into your touch, causing you to pause while you shot a warning glance his way. "Are you going to be still and take what mommy gives you? Or am I going to have to stop?"

"I'll be still!" Spencer cried out, looking down at you with tears in his eyes. "I-I'll be still, please!"

A smirk tugged at your lips before you bent down to press a kiss to his flushed head in response. Your hand began to move again, his pre-cum mixing with your spit creating a lewd slick sound as your pace slowly increased. The hushed whines and moans slipping from Spencer's lips filled the room, and the sight of his nails digging into the sheets to keep himself from moving sent a sharp pang of warmth through you.

Your eyes remained on his face, admiring the relaxed drop of his jaw and the deep flush staining his cheeks. You knew he was close when his moans began to increase in volume and pitch, his chest heaving as his body began to tremble. Shifting forward, your mouth finds his while your hand continues its movements. "That's it, baby," you murmur against his lips, grinning at the whimper he lets out. "Cum for me, sweetheart."

Spencer groaned into your mouth, releasing his grip on the sheets to knead desperately at your breasts. That was all it took for him to gasp against your lips, a low keening sound bubbling in his throat as he spilled over your hand and his tummy. You broke the kiss to watch his face, your hand working him through his climax.

"O-oh—"

Spencer writhed as you continued stroking him slowly, using his cum as lube to aid your movements. His eyes were half-lidded, filled with a mix of confusion and desperation as he looked up at you, but you didn’t stop. His hands fell back to the bed, twitching as you increase your pace once more.

"Shh, sweet boy," you chuckled as he began to whimper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You're okay. You can take it, can't you?"

A pathetic whine left his lips as he nodded. A tear slipped down his cheek from the overstimulation, leaving a shiny streak behind on his rosy cheeks. You and Spencer knew that he'd use the safeword if it were too much. But this is exactly what he wanted when he'd come home. He thrived on how you could turn him into nothing more than a tangled mess of limp limbs and tear-filled eyes, drowning in a pleasure so intense it erased every thought except you.

When his moans began to reach noise-complaint decibels, you clamped your free hand over his mouth to muffle them. “I know, baby. I know,” you murmured as he began to cry in earnest now, so overwhelmed with pleasure he couldn’t see straight. “You sound so pretty for me. But I can’t have you waking the neighbors, sweetheart.”

Spencer was close, his body thrashing underneath you as you continued your delicious torture on his sensitive cock. His brows were drawn together, glazed-over eyes locked on your face and kiss-swollen lips parted. He was so devastatingly beautiful like this—wrecked and desperate for release.

When you felt the tell-tale twitching signaling his impending release, an idea came to mind. With one final pump, you release your hold on him, hurriedly straddling his lap and sinking onto him before he can complain.

His eyes widen to an almost comical level before they roll back in his head. His hands fly up to grip your hips, a muffled shout of "Mommy!" against your palm being the only warning you get before his hips rut into you frantically. Seconds later, he's cumming so hard his vision whites out behind his eyelids and his ears ring.

"Good boy, Spence," you breathe, slowing your hips to a stop and petting his hair away from his forehead while he sobs. "You did so good, baby. So, so good." Easing off of him, you caress his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to his lips before leaving the room.

Spencer lays trembling in the bed, too weak to protest. His eyes remain closed, his chest heaving with each breath he sucks in. He’s unsure how much time has passed when a warm washcloth glides over his skin. He hums in response, and you know it's the closest thing to a thank you he can offer right now.

After he's cleaned up, you slide back into bed beside him, drawing him close. "Get some rest, sweetheart. I'll wake you for dinner," you murmur, your nails softly tracing patterns on his warm skin to lull him into sleep.

Only then does exhaustion fully claim him, a barely audible "I love you" slipping from his lips before he drifts into sleep, reassured that no matter how harsh and unforgiving his career may be, you’ll always be there to make everything okay.

Continued A/N's: AHHHH!!!! I've never written for a mommy kink before so I hope I did it justice LMAO! Again, thank you to the anon who requested this, it really helped me step out of my comfort zone and I loved that. <3 Reminder that my requests are still open btw ;)

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.

some of y’all can’t take constructive criticism and it shows 😬

Let Me Ease Your Worries

Spencer Reid × Midsize!Fem!Reader

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

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Word Count: 5.7K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a bad self-image day, darling.”

Only confusion spread across your boyfriend’s face.

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

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

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

“I don’t follow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You just say that because you have to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer raised his eyebrows, urging you to continue.

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

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

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

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

“Spencer, I’m fat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lifted his head to utter the last part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was the go-ahead he needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer, what are you-”

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

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

“I’m not sure, my stomach looks odd-”

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

Your face heated up.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should be saying thank you really.”

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

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

There was the usual needy and whiney boy you knew.

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

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

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

“Already?” You raised your eyebrows teasingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggled. “You already have, silly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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