Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
SLEEPING IN A BED HALF EMPTY | spencer reid x reader
── .⟢ DIVIDE event masterlist .ᐟ
summary: a poorly-timed work trip opens a few poorly-healed emotional wounds for your boyfriend spencer. he's wishing your airport would crumble, and you're wishing you could convince him that leaving for a week doesn't mean leaving forever.
genre: fluff, hurt/comfort | word count: 1.7k
tags: gn!reader, s3!boyfriend!spencer, insecurity, fear of abandonment, mentions of s2 events: elle, hankel, gideon, spencer gets a well-deserved hug, title from a noah kahan song (duh), not proofread
notes: noah kahan sad girl summer is here. tysm for 1k <3
The apartment is quiet.
That in itself isn’t weird, you suppose; you’re a naturally quiet person, and Spencer’s even quieter most days. To have your apartment enveloped in a stillness isn’t something new, nor is it cause for concern—you wouldn’t have it any other way, really.
But today there’s a weight to it, the quiet. It hangs in the air, thick like smog, sits on your shoulders for hours and leaves you will a full-body ache. It’s an unnatural silence, a forced one, defined by words, thoughts, which are actively being repressed. Pushed down. Bottled up.
Spencer is quiet, and not because he’s busy with his nose in some book or milling through his dozens of academic journals. He’s quiet, and he isn’t doing anything—and that isn’t a combination you thought possible until today.
Spencer Reid is either busy, or he’s talking. Rambling in soft tones about work, or physics, or quite literally anything—you’ve heard him talk at length about centipedes before—because that’s just the type of person he is. So to see him just…sitting there, picking at the skin around his nails, neither speaking nor acting, is uncanny.
Your boyfriend has been replaced with a statue, and it’s been like this all day. You noticed something was off when you first woke, and you were immediately able to identify the problem. You had hoped—evidently in vain—that Spencer might broach the topic himself, exercise his usually excellent communication skills, but no; he stayed quiet, grew quieter. And now it’s 6pm and you’re elbow-deep in the sink washing dishes, and Spencer’s still sitting on the couch, fidgeting in silence.
Or you think he is, until you feel a pair of arms wrap around you from behind. His chest against your back, nose pressed into your hair. You purse your lips, wait a beat, then two, for him to speak before setting the dishes in the sink and reaching for a towel.
“You okay?” you ask, voice light.
“Mhm.”
After drying your hands, you shimmy around until you’re facing him, brows set in a small frown. “Sure?”
Spencer flashes you a small, visibly strained smile. “Yeah, I’m sure. Are you, uh—” he clears his throat. “Are you all packed?”
“Yes sir.”
“And you’re not missing anything?” he asks. “You, um, forgot your toothbrush when we went on that road trip, and—”
“I have my toothbrush,” you say softly.
Spencer nods. He swallows like it’s painful. “Good.”
For a moment, you just watch him, hoping that he might take your look of concern as a sign to speak up but, of course, he doesn’t.
So, with gentle hands you reach up to cup his cheeks. “Spence,” you murmur, “I know something’s up.”
He lets his eyes flutter closed, and he leans into your touch with a soft sigh. But he doesn’t speak.
“You worried about this trip?” you prod.
You feel it under your palm, the way he bites the inside of his cheek before answering, “No. I’m not— well, I…” he sighs. “I don’t know.”
Leaning back against the countertop, you wait with patience. You keep your hands on his face, thumbs brushing tender circles against his skin as you let him organise his thoughts, giving him as much time as he needs.
“It doesn’t make sense, logically,” he eventually mutters. “What I’m feeling, I mean. I-I keep trying to…reason with it, but there’s just this— this voice in the back of my head.” He lowers his voice until he’s speaking in almost a whisper. “I just can’t help but worry you’re not gonna come back.”
His words catch you off guard. Your brows twitch, and he immediately begins to backtrack.
“And I know it’s stupid, and— and I know that, obviously, you won’t—"
“Spencer.” You cut him off carefully, hands moving from his face to his neck.
He falls silent, lowers his head. Shame seems to taint his entire being, weighing him down.
You wait a beat, trying to gauge where he’s at, what he’s thinking, before asking, “Is this about Gideon?”
All he does in response is smile. Self-conscious. Sardonic.
And it breaks your heart.
You know he’s been sensitive, more so than usual, since Gideon left—since Elle left, even. Since the awful incident with Tobias Hankel, the weight he carried—still carries—in the wake of it all. You can’t imagine how he must feel, and it’s rare that you see it at all because he handles it all so silently. Like he’s afraid of being too much. Too human.
“Spence,” you murmur his name again so he meets your gaze, “of course I’m gonna come back.”
“I know.” He shakes his head, takes a deep breath like he’s trying to will himself into being okay, and then he deflates once more. He leans forward and touches his forehead to yours like you’re the only thing keeping him upright, and he closes his eyes. “I just can’t stop…thinking.”
“About what?”
“Sleeping in an empty bed for a week,” he mutters.
“And?”
He sighs. “The hypothetical—very hypothetical—scenario where you…enjoy being there, away from me, more than you enjoy being here.”
“Oh, honey…” your hands slip down further, fingers curling into the neckline of his sweater. “Spence—”
“I know it’s unfounded,” he says. His hands find your wrists, and he holds onto you like you may disappear if he lets go. “I know I’m being…clingy. Ridiculous.”
“You’re not being ridiculous.” You release his sweater, opting instead to entwine your fingers with his, holding his hands. “You’re allowed to worry.”
“I keep—” A laugh cuts through his words. Soft, light, but still laced with that slight self-consciousness that just makes you want to hug him and never let him go. “I keep hoping that Reagan will end up…falling down, or something. That way you won’t have to go.”
“Hopefully not while I’m there?”
“Oh, no— of course not!” His voice cracks as he pulls away, wide-eyed. “God, I’d never wish for—”
“I know, I know.” You squeeze his hands with a quiet chuckle, one that, thankfully, he mirrors.
You pull him back in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek as his lips curl into a small smile. When you lean back, you find that smile to be tainted, still, with a subdued sadness—less than there had been previously, but still more than what you want to see.
“Hey,” you murmur.
“Hey,” he echoes.
“I’m gonna come back, and— Spencer, look at me.” You cup his cheek as he tries to turn his face away, gently guiding him back to you. “And I’m gonna call you, okay? Every day, I promise.”
A frown crosses his face at your words, and he shakes his head. “You don’t need to…placate me,” he says. “I’m being childish—”
“I want to call you,” you interrupt, voice firm. “I wanna hear your voice. I’m gonna miss you, too, you know.”
His gaze drops to his feet, but even as the silence starts to sting you take care not to rush him. It takes him a few moments but, eventually, he meets your gaze once more, holds it like a lifeline. “You’ll call me?”
“Every day,” you repeat.
He nods. Slowly, like his head weighs twice what it should—but it’s still a nod. You pull him closer, press a kiss to the tip of his nose, before releasing his face.
“Here.” You fumble with the clasp of your necklace, removing it so you can press it into his palm. “Hang onto this for me, okay?”
A stretch of silence. Spencer stares blankly at the necklace, like he doesn’t know what to do with it, before shaking his head. “I can’t,” he says. “This— this is your favourite. You never take it off—"
“Then it gives me all the more reason to come back, right?” you ask, smiling.
Of course, Spencer himself is reason enough to come back. You could tell him that a thousand times, but there’d still be a part of him that doesn’t—can’t, for whatever reason—believe it.
It’s your favourite necklace, sure, you wear it every day, and going without it will undoubtedly feel weird, but you’d happily leave it behind for Spencer. You’d leave every piece of jewellery—no, everything, period, for him. You just wish there were a way to make him understand that.
So you settle for putting the necklace on him, not because it “gives you a reason to come back”, but because it gives him part of you to keep with him. Something that he can hold onto; a physical reminder of how much you love him.
You pull him into a hug, squeezing him tight like it may somehow convey, wordlessly, all the things you wish he’d believe. Like, if you hold him tight enough, you might infect him with just a fraction of what you feel for him.
His arms wrap around your waist once more, and you feel the tension that’s been wracking him all day begin to ease. He presses his face to your neck, mumbles “I’m gonna miss you” into your skin like a prayer, and you murmur back “I know, I’m gonna miss you, too.”
Time seems to stop existing entirely, and you have no idea how much of it passes during your embrace (a minute? Five? Maybe more?), but when you pull yourself away Spencer seems as though he’s had new life breathed into him. He smiles, kisses your lips, holds your waist not like you’re going to vanish into thin air, but like you’re something precious. And you think for a moment that maybe your hug did work, even if it’s only for a short time.
“So.” You run your fingers up and down his arms, tracing the creases in his sweater. “Are you gonna drive me to the airport tomorrow, or am I gonna have to call a cab?”
“Why would you call a cab?” he asks, frowning. “I’m not at work.”
“I dunno, in case you feel like driving us off of a bridge, so I miss my flight.”
Spencer’s jaw drops. “I would never—”
“I know.” You chuckle, poking his shoulder as a playful grin creeps up your face. “I’m kidding.”
He rolls his eyes, very obviously suppressing a smile of his own, and kisses your forehead. “I’ll drive,” he murmurs, “don’t worry.”
my favourite song of the album first. Well ok its very hard to pick a favourite but one of my faves. OHHH BOBBY JUST ADMIT YOURE IN LOVE WITH ME BECAUSE I SURE AM IN LOVE WITH YOU. fawwkwkkkkwk
s3 spencer is literally my angel. my darling boy. my sweetheart who i must tuck into bed every night. I love this. its adorable and beautiful and so soft and comforting and and and
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
— when jack first visited the philippines after he got married to a filipino nurse, he was very concerned about the sheer number of people calling him an "afam." he asks you if he should worry. you say no. it doesn't help. your niece calls him lolo.
— jack abbot is an adobo warrior, to the disappointment of his partner who prefers sinigang.
— he asks you to translate whatever princess and perlah are saying about him, but you refuse. "ang sungit naman ng asawa mong yan!" and it doesn't sound like a compliment.
— ever since you started living together, he takes off his shoes before entering the house and you help him with his prosthetic.
— your german shepherd rescue is named brownie.
— he has a lunch box all the other staff are jealous of, but rarely enough time to eat it. you have to shoo him to go eat his rice meal and a small bag of flat tops or werther's caramels.
— karaoke dates are great. he's not a great singer himself, but he likes hearing you sing the classics—alanis morissette, celine dion, theme songs from old shows you got him to watch on his days off.
— he adopts the little habit of calling you "boss" because you did it to him in the early days of your relationship.
— his favorite teleserye is please be careful with my heart.
— you put a little bottle of white flower in his backpack for when his head or muscles hurt during the day.
— he tried calling you "mahal" at some point but couldn't pronounce it the way you taught him, so you just laughed and said it was okay to just call you sweetheart.
— when jack first visited the philippines after he got married to a filipino nurse, he was very concerned about the sheer number of people calling him an "afam." he asks you if he should worry. you say no. it doesn't help. your niece calls him lolo.
— jack abbot is an adobo warrior, to the disappointment of his partner who prefers sinigang.
— he asks you to translate whatever princess and perlah are saying about him, but you refuse. "ang sungit naman ng asawa mong yan!" and it doesn't sound like a compliment.
— ever since you started living together, he takes off his shoes before entering the house and you help him with his prosthetic.
— your german shepherd rescue is named brownie.
— he has a lunch box all the other staff are jealous of, but rarely enough time to eat it. you have to shoo him to go eat his rice meal and a small bag of flat tops or werther's caramels.
— karaoke dates are great. he's not a great singer himself, but he likes hearing you sing the classics—alanis morissette, celine dion, theme songs from old shows you got him to watch on his days off.
— he adopts the little habit of calling you "boss" because you did it to him in the early days of your relationship.
— his favorite teleserye is please be careful with my heart.
— you put a little bottle of white flower in his backpack for when his head or muscles hurt during the day.
— he tried calling you "mahal" at some point but couldn't pronounce it the way you taught him, so you just laughed and said it was okay to just call you sweetheart.
spencer reid can't help but hold your hand while he eats you out
spencer reid has never felt a touch quite as sanctifying as yours. his hands on you, yours on him, it set his core ablaze and sent his mind spiraling into the clouds.
he'd never been this close with anyone, this raw—intimate in a way that felt as though he allowed the sparks of your finger tips to slip behind his supple flesh and eviscerate his soul.
spencer was touch starved, so to speak, prior to you. he was foolish, harbouring a paralyzing aversion to something he was now ravenous for. if past him only knew that touch was something far, far more than a transfer of pathogens, simply transactional.
touch had become something that could never truly fill him, something that made his stomach swarm in a gluttonous guilt, something that he would always crawl back to.
he'd lay behind you tracing lazy shapes onto the fabric of your sweater, letting his hungry digits snag on the warmth of the texture, the warmth of you below it.
he'd slide his hands under the cloth, not to tease, just to feel. your breath inhaling and exhaling in his palm, examining the rise of your ribs with the percision of a physician, not allowing a single expansion to slip past his inspection.
spencer would absorb you through your flesh, as if your light reset him in some way, rejuvenating his spirit via skin to skin contact—mending him in that curative way only you were capable of.
and now here he lay, beneath you, where he knew he should be—your soft thighs caging his cheeks in a comforting pressure only you could create. his heaven on earth.
he watched as you writhed against pale sheets, the sheen of your skin illuminating in the natural light, an ethereal glow that starkly contrasted the dull air surronding you, a permanent halo.
he analyzed every twitch of your torso, his ears perked at every groan that bellowed in the pit of your core, he smelt the primal heat of your essence before him. how easy it was for spencer to lose himself in you.
he gripped onto the fat of your flesh, as if you were a dream that would vanish the second he dared to think of letting go. his touch burned so perfectly, boring deep into your skin in practiced familiarity, you would revert back to this moment each time you saw the evidence, spencer's signature branded to his muse.
you threw your head back, hips rolling to an uneven rhythm, as spencer felt the irregular beat of your heart on his tongue, the slick of your adoration nourishing him in a way nothing else could. it was too much, overwhelming in a way that threw your soul out of orbit, spencer saw stars in your eyes.
it struck you then, his palm raised, flat against yours, slotting perfectly where it belonged. warmth radiated up your spine, grounding you on the cusp of your high, pulling your mind back into your body so you could feel, really feel, every slip of a figure eight spencer curated, poetry receited on your most sensitive cluster of nerves.
"i love you" spoken wordlessly with his eyes as he watched your dazed expression return back to earth. you, his very own angel blessing him with your presence. the greatest honour bestowed upon him was to hold your hand in his.
written in the app so plz ignore any like formatting or grammatical errors its 1:35am and im sleepy turned on (dangerous combo) anyway spencer’s love is 150% this disgustingly devout. im so stupidly horny and in love with him i need to order 14 more of these right now. help! my pussy is sobbing!!!!
also i saw this exact like concept in a porn clip like a year ago and was foolish enough to LOSE IT? i genuinely have not been the same since that day. if someone can find a link i will genuinely kiss you on the mouth please do not be afraid to send me any similar video links im so deadass i need this. i think about it all the time. its all i want. please. thank you love you bye !!
spencer reid can't help but hold your hand while he eats you out
spencer reid has never felt a touch quite as sanctifying as yours. his hands on you, yours on him, it set his core ablaze and sent his mind spiraling into the clouds.
he'd never been this close with anyone, this raw—intimate in a way that felt as though he allowed the sparks of your finger tips to slip behind his supple flesh and eviscerate his soul.
spencer was touch starved, so to speak, prior to you. he was foolish, harbouring a paralyzing aversion to something he was now ravenous for. if past him only knew that touch was something far, far more than a transfer of pathogens, simply transactional.
touch had become something that could never truly fill him, something that made his stomach swarm in a gluttonous guilt, something that he would always crawl back to.
he'd lay behind you tracing lazy shapes onto the fabric of your sweater, letting his hungry digits snag on the warmth of the texture, the warmth of you below it.
he'd slide his hands under the cloth, not to tease, just to feel. your breath inhaling and exhaling in his palm, examining the rise of your ribs with the percision of a physician, not allowing a single expansion to slip past his inspection.
spencer would absorb you through your flesh, as if your light reset him in some way, rejuvenating his spirit via skin to skin contact—mending him in that curative way only you were capable of.
and now here he lay, beneath you, where he knew he should be—your soft thighs caging his cheeks in a comforting pressure only you could create. his heaven on earth.
he watched as you writhed against pale sheets, the sheen of your skin illuminating in the natural light, an ethereal glow that starkly contrasted the dull air surronding you, a permanent halo.
he analyzed every twitch of your torso, his ears perked at every groan that bellowed in the pit of your core, he smelt the primal heat of your essence before him. how easy it was for spencer to lose himself in you.
he gripped onto the fat of your flesh, as if you were a dream that would vanish the second he dared to think of letting go. his touch burned so perfectly, boring deep into your skin in practiced familiarity, you would revert back to this moment each time you saw the evidence, spencer's signature branded to his muse.
you threw your head back, hips rolling to an uneven rhythm, as spencer felt the irregular beat of your heart on his tongue, the slick of your adoration nourishing him in a way nothing else could. it was too much, overwhelming in a way that threw your soul out of orbit, spencer saw stars in your eyes.
it struck you then, his palm raised, flat against yours, slotting perfectly where it belonged. warmth radiated up your spine, grounding you on the cusp of your high, pulling your mind back into your body so you could feel, really feel, every slip of a figure eight spencer curated, poetry receited on your most sensitive cluster of nerves.
"i love you" spoken wordlessly with his eyes as he watched your dazed expression return back to earth. you, his very own angel blessing him with your presence. the greatest honour bestowed upon him was to hold your hand in his.
written in the app so plz ignore any like formatting or grammatical errors its 1:35am and im sleepy turned on (dangerous combo) anyway spencer’s love is 150% this disgustingly devout. im so stupidly horny and in love with him i need to order 14 more of these right now. help! my pussy is sobbing!!!!
also i saw this exact like concept in a porn clip like a year ago and was foolish enough to LOSE IT? i genuinely have not been the same since that day. if someone can find a link i will genuinely kiss you on the mouth please do not be afraid to send me any similar video links im so deadass i need this. i think about it all the time. its all i want. please. thank you love you bye !!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Period soon so I’m all sad with consciously no reason thinking about dadbf Spencer 😔 I just need a hug fr
dadbf!spencer on your period... ough I bet he'd always have everything ready a whole week early. the exact menstrual products you prefer—pads, tampons, whatever brand, size, he's got it memorised. tub of ice cream, warm tea, heating pad, and of course, his lap to lay on when the cramps get worse and you feel like you're gonna throw up and everything aches. but it's alright because he's there, running his fingers through your hair, adjusting the heating pad on your tummy, comforting you when the tears spill. "shh, i know, kiddo. it'll get better soon, i promise."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
notes: harvey is oh so special to me; he has been for the longest time. i'm a girldad!harvey truther and i will die on this hill !!
˖ ۫ ♱ dad!harvey who can never really say ‘no’ to his kids. he tries so hard to stand firm, but one pout and suddenly he’s buying ice cream at nine o’clock on a school night like it was his idea all along.
˖ ۫ ♱ dad!harvey who wears the little beaded bracelets his daughters make him straight into court without caring who notices. there’s something oddly terrifying about harvey specter destroying someone in litigation while wearing neon beads spelling “#1 dad.”
˖ ۫ ♱ dad!harvey who is always the loudest parent at his son’s sports games. suit jacket abandoned somewhere on the bleachers, yelling encouragement like his kid just made the winning shot in the NBA finals.
˖ ۫ ♱ dad!harvey who lingers in the kids’ bedrooms far too long after bedtime because he hates missing parts of their day. every night turns into “five more minutes,” until you have to practically drag him back downstairs.
˖ ۫ ♱ dad!harvey who secretly learned how to braid hair after his daughter complained he only knew ponytails. he acted casual about it afterwards, but looked unbearably smug the first time she asked him to do it again.
˖ ۫ ♱ dad!harvey who keeps every crayon drawing his kids ever made tucked into his office desk. clients expecting intimidating corporate lawyer harvey instead find poorly drawn stick figures labelled “my daddy.”
˖ ۫ ♱ dad!harvey who swears he hates animated movies, yet somehow gets more emotionally invested than the kids do. absolutely denies tearing up every single time.
˖ ۫ ♱ dad!harvey who gets ridiculously proud whenever his kids copy his habits. the first time one of them points dramatically during an argument, he has to hide his grin behind his coffee cup.
