i can taste you on my lips

Your fingers pull on the roots of Spencer's mussed up hair, and your back bows when the tongue that'd been flicking at your clit circles your entrance.

A moan rips through your throat when he slurps, collecting a mouthful of your wetness and swallowing.

"There you go."

Derek's observing the both of you, arms crossed and his own fingers tucked over his mouth, contemplative.

Spencer whimpers in pain when the heel of your foot shoves itself into the skin of his naked shoulder blade in an attempt to pull him closer. The ache in his upper-back doesn't perturb him from grinding his hips down onto the mattress below him.

"Give her your fingers now." Derek says lowly. "Don't be afraid to go too fast. She can take it."

"Derek." You gasp, and he just chuckles instead of reaching for you like you want. "Spencer." You call for either one of them, and Spencer's left hand searches for yours blindly until it reaches you, and he intertwines them together. It settles you.

"He feel good, princess?"

Reid's fingers are thinner than Morgan's, and when his ring finger slips in next to his middle, he crooks them, adjusting his wrist before pulling in and out of you.

The experimental thrust snatches the air out of your lungs.

"So -" You choke. "So good."

"You don't think he wants you to tell him that?"

You look down from between the valley of your naked breasts, your nipples hard, aching, and wet from the relentless teasing that'd gotten you this soaked in the first place breaches your vision when your eyes captures the genius'.

His irises are blown out and dark. A thick fog clouds his focus, but he moans as he looks up at you. His wrist work is unrelenting, his digits curving themselves, searching and determined to find your g-spot.

You're shaking, and your legs tremble from where they're thrown around him. "You're doing so well, Reid." You praise, and he takes your clit in his mouth, and suckles. "He's a fast learner." You add with a whiny chuckle.

"I don't call him boy wonder for no reason." Derek remarks with a thick smirk.

Morgan's forwent his shirt, and his pants hang low on his hips to reveal a sharp v-line that disappears into his waistband. A part of you wants to beg him to put his cock in your mouth, but this is supposed to be a learning experience. You've seen Spencer occasionally throw a glance or two to the side at him before focusing back on you.

You can't say you blame him.

You're not sure how many professional boundaries the three of you have crossed in the span of two hours, but the chinese food you were sharing in your apartment sits abandoned on your coffee table, along with your clothes.

It was a stupid joke that Morgan had made, and it somehow spiraled into getting Spencer to open up about his lackluster sex life. The next thing you know, your boyfriend's offering you up to him, and after a moment of contemplation, you agree, and find yourself on your back.

You don't know what this means for you and Derek, but you don't think he's too worried about it, because the hand that was ghosting over his mouth reaches down to grip at the thick print in his jeans.

"You want in?" You ask breathily, and Morgan raises a thick eyebrow.

"You being greedy?"

You giggle and look down at Spencer, running your fingers through his hair. "Uhnt uh." You grin. "Just wanna help him out after I cum."

You're seeing how far you can push this, because nothing's been pre-established. You're letting him know you're down for anything, and the ball is in his court.

"Maybe after."

That's not a no.

You let your eyes flutter closed when a third finger adds itself to the mix, and your hips shoot up against his face when the pads of Reid's fingers meet your g-spot.

"Shit!" You cry out.

The twist to Spencer's wrist is brutal now, and his brief suckling turns into full on sucking, like he's trying to steal your soul out through your clit.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck -" You babble. "So, good. So fucking good."

You can see Spencer's humping get rougher the closer you get to your orgasm.

"Fuck yeah, give it to me." You moan. "Put your -" You huff. "Put your tongue in me. Rub my clit."

Spencer's quick to comply, the switch between pleasure seamless when the muscle in his mouth shoves itself inside of you, and his thumb swipes at you in fast strokes.

"Slow -" You pant. "Slower. It's not a race."

"Sorry." Spencer mumbles with a mouthful of you. It's the first words he's spoken all night since he kissed you earlier.

"It's not your fault." Derek scoffs. "She's a needy little thing."

"Don't be mean!" You mewl.

The tension lifts with your banter, but it doesn't stop you from spasming around him when sips at your hole.

"I'm almost there, just -"

He lets go of cradling your hand to come up for air. He's panting, his mouth is absolutely soaked, and he gets up on his knees in a hurry, pressing down on your stomach to hammer his digits.

"I got you," The genius breathes. "I got you." He licks his lips, "I didn't have a good angle from down there, sorry."

The sounds that come from between your legs are vulgar, and your boobs bounce with each thrust, and your neck grows hotter than it already is.

Derek looks on with pride as your hips jump, and your cries of pleasure grow higher and higher until they finally crescendo. Your vision goes white, and you claw at Spencer's forearms in desperation to keep yourself grounded.

You hear the two men talking when you resurface.

"Good job man." There's a slap and you know Morgan clasped his shoulder. "I knew you could do it."

"Thanks." Reid sounds as sheepish as he usually does when he's praised.

Ugh.

Men.

Under all the exhaustion and stress that clings to the walls like a thick tar, there's a deep, cloying, almost undetectable scent that's easy to miss if you weren't looking for it, but for someone like you, it's the first thing you search for.

It makes sense for it to be such a secondary emotion in a place like this, and it is riveting.

Everyone's buzzing around the office like little worker bees, and you're reminded as to why you're so fond of humans in the first place.

You admire the fact that they work so hard even though they know that death is imminent, that they choose to get jobs that help people even if it puts their own lives at risk. That, within itself, makes them selfish. You're sure they have family or friends that would hate to see them go, and yet they lay everything on the line for a life that might not even be grateful for being saved.

Being selfless or selfish is an unfortunately thin line to toe.

When you round the corner, you hear voices.

“I heard she's like – serial killer level charming.”

“Garcia.” Another female voice chimes in disappointment. 

“I'm just saying! People say she's nice but kinda off-putting.”

A third woman snorts, and you square your shoulders when you finally reveal yourself.

“I can't say I haven't heard that one before.” 

The colorful woman – Garcia, you can only assume – startles in her seat so hard you swear she catches air, spinning around in the chair – that you can probably assume isn’t hers – to sheepishly face you. 

There’s two women standing opposite of her; one with black hair, and a pretty blonde next to her. Both can barely contain their smiles, and you give them an equally amused grin. It's all teeth.

“Trust me, It's fine.” You wave away the small bubble of tension, and it's almost like you can physically feel the bubbly lady relax. “Seriously, I'm flattered.” You extend your hand. “I'm Agent Thorne. I just transferred over from the sex crimes division down in Florida.” 

The dark haired one steps forward first, passing by her babbling co-worker to clasp your palm in hers.

“I'm Emily Prentiss.” She says with a firm shake before releasing it, and it only hangs in the air for a moment before the other woman captures it. “And I’m Jennifer Jareau. You can just call me JJ.” 

Prentiss examines you, running her dark gaze from the pointed tips of your heels, up your stocking covered thighs, before finally meeting your eyes. It’s an unashamed pat-down. You know you and her will be good friends. 

“Hotch told us we were getting a new Agent, but he didn't tell us you were a total femme fatale.” 

You raise a brow. “Seems like I'm all the hot goss around here, huh?” You ask with a small laugh, and JJ gestures to Garcia behind her. “That would probably be Penelope’s doing.”

Garcia gives her a look of pure betrayal as she shoots up from her seat to take your hands in hers.

“Don't listen to her!” She shoots a glare at the older woman. “I'm a girls girl all the way! I just… get a little carried away sometimes.” She gives you a quick squeeze. “But I'm Penelope Garcia, the lady of your technological dreams and desires.” She throws a look down at your shoes. “And you have to tell me where you got those heels, wait –” She gasps. “Are those Red Bottoms?”

A male voice stops you from answering, and you can't contain your smirk when you look over your shoulder.

“Winning over all of my agents already?”

Aaron’s aged like fine wine since the last time you’d seen him three years ago, and if he wasn't your boss now, you'd try to buy him a drink. Sadly, you abide by humanity’s societal rules, so unfortunately that would be considered a no bueno.

The quiet scent of guilt he had when you first met has only grown more pungent, and a shiver almost shakes you from your head to your toes as it creeps its way up your spine. It's an invigorating smell, and that invasive part of you knows it's because he feels responsible for the death of his wife and the subsequent murdering of her killer – but you figure none of the guilt manifests from the latter part.

He’s your favorite.

“Ah,” You sigh coyly. “Guilty as charged.”

Garcia lets you go so you can gather him up in a short hug. “It's good to see you.” Hotch says as he pulls away, and you give his biceps a quick grab. “And you’re looking handsome as always.”

“You guys know each other?” Prentiss asks with intrigue thick on her tongue. “I needed her help with something a little while ago.” It's a vague explanation, but that’s because the entire interaction could be considered an under the table type of deal. 

Hotch needed some information about a suspect in an ongoing case that the team had yet to be called in on to help. Unfortunately, the sex crimes front desk was unhelpful, and he was lucky you were around to overhear the interaction. Considering Garcia’s a super coder, the man must’ve not cared about online safety, because you managed to find his personal number and gave him a call. 

So, with a little scrambling of files here and an accidentally revealed past pending sex offender charge there, they were finally able to get on the scene and capture their killer.

“Research.” You add in helpfully, making sure to slip in a small smile to really seal the deal, but the black haired woman just eyes you. She’s unconvinced. “Uh huh.”

“You just got here and you're already so mysterious.” Garcia wonders aloud and you laugh once more, burgundy red lips pulled tight around almost inhumanly like white teeth.

“Can't a lady keep a few cards to herself?”

“Hopefully not too many.”

“Derek Morgan.” You muse as you turn your attention towards him. “I've heard a lot about you.”

Derek Morgan was almost as elusive as you, with a past sealed tight and stuffed away in the darkest parts of his soul. He's a man with many layers, and it doesn't hurt that he's hot like burning.

“Only good things I hope.” He leans against the desk in a show of suaveness, and you take the bait. “Things can get tangled going down the grapevine.” He raises a thick brow, “I could help clear some things up.”

“Not interested cowboy,” You muse lightheartedly. “But you can keep dreaming.”

“Awgh,” He puts a large hand over his heart in a dramatic show of hurt. “That hurts.”

“Love is pain my friend, love is pain.”

“Who's in pain?”

You're stopped in your tracks by a tight feeling in your chest. 

It's an energy you hadn't felt since you'd left the underworld, and it clogs your senses and almost swallows you whole. You know what death feels like; how it can cling to your soul and corrupt you from the inside out, because once-upon-a-time you had been the executioner.

It's the kind of darkness that you'd once lived and breathed, but millennia’s away from the only home you once knew causes your stomach to swoop in a sickening feeling of nostalgia or hunger, you don’t know.

You quickly gather yourself, cutting eyes draped in dark eyeshadow and an even sharper lined wing lands on the preparator, and he’s instantly not what you were expecting.

When death follows a human, it usually shows itself in small ways. Either that be with erratic behaviors or a dark visage – like clothes or bags under their eyes – he presents as none of that. He's soft, and warm looking, and he has the appearance of somebody that’s somehow awake and asleep all at once.

His aura is different too, and he’s surrounded by a suffering that's never ending. It should be a burden that’s too heavy to bear, and yet here he stands in a simple light grey cardigan and a purple buttoned up shirt.

Your jaw clenches, and your smile is tight, but you don't let the slip in your control stop you from extending your hand out as well. You try not to burn your bridges before you can even build them.

“Dr. Spencer Reid.” You say with a grin, and he eyes your open palm wearily. 

“Pretty boy here doesn't shake.” Morgan speaks with a deep, shit eating smirk, like he's had to tell people this time and time again, and it never gets old for him. “He doesn't like all the germs that come with the rubbing.” 

“Morgan.” Hotch says with a thinly veiled tone of warning. “Reid, this is Special Agent Throne, and she'll be the newest addition to the team until further notice.”

“Nice to meet you.” But his greeting sounds hollow, and you know he doesn't mean it.

You know who he is, how could you not? He was the star child of the BAU, and you spent the longest researching him out of everyone here.

With an IQ of 187, you're not surprised he's already seen right through you. He's excellent at showing his table manners, you'll give him that, but he gives you a look that lets you know he's observing you. You know the difference between a nervous glance and someone who's trying to figure you out. Too bad no amount of smarts will lead him to the right conclusion.

He looks vaguely uncomfortable, like he would rather be anywhere else but here. You have a sneaking feeling he rarely feels any contempt for someone he doesn’t know, and it’s been so long since you've seen an expression like that geared towards you, a feeling of sick satisfaction coils around in your gut, just a bit. 

You can tell your carefully crafted, alluring worldly visage isn't working on him, a power that’s been a part of you for long enough for you to forget it was even there in the first place, and yet… you can't help but stare back at him with just as much curiosity. It’s refreshing, in a strange way, but when has anything been normal with you?

You believe him about the germ thing, and honestly you don't blame him. Though you're incapable of producing any bacteria yourself, as well as giving or receiving diseases, you've come to learn that humans can be unsanitary, downright filthy little things, like rats. 

You can safely say the Victorian Era was your least favorite point in time. 

“It’s no problem.” Sharp red nails cut through the air when your hand falls to your side. “Trust me, I get it. Touch aversions are more common than you think.”

“I know.”

“Excuse me?” 

“I said, I know.”

Everyone’s watching you, but none of them look uncomfortable. Reid’s smarts are almost played off as an inside joke – which you think is kind of fucked up, but that’s something you’ll unpack later. They’re testing you to see if you’ll run for the hills or join them on their hubris. You choose a secret third thing.

“Then maybe we can discuss this again sometime.” Your eyes narrow. “Maybe I can give you another perspective.”

“Oh ho ho, I like her.” Morgan puts his hand on Reid's shoulder and gives him a small shake. “Looks like you got some competition, boy wonder.” You wonder if he’ll glare at you, or even narrow his eyes, but it’s almost like his focus hones in on you even more. You didn't even think that was possible.

You know what happens when someone like Reid feels threatened, and it wouldn’t be the first time you’d competed in the work place. You don’t lose easily. 

Or at all, actually.

“Alright enough.” Hotch’s voice slices through the playful tension. “Rossi’s supposed to meet us at the round table in thirty.” 

He turns his attention towards you. 

“How fast can you settle in?”

—

“We’ve got three female victims. All of them in their early to mid-thirties, with their throats slit.” Hotch begins.

Garcia clicks through the grim photos with her back resolutely turned to the carnage, and you admire her self prioritization.

“Does the Sheriff's department think it’s serial?” Prentiss asks, but Hotch shakes his head. “They all seem to be crimes of opportunity. The unsub doesn’t appear to have a preferred dumping ground. They were all found in the neighborhoods that they lived in, but never in their homes.”

“And who found the third body?” JJ chimes.

“A group of joggers.”

“Oof.” You breathe through pursed lips. “Mommy jog gone wrong.”  You quip. “That will be a story for Sunday brunch.”

When you lean forward to take a closer look, your eyebrows furrow.

Rossi watches you closely. “What do you see, mangiauomini?” 

Ah. 

the Italian word for man-eater. 

Creative.

He’s got quite the arsenal of nicknames for the shame parade that surrounds him when he thinks about it for too long.

“Look at our first victim.” You tap the photo. “We can see that it wasn’t a clean cut. If anything it was hesitant. Amateur. Our unsub isn’t a seasoned killer.” You slide over the second and third photos to compare them. “Then these two are sliced from ear to ear. Either this person has a medical background or they went home and did their research.”

Morgan drags over only two photos to his side of the table. “So, what? You think the first one was a fluke?”

“No,” You shake your head. “If anything, I think it was a crime of passion.”

“How so?” Hotch inquires.

“The cuts might’ve not been clean, but they were deep. The skin on the right side of her neck is flayed.”

A thick scent of impression meets your nose, and you feel satisfied with yourself. It wouldn’t be the first time anyone’s doubted you, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. Either that be because you're new or your appearance, you can tell the team is feeling you out. Seeing where your skills stand. You’re a long way from sex crimes, that’s for sure.

The only person you can’t help but notice that’s been quiet this entire time has been Reid.

When you look up from the pictures, you catch his gaze, but his eyes flutter down to the file in his hands.

“If the first kill was a crime of passion, then it was only the catalyst.” Prentiss adds.

“And it gave the unsub a taste for killing.” JJ finishes.

You glance over at the Reid again as Hotch doles out the roles: JJ handling the media as well as doubling up with geographic profiling with Prentiss, and Morgan, Rossi, and Reid on crime scene duty.

“Thorne.” Hotch turns his attention towards you, and you glance away from the silent genius. “I want you to handle victimology. See if you can catch anything else we might have missed. Garcia can help you gather intel.”

You give him a well manicured thumbs up. “Sounds good.”

“Alright. Wheels up in thirty.”

With that, the team gathers their things, chairs scraping against the flooring and thudding when they meet the edge of the table. The room files out quickly, but your eyes remain on Reid.

“What do you think?”

He pauses his gathering.

“About what?” 

He doesn’t look up from the coffee stained table, and looks towards your nails when you tap them on the wood impatiently. 

“The case.” You say, like it's obvious. “I was looking forward to your insight.”

“We’ll learn more once you get the victimology.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a battle of the wills; Reid’s large, brown, puppy dog eyes burn directly into the soul you don’t have when he finally meets your gaze again. You raise a challenging brow, and you can visibly see him weigh whether or not this interaction is worth his time.

His jaw clenches, and he licks his lips. 

“I think you’re right.” He admits. “The first one appeared to be premeditated, but its execution was awkward.”

You smile at him, and the beginning of a small glare burns in his irises.

“I look forward to working with you, Dr. Reid.”

He leaves the room without another glance, and you stare at the space he once occupied, tongue to cheek.

—

It doesn’t take long for Hotch to allow you to lead the interviews.

When you pull into the first victim’s driveway, you blow out a whistled breath and shake your head in disbelief.

“Holy shit.”

The house is stupidly huge, like a regular suburban home on steroids, and with a lot more windows. The garage can be constituted as its own house with its two humongous garage doors. The sun catches the rustic looking home perfectly, framing a perfectly fine summer’s day. 

God bless Silicon Valley.

Morgan gives you a smirk when you get out the car, taking off his sunglasses, folding them up and tucking them in his back pocket.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“I’ve only been in Virginia for a week and I already miss the sun.” You sigh longingly. “Florida was never cold. It was like twenty-four-seven tans and bikinis.”

“Now you’re making me miss it too.”

You snort and roll your eyes, slapping him on his firm bicep with the back of your hand, and he shoots you a charming smoulder.

Morgan takes the charge and knocks on the door, and when it opens, a heavy set, disheveled man answers the door.

“Hello, Mr Long.” Morgan greets. “I’m Special Agent Derek Morgan and This Agent Thorne.” Both of you flash the man your badges. “Were with the FBI regarding the murder of your wife, Alyssa.”

“Oh, uh –” Mr. Long fumbles. “It’s just Chris.” He reaches a hand out for either one of you to shake, and you let your partner do it.

You can already tell off the bat that Chris didn’t do it.

He looks exhausted, and tired, and a little sweaty despite the nice, cool AC that greets you when he welcomes you guys in.

He leads Morgan to the lavish living room, but you stay behind to look at the pictures on the wall. This was always the part you were good at. Observing. Humans usually had a certain pattern that they followed, like when the predators you used to hunt would linger by certain parks or schools. They’re creatures of habit.

Alyssa was beautiful. 

Long black hair, and a charming smile that could knock anyone’s socks off. She lived gorgeous and died tragically. That makes you all the more eager to find her killer, because you could relate her love to the high life. She was the kind of beauty you would never find again, and you can tell that Chris knew it.

“She… she had an expensive taste.” Chris says with a wet laugh. “She’d gone shopping the day she died, wracked up quite the bill. I never really cared, y'know?" He asked with a raise of his shoulder. “I had the money to cover it. That was never the issue, it’s just… she always bought dresses. Clothes that she never usually wore when we first got married.”

That catches your attention.

“Pardon me for asking this.” You ask, crossing a sheer stocking clad leg over the other. “But did you guys have any issues in your marriage? Maybe a secret affair?”

“An affair?” Chris knuckles at a tear that threatens to fall. “No… I don’t – we were happy.”

And suddenly, you get it.

“Right, I understand.”

When you and Morgan leave, you look over at him from the top of the car.

“Alyssa was definitely cheating.”

“What makes you think that?” 

You guys settle into the car, and you pull the seatbelt over your chest as he pulls out the driveway.

“Not to be a dick, but Chris doesn’t look like the type of guy that a girl like Alyssa would go for. I really think that she was just in it for the money.”

“So, what? She cheats and he kills her?”

“I don’t think it’s the husband.” You intercept. “He was too distraught for any of that.” Plus he didn’t smell like any guilt, or nervousness; just pure, unadulterated grief. “They didn’t have any kids, which makes me think she didn’t want any. Possibly because she wasn’t even attracted to him. So, what do you do when you’re satisfied in every way but sexually?”

“You find it somewhere else.” Morgan finishes in understanding. “Alright, call Hotch. Let him know we have a lead.”

—

Turns out, it doesn’t take a lot for you to be right.

Alyssa and the other women’s killer turned out to not only be a worker at the store that all three of them frequented on the same day they were murdered, but also a woman. It didn’t take long for the team to figure it out when none of their belongings were taken, nor was there any foul play regarding their bodies.

Alyssa was sleeping with the woman’s husband – which you thought was ironic, because he wasn’t rich or famous, just a regular guy – so she killed her and then thought… ‘Huh, I really hate rich women’ and went after the other two. They were at the wrong place at the wrong time, unfortunately. Killed for no other reason than jealousy and resentment.

Everyone’s exhausted by the time you make it back to Quantico, complaints about debriefing and paperwork thick on everyone’s tongue when Hotch disappears to his office while they take their respective places at their desks.

Luckily, you don’t need to sleep, nor do you ever feel fatigue, so you blow through the files on your desk, and you catch Reid watching you in your peripheral vision.

“Do you need something?” You ask as you continue to write. “A pen perhaps?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“... No.”

You grin down at the paper, and turn a page.

You think that is that until he speaks again.

“You’re very… detail oriented.”

You pause.

“I tend to be.” And begin again. “I don’t know whether or not to be offended or flattered that you noticed. Maybe a little bit of both, if I’m going to be honest.”

It’s a tease, but you notice him tense in his seat, so you finally allow him the mercy of having your attention.

He looks tired; his hair is mussed up, and there’s bags under his eyes, and – not that you’ve been watching him or anything – you’re pretty sure that’s his second or third cup of coffee since the plane landed.

“Relax, pretty boy. I’m just messing with you.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“My apologies.” You say sarcastically. “I forgot Morgan’s the only one that’s allowed to call you that, even though it is true.”

His nostrils flare, a small tinge of pink blooming at the tips of his ears.

“But I’ll have you know, I have two PhDs.”

“I know.”

The way it slips out makes you think he hadn’t meant to say it, because that flush escapes to the front of his face and down the sides of his neck.

“Oh?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Were you stalking me, Dr. Reid?”

“No… I –” He swallows. “I just wanted to know who we were having on the team, that’s all. You can’t blame me for wanting to be careful.”

“I’m not blaming you at all. In fact, I think that’s pretty smart. As is part of the course for you.”

“I… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You lean forward in your seat, and his eyes follow. “I’ve been known to be very likeable once you get to know me, Reid.”

“So, I’ve heard.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one for gossip.” 

“It’s hard not to know things when you’re friends with Garcia.”

You tilt your head. “You’re quick, Reid. I like that.”

He spins around in his seat as an answer, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his face, and you get that achy, stomach swooping feeling again. 

You must be hungry. 

TLDR; likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! I love knowing what you guys think!

If you love this pairing as much as me and you're interested in seeing more of the demon!reader universe, you can find that post here! <3