I Need A Big Beefy Man Who Has A Hard Exterior But Is Really Just A Big Softy To Hold Me And Whisper

I need a big beefy man who has a hard exterior but is really just a big softy to hold me and whisper sweet things in my ear and make love to me

If this is you hit me up fr 🙏🫡

Need them all to give me a creampie 🙏

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐒✧˖°ʚ🍋🍒🍑🫐🥧🍓ɞ♡—

[18+ warning, mentions of smut, kissing, fluff, sexy times. Minors do not interact ♡] ૮ ˶︶^︶˶ ა🧸

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𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐑 — 🫐🥧

“Mmm.. this is so good sweetheart.” Andy mumbled licking his lower lip as you added a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of his pie slice. His second slice to be exact. “Mm..” he ate slumping back on his couch putting his feet up resting the dessert plate on his thigh as he reached for your hand humming in satisfaction. You watched him eat for a moment with your heart swelling with love and affection. Your eyes twinkled as he watched the flat screen. “You baked me a pie huh?” You nodded at his question eating a spoonful of your own slice. Before you knew it he devoured his second piece and placed his empty plate on the coffee table. You had a little left and once you finished that he pulled you to straddle his lap. “Thank you baby..” nuzzling his bearded cheek against your own cheek in affection before capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss taking your breath away. Your arms moved around him as you cuddled close to him locking your thighs around his waist as you kissed loving on each other softly like that.

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𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑 — 🍑🥧

“Your favourite..” You straddled his lap moving your arms around his neck. “For me?” He asked eyes widening in surprise as he picked up the fork and tasted forkful of the semi warm peach pie topped with delicious ice cream on hot summers afternoon. He moaned chewing slowly his jaw moved so perfectly making you kiss the side of his ear. “Yes baby.. all for you.” You sucked on his earlobe and he touched your naked thigh in his hand eating another forkful “So so good sweetie.. thank you so much, indeed my favourite” sitting on the porch of your farmhouse you cuddled yourselves against each other blissfully enjoying the chirps of the birds and the sounds of your man moaning with every bite absolutely having him wrapped around your finger. Once he finished his dessert he cupped your ass in his hands “For this.. I’m going to fuck a baby into you tonight..” you flushed bright red. “Cole..” he captured your mouth in fierce kiss all tongue and hot breaths. “I’d like that very much..” you moaned as he licked your lower lip and sucked on it with eyes full of want and desire.

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𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 — 🍓🥧

Hot summers evening you finished baking your man’s favourite pie. He came home from a long mission and smoked outside on the balcony. You cut a slice and added fresh scoop of ice cream on top bringing it to him on the balcony. He wrapped his arm around you as you joined him, biting his lower lip. “For me, little girl?” You nodded with excitement seeing that he already wanted to taste it. Taking a spoon he tasted a spoonful groaning hungrily. “We haven’t had any dinner yet and you’re giving me dessert?” You moved your arm around his waist wanting to be close to him. “Yes Daddy..” Ari ate few spoonfuls while you watched the view from your balcony before setting his place down. “Thank you, you always know how to brighten my day or night.. be it with your presence or just my favourite cake..” his arms curled around you and you got on your tiptoes kissing his thick beard. Ari captured your mouth in a strawberry flavour kiss and you moaned taking your hands through his semi long hair. Picking you up in his arms bridal style walking to your bedroom. He promised to love you all night long.

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𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 — 🍒🥧

“Can I come in?” You knocked on the meeting room door holding a dessert plate. “Of course..” Steve mumbled softly sitting in his office chair a desk lamp on in the entire room only. You tiptoed inside and around his table until you were beside him giving him a soft peck on his lips. “I baked some..” you knew it was his favourite pie. Cherry pie with a scoop of ice cream. “Mm..” his face lightened up and licked his lower lip caressing your thigh. “Thank you babe..” the cap reached for the spoon and tasted some. He closed his eyes and you clapped your hands together at his reaction biting your lower lip. “Mission accomplished.. spirits lifted.” He complimented eating a larger spoonful cheeks full and you gazed at him with nothing but love. “I’m so glad honey..” you touched his bicep and kissed the top of his head. “I’ll leave you to it..” you knew he stayed up late because of work. Steve put his spoon down licking his lower lip watching you walk away from him quickly getting up touching your hand. He turned you around and kissed you. His kiss was not just passionate but lustful. Without saying a word but moaning he backed you up against the wall and kissed you hard. You clung to his shoulders giving him the access to your tongue and you melted with desire and want. Soon you were nothing but a moaning mess on his cock as he fucked you until late summers morning.

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If you enjoyed this please don’t forget to reblog, like & comment. It means the world and it’s all appreciated.

Tags for fun: @sergeantbarnessdoll @imyourbratzdoll @hansensgirl @rogersbarber @mrsevansbithoughts 🖤

Why is this clip 5 hours long??????

the kissing sound is making me lose my mind

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

Feed was absolutely blessed with this one 🙏

When I watch twitter prn, I imagine it's him and it makes me cum 5 times under an hour.

Fav vids I imagine where it's him ⭐️

fucking you softly in the morning

spencer thrusting up into you

riding spencer but he ended up taking control

he's teasing your cunt after making you cum and squirt on his cock