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notanotherreidgirl · 3 years

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I just had an idea based on my recent health experience: What if Spence had to wear a Holter for 24 or 72 hours to measure his heart's activity (maybe as part of the FBIs health checks) ? And he has to take notes of everything he does so that they can match it with the information collected so he cannot have sex or masturbate unless he's willing to justify his increased heart activity to a team of doctors. So, reader being reader, decides to drive him nuts, teasing him again and again because she knows he can't do anything about it. (Does he end up cumming in his pants because he's trying so hard not to touch himself and increase his heart rate?) ☺️🥰

Love ya! Have a great day!

Let's Get Physical

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, edging, blowjob, grinding, coming in pants

Word Count: 1380 (i'm inclined to just call this a full fic)

A/N: First, an apology. This has been in my inbox for quite a while and I am very sorry about the wait. Secondly, I made this entire scenario up after doing some minimal research on Holter monitors so it might not make sense.

Spencer gave Hotch’s door a light tap before taking a deep breath and then giving two sharp knocks. “Come in”

The door swung open and Derek patted him on the shoulder with a smile as he exited, no doubt having just received a glowing report regarding his physical health. Spencer dropped into the seat, casting a quick glance at the team of health professionals on Hotch’s couch and immediately regretting it. They were very clinical looking - pressed white lab coats, hair combed and gelled back, clipboards piled with papers, already scribbling away and speaking among themselves in hushed voices. “Ok Dr. Reid, we just have a few questions to ask you regarding your health practices and then we’ll take a look at the results from the Holter Monitor. Is that alright?”

“Um yeah. Yeah, that’s fine” he glanced over at Hotch who was leafing through Spencer’s notes with a raised eyebrow. The first few questions about his diet and lifestyle practices were easy but then came the dreaded evaluation of the Holter measurements. “Now we just have a few questions about some of the readings from the Holter. I see there was a bit of a spike right after you put it on that you attributed to nerves?”

“O-oh uh yeah, I was just a little nervous about having it on. That was it.” But that wasn’t the exact truth.

---

You had Spencer sit cross-legged on the bed without his shirt when he came home with the Holter. He was explaining how it worked as you studied the diagram detailing how to put it on. You slipped the wearable recording device over his head and climbed into his lap, surreptitiously rocking your hips into his as you untangled the wires. His hands encircled your waist, adjusting your angle so your clothed core ran against his entire length. You attached the electrodes carefully, kissing each patch of skin before covering it. His breath came out in soft pants as his release mounted and he squeezed his eyes shut. Just as he was about to come, you clicked the machine on and his eyes flew open.

“Wait, Y/N! I can’t - I’m supposed to keep my heart rate down.” The panic in his voice was evident and you smirked. If there was one thing you knew about Spencer it was that he liked succeeding. One might even say he liked winning - 3 Ph.Ds, prolific poker player, unsubs behind bars - so it didn’t come as a surprise to you that he was keen on passing his health evaluation. You trailed a hand down his chest, feeling the pounding heart he was trying to calm with deep breaths. “If you say so, doc”

---

The evaluator’s next question snapped him from his reverie. “That sounds fine but there was a concerning increase in your heart activity at 2 AM. It says here that you were exercising, specifically sprinting?”

Spencer dropped the pen he had been twirling and dove under his chair to get it. “Ah yes, I - uh - those are my nightly sprints.”

If Hotch’s eyebrows went up any farther they’d disappear in his hairline. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his face in exasperation when he spotted your face peeking out through an opening in his office blinds. You darted away quickly, sprinting back to your desk. Meanwhile, Spencer mentally chastised himself for his lack of self-restraint, saying that he was doing sprints at 2 AM was stupid but it was the only thing he could think of that could somewhat explain his elevated heart rate without revealing his actual activities.

---

He couldn’t sleep with the monitor on, tossing and turning in your arms until he rolled onto his back and let out a frustrated huff. You sleepily propped yourself up on your elbow. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

He scooted in closer, curling his body into yours and burying his face into your tits. He whined, “Can’t sleep with this thing on me”

“Oh, poor baby. Do you need me to make you feel better?” You dipped a hand down the front of his pajama pants and he automatically pressed his hips forward, used to you soothing him in this way after nightmares. He was already half-hard and you stroked him softly before sliding down the bed. His whimpers at the loss of your breasts exploded into loud moans as you swallowed his length, running your tongue up the underside of his cock and sucking at the tip before taking him back into your throat. Usually, you would take your time but you were feeling particularly wicked tonight, bringing a hand up to cradle his balls as the other forced his wild hips down onto the bed. Once again you pulled away just as his orgasm began to materialize and he threw his head back against the pillows, whines devolving into a choked sob. “We wouldn’t want to mess up your Holter results, now would we?”

Needless to say, he didn’t get any sleep that night.

---

“Well Dr. Reid, this kind of activity is most unusual and frankly quite concerning. Your heart rate even shot up right before you returned the monitor which you again attributed to nerves.” Spencer’s face reddened as he recalled the events that transpired that morning.

---

He was pacing down a vacant hallway in the basement of the Bureau, willing his nerves away. He was sure he would fail. Could you even fail one of these evaluations? Probably. If anyone could fail it would be Spencer. Between the events of the last 24 hours and the fact that Derek was going right before him, he knew he was screwed. And then as if the universe were conspiring against him there you were coming out of the printer room, heels clicking against the floor, hips swaying, a form-fitting blouse leaving just enough to the imagination. And Spencer had a very vivid imagination. Watching you float towards him was really all it took to have him standing at attention, heart rate skyrocketing. But you were ever the overachiever, threading his tie between your fingers and pulling him in for a kiss. Your knee came up between his legs and he automatically rocked into you, still worked up from your relentless denial. You ran your tongue over his bottom lip, deepening the kiss and applying even more pressure. “You’ve been so good, sweetheart. Trying your very hardest to control yourself. It’s adorable.”

It didn’t even occur to Spencer that he had to return the monitor along with his notes in less than 10 minutes, he was cumming in his pants as soon as the praise left your lips, whining into your mouth as he finally attained his long-awaited release. He looked down at you in shock as you stepped back. “Shit, Y/N! What do I do? They’re gonna call me up in 5 minutes!”

You gave him a mocking look of sympathy as you smoothed the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “Guess you better get cleaned up then”

---

“Dr. Reid, I’d like to see you again for a follow-up.” The doctor on the left scribbled their name on the bottom of a form and handed it to Spencer. He gave the paper a quick glance before looking over at Hotch with wide eyes. Help me.

Hotch sighed, taking the form from Spencer and giving it a quick scan before returning it to the evaluation team. “As we know, Dr. Reid has had a tumultuous history with these physical assessments. However, he is an invaluable member of this team and has proven himself in the field time and time again. I don’t see any reason to prolong this evaluation. Now if you’ll excuse us, I believe Dr. Reid was your last appointment of the day”

They protested but Hotch fixed them with his trademark stare and they stood up to leave. “Very well, but Dr. Reid will not be exempt from his yearly fitness test this time.”

Spencer gulped, watching them file out the room. He turned to Hotch thanking him as he took his file and turned to leave, glad it was over. But before he could leave, Hotch cleared his throat. “I take it Y/N will be helping you train for your fitness test”

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #sub!spence coming in his pants is something that can be so personal #lanie's 1k celebration!#unsuitable for work

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lewishamil10n · 4 years

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Hey sweetie, if you're still taking prompts I'd love to share an idea! It's about Dean going to the dentist (well, more like Sam making him go xd) and concludes with him getting high on anesthesia, he then forgets that Sam is his husband and starts to hit on him which makes Sam laugh his ass off. So yeah, if you can write it that would be great and if you can't it's okay! Ly!! 💕💕

hey britney!!!! i love you and i love this prompt so much, thank you!

–

Sam checks his phone, wondering how much longer this is going to take. The dentist said Dean needed a root canal, and that she was going to do her best to finish it in a single appointment, but Dean’s been in there for a while and it’s been... surprisingly uneventful.

It’s almost as if the universe is out to get him; Sam has barely finished formulating that thought when the door to the clinic opens and a harried-looking assistant steps out, mask crooked. “Is there a Sam here?” he asks, looking around the room.

Sam stands. “Um, yeah,” he says. “What’s going on? Is Dean okay?”

“We need your help,” the assistant tells Sam, and waits until Sam follows to go back inside.

It’s been around forty minutes since Dean went in for his appointment, and Sam’s not sure what could have gone wrong. It’s just a root canal, it’s not exactly a high-risk procedure, but his brain floods with images of Dean bleeding out through the mouth, lying half-dead on a dentist’s chair. Implausible, illogical even, but Dean’s died of weirder things, and Sam, predisposed to anxiety to begin with, is damn near panicking by the time he gets to the clinic.

He stops short barely two steps inside the clinic. Dean is flailing on his back in the dentist’s chair with a napkin clipped around his neck, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s fighting off a horde of demons. The dentist is sitting just out of arm’s reach of Dean, looking exasperated even over the mask, and just next to her is the sedation tank. She’s got the mask clutched loosely in her hands, and seems to be waiting for Dean to finish panicking.

Which is what he’s doing. Panicking. He’s somehow managed to get hold of the pointy little probe and is waving it around like it’s an angel sword. “Get back!” he tells the assistant, who happens to be standing six feet away. “Don’t touch me!” This one is directed at the dentist, who sighs.

“I never did,” she says. “Do you maybe wanna give me my stuff back?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nuh-uh,” he tells her. “I’m not gonna let you mess around in my mouth--” He stops abruptly when he notices Sam. “Son of a bitch,” he says, sounding a little dazed.

Sam gives him his best non-threatening smile as he walks forward slowly. “Hey, Dean,” he says, holding his hands out. “How you doing, man?”

“Dude,” Dean says a second later. He’s gone completely still, only his eyes moving as he tracks Sam’s movements. “Dude.”

“Yeah?” Sam says.

“You are so hot,” he tells Sam, still in that dazed tone of voice. “Like, insanely good-looking.”

Sam grins. “Thanks, Dean.” He turns to look askance at the dentist.

She sighs again, and holds up the mask attached to the sedation tank. “I managed to give him a hit before he began losing it. He’s high as a kite right now.”

“His first time at the dentist’s?” the assistant asks.

“Second,” Sam tells him. “First one went well, as far as I know.” Though that, he suspects, is probably due to Dean being too wary of Garth’s werewolf strength to kick up a fuss.

“Think you can get him to calm down?” the dentist asks.

“I’ll try,” Sam promises, and then turns back to Dean, only to find him grinning dopily at him. “Uh, Dean?”

Dean blinks. “Sorry,” he says, looking a little sheepish. He sits up in the chair, gaze fixed on Sam. “You’re just--” he laughs a little, “so damn gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” Sam laughs. “You’re not too bad yourself.” He gestures to the probe Dean’s holding. “Think you could hand me that?”

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, immediately holding the probe out to Sam. “I’d give you anything you asked.”

The dentist intercepts the probe before Sam can take it, and then hands it off to her assistant. “Get me a sterile one,” she tells him, “and keep it out of reach of this one.”

That seems to remind Dean where he is. “Hell nah,” he tells the dentist, narrowing his eyes at her. “Hell to the fuck nah, lady.”

“Sir,” she says, exasperated. “This should not take longer than an hour, if you’d just sit still and listen--”

“Let me try,” Sam says.

“Good luck,” mutters the assistant as he hands a sterile packet over to the dentist.

“Dean,” Sam begins, voice as soothing as he can make it. “Look, this is probably freaking you out, man, I get it. But it’ll be all right. You’ve handled worse things and you managed just fine, right?”

“I have?” Dean asks, looking confused.

“Yeah,” Sam confirms. “You have. And this won’t take long. You’ll be done soon, and then it’ll be over, right?” He looks to the dentist for confirmation.

She nods. “Yeah. Believe me, he’s not the kind of patient I look forward to following up on.”

“Sorry,” Sam mouths to her before turning back to Dean. “Think you can make it just for a little bit longer?” he asks.

Dean pauses, humming under his breath as he seems to consider this proposal. Then he looks back up to Sam, and asks hopefully, “Will you hold my hand?”

“Can I?” Sam asks the dentist.

“Son, if it’ll get him to calm down you can sit in his lap for all I care,” she tells him.

“Yeah, hopefully it won’t come to that,” Sam mutters. “Okay, Dean, I’ll hold your hand.”

“And you won’t let her do anything messed up?” Dean wants to know.

“I promise,” Sam says, going to stand next to the dentist’s chair. He holds out his hand, and Dean latches on to it, clutching it tightly.

“Thank you, beautiful,” he beams.

The dentist heaves a sigh of relief before putting the mask aside and reaching for the sterile probe she’s just unpacked. The assistant moves into position too, both of them looking eager to get this over with, and honestly, Sam does not blame them at all. Dean can be a huge baby about things when he wants to be, and dental appointments can be scary. The nitrous probably isn’t helping much, too.

Dean holds up a hand to halt the dentist just as she comes near with tweezers and a cotton roll. “Wait,” he tells her before turning his head to look at Sam. “If I get through this alive--”

“You will,” Sam interrupts with a grin.

“--will you give me your number?” Dean finishes like Sam hasn’t spoken.

Sam frowns at him. “You already have it,” he tells Dean.

“I do?” Now Dean looks confused. “How? Do we know each other?”

“Do we--” Sam stops short. “Yeah, we do.”

“This’ll be the gas,” the dentist tells him. Now she looks amused, in direct contrast to her previous annoyance.

“Wait, are we friends?” Dean demands.

“Uh,” says Sam. “Sort of?”

Dean considers this. “Good friends?”

“You’re my best friend,” Sam tells him honestly, smiling a little. He’s not going to lie, it’s a little entertaining watching Dean try to connect the dots.

“Cool!” grins Dean. “And... are you single?”

“No,” Sam tells Dean, holding up his free hand so he can show Dean the ring he’s wearing.

Dean’s face falls immediately and comically. “Damn,” he says, sounding like he’s been told he only has a week to live. “You’re married? To whom? Give me a name, I’ll kick their ass,” he adds, and looks like he means it too.

Sam can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him. Damn, he wishes he could record this. “You, you idiot,” he tells Dean, squeezing his hand. “I’m married to you.”

The assistant lets out a snort of laughter that he quickly covers up as a cough when Dean glares at him. Then Dean turns back to Sam, looking disbelieving. “Really?” he asks. “This isn’t -- this isn’t some kind of joke?”

“No,” Sam says. “Look at your hand, dude.”

Dean looks, and smiles widely when he sees the matching ring. “Cool!” he says again. “We’re actually married!”

“Been for a while,” Sam informs him, grinning back.

“This is great!” enthuses Dean. “Now I don’t have to flirt with you or buy you dinner, I can take you straight home and then we can have all the sex!”

The dentist chokes, and the assistant lets out a muffled cackle from behind the mask. Sam, wishing more than ever that he could record this, says, “Well, yeah, but before that you gotta get through this. Also,” he adds. “Way to be romantic, Dean.”

“I’m hella romantic,” Dean dismisses. “Or I wouldn’t have managed to get married to someone like you. I mean, hell, you’re beautiful, man.”

“Yeah, so you’ve said,” Sam says, still grinning. “Now why don’t you lie down and let the doc work, Dean? Then we can get outta here.”

“And go home and have sex?” Dean asks hopefully.

Sam nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says, letting out a huff of laughter.

“Great,” says Dean, and lies back down again. This time he doesn’t stop the dentist as she puts the cotton roll between his gums and cheek, and, to his credit, doesn’t flinch even when she starts the drill. He just squeezes Sam’s hand, and continues looking at him like he’s hung the moon, until Sam has to look away, suddenly self-conscious.

“Your hair is so pretty,” sighs Dean. It’s the last thing he says before the root canal begins, but it keeps Sam smiling for at least ten minutes. Dean’s adorable like this, holding Sam’s hand and grinning widely at him whenever he gets the chance. He sits through the procedure with all the patience of a saint, and doesn’t complain even once. By the end of the hour, Sam’s beginning to think that jokes aside, Dean does deserve some great sex as a reward.

He briefly reconsiders it when the first thing Dean does upon getting up is slap Sam’s ass very enthusiastically, making him jump, but when he catches sight of Dean’s face he just can’t help but melt. Smiling back in response to Dean’s slightly swollen yet no less bright grin, Sam squeezes his hand and asks, “Doin’ okay?”

Dean nods. “Doin’ great,” he tells Sam through a mouthful of cotton. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Sam says dryly as he leads Dean out. He thinks he might have heard every synonym for beautiful in the last hour.

“And -- and very lovely,” Dean adds.

“Thank you,” Sam tells him, flushing when one of the patients in the waiting room lets out a rather loud “aww!” in their direction. “Come on, man, let’s get you home.”

Nitrous oxide, it turns out, has the strange side effect of making Dean horny as hell. It wears off halfway through the drive home, at which point Dean decides that trying to unzip Sam’s pants while he’s driving is a good idea. Sam only puts up a token protest before pulling over, well-aware that if this goes on they’re likelier to die violently in a fiery crash.

“Yay, sex!” is Dean’s enthusiastic proclamation when Sam stops the car at the side of the road.

“You owe me, jerk,” Sam tells him, taking off his pants and somehow maneuvering his way into Dean’s lap.

“Anything you want, gorgeous,” Dean promises, and Sam can’t help but laugh at that.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he tells Dean, returning his smile.

#wincest #supernatural #say-yes-to-hole #asks #my writing #britney #i had so much fun writing this lmao i could just picture it in my head #hope u like it sweetheart!

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