Hellllllo beautiful people! Welcome to my page. Iâm Bird :)
My requests are open for these lists of characters.
Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)
Jake âHangmanâ Seresin (Top Gun)
Bradley âRoosterâ Bradshaw (Top Gun)
Robert âBobâ Floyd (Top Gun)
Rhett Abbott (Outer Range)
Tyler Owens (Twisters)
I ask you be respectful, treat others on this page with utter kindness! Including meâŚIâm sensitive.
Minors! Please do not interact with my posts! This is an 18+ page and a safe place for everyoneâs dirty little imaginations. Iâll see you when you can vote and buy a lottery ticket (Iâm American if you couldnât tell)đŤś
his person | established relationship - by @/multifandomlover01
doctor, doctor, please listen! | rivals to lovers - by @/cupidkenji
seven months | established relationship - by @/aperrywilliams
shameless | rivals to lovers - by @/ddaz3d-and-c0nfused
meet-cute | strangers to lovers - by @/inkdrinkerworld
the warm spot at the bottom of the stairs | soulmates au, strangers to lovers - by @/cupidkenji
smitten | partners to lovers - by @/sirsoggybread
all of those dreams where you're my wife | established relationship - by @/anhedoniawrites
date | friends to lovers - by @/gf2bellamy
captured | established relationship - by @/gf2bellamy
explanation | established relationship - by @/gf2bellamy
caught | established, secret relationship - by @/gf2bellamy
lipgloss | established, secret relationship - by @/gf2bellamy
drunk | established relationship - by @/gf2bellamy
movie | established, secret relationship - by @/gf2bellamy
distracted | lovestruck!spencer - by @/gf2bellamy
tipsy | friends to lovers-ish - by @/gf2bellamy
devoted | established relationship - by @/gf2bellamy
vulture | pwp - by @/ddaz3d-and-c0nfused
better | strangers to lovers - by @/pinkolve
an unexpected reunion | exes to lovers - by @/pinkolve
colours | lovestruck!reader - by @/inkdrinkerworld
on thin ice | established relationship - by @/enderlovez
writing on skin | pwop - by @/honey-fluestered
close to home | established relationship - by @/reidrum
no, thanks | idiots in love - by @/reiding-writing
only need me | pwp - by @/minswriting
chateau lobby #4 | established relationship - by @/burymagdalene
i can do a lot with fifteen minutes | pwp - by @/reidrum
lover girl | idiots in love - by @/mariasont
xoxo | established relationship - by @/pathologicalreid
all i do is try, try, try | coworkers to lovers - by @/pencil-n-pen
i'm still trying everything | established relationship - by @/pencil-n-pen
metamorphosis | exes to lovers - by @/darkmatilda
time | exes to lovers - by @/gf2bellamy
valentine's savior | bffs to lovers - by @/mggslover
don't get in your own way | bffs to lovers - by @/reidmarieprentiss
the being (un)known | friends to lovers, slowburn - by @/sincerelybubbles
mismatch | strangers to lovers - by @/gf2bellamy
a close mouth doesn't get fed | pwp - by @/burymagdalene
quickie? | pwp - by @/reidmarieprentiss
covetous cravings | established relationship - by @/burymagdalene
a love in code | friends to lovers - by @/little-jana
moving forward | established relationship - by @/reidmarieprentiss
not her | established relationship - by @/reidmarieprentiss
say don't go | lovers to exes to lovers - by @/reidmarieprentiss
second chances and serendipity | strangers to lovers - by @/reidmarieprentiss
car wash | flirty!reader - by @/reidmarieprentiss
they were never you | childhood friends to lovers - by @/reidmarieprentiss
dare ya | friends to lovers - by @/reidmarieprentiss
strawberry lemonade | exes to lovers - by @/reidmarieprentiss
no more misunderstandings | friends to lovers - by @/reidmarieprentiss
depollute me | coworkers to lovers - by @/reidmarieprentiss
too violent for tears | established relationship - by @/pathologicalreid
file | established relationship - by @/gf2bellamy
pretty boy | established relationship - by @/finelinevogue
well kept secret | established, secret relationship - by @/g1rld1ary
grass is always greener | lovers to exes to ? - by @/reidmarieprentiss
good for you | established relationship, pwop - by @/gold-onthe-inside
newlyweds | established relationship - by @/gf2bellamy
haircut | lovestruck!reader - by @/gf2bellamy
museum meet cute | strangers to potential lovers - by @/gublerryswift
how he eats you out | pwop - by @/seasprincess
first time for everything | established relationship - by @/reidmarieprentiss
a gentle embrace | established relationship - by @/reidmarieprentiss
southern charm | strangers to potential lovers - by @/reidmarieprentiss
where we were meant to be | established relationship - by @/reidmarieprentiss
i wanna be yours | established relationship - by @/push-the-heartbrake
work call | pwop - by @/nevvdrinksteaa
angel | established relationship - by @/mggslover
don't call me | pwop - by @/reiderwriter
be my angel | established relationship - by @/nereidprinc3ss
excitement | established, secret relationship - by @/gf2bellamy
drunk on you | lovestruck!spencer, pwop - by @/foxy-eva
stuck | pwop ft. hotchner & morgan - by @/mggslover
cinnamon sticks | established relationship - by @/mariasont
a lovesong for lady earth | established relationship, pwop - by @/pathologicalreid
how to talk so sweet when you're doing bad things | pwop - by @/reidrum
in omnia aparatus | friends/coworkers to lovers by @/street-smarts00
dimple deductions | established, secret relationship - by @/mariasont
a house in nevada | exes to lovers - by @/anhedoniawrites
saint honesty | established relationship - by @/aperrywilliams
mistake | coworkers to lovers - by @/gf2bellamy
send nudes | coworkers to ?, pwop - by @/foxy-eva
i wish i knew you wanted me | coworkers to lovers - by @/irndad
⌠series.
send me to the moon | friends to lovers - by @/aperrywilliams
act 1: the agreement
act 2: the deception
act 3: the consequences
the next door | neighbors to lovers - by @/certaimromance
the boy next door - chapter one.
the girl next door - chapter two.
the other boy next door - chapter three.
the other girl next door - chapter four.
the liar next door - chapter five.
the other liar next door - chapter six.
extras:
the love next door - pre-series.
love is in the air | coworkers to lovers - by @/seasprincess
part one.
part two.
total count: 88.
more on criminal minds | spencer reid, part two | aaron hotchner.
my masterlist of recommendations.
i'm going to keep updating this list as i read more!
last update: 30/04/2025 (finished! can't add more bc of the amount of links!)
Hi! I do need to update my guidelines but hereâs a rough answer for you.
I do not and will not write anything that has to do with terminal illness, anything involving children in a explicit way, including things depicting reader acting in a child like way (things like Little Space). I do not write LGBTQ content, just because itâs not something I want to do. Lastly, I do not write 18+ content that is non consensual/rape, no exceptions.
where Spencer Reid meets someone who shares his pain - if only for a bit.
warnings/tags: 18+ (implied intimacy), migraine-era spencer reid, reader has migraines, reader is called âgirlâ once, heavy themes at the end, spencer rambles about stars, hospitals, spencer calls reader âangelâ, no use of y/n
word count: 1774
a/n: hi! this is my very first published fic (even though iâve read for years!) and itâs nothing major, but i thought it would be fun to finally write! i hope you enjoy <3
- ⊠-
Hospitals may be one of his least favorite places.
âDid you know that actually on any given day 1 in 31 people in a hospital have a hospital induced infection? these include things like a surgical site infection, MRSA,â
Cue the smell of the antiseptic, drowning out the smell of people dying. Itâs too clean.
Makes him on edge. But then again, most things do. When people give him that look that clearly says âshut up.â He seems to pull in darkness, trouble, and maybe itâs because he creates it for himself.
Currently, heâs sat, in one of those uncomfortable hospital benches, foot tapping anxiously, sunglasses on, because everything hurts. Notably, his head and eyes.
The lights. The lights build a nausea in him thatâs like a tidal wave, build an agony behind his eyes that threatens to reduce his thought process to ash. He still squints, behind the black plastic; itâs not enough, not enough to quell the pain entirely.
âNo, Iâm, about to go in, actually.â
Is what he shouldâve said. But Spencer Reid, a forward man, an eloquent man, is not.
âCan I sit here?â
Quiet, but polite. He makes the mistake of looking up. Your hair is messy, probably from the wind outside, and tucked away from your face. The coat you have on is a deep admiral blue, and it just makes the lack of color in your face all the more apparent. A green bag, slung on your shoulder, as you fiddle with the zipper. Chapped lips form into a halfway smile, and, most noteworthy of all, you have black, plastic glasses on.
âI have an appointment, itâs probably, itâs right after yours, but if I canât sit here, itâs okay, I-â
Youâre backtracking, which means youâre nervous, probably because heâs just been looking at you with an impassive expression, even more unreadable due to the glasses. He clears his throat, and opens his mouth.
âNo, um, actually Iâm waiting. Hopefully not much longer though.â
God help him, because thereâs a shared struggle here, between the two of you. He sees it, in your tense shoulders, the way you sit down slowly, as to not generate any more pain than necessary, the way your hands tremble like leaves in the wind when you adjust your glasses after slowly turning to him. Your halfway smile stays put, though, even through the slow movements.
You move like that, because every movement seems to intensify the burning hot behind your skull.
He knows. He doesnât know you. Not at all.
But he knows your pain. And maybe thatâs enough.
You donât nod, because itâs unnecessary movement.
âYeah, I finally gave in and booked an appointment. Iâve had to call out of work for them at least 3 times in the last two weeks.â
Them. The migraines. You donât need to name them, you both just know. Youâre clearly both there for a reason.
âIâm uh, Spencer, by the way. Iâve had mine for a bit now too.â
You tell him your name, and the sound makes a welcome warmth flood through his chest. A star, tiny, but burning, is born. Gravity in his chest, tugging you in, as your heat floods his heart.
Bad idea, bad idea - the alarm bells are clanging. He doesnât know how sick he is, and he really doesnât know how sick you are. This could spell disaster, and yet-
Heâs intrigued. You radiate this nervousness, a distinct desire to be understood, seen, known. He knows that desire. He has that desire. He wants to know you.
âI think mine might just be due to stress, but, I donât know. Itâs the easiest explanation to deal with.â
For your sake, he hopes thatâs all they are. Stress.
And, youâre still sitting there, head bowed, when the nurse comes out and asks questions.
She asks about hallucinations. As if this hell is all in his head. You sit there, silent, biting your lip, worrying the cracked skin in your teeth, your hands picking at the fraying edge of your coat.
When he comes back out, somehow even more tired, even though all he did was lie there and answer some questions, he speaks your name, softly.
As if he has the right to.
You jump a little, look up, and remove your glasses. He stares, he canât help it. Visible, is the pain, the way your ocular muscles are tense, your skin without color, but you smile, still.
He makes you smile.
âEverything okay?â
Spencer nods hurriedly.
âFine, for now, I have to get to work. You uh-youâre next?â
âMhm. Will Iâis there any chance Iâll see you again, Spencer?â
You donât know him. You know him, you must.
âUh, I mean, Iâyou want to see me again?â
When will he learn to speak when it actually matters?
âOnly if you want to, I-I know I would like to see you again.â
He leaves the hospital, that damn hospital, with a small slip of paper, with ten numbers scrawled in purple ink, and your name below it, a tiny smiley face beside it.
When he gets home from his next case, he fishes that paper out of his messenger bag and types each digit into his cell phone with shaky hands.
Is he tempting fate? Perhaps. But fate answers, your soft voice coming through the phone.
Soon, he finds himself at a cafĂŠ with you, sipping his saccharine sweet coffee and telling you about his job, or some book he just finished, in detail that you donât seem to protest against. Itâs refreshing, really - just to be listened to. To be heard. When you leave, you give him a barely-there kiss on the cheek, a soft goodbye. The star burns brighter.
âI had my follow up appointment.â
He tells you, on the third date, as you two sip coffee once more - are these dates? Would Morgan be impressed? - trying to keep the conversation casual, yet relevant. Your eyes widen with interest.
âAnd? Did they give you answers?â
He makes a face, shaking his head.
âNo. Well, yes, but they told me itâs psychosomatic.â
All in his head.
Your face falls, and you look truly sympathetic.
âIâm sorry, Spencer. I knew how much you didnât think that to be the case.â
He takes comfort, then, in the way you hug him goodbye, your cheek pressed against the cotton of his cardigan, eyes shut against the light. He tenses, only for a second, before his arms curl around you, resting against your coat.
âWe should do dinner.â
He mumbles into your hair, before he can stop himself.
A real date.
And you do. You have dinner, and he makes you laugh, even though itâs quiet, like a bell ringing at Christmas, tiny, joy-filled, and the star in his chest just glows. Your face is tense, though, and he canât figure out why. You wonât say. either. You never do. You keep your responses composed, and careful, calculated. Like youâre afraid. He wonders why, but wonât press it. You are made of nervous energy. He knows this now.
A few months, of appointments for both of you and cases for him where he aches for your hand in his and coffee and dinner and museum dates, and one ice skating excursion he will not mention, and thenâ
He makes another mistake then, when he asks you to come over, after a case.
âJust for coffee, or to talk, not to-you know, unless thatâs what you want, Iââ
Yet, thatâs how he ends up with you in his bed, in his lap, your warm hands sliding over his skin like youâre in awe, your wide eyes meeting his own, because he dimmed the lights, and thank God neither of you are hurting right now.
He takes you apart, piece by piece, with his mouth on your collarbone and fingers across your ribs, learning, seeking to know. Because thatâs what he wants, to know you, fully, in every way he can, until thereâs nothing left for him to study.
After he watches you tremble under him, with his name on your lips, he realizes heâll never be able to memorize all of you. Youâre too extensive, with the blush on your cheeks and the way you cling to him and the way your eyes sparkle for a moment, just a moment, before they dim again.
Youâre tucked into him, under his chin, as he traces shapes mindlessly into your back with his fingertips. He feels that star, burning bright in your arms, for millennia to come.
âI love you.â
You smile against his chest, before you speak again, choked up.
âYou shouldnât.â
âWhyever not, angel girl?â
Because you are like an angel, come down from the heavens, his angel, gracing his life during some of the most incredible pain heâs ever felt.
âThey told me Iâm dying. They found the source of it all.â
And the star fizzles, and sparks, and slowly, a cold ice begins to dwell where the star was. Months fly by, and yet drag, each day feeling long but the weeks short.
He finds himself in the hospital - miraculously, his migraines have given him respite today - your hand in his, his eyes on you. You donât say much, you never did, but now, he feels like you donât ever speak at all.
Until you do.
âSpence?â
The light in his chest flickers, illuminating his darkness.
âYes, angel?â
âCan you talk? About anything? I just wanna hear you.â
He nods, and his voice gets quiet, almost breathless, the longer he speaks.
âDid you know that stars actually are simultaneously pulling apart and being pushed together? The heat from inside the star creates a pressure that causes the atoms to separate, but the gravity attraction forces them back together, as it burns. The bigger a star is though, the less time it takes to go through that fuel.â
He stops, looking down at you. He wonders if youâre listening.
âBut when the heat is gone, when it stops burning, thereâs nothing to counteract the gravitational pull, andââ
And it collapses in on itself.
âAnd it just sort of sucks everything else in without its heat, the light, if itâs large enough. Pulling everything in, everyone in-â
Heâs said too much. You open your eyes, your voice barely a whisper.
âI donât want you to do that. You wonât, Spencer, I swear.â
In a rare moment of strength, you tug yourself up, to hold his face in one hand.
âYou burned before me. Youâll burn again.â
He nods, desperately trying not to weep.
But I wonât burn like I did with you.
âThe brightest stars burn the fastest, so we must love them while we can.â
Summary: 99 negative things and 1 positive. How will it ever turn out okay?
Warnings: season 7, mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy fear, nausea, mention of miscarriage talks, Spencer being scared and probably says the wrong things đ anyway, fluffy, but also depressing themes. I havenât finished proofreading, oops lol idc.
Youâre supposed to know your body and every little change it makes because, well, itâs your body.
So blame this all on your brain that often skips over the small things that it should really pay attention to. You could have suspected this earlier if you wouldâve just slowed down for two seconds, but what difference would it make if you came to the conclusion earlier?
Absolutely none.
The test in your hand would still be positive and you would still have the feeling you do now.
A mixture of fear and devastation.
Spencer isnât in the apartment you just moved into a month ago, heâs at Rossiâs with the rest of the team like youâre supposed to be. But you played the flu card and forced him to go without you. Then you forced yourself to the corner store and bought two pregnancy tests, a back up for good measure. It isnât needed, the two lines are almost bold as they stare at you. The dates of the calendar back it up, as well as the queasiness about you.
Youâre pregnant.
You. You are pregnant.
That canât be.
You throw away the test, all the evidence goes into the trash and you try to calm your racing heart. You wash your hands and your face, though tears just keep falling no matter what.
This really wasnât supposed to happen, it shouldnât be happening. Youâre traveling so often for cases, and thereâs so much going on with the team. Emily just came back from the dead, literally, thatâs already too much to deal with, you donât need to add anymore stress to the team. Youâre no help if youâre pregnant.
Spencer wonât be any help either if his main concern is you.
Staring at your reflection, you suddenly donât feel real. You rub your eyes and push your hair back, overwhelmed with so many feelings, you canât distinguish one from the other.
You do know one feeling from the rest.
The urge to bolt.
Blame the hormones, but you quickly leave the bathroom and slip into a pair of shoes, then grab for your coat and keys, and just like that, youâre gone.
Wandering aimlessly, you suck the evening air into your lungs as you walk the streets, past shops and people with different lives. Youâre lost in thought, no better than a zombie as you continue to wipe your eyes.
It took you and Spencer long enough to even get together, you just finished placing your things in his apartment, thereâs no room for a crib. He has far too many books, heâd have to sacrifice even more space for things a baby needs. The both of you work odd hours and sleep in bad motel rooms and fly all over the country and get shot at. You arenât an expert but that doesnât seem healthy.
There is no room for a baby in your life. Period.
The team has only experienced pregnancy with JJ and-
JJ.
Your friend who would know exactly what to do and how to help, the friend you have given the cold shoulder to ever since you found out that she let you mourn Emily, your best friend, for weeks and weeks. She let you cry and talk about how hard things have been for and Spencer, especially Spencer, and she didnât say a single thing that she knew Emily was okay.
You have a feeling of bitterness now to join your emotion smoothie.
Up ahead, you see a tired mother trying to pull her crying toddler out of a drugstore. Her hair is tied up, sheâs tugging at the child, giving up on arguing with him.
You turn around and decide home is actually where you need to be so you donât vomit up your nerves in public.
When Spencer comes home, youâre sitting at the bottom of the tub, cheek to your knees as the spray of the shower hits you from above. You hear him take off his shoes and coat and walk to the bedroom, more than likely changing. Heâs definitely tired.
He knocks on the bathroom door, checking on you.
âHey, you feeling alright, angel?â
You sigh. Heâs so perfect, arguably the best thing thatâs ever happened in your life, and youâre going to ruin him with this news.
âIâll be out in a second.â You call back, smoothing your hands over your hair, then look at the rings on your fingers.
Sliding one from your right hand to your left, you decide your ring finger just is going to stay bare.
âThey missed you tonight, Emily said that you call her first if you need anything.â Spencer says as you rub lotion into your skin while sitting on the edge of the bed.
You hum.
âI think sheâs just overcompensating, but she means well.â He claims, pulling the covers back.
You canât tell him tonight, itâs not the right time. Instead youâll just get some sleep, laying on your side, facing the window. As Spencer lays behind you, you push away his hand that splays on your stomach.
He goes a little stiff with confusion, but holds your hip without question, then whispers he loves you, like he does every night.
You live out a routine for the next following days to come. You wake up tired, you tell Spencer that you never get over the flu easily and thatâs why you have the urge to throw up at any given second. When youâre tired of laying on the couch, you go back to work where everyone shares a look at how moody you can be.
âIs everythingâŚokay?â
You look up from the evidence photos to find Hotch.
Most of the team is out all over the town you just got in, trying to solve the disappearance of three young girls.
Hotch suggested you stay at the police station with him for a while, giving Spencer some air after you snapped at him for no apparent reason.
âEverythingâs fine.â You say, looking back down at the crime scene pictures.
âIs everything alright with you and Reid?â He pushes.
âYes, weâre fine. I just hate it when he hovers, drives me crazy.â You huff, not giving him your attention.
Hotch had always been a sort of father to you. Almost like how Gideon was a mentor to Spencer, Hotch tried his hardest not to act like it but he was always very protective of you. No one could really blame him, he helped you through many things over the years, and along the way he became your family. So it makes sense that heâs questioning you now with a furrowed brow.
âI want you to know that if something is going on and you felt like you were aloneâŚyou arenât. The whole team would move mountains for you.â He says in a very fatherly tone, a tone that has always seemed to affect you but never in the way it does now.
You quickly blink away tears and nod. âI just donât feel well, but Iâll be okay.â
Itâs quiet for a moment, and as Hotch looks you over, he proves how good of a profiler he really is. Slowly, he sits at the table and takes the papers from your hand, which is probably good, youâve been staring at them for too long. Your eyes lift up to him.
âDoes Reid know?â
Three words, and you want to flee.
âNo.â You say hoarsely.
He nods in understanding. âThis isnât something you can do alone, but I understand if you need some time away to figure things out.â
You wrap your arms around your stomach, something youâve been doing subconsciously. âThis is my job.â You say.
âAnd itâs really stressful, so if you need some downtime, Iâm glad to give it to you.â
Nodding, you understand. âDonât tell anyone.â You ask of him, knowing heâd never betray you like that.
For two moments, you have a sense of peace.
And then Spencer and Morgan return, causing you to slip a mask back on and pretend youâre fine.
By some miracle, you get through the case and get home without any problems. Spencer on the other hand is convinced that youâre going through a mental break.
âStill tired?â He asks gently, at the end of the week, sitting on the bed and rubbing your leg as you bury yourself in the comforter.
You wordlessly nod, then try to sort out your thoughts.
âBaby?â He calls softly, a name he hardly ever calls you. âI think we should take you to a doctor.â
âWhy?â You croak.
You know why. Spencer thinks youâre depressed, which you canât really blame him, youâve been laying in bed most of the day, turning your nose up at the idea of food, knowing it will all just make you feel sick. Your boyfriend is a great profiler, he notices your odd behavior these past couple days but he still canât figure out why.
âIâmâŚI think they can tell you whatâs wrong with you- not that anything is wrong with you butâŚthereâs something wrong, isnât there?â
Bless him and his softness he unconditionally shows you, but you just donât have it in you to match his tenderness.
âIâm fine.â You state, tone not meaning it.
Before he can deny it and rub your leg again, you sit up too quickly and flee him, foolishly thinking heâll stay put. Spencer is a golden retriever, though, so he follows loyally, only for the bathroom door to be slammed in his face.
âIâm concerned about you, okay?â He calls, voice muffled through the wood. âAnd I get scared when you just brush it off, brush me off.â
You stand at the sink, head drooped. The tears start slow, they fall into the basin. What was wrong with you? You have a man as good as Spencer and youâre ruining everything.
You fall into a dangerous storm of negative thoughts, all aimed at you like itâs target practice. The tears fall much quicker now, hot and sticky, your hand presses to your mouth to keep the sobs away.
Spencer hears you squeak, and immediately opens the door you should have locked.
You turn to face him, dropping the hand to your stomach.
His features twist into something of sadness and utter concern, heâs standing in front of you in just two steps.
âWhat is it?â He questions, holding your face in his hands, thumbs wiping at your tears. âWhatâs wrong, pretty girl?â
You canât. You have to say it but you canât.
A breath shutters through you and you shake your head. âSpence.â
âIâm right here, itâs alright.â He promises, so adamant that he can help.
âIâŚâ
âJust breathe-â
âIâm pregnant.â
Youâve never seen him stop talking so fast. His mouth hangs open for a moment, then it closes.
All the years youâve known Spencer, heâs never been at a loss for words. Heâs trying so hard to just say something and he canât. Maybe itâs the fear in your eyes that has him drawing a blank, maybe itâs the fact that heâs come up with ninety nine possibilities and this is the one he didnât imagine.
âOkay.â He says after a heavy silence. âOkay, thatâs, well itâs definitely something.â
Your tears donât stop, in fact they might just fall heavier now.
Heâs mad- no, heâs upset. He doesnât want this and now everything is ruined. Your fears are coming true.
You pull his hands from his face, then brush past him.
He calls your name. âWait, I donât mean it like that. I just didnât think about this, I havenât planned for this yet.â
You pull one of his sweatshirts on and slide into your sneakers, not bothering with the laces before you slip from the apartment with a sense of deja vu, vanishing just like that.
- - - -
Youâre not even sure how you got here, youâre sure you look like a wreck, but itâs too late to turn back now.
The door opens and JJâs face morphs into confusion.
âHey, Jay.â You try to smile, but when she opens the door wider and pulls you inside so quickly, itâs hard to maintain a composure.
You ramble, she lets you. For ten straight minutes you go on and on about everything, because youâve had all of these thoughts bottled up and now you resemble something of a ship sinking beneath the waves. You apologize, youâre so sorrowful and tell her how wrong you are for saying all the hurtful things you said to her. She sits beside you on her couch while Will is upstairs with Henry. At some point she starts crying too because thatâs what best friends do when their other half is saying she doesnât know what to do. By the end of the confession and rant, you physically canât cry anymore and your nose is red, face splotchy, and you just look at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Slowly, she takes your hand and says your name, grounding you.
âNo one is going to say this to you so I will.â She says. âYouâre not a monster for being scared.â
Your lungs exhale and she continues.
âBut all of these concerns are just anxiety, they arenât real. You can still do your job, the team wonât hate you, you are capable of doing this, life isnât going to fall apart.â
Sheâs so sure, youâre practically forced to believe her.
âSpencer.â You mumble, watching as she takes a breath and nods like she knows.
âReid isâŚReid has the highest IQ and still doesnât know the right thing to say. But this is news you sprung on him and heâs never had to deal with this sort of thing. Heâs scared too.â She reminds, a little more honest with her words now that youâve calmed down.
Just as you open your mouth to say something, her phone rings from its spot on the coffee table.
She squeezes your knee and grabs for it.
âItâs Spencer.â She says before answering it.
You canât hear exactly all the words he says, but based off JJâs reaction, heâs clearly panicked.
âSpencer- hey, slow down. Itâs okay. No, sheâs here with me. Sheâs fine.â
You feel guilty, so incredibly guilty. You left your cell in the apartment, not bothering to bring it with you, and the idea of Spencer freaking out because he has no way of reaching you, has your stomach churning.
Or maybe itâs the fact youâre starving.
Canons of your self destruction fire off at yourself, youâre sitting with your head hung as JJ talks him down. This wasnât her job, this was yours. Heâs your partner.
What are you doing?
As she hangs up, she gives you look, knowing youâre already heading for the door.
âBe easy on him, okay?â She says, squeezing your shoulder. âItâs gonna be alright.â
What a simple thing for her to say and a not so simple thing to do.
You go home, trying to rehearse conversations in your head. Surely, you look odd on the subway, whispering to yourself, trying to anticipate what Spencer will say. A few people shuffle off at a stop, and the seat across from you opens up. A woman takes it, she has a baby wrapped in a sling, itâs napping with its head on her bust and when she pulls the cover back, you can see itâs perfect round head. She gently strokes its fuzzy, brown hair and hushes it softly when it stirs.
Maybe life wouldnât be so bad if that were you, feeling your childâs warmth.
When you get to the front door of your apartment, you take in one final breath and decide you can face the music.
You open the door, kick off your shoes and are immediately feel the rug getting yanked out from under you.
âYou canât just storm out!â Spencer says rather loudly, giving the reaction you didnât want. âAnd leaving your phone here? Giving me no way to reach you? I called everyone!â
Heâs angry.
âI was with JJ.â You say softly.
âWell, I know that now.â He huffs.
Shrugging off your coat, you gently approach.
âIâm sorry I worried you, please donât shout.â
At your meek tone, Spencer immediately softens, scorning himself for being abrasive. He runs his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes, trying to get himself back in check.
âIâm sorry. Can- can we just sit down and talk about this, please?â He asks, moving to sit on the worn couch.
After a second, you follow.
He doesnât know what to do with his hands. He wants to reach out and touch you, but given the way you seem to shrink into yourself, he just rubs his knees over and over again.
âHow long have you known?â He asks, though he has some estimates.
You slowly breathe out. âA couple weeks.â
His lungs burn. A couple weeks?
âWhy didnât you tell me?â
Your fingernails dig into your palms. âI was scaredâŚIâm still scared.â And all that work to avoid his eye, you finally meet that puppy dog look of his and immediately break down.
You just canât seem to stop crying. Why are you crying all the time?
âIâm so scared, Spencer, Iâm so scared.â You shudder out, and those hands he awkwardly kept to himself are now pulling you to him, cradling your head to his chest and putting your legs in his lap.
âHey, I know, I know. And I shouldnât have reacted the way I did, I made it worse, Iâm sorry.â He whispers into your hair before moving his lips to your forehead. âI was surprised is all.â
âYou arenât mad at me?â You tremble, gripping his shirt. Never in your life have you been this clingy, and if the circumstances were different, youâd be embarrassed by this child like behavior. Spencer doesnât mind it at all, heâs holding you like heâs the glue keeping you together.
âIâm not mad. Iâm a little sad you didnât tell me sooner, but Iâm not mad. Why would I be mad at you?â
With his fingers in your hair, you take a few quick breaths. âI ruined everything.â You say as a cry.
He hates those words that just came out of your mouth.
Spencer shifts, pulling back to look at your face, red and tear streaked.
âHey.â He coos. âYou havenât ruined anything, sweetheart, donât even think that.â
Sniffling and wiping your eyes, you shake your head. âMy career is over, the team is going to be inconvenienced, and you- youâre never going to be able to do your job the same. All the work youâve done, itâs just ruined, Iâve done this to you.â
He cups your damp cheek. âStop, stop. Listen to me, can you do that?â
You shut your mouth and nod.
âGood.â He says. âNow, you havenât done anything wrong. It takes two to tango, yeah? The team is going to be elated, Penelope is going to throw this biggest party ever. We worked it out when JJ had Henry, we can do it again.â
Thereâs a way he can say all these things and it just makes sense in your mind. You nod along, this makes him smile.
âAnd as for me..â He tucks hair behind your ear. âI would give up all my degrees, Iâd throw away all the progress and work Iâve done if it meant the only thing I had in my life was you and a baby thatâs my own.â
You love him. Youâve never loved him more than you do now, in this moment, starving and crying and so scared. Thatâs why you lean forward and press your trembling lips to his, trying to steal the oxygen from his lungs.
Spencer is willing to breathe into your open mouth, even if it meant heâs have no part of himself left that was just his. In his mind, he doesnât want Spencer to be Spencer, he wants your imprint in every part of himself so heâs no longer just him.
He kisses your hairline and then places your back in that space between his collar bone and jaw, itâs carved only for you anyway.
âTell me everything that scares you.â He instructs, finger circling your bent knee.
You canât say âeverythingâ, so you say what you can form into words.
âItâs so soon, we havenât talked about this yet.â You start.
âItâs a little early, but we have a home and a stable income and I love you and I want this if you want this.â He says so simply, as if heâs bandaging a paper cut.
âI donât know what Iâm doing, I could be really bad at it.â You state.
âWeâll figure it out together, I donât know what to do either, but no one really does. But there is no way you will be a bad mom. Thatâs my professional opinion.â
You laugh lightly, he grins and subtly squeezes you.
âBut what if it all goes bad? What if I canât make it healthy, what if IâŚwhat if I lose it? Spencer, I donât think I could live with myself if I was the reason you donât get a living, breathing baby.â It hurts your chest to even say.
Spencer gently shushes you. âWe wonât let that happen. Weâll make sure youâre healthy and doing everything you can to prevent that.â
You let that ease you into silence, then you wipe your eyes once more because you canât stop crying.
âWeâre not married.â
Did you say that out loud?
You must have because Spencer hums, not startled, but he mulls it over in his head.
âDoes that matter to you?â He asks, genuinely curious. And you donât know how to answer because you didnât think it did.
But you said it, itâs been on your mindâŚso yeah, it might matter.
âYeah, I guessâŚI donât know.â You sigh, nudging your nose against his neck.
Spencer considers it, then hums like he does when he understands something. âThen weâll get married.â
Itâs the way he says it, so easy, makes you shake your head. âNo, I donât want you to marry me just because Iâm pregnant now. Besides, planning a whole wedding is stressful.â
âThatâs not why I said it, lovely. Yeah, weâre having this conversation because youâre pregnant but I want to marry you because it means something to me too. I donât want to do life with anybody else besides you.â He states, dropping his chin to the top of your head, keeping you close to his pulse. âAnd a big wedding isnât our style anyway. We can go to the courthouse right now if itâs what you want. Tomorrow youâll have your name changed- or keep it, if thatâs what you want.â
How perfect, how wonderful he is, and how lucky you are to be doing this with him.
Breathing in his scent once again, you nod. âI want to have the same last name as our baby. Oh god, our baby. Thatâs the strangest thing Iâve ever said.â You gently laugh.
âI like hearing it, though.â He says, a boyish smile, though heâs never been more of a man than in this moment.
You didnât think your day would end like this, and perhaps this decision isnât properly thought out, but the two of you want this.
You make it to the courthouse house just as theyâre about to close, with the flashes of your credentials, they make a few exceptions. You donât have rings, that part will get figured out later, and you thereâs no grand catering, just Chinese food on the living room floor. Itâs all perfect though, because youâre married and so in love with him and heâs giving you the last egg roll.
âYou know, I didnât think it was possible to be so hungry and nauseous at the same time.â You say, slurping up a noodle, washing it down with a Coke.
âYou know, the fetal placenta produces a hormone called human chorionic gonadotropin thatâs rapidly increasing, and if the mother is more sensitive to it, then theyâre more nauseous.â Spencer states factually, proud that his knowledge applies to this.
âHow do I cure it, Doctor?â You ask, a fond smile on your face.
âDonât skip meals, like you have been doing. No more of that. Weâre going to have to call your doctor tomorrow, and start prenatal vitamins. You know, if we push the dresser into the closet and shift the brown bookshelf over a few feet, that will free up space for a crib. Youâll want a side sleeper bassinet though, it slides right next to the bed so you donât have to get out of bed as often.â
Having a baby with Doctor Spencer Reid was like having the next nine months planned out for you. As he rambles on with all the things that will need to be done, you laugh and lean over, kissing him to get him to pause.
âWhat was that for?â He asks, kissing you once more.
âI love you, thatâs all.â I smile.
Tracing your jawline with his finger, he grins right back at you. âI love you too.â
After a moment, you speak again. âAm I a doctor now?â You ask.
Űśŕ§ in which the tension between you and Spencer at work is almost too much to bare; lingering eyes and longing needs that are ignorant to the people around you, but all too easily perceived by the other.
who? spencer x bau!readerÂ
when? s8Â
category: smutÂ
content warnings: (maeve plotline does not exist, emily is still with the bau) munch spencer, tension hereâtension thereâtension everywhere, thorough foreplay (as in practically the entire fic), sexual acts, not too explicit, no dom/sub really mentionedâthough spencer is a little more confident, proofed! reid with pleasure...Â
word count: 11.4k
a/n: munch spencer as per requested by an anon!! this one has been in my filing cabinet for a while, so i'm glad i've finally gotten to write it out... also, new formatâhey! okay i'll stop rambling... enjoy!!
There is a moment in every personâs life when they just know something sinister is about to unfold. That feeling found its way to you the exact moment the mixup with the rooms happened. It was bound to occur, it wasnât like it was inevitableâyou of all people were accustomed. Though, to be particularly truthful, it wasnât the mixup that strangled your thoughts, no, it wasnât as trivial as that.
What had your heart racingâyour mind runningâwas that you were paired with Spencer. You should have said something. You were sure Emily would switch with you in a heartbeatâshe and Spencer got along well enough, that it wouldnât be a favor at all. However, even with this knowledge, you kept your mouth shut.
It was something in your gut, something in the darkest parts of your mind that swayed the moral, logical side.
It was late and the dimly lit hall only had so much life. You noted the old, peeling, pee-colored wallpaper; red flowers straying to and froâif you tried hard enough, you could almost picture how it must have looked like in its prime.
Spencer made no effort to talk and for this you were grateful. You hadnât had the chance to get too close to him in the few months youâve been with the team. You were new, but not unaccustomedâyou had been transferred almost six months ago with the help of thorough recommendations and pure skillâthough you never pulled rank.
Hotch seemed a nice enough dad-boss, Rossi gave the impression of a comedic uncle most of the time, Morgan took his role as the older brother, Emily and JJ were great mentors and you were thrilled to be working alongside them, and you found Penelope to be a strong aunt-like figure. Spencer, though, you werenât too sure where he fell in the categories you had enlisted just yet.Â
He was a great mystery, one you were keen to unravel little by little.
âDo you have a preferred side?â Spencer asked after completing a skim with his bedbug flashlight.
âNo,â you glanced around the room, two queen beds sat adjacent to each other only separated by a mediocre bedside table. A home phone sat close to the bed nearest the door and a lamp sat closest to the bed nearest the AC and window. The old, red velvet curtains were pulled back in what you thought was meant to be a kind gesture. Nevertheless, for an unknown reason, it left a bad taste in your mouth. âBut, I do think we should close those,â you sighed, setting your duffle bag in the only chair in the room.
Spencer set his things on the bed near the window. You began untying the curtain closest to the bathroom. A shiver crawled up your spine as the air around you grew dry, you were seriously hoping for hot water. You meant to throw Spencer a hopeful glance, praying heâd let you take a shower firstâbut your eyes caught his hands instead. He was working his sleeves back, unbuttoning them as quickly as he could.
His sweater vest had been discarded and now lay in a bunched-up pile near his suitcase. You found yourself tracking his every move. He didnât take notice of your stare until after heâd untied the curtain and met it with the one you had undid. You swiftly averted your eyes and swallowed, finding your throat had gone dry.
You cleared your throat and pushed your hair away, giving Spencer nothing but back, âIf itâs alright with you, Iâd like to shower first.â
Seconds ticked by and he said nothing, only when you heard a bed squeak did you turn back around. Spencer took up a space at the head of his bed, watching you with a look you were sure youâd never seen cross his face, it was almost smug, but not in the normal sense of the wordâas indescribable as it was, it didnât make you uncomfortable. You werenât too sure what it made you feel.
âIsâis that a yes?â Your face felt hot, and you wanted to slap your hands to it, knowing itâd cool down somewhat, but you forced your hands to remain at your side.
âYeah, sure,â he quipped, his voice the complete opposite of what his eyes conveyed.
You nodded and hurried over to your bag, leaving it at the foot of your bed when heading into the bathroom, which is where you found it upon exiting.Â
Spencer had pulled pajamas out, they were neatly folded beside him. âIâd wait a little before showering,â you frowned, âsorry, I must have been in there for ages,â your mouth lilted in a slight smile as you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and took up residence near the bedside table, ânext time, just to tell me Iâm taking too long, I wonât mind.â
He chuckled and you grinned, elated you finally were able to ease the unnecessary tension that had come over the two of you during your staring contest in the moments right before your shower.
âSeriously?â He sounded mirthful and when you looked up his eyes caught yours, your heart studded and you found your cheeks heating up again. He had an eyebrow raised slightly and the small smile that accompanied his expression gave off the impression he was teasing, âYouâd be fine with me just walking into the bathroom while youâre in the shower?â
Your eyebrows scrunched together in slight confusion and you couldnât help the awkward smile that wouldnât leave your mouth, âI was just joking, Spencer, butâif I am taking too long you can bang on or yell through the door.
He nodded, looking away, âIâI know, I was just messing with you.â
âOh, please,â you snorted and rolled your eyes, trying to crush the way your thoughts raced at the way you absolutely would not give a half a damn if he did. You pressed your hand to your cheeks for a few seconds before continuing to move things out of your bag, you were thinking about how to arrange them in the large chifforobe directly across from your bed. Did Spencer havâyou gasped and dropped an article of clothing as if it had burned you.
âThat was notââ you scorned yourself, that was completely inappropriate. You blinked over a few times, thinking it would make the image disappear well from your mind, but it only served to intensify the phantasmagoria.
âHey, are you okay?â Spencer was at your side after three blinks. Your eyes widened as he reached for your hands that were opening and closing, trying to grasp any control over yourself.Â
You stood abruptly, unable to be in any sort of vicinity he was near. âIâm fineâI just, I remembered, I forgot something in the lobby. It must have fallen.â You shrugged, forcing a horrid excuse for a smile onto your lips. You left the room, heading straight for the elevator. You needed the cold-biting air of December to slap some sense into you, it was almost January, thus winter should have been approaching its peak right about now.
You have neverâokay, yes, youâve had small torrent thoughts of coworkers in somewhat unprofessional manners, but none had ever been so vividânot like the one you had just then. As the elevator opened, you tried assembling the course of thoughts that had led up to theâthe Spencer one.
It only took a few minutes for you to understand thinking about it was useless. There was no coherent explanation for the thought you had, no indication of any type of build-up that might have prepared you for the fabrication.Â
âHis eyes,â you heard yourself murmur as the elevator let you off onto the first floor. You ignored the receptionist whom you recognized from only a few hours ago. The glass door was as easily pushed open as it was to pull; the biting air hit your face and you sighed, relief allowing you to breathe once more.
His sleeves were rolled up, your arms laced around his neck as you pulled him against your flushed, exposed skin. You were nearly naked and all but begging him. You had it. His attention. Every single piece of it.
And you were relishing it as he fucked you against that damned chifforobe.
You were startled by the discovery of Spencerâs presence as he pushed open one of the glass doors of the hotel. The carpark was desolate save for the two of you and you felt more vulnerable than you had felt in the daydream.
âHey,â Spencer lifted his hand slightly, sticking it back in his pocket right after as if heâd cringed at himself.
âOh, hi,â you pressed your lips into a thin smile, squeezing your eyes so as not to give away the fact that you did not want him to be there.
âYouâkind of ran off, I just wanted to make sure you were alrightâŚâ his eyes traced up and down your body as if in search of something. A slight smirk grazed his lips, but it was quickly replaced with a frown that felt a little too compelled, âdid you find what you were looking for?â
âNope,â you squeaked, rocking back and forth on your heels. You squeezed your hands together behind your back like you were in prayer or giving thanks, âsorry for bringing you out here, I thought I lost something important and overreacted.â
He didnât acknowledge your answer immediately, though he did step forward and when he took another step forward, you were inclined to take a step back because you thought the proximity might prompt you to do or say something you definitely shouldnât be doing or saying with a coworker. He raised his hand to your face, the back of his hand rested on one of your cheeks, your eyes shut on impact, your hands separated and were not fisted.
Your eyes opened when a few low chuckles escaped Spencerâs mouth, he huffed out a few more before pulling his hand back and using it to cover his mouthâŚwatching you. His eyes held that same smug amusement that youâre sure youâve never seen before this night.
You met his stare, noting that with the coverage of his hand, his expression was just a bit easier to read. Your lips settled into a thin line as you concluded he was messing with you. You cast an unbothered expression over your face, though you felt anything but. âI think the water should be hot enough now.â
Disregarding the moral obligation of waiting for a response, you headed for the hotelâs entrance.
The elevator ride-up wasnât as tense as you would have thought it to be. You could feel a calm rest over each otherâs company. It was almost like a mutual understanding that did not need voicing. Back in the hotel room, Spencer headed into the bathroom without a word, again, you found yourself grateful he decided to spare you.
Even so, you did find it just a bit peculiar because Spencer had never before taken on any particular interest in you, sure you shared conversationsâthat was to be expected though, as you worked with him. You shared meals and nights out, though only when it was a group thing.
To be sure he drew your curiosity, but you never once thought about indulging in your secret desire because it just never seemed right. This mixup had felt like a gift from God when it was first introduced, because nowâyou had thoughtâweâll be forced to be around each other, no doubt weâll grow somewhat accustomed to each otherâs habits.Â
Perhaps the thought was a bit excessive, but it was simply the truth to you. How else were you to casually approach Dr. Spencer Reid? The youngest to be scouted in his field?
Well, you now thought grimly, scratch all that, heâs just a genius with an ego.
You approached the chifforobe hesitantly, then hastily sorted your clothing in a few drawers and on a few hangers that were already there. As you set your duffle bag at the bottom of the large space, you heard the shower squeak off and Spencer called your name.
You rolled your eyes but walked toward the bathroom, calling from your side of the closed door, âwhat?âÂ
âI,â his voice cut off and just when you thought you had waited long enough, the bathroom door swung open halfway and Spencer leaned out.Â
The first thing you noticedâthough unintentionallyâwas the steam that hit you in the face. You squinted and waved a hand before you, âJeez, Spencer.â
His faceâhis hair was wet and water dripped down his headâlooked a bit painted, âI left my towel in my bag, get it for me?âÂ
He sounded genuinely displeased at the situation, which is why you huffed and replied, âFine.â
âThank you,â he yelled, shutting the door again. You ignored the flip your stomach did and shivered.Â
He had left his suitcase open, his things in a bit of disarray across the bed. You wavered only a moment before letting your hands fly up and down his things. His towel was quite easily discovered, though your eyes lingered on the rest of his things.
You stood and headed back toward the bathroom, knocking. Spencer appeared instantly, a smile spreading to his face. The steam had cooled somewhat, but the bathroomâyou could tellâwas still very much sauna-like. âThank you.â
âYou said that already.â
He raised a brow, his smile quirking, âthank you, again.â
He stole the towel and shut the door, leaving you standing there. You felt impulsive and thought there would be no way you could get through this entire trip by sharing a room with him. And yet, it was your job, and it would no doubt be questioned, youâd probablyâby accidentâallude to something that did not occur, and youâd both be in trouble for something so ridiculous: it shouldnât even be a thought that crossed your mind when you looked at your coworker and yetâthe bathroom door opened and Spencer walked out in only a towelâit did.
âWhat do you think you're doing?â You called from your bed, standing.
âItâs too moist in there, I wonât dry.â He replied as if it were a fact and not an atrocity.
âYeahâbutââ you bit your lip, eyes tracking up and down his torso, something you should most unquestionably not be doing.
He was bent over his things on the bed near the window, you turned your gaze on the floor when his eyes flickered to yours. âBut what?â He paused, probably noting your expression, your pursed lips, and your unstill gaze. âI mean, if it makes you uncomfortable I can go back in. I donât want toâIâm sorry.â You swore you could hear a lilt in his voice when he began, but it quickly turned into something moreâŚappropriateâlike he just realized the embarrassment of what he was doing. He gathered his clothes again and headed for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in damp garments.
And though his frown said âIâm sorry,â his eyes said, âIâm going to give you hellâ. And hell it was. For the rest of the trip, you could swear Spencer didâŚthings purposefully. Such as lifting his shirt slightly to wipe his face when he got out of the shower, turning his neck just barely so that your gaze would catch on the exposed collarbone. You swore up and down that these were being done on purpose just to make you squirm becauseâbecauseâwell you didnât really know why Spencer was doing all that.Â
But you knew it was for you, that was about the only thing you knew to be fact. Your nose scrunched as you recalled the looks heâd given you after every purposeful actâin such a way that it seemed like he wanted to see your reactionâas if he gets off on it.
The jet ride home was no exception to Spencerâs antics, but by this time you had decided for yourself youâd had enough of falling victim to him. You concluded that there could only be one reason Spencer was acting the way he was: because he was attracted to you. You didnât know whyâhell you couldnât even explain why you were attracted to him in that wayâbut it piqued your curiosity. If he had the ability to get you to react in such distinct and significant ways, what power did you have over him? That was the dispute you set out to ascertain.
At first, it was harmless, quiet jokes told only loud enough for the two of you to hear. When the jet landed again, you ran a hand through your hair and threw your head back, as if trying to stretch. Your eyes popped open just a few minutes later to find Spencerâs eyes eating up everything from your neck to your collarbone. When he met your eyes, they werenât amused but rather accusing. He had fallen into your trap and he had just now realised. Some genius, you found yourself regarding him with an internal snort.
âWe get the day off tomorrow, right?â Emilyâs tone was mirthful, full of sarcasm.
âYeah, right.â Morgan groaned.
Hotch grimaced, âSee you all tomorrow.â
âAt nine?â Rossi sounded hopeful.
Your boss sighed, eyes: rolling, but a smile etching itself onto his face, âAt nine.â
Small victories, a sigh escaped you under your breath, small victories.
You headed for your car, rummaging through your purse for your keys. A presence loomed over you and you froze, Spencerâs hand lightly pressed against your back as he leaned over you and tilted his head downward, âSee you tomorrow ââŚâ
Your breath caught and you tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry. Was this real? Was this not the nerdy little geek you were told youâd be working with? The guy who kept getting kidnapped? The one who could barely hold a gun four years into working in the BAU?
He walked away, down the row of cars, looking for the one he owned.
Despite yourself, your lips curled into a sinful grin. You already loved this game.Â
The next morning, you caught Spencer stepping into the elevator, âhold the door!â You threw your hand out, as you rushed your footsteps.
The elevator wasnât crowded, but there were five others you did not know, and they were all men, so naturally you moved closer to Spencer. It wasnât on purpose, but nor was it an accident, more of an instinct. His presence gave you peace of mind as you calmed yourself down.
âRough morning?â He asked, appearing nonchalant.
You looked up at him as he took a sip of his coffee. The elevator came to a halt and two people shuffled into the elevator after three others left. Your floor was approaching and you felt easierâespecially with the extra spaceâbut when you stepped away, a hand caught your waist.
You followed the arm all the way to Spencerâs gaze, the expression there looked to be a mix of contemplation and confusion. His hand dropped when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. He was the first to step out of the elevator, you were the fourth.
Penelope found you on her way to the roundtable, stating the others were already there. You followed her and took the only available seat in between Morgan and JJ. Spencer sat right across from you, between Emily and Rossi. When you caught his eyes, his head tilted slightly and a small smirk danced across his lips in the bright light.Â
Your eyes rolled and you shifted one leg over the other under the table.Â
Penelope read off the new case and while many questions were thrown out, you and Spencer kept playing the game of âwho could make who more embarrassedâ; though you both were incredibly refined at your job and were able to keep it from the insight of the others.
Hotch stood and said, âjetâs up in 15,â before rushing out of the room.
You stood as well, needing to collect all the things you might have left on your desk and turn in your report to Hotch you forgot. Rossi had followed your bossâit was probably something about Strauss, it always was whenever they acted like that. Emily, Morgan, and Penelope were having a conversation while JJ said something to Spencer and began a small exchanges. Your eyes were laser focused on her, you felt a sort of conviction fall over you. You didnât think you were jealous, noâit was anything like that because you knew Spencer was only trying to get under your skin. Instead, you felt a sense of thrill and couldnât help the smirk that edged its way onto your face as you floated right past them without batting an eye.
You heard his chair squeak as he leaned back, eyes trailing your figure as you exited the roundtable room. Upon approaching your desk you smacked your hands to your cheeks, helping them cool off while ignoring the chatter of the office. You searched your bag a bit until you found the documents you had been looking for.
You froze, you could feel his stare, but when you glanced around, you couldnât find him anywhere. Your eyes narrowed as you sifted through each and every face, thereâin the breakroom behind the glass⌠Spencer had one hand in his pocket and one holding a mug of coffee, his eyes anything but innocent. He mouthed something, but only when you noted the absense of your other team members were you able to put together his words. Weâre leaving.
You met each other in the stairwell of the rooftop, you ignored the simmering in your chest as he veered over you and pushed open the door. He smelled goodâ god he smelled good. You forced yourself not the make it obvious you were trying to drink in and savor his scent when he let out a shuddering breath. Your eyes popped openâwhich is when you realized you had shut them. What is wrong with me? You allowed your eyes to track up his face, starting from his shoulders.
He was so close you could see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared you donw, mouth slightly ajar. His eyes were hazy and he wasnât staring at you, but your throat. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. When he found your gaze again his jaw yet and he pulled himself together. His eyes were no longer dangerous, but they still set some kind of fear in you.
âWe should go,â you murmured.
He didnât respond until you began moving. He called your name only once, but when you looked back, a grinâsmall, but fucking thereâdestroyed his firm calmness from only moments ago, and replaced it with egotistical destruction.
There were so much said in that single expression and yet nothing at all that would have been picked up by a team of profilers, let alone a strangerâit was as if this look was designed specifically for youâdesigned just to become your undoing. You fucking hated Spencer Reid and his big ass ego, but you wanted himâby all hell you wanted him.
Though youâd soon find that wanting him was nothing compared to needing him.
The rest of the case came and went in a similar manner you had dreamt about the night before. You and Spencer shared lingering looks, murmured things in front of the team that, though made sense in the moment, his the underlying meaning only the two of you could pick up. You honestly found it surprising no one had caught on to what was transpiring between you and Spencer, although to be perfectly honest, you, yourself, had no idea what was transpiring between you and Spencer.
You didnât seek each other out, but whenever you were togetherâalone or with othersâthere was this spark of craving you couldnât quite explain out loud, and even when you thought about it, you didnât know the right term for it other than a game. What else could it be? You couldnât relly put togehter the events that had started it, but you knew it began sometimes on the 3-day caseâmaybe even that first night in the hotel. A shiver crawled up your spine, you watched Spencer out of the corner of your eye, reading. He could normally be found in the front of the jet, lying down and napping or reading.
When you were alone, all your thoughts revolved if not around the case at hand, Spencer. You didnât want to compare it to an obsession, because what it really was was a little less of that and a little more of a desire to learn him. His body, his mind, his cravings and and fantasies. It was everything you had never felt and it scared you. There was no logical explanation to Spencer being the onset to these emotions, and yet if youâd never met Spencer, who was to say these feelings would have ever been unleashed?
It was late, but you were glad you were going to get to sleep in your bed two nights in a row. It felt like a blessing from the heavens, but then your realzied youâd have to see Spencer again tomorrow and go through the fervency all over again. Now, it felt more like irony.
Weeks of the same longing, the same wandering eyes, the same muttered whispers, the same damn game. Though youâd gotten used to your little gambit of brash actions, you werenât tired in the least. It wasâas sad as you had to admitâthe most fun youâd ever had with a person.
It was fun until it became real. The team hadnât caught on, but that was particularly due to the fact your efforts always occurred out of pure chance. You never made it obvious and he was especially good at hiding his feats, it seemed to you he was consistently able to accomplish his devious acts right under the nose of his superiors.Â
You reasoned that it was perhaps because none of them would ever suspect him of any of the things he was taking up in his pastime. Not even yourself would have guessed he was like this if he hadnât shown you, or if you hadnât noticed the way his eyes always seemed to look the opposite of whatever his face was saying in the moment.
Despite all of this, however, you hadnât touchedâat all, no brush of the hands, no accidental shoulder bumping, nor anything on purpose; not since heâd grabbed your waist in the elevator that first day back at Quantico. The contemplation in his eyes then occurred to you at night. You tried to make out what it meantâto him at least, but never could. It was one of those thoughts that kept you up, staring at the ceiling, hoping exhaustion would so its job and prevent the misery that inveitable came without it.
Tonight, though, you didnât know how you were going to fare against pretending to be with him. It was for the caseâyou kept reminding yourself as you changed into a little black dress. Everyone looked good in black, it was a color that also hid a person well enough in a clubâperfect for an undercover agent.
The decision to have you go in with Spencer instead of JJ was his idea. Of course it was his. Heâd proposed the switchup at the roundtable meeting that morningâand as soon as he had, youâd jolted in your seat. Heâd continued talking, glancing at you now and then as if heâd actually believed the difference between you and JJ would matter.
Regardless, because you were closer in ageâby only a few years, youâd wanted to remind everyoneâitâd be more believable that you were together, heâd also dropped an âitâd be more comfortable that wayâ, which swayed Morgan and Emily, JJ kept silent during the entire tiradeâthough not angry, was incredibly, almost blatantly long.Â
You couldnât tell what she was thinking, but at the time you werenât too much focussed on her, the looming fact that youâd have to touch him in ways youâd only thought about touching him to do your job? It terrified you. Not because you were afraid of acting out your fantasyâbut because you werenât sure if you could control yourself enoug to where it was just acting.
You slipped the dainty dress on and hid your gun and badge in your boots. You let your natural hair fall loose, but kept a hair tie on your wrist. Stepping out of the only bathroom in the police station you were currently residing in, holding your work clothes against your chest , you noted the imminent stares. Instinctively using your clothing to cover your thighs as you met the others in the front. Spencer kept his eyes in checkâsmart boy, you bit back a smirkâbut the rest of the team complimented you, Hotch and Rossi having almost completely different ways of doing so, you snorted at the contrast.Â
Spencer took the driver seat of a vehicle you were borrowing, the dark of a December night threatening to conceal the thing entirely. You gazed out the window, âtheyâre following us right?â
âEveryone will be outside and prepared.â
âI canât believe this,â you sighed, throwing your head back.
âThe fact that weâre going undercover or the fact that you have to wear that piece of cloth?â Spencer asked, though his manner was light, there was a rough undertone that heated your insides.
âI was wondering when you were going to bring it up,â you sighed carelessly, waving a hand, âI just thought you hadnât noticed.â
âEveryone noticed.â The mask of his facade was slowly slipping away, revealing a much colder side to Spencerâone you had the pleasure of seeing more and more of the past three weeks than in all of the six months youâd been in the BAU.
âYeah,â you smooth down the dress, âI wouldnât normally wear this type of thing out unless I was looking to bring someone home.â
âOh really?â You could practically hear his eyebrows raise. âYou never wear things like that when we go out for drinks.â
âPrecisely my point,â you quipped.
Spencer pulled into the clubâs parkinglot. It took you less than five minutes to get inside. At first, you were sitting at the bar, but then, Spencer, with the earpiece attached to him, relayed the message from Hotch. Penelope had given everyone access to the inside of the club, they were watching you two through the cameras. You forced yourself not to glance at themâeven the tiniest slipup could reveal you to the unsub, and you wanted them to target, not avoid you.
âThey want us to dance.â Spencer sighed loud enough to where you could hear it over the noise.
âRight,â you rolled your eyes, because thatâs exactly how the unsubs target their victimsâdidnât we go over this in the profile? Your smile tightened as you spun and headed for the floor, crowded by so manyâoh thatâs not hygienic.
âYeah, okay, maybe we skip this part,â Spencer grimaced from his palace beside you.
âYou think?â You raised an unimpressed brow at the blurred figures in front of you.
He murmured something Hotch and they went back and forth a little, though you couldnât hear exactly what was said, Spencerâs face of triumph was all you needed to breathe a sigh of relief.
You found yourselves hiding in the corner at the back, there werenât many people crowding around you which made you perfect for the unsubs, though the appearance of them at this club tonight was purely based on instinct, gut feelings, and careful, calculated guessing, there was still a chance they wouldnât show themselves.
You didnât mean for it to happen like this, you were doing everything in your power to stay composed and in control, but some part of youâthe defiant, terrible side of youâwanted so badly to see his reaction when you touched him.
His frame leaned over you, holding you against the probably dirty wall, the sensual music that played a heavy beat around you felt like an instigator. Sweat slipped down his neck and it drew your attention, all of a sudden Spencer tensed, then he relaxed slightly but it felt forced, âThey have eyes on the unsubs.â
âHow many,â You compelled your eyes to stay on his though they wanted to scour the area around you and find just exactly who he was talking aboutâwhich would be idiotic, of course.
âThatâs right,â he swallowedâignoring your question, your eyes caught his throat bobbingâhe noticed. âKeep your eyes on me,â you nodded at his words, feeling your throat drying as you neglected the need to trace his collarbone with both your fingers and gaze.
His hair was a mess of damp curls and his face was barely visible in the bright, flashing lights, but you had a job to doâand yet here you were, gripping the collar of his shirt, brushing back the hair that fell in his face as he looked at you with those eyes.
âIâm going to kiss you,â he said, âbut if you arenât up for this just tell me now.â His voice lilted at a challenge, but you heard the mumble ordered in the earpieceâby hell he could yank you hair almost completely out and you wouldnât give a damn.
You held his regard with one of your own, eyes narrowed, âJust do it.â
And he did. But he also didnât. His smirk narrowed ere leaning in. He gripped your face with an elephants strength and a swanâs gracefulness. You closed your eyes, waiting for his lips, but he swerved at the last moment and kissed the skin below your ear. He trailed a few kisses down your neck but stayed close to your hearing range, evidently, he was teasingâyou wanted to scoff but couldnât find it in you to make him stop.
âHowâs this?â He murmured.
âYouâre an ass,â you replied huffed, trying to mask a groan.
He grinned against your neck, âI know.â
The club case was the reason you and Spencer now ensured you were always together. From then on, you seemed to not want to be anywhere else the other wasnâtâor rather, you felt more comfortable with each other and couldnât bring yourselves to leave the other alone.
Not that either of you minded and you still did your jobs perfectly fineâthough there was more intensity when the other was in any sort of danger, it only propelled the one that wasnât to learn how to do their job quicker. It was both a fast track to understanding how to adapt to constant situations that warped your idea of what was really going on. When he got something wrongâwhich was rare but not absolute. After about a month of this, you were starting to question what you were to himâwhat he was to you.
Though you still werenât sure how to properly ask that question. You hadnât slept together, though you thought about it all the time you werenât at workâŚand perhaps sometimes when you were⌠Those thoughts slipped through on occasionâbut it wasn't anything that hadnât been transpiring before the club case.
It was as if the âwho can make the other person more embarrassedâ game had been turned into the âwhat can I do to make you squirm this timeâ game. Like the rules of the game had somehow intensified and touching was now allowed and despite all of the things that ensued upon the new rule instatement, you still had not taken it further than work.
It kept you up most nights, and you wondered when this cycle of what are we would endâif it would take one of you getting into a relationshipâthough you were sure Spencer didnât have to worry about you in that departmentâand although you hated it, the fact was that Spencer was the only one you could think about. It was as if the man had ruined sex for you altogether.Â
You fucking hated Spencer Reidâand that fucking chifforobe.Â
Your heart dropped in your chest. You refused to give Spencer the satisfaction of looking over at himâthough he seemed just as surprised as you. At this point anything could happenâand by anything you mean anything. Because anything would be better than having to share a room with him again. You were so tired you could barely recall what that even meant.
But then again, a small part of you whispered, this could be your chance. My chance? You scoffed, my chance at what? Making a fool of myself? Because confronting him means admitting I canât stopâthinking about him. And that, to you, would feel like admitting defeat. Itâd feel like losing the gameâoh and you really felt like you were winning! Winning at what again? God, you needed sleep.
âAre you planning on getting in the shower first?,â he asked as soon as you were behind the door, away from prying ears and nosy coworkers.
You let out a heavy sigh and held your arms up to stretch, yawningââhonestly, I might just head to bed, itâs late and I could really use the sleep.â
âHave you not been able to sleep at night?â He set his things on the bed near the window as you claimed the one near the door.
âYou have no idea,â you murmured, although a bit more to yourself than to him.
âDo you know why?â He seemed genuinely curiousâbut as you faced him, all you could think was, if only you knew.
âNope,â you popped the âpâ and grimaced as you laid your back against the bed, arms spread like a starfish, your duffle bag discarded near your feet at the end of the bed.
You felt Spencer watching you, but for the first time in a while, you couldnât bring yourself to care. You quite literally had been running on nothing but coffee for the past day and a halfâand you were in desperate need of some sleepâespecially if you wanted to be at your best tomorrow.
âHere,â you hadn't heard Spencer approach youâyou blamed his Hotch training. You cracked open an eye as he pushed you on your side. Your back burned at where heâd touched you, but it was quickly overshadowed when you heard him yank the bedspread down as hard as he could. âCome, on,â he huffed, pulling your shoes off and setting them beside your bag.
You forced yourself under the cover and snuggled, âthe light?â you grumbled.
âFirst, your blazer,â he held out a hand. You whined but made quick work of ridding yourself of the fabric. âYou sure you donât want to change into something more comfortableââ
âSpencer.â You warned.
âYeah, I hear you,â he reached for the lamp atop the bedside tableâsmaller than the one from the last hotel room youâd sharedâthe chifforobe near the window was smaller as well. He hummed as the thoughts faded in and passed through his mind.
Spencer found himself forgetting everything else as he sat in the bed opposite yours and leaned his arms on his thighs, watching you. A few minutes passed, but only when a knock sounded on the door did he realize he maybe shouldnât be watching his coworker like a creep. Though, you werenât really a coworker, were you?
Wellâhe meant you wereâbut you were also more than that, though he didnât exactly know if your relationship had a name, he knew that it entailed things normal coworkers did not have. He knew what he wantedâbut to outright say it felt like disrupting the sort of balance youâd gotten accustomed toâas if going out and actually attempting to take what he wanted would break the trance that had set over the two of youâitâd be throwing all the ruleâs to the game away, and then what did either of you have left? Rules were important, if not necessary. He couldnât chance itânot yet at least.
âHey, oh,â Morgan tried looking around the room.
Spencer felt his eyes roll as he stepped into the hall and shut the door slightly behind him, careful not to shut it completely as he didnât have the key card and he didnât want to wake you up. âYes?â
Morgan nodded behind him, âsheâs asleep?â
âSheâs really tired,â Spencer affirmed.
âRight,â his eyes fell back on Spencer, and for a second, he thought Morgan might be analyzing his form.
âWas there something you needed?â Spencer pressed, eager to head back into the room, unpack his suitcase, and head to bed himself.
âAh, no, we were just going to order foodâbut I guess you donât want anything either?â
âUh, no, but thanks for asking.â
âUh-huh,â Morgan once again glanced behind Spencer, whose irritation at the suspicion was steadily increasing.
âSheâd not dead,â Spencer stated, though he meant it as a joke it came out rather harsh.
âAlright, pretty boy, I didnât say she was.â Morgan chuckled, patting Spencer on the shoulder, âSee you tomorrow.â
Spencer made quick work of unloading his things, he thought about getting in the shower but feared itâd wake you. Instead, he debated on whether or not he should leave your things in you bag or do you a favor and put them away. He didnât want you to consider him a snoop, especially with how youâd been looking at each other the past few weeksâand that undercover case.
His heartbeat picked up, and he couldn't stop thinking about itâit was the thing he fell asleep to at night; it was gradually eating away at him, and he couldnât deny the way his body tensed whenever he recalled the image of you under the flashing array of lightsâhow youâd looked soâŚsubmissive.
He hastily shoved that thought to the furthest corner he could find in his mind and headed for your bag. He didnât want to be brash with the way he put your clothing away, but he also didnât you to wake up while he was holding your underwearâthen heâd truly feel like a creep.Â
He was halfway done when you mumbled something; he froze and he could feel the thump of his heart in his chest. Though it was still winter, heâd begun to sweat and had set his glasses aside because they kept sliding off the bridge of his nose. Heâd been wearing them more often than not for the past few months as heâd found them to be a particular fascination of yours. It was now that he squinted and moved his hand around for them.
His footsteps carried him quietly across the room, near your bedside. ââ?â He whispered and when you failed to respond, lifted a tentative hand to your cheekâthough just before the pads of his fingertips met your skin, you mumbled something againâand this time, he could hear it. He fisted his hand and used the bedside table to hold himself up, and although he couldnât see them, he knew his hands were turning white with how hard he was squeezing them.
Again. He wanted to hear it againâhis prayers were answered as you shifted slightly, tugging the cover up to your neck. Skimming down your person, he bit his fist and tried to calm himself down. Again. He needed to sit down, but he couldnât bring himself to move. He felt it twitchâhe needed to walk away right now. And he did, but instead of picking up where heâd left off with your clothing, he headed for the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on as he shut himself in complete darkness.
Images of you, your stolen glances, and desperate touches filled his mind. He was particularly focused on the tired way you slurred his name in your sleep. He wondered what kind of dreams you were having, what you were picturing as you said his name like that. He muffled his groans as he stroked himself, using his fist to bite back anything that might escape the small confines of the washroom. His thoughts of you were possibly the only thing he allowed himself to go to extensive lengths with. His mouth watered at the mere concept of you and your twisting legs. Heâd done this a considerable amount of times beforeâbut this was the first time you were so closeâ a hairsbreadth away.
It felt both right and wrong, and yet the lines began fading into oblivion as he came closer to climax.
He whimpered into his hand just as he came. It was odd, he didnât too much feel like a creep after he cleaned himself up, but upon washing his hands profusely and returning to put your garments away, he was once moreâafraid of what youâd think if you caught him messing with your things.
Although a part of him felt it might have been because he wanted you to find him in that state, he tried rationalizingâbut the more he thought about itâeven as he now rested his head against a pillowâthe more he found that âmightâ to be absolute truth.Â
You woke up to the smell of coffee. You stretched, yawned, and pried your eyes open. Rolling onto your side, you found Spencer devouring a book, his glasses at the tip of his nose. You smiled, thinking you were dreamingâbut then his eyes shifted over to yours and your smile fell, you quickly understood this Spencer was realâoh noâyour cheeks burned from last night's delusions. âGood morning,â he smiled. You groaned and sat up, your hands finding your cheeks, âwhat time is it?â
âItâs around six, you have,â he checked his watch, âan hour and thirty minutes, Hotch wants us ready before eight.â
You huffed and threw yourself back against the pillows. New Years had come and gone and you hadn't even celebrated...though, your mind with all the ways you could make up for itâyou shook the thoughts away, now was not the time.
Five minutes later you were searching for your clothing, but your bag was practically empty, âdid you move my things?â
Spencer choked on his coffee, âahâyeah,â he motioned toward the chifforobe. You glared at it as he said, âItâs small, so some of our things are mixed, but you should be able to find whatever youâre looking for easily.â
âThank youâ You appreciated his simple act of affection, it made your chest ache.
âYeah, sure.â Despite going back to reading his book, Spencer snuck small glimpses of you from the corners of his eyes.
As the hot water ran down your back, you found yourself thinking of Spencer, just a few feet away, you were practically naked and he could walk in at any moment, you felt an ache between your thighs, but you shrugged it offâor at least you tried to.
You hadnât had sex since that incident with Spencer a few weeks ago. You triedâby all God did you tryâbut you just couldnât It led to a few arguments with the guys youâd taken homeâand your credit, you did feel just a little bad. All the same, you simply couldnât seem to get him out of your mind. It was like he was mocking or watching you every time you attempted itâhe was that tiny, little voice in the back of your head feigning disappointment, saying you wouldnât purge the sexual frustration unless it were him. Though you were a saint at keeping it hidden, your agitation only built.
The day was more or less: âSpencer, what do you see?â from Hotch and ââ, if you were the unsubâŚâ from Morgan. Penelope was on call a few times and you were so close, but it had grown late and you needed sufficient unwinding. After a group dinner in the hotel lobby that primarily consisted of takeout and the small meal provided by the hotel staff, you headed up to your room. Spencer stayed to grab one last cup of coffee before the staff closed the mailroom for good. Thus, with your alone time, you decided to wash off all the griminess of the day.
You were drying yourself with a towel when you heard him enter, âIâm almost done,â you shouted, âI think thereâs still some hot water left.â
His lack of response piqued your curiosity. You threw your clothing on once you were mostly just damp and yanked the door open. You were pulling your hair back into a ponytail when he looked up. Heâd just set his cup of coffee on the table near the lamp, which now that you noticed, was the only light that lit up the room, he had turned the big llight off.
âYou okay?â You rubbed your face, dropping your hands to your side right after, âdid you hear me?â
âNo, sorry,â he frowned, âI wasnât paying attention.â He stood.
âOh, I just saidâif you wanted to get in, thereâs still hot water left.â You thrust a your thumb behind you.
âAh, thanks.â You nodded and pursed your lips. âSo, what book were you reading this morning?â You took up the spot Spencer had just abandoned.
He turned and watched youâfilling the area. He caught the way your legs pressed together as you crossed them to sit more comfortably against the pillows, attention to the book heâd been reading that morning.
âIâm going to get in the shower,â he cursed himself as he felt desire pool in his throat. He wondered what itâd be like to kiss you, to touch youâto taste you. His mouth watered at the prospect and he felt himself harden just like the night before. His shower was quick as the water had gotten cold and had quickly ruined his mood.
âYou lied to be,â he glared at you from the threshold of the bathroom door.
You bit your lip, but still, a smile graced your mouth, âsorry, I thought it would last.â He shook his wet hair around around, mimicking the actions a puppy would.
âWhat?â His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows raised, âwhat did you call me?â
A hand flew to your mouth, your own surprise showing, âIââ of bloody course, you said it out loud.
He stepped forward, dropping his towel on the bed, âsay it again.â It was odd, the way he said itâlike it was both a question and a demandâor rather, a demand he questioned your willingness to obey.
ââŚpuppy?â you tried laughing it off, âSorry, it just came outâI didnât mean tââ
âDidnât you, though?â Came a mirthful reply. Spencer stepped forward, towering over you as he leaned down, bringing his face near yours, one hand on the bed near your hips, the other on the bedside table. âIs that what youâve thought of me this entire time?â
And what the hell were you supposed to say to that? Game on is what Spencer saw in your eyes as you set the book on the table, your hand purposely roaming over his as you pulled it back. âNo,â you stated, a nonchalant expression crossing your features as your eyes turned away from his, the move calculated, âonly sometimes.â
Spencer didnât think the table would be able to withstand him much longer, but it did as he thought of ways he might proceed. Eventually, he let go and instead wrapped his firm fingers around your nape, forcing your attention to his. âAnd do you think that now?â
He watched a Chesire grin take its place upon your mouth. âIf I said yes, would that anger you, Dr. Reid?â The mocking was unnecessary, but it sure as hell was a lot more fun than if you simply addressed him as âSpencerâ or âReidâ.
The parental-like tone you took up furthered his new-growing erection. His hair still dripped with water and as a water droplet streaked down his face, you lifted your hand to wipe it with your thumb. His hand let your your neck go to snatch your wristâGod you wanted him so badly. This witty banterâyou were already starting to findâjust wasnât enough anymore.
Your eyes reapproached his, they seemed to meet with the same level of desire, completely forgetting that there was a serial killer on the loose, your eyes dipped to his lips only once before you leaned forwardâbut while you did he pushed you back, your back hitting the bedframe and just as you caught your breath, you found yourself being deprived of air once more.
Spencer was hungry, he tasted like coffee and something minty. Your hands tangled through his hair and while he suffocated you in the only way youâd ever want to be suffocated, you tugged. It barely stopped him the first time, but the second and third had his eyes rolling.
When they found you again, noting the playful glint in your eyes, he vowed he would go as far as youâd let him tonightâand perhaps the night after that, he hadnât quite thought it through, and at this time, he neither had the strength nor the want to do so.Â
He began tugging at your t-shirt, but you grabbed his hand, âah-ah,â you clicked your tongue, âyou have to earn that.âÂ
He paused and took a step back, watching you now, your knees digging into the softness of the mattress; your mouth darkened with the visceral kisses heâd forced on you. Your eyes sparked with something he knew heâd never be able to find in any other woman. His lips quirked, his eyes were hooded, and his voice thick when he asked, âWhat do I have to do?â
The need in his voice was enough to shed you of your clothing right then and there, but it seemed you had a lot more self-control than he did in the moment. You tugged your hair out of the loosened, droopy ponytail it had fallen into and brushed it back, smoothing it out to appear just how you wanted it to. You felt his eyes on you, patient, but every second he was, was a second his lust grew, and the moment you gave him the okayâwell, he honestly couldnât say just what heâd be capable of.
âYou seem agitated, Spencer,â you pouted, shifting so that your legs fell in front of you over the edge of the bed. His eyes tracked your movements as he used your bedâs bedpost to steady himself, âjust how many times have you pictured me like this?â
âI could ask you the same thing,â came his frivolity response. To be frank, he knew the exact answer to your question, but the first thing that flew into his head and out of his mouth wasâto be sureâan edging reply. He watched how you interpreted it.
In a moment of unconsciousness, you glanced at the chifforobe across from you. Spencer caught that shit.
âOh?â He raised a brow, finding the confidence to step forward.
âDonât get any ideas, Reid.â You warned, but he could see the arguments going on between your eyes.
âNo, see: I think itâs your idea.â He corrected, a deep, rumble of a laugh fell from his throat, âSo, what exactly did you picture me doing with this thing.â He snorted and walked over to it, running a hand along the cupboard. You bit your lit, your dreams coming into clear view as if they were a film playing in front of you.
âSpencer,â you stood both embarrassed and a little annoyed.Â
You marched over to it at placed a hand on his shoulderâbut then you were against the doors of the small chifforobe and Spencer was whispering just above your ear, âWas this it? Your sick fantasies of me? Did they include me having you against a wardrobe?â
Your breath caught and you wanted to hide your face because there was no doubt heâd be able to see the truth without you having to voice any sort of answerâbut the jerk had his hand cupped around your jaw, and his grip was unimaginably strong forâwell, him.
He smiled and tilted his headâand God only knew what that did to your resolve. Your knees weakened and you found yourself whimpering. âSo, I guess thatâs a yes.â You found just enough strength to narrow your eyes and look somewhat pissed. He nodded, âthe shirt,â he tugged at the bottom.
You bit back a repost as he dropped his hands and stepped away, though he kept his distance close enough to where you felt his presence even after youâd lifted your shirt and he was out of sight. His eyes didnât leave yours, you admired his stoicism; youâd already proved you werenât any match when your eyes traced every line anytime you saw a sliver of his stomach, hips, neck, or forearmsâokay maybe you had a bit of an obsession, but could it honestly be considered that when the look he was giving you screamed âwolf in sheep's clothingâ?Â
âWhat other things have you thought up in that horny brain of yours, I wonder,â he spoke almost to himself, but his ever-focused gaze told you he was quite literally asking.
âThatâs not how the game works,â a cheeky grin reformed your scowl.
âRight,â he paused, turning his eyes to the ceiling for effect, âremind me?â
Your eyes roved from one eye to the other, and back again, searching for any hint of hesitation, âthis foreplay is kind of starting to get old.â
âYes, I can agreeââ you cut him off midsentence with a ravenous kiss. You could swear you bit him more than once, but he wasnât complaining. Your head lulled to the side as he trailed kisses up and down your neck, finding a spot he particularly liked just below your ear.
Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking, tugging, and pullingâwhatever got the most responses from him, you were doing. You threw his shirt to the side and pushed him toward the bed. He braced himself using his arms, though they were swiftly in motion again, wrapping around your waist as you stepped between his legs. âWhat do you want?â You asked, attempting to catch your breath.
He laughed, but when he realized you were serious he almost snorted, âWhat do Iâwhat do I want?â
âItâs a simple question,â you shrugged, âwhat do you want from me?â
Nowânow his eyes dipped, âI want a lot of things.â
You bit back another grin. Somehow in the few minutes, youâd been running around the room talking about how horny you both were, youâd ended up on the bed, your head behind a pillow. Spencer was between your legs, mouth-watering. Heâs waited so long, he honestly didnât think this foretold moment would ever actually occur, but God, was he glad heâd been wrong. Heavy, sinful eyes skimmed your lower body as he fumbled with the top of your shorts. His hands were warm despite the dreary weather outside, likely due to his recent shower. They pressed into your thighs as he brought his face just above your lower stomach, his name fell from your mouth in a whine, leading him to push aside the cover of your shorts. He drug a few fingers over your center.
Your moans sliced through the rough tension that had fallen over the hotel room. âWhat?â His snort was low and sloppy, âOh, isâ,â one of his fingers gently slid over you and your eyes shut, ââis this what you want?â His eyes traced the arch of your neck that was most exposed, the one lined with the red marks heâd left. The twitching beneath his sweatpants pulled a groan from his lips.
He swirled his finger around, feeling your wetness was more than inviting. âSpencer,â you cried, eyes flying open at the loss of contact.Â
âBe still,â he said, his voice wavering as he tugged everything off and discarded them on the floor. You watched him watch youâit wasnât until you noted the way his eyes narrowed that you understood he was outlining your formâso that he could vividly paint it in his mind for a later purpose.
âI asked first,â you frowned up at him.
âYouâre right,â he sighed, âhere: let me show you what I want.â
Your breath caught as he lowered himself, his face coming right up to you, and with the way he was drooling at the sight, you could tell heâd been thinking about this for a whileâit made you wonder if his desire had begun a lot sooner than yours had.
His mouth was warm, his tongue stroked up and down as far as they could go, and even when you thought heâd reached that point, he proved you wrong. Your hands knotted in his hair as you guided his head. His mouth was warm as he lapped up everything. You tried keeping your moan to a minimum, but when he stopped, your eyes popped openâhad you done something wrong? But no, he was looking up at you with those desperate, puppy-like eyes, âplease,â his whisper was grating, âI want to hear you.â
You swallowed, the ache building in you, âif thatâs what you want,â you nodded.
And a few moments later, you were calling out his name in a way youâd never called anyone name. This was so new, youâd never had a guy worship you like this and you couldnât fathom the fact that Spencer wanted to do it for your pleasure as well as his own.
You tried to hold it in, but your body had been desolate of attention for so long that you just couldnât anymore. You could hear him slurp, and God did it do something to your brain chemistryâ He considered you with clouded eyes. âAre you okay?â He frowned, pushing his body over yours.
Without giving him time to settle, you yanked his jaw toward your face with firm hands, he tasted like you and smelled of his shampooâand yet, there was still the unknown Spencer scent that seemed only his skin could produce. You lined his jaw with kisses, your heart pounding in your chest with every new groan that escaped him.
My turn,â you huffed, definitely the cause of the lopsided grin that spread across his mouth. Though his hair was a mousy brown, in the dim yellow lamplight, it was as dark as the wood that made up the vintage furniture. It looked windswept or like he had just woken upâand perhaps he had. It was no longer a deniable fact that heâd never feel this good with anyone else, and he didnât know how long this relationship with you would last, so he would milk everything he could out of itâand in exchange, surrender everything he had of himself.
It was only a few seconds later that you had him on his back, hands roving up and down his chest. You rubbed yourself against him, eliciting sweet sounds from his throat and friction from where you were just barely connected. You made sure to hold his gaze as you slid onto him. His jaw tightened and you could feel relief leave him as his chest fell. You tightened around him, trying to get used to him, you had to pause for a secondâyou couldnât believe you were doing thisâand in a moment of incompetence, you laughed.
âSorry,â you lowered your chest onto his and began chuckling into his neck, âitâs justâwhat would the other think if they knew?â
Spencer pushed your shoulder away and held you above him, âI guess itâs a good thing they donât, right?â
You nodded, but a small part of you wondered about what that meant for the after. Spencer groaned as you sat back up, you started slowly, hissing as you let him fill you. Spencer gave out his fair share of whimpers, but you wanted more, you wanted to make him cry.
You gripped his hair with one hand and the pillow beside him with another, you rolled your hips and wiggled every time you sat back down. Squeezing your thighs seemed to make him shudder the most, and when you added sucking to the mix, you knew you had him.Â
âThere it is,â your grin was devilish as you swiped at his cheek. He opened his eyes just in time to see you licking his tears off your thumb.
âI might ask what we are now,â you huffed a laugh as Spencer shut the bathroom door. He had been a complete gentleman about everything, cleaning you, massaging your shoulders. Youâd never had such an experience, youâd never thought there could be more to having sex if you only had the right partner; now that you did, there wasâŚbut you were unsure about yourself.
You found your mind questioning all you knew about Spencer and what this all meant to you. You had asked him what he wanted from you, but did you even know what you wanted from him? Before, the question might have thrown you offâthough Spencer had asked it, you werenât taking him all too seriously. Now that you had more time to contemplate your roving thoughts, you knew the answer as if it had been written in your DNA.
Spencerâs eyebrows furrowed as he sat beside you, you were facing the window and the chifforobe.
âWell, what else would we be?â He paused, almost hesitatingly. You jerked your head toward his, eyes searching, and as the seconds of silence ticked by, he seemed to fade more and more into himself. When he turned his head and averted his eyes, saying, âI meanâif thatâs not what you wantââ you cut him off.
âNo, I justââ you stopped yourself, unsure of how to explain the complications running through your mind, âIâm just not exactly sure what that meansâŚâ
A heavy sigh escaped his lips. You opened your mouth to clarifyâprobably more than necessaryâbut your words caught in your throat as Spencer stood and lowered to his knees in front of you. He was between your thighs, but there was nothing sexual about itâif anything it felt like the complete opposite kind of intimacy you had grown accustomed to with him.
His hands reached for yours, pulling them into your lap. He looked up at you with possibly the one look Spencer Reid had never given anyone. His eyes couldnât decide which one of yours to focus on for the longest time, but when he did, his tone was guttural and almost choking, trusting.Â
âThe more time I spend with you, the more I feel Iâve always known you. These past few weeksâthey werenât the beginning for me.â Your mouth suddenly went dry, though you still tried to swallow. âIâI honestly donât know when it started, but the more I felt drawn to you, the more I forced myself away. ItâI donâtâI didnât think I deserved to feel that wayâI guessâŚâ
You waited a few moments to ensure he was finished, your mind ran to look for the best possible responseâbut given the one-in-a-million situation you were in, your mind went blank. Instead, you rambled the first words that rolled into your mind just as you whispered the last, âI want you in every way, Spencer. Itâs likeâlike youâve bewitched meââ
â...body and soul,â he finished, âitâsâŚJane Austenâsorry.â He cringed.
You threw your head back and laughed, then huffed, wiping a few tears from your eyes, âNo, oh, no donât worry. See this is why I love you,â Your heart came to an abrupt halt, and you felt as if you were dead, ânoâI mean, I donâtâI mean, Iâwell, I do, but I meanââ
âItâs okay,â you followed his face as he stood and leaned down, his palm brushing across your face as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and leaned forward, âItâs okay, know what you meant,â the end of his sentence was muffled by another kiss.
âSo, do you think theyâve caught on yet?â JJ asked, taking a sip of her coffee.
âUhh, Iâd say probably not.â Emily nodded.
âWould you like the share with the class?â Morgan raised a brow.
âOh, I know this one,â Penelope hand shot up, her jewelry clinking against one another, âbecause â and Reid still think we donât know.â
âI mean how could we not, though?â JJ huffed a laugh, setting her mug on the table in front of her.
âKnow what?â Rossi smacked his lips, startling the group of four.
âKnowâŚthe complexities ofâŚnail polish?â Penelope tried and failed to save the group.
All four members winced as Hotch appeared seemingly out of thin air and stated, âthey think we donât know about Spencer and â.â
âWhat?â Rossi shook his head, following Hotch, âhow could we not know? Theyâre so obvious.â
a/n: sorry for the wait, but i do proofread my fics because i just can't stand things not being as good as they could beâi'm a bit of a perfectionist lol irregardless, happy late new year !!
Summary: Almost four months since Spencer came home and the fairytale that once was your life has come crashing down around you.
Warnings: âšď¸ ouch. Angst. PTSD. Taylor Swift âHow did it end?â coded. hurt/comfort. this hurt to write, donât hate me. Reid my poor baby has some stuff to work out.
W.H. Auden once wrote,
âWere all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky and feel its total dark sublime, though this might take a little time.â
Poetry was something you were no stranger to, given the fact you taught an advanced creative writing class at the local high school.
You once enjoyed poetry.
But now, when the words feel like knives aimed at you, you canât bear to indulge in the afternoon readings like you used to.
Instead, afternoons are spent in an apartment that somehow lost its warmth. Before, youâd claim itâs because Spencer was gone, that things would be brighter when you brought him home. Heâs been home for three months, a little longer, the weather has begun to change, warping into a melancholy winter. You sit at your desk, staring at your computer screen, spinning your engagement ring around your finger.
Youâve been trying to get back into writing, trying to revisit your archived story. Though, itâs hard to revisit a fictional romance mystery when thereâs nothing to inspire it.
Groaning, you delete half of the last paragraph youâve written and try to type something that isnât cliche. Pushing through the urge to stop, you write until the words flow thoroughly and thereâs a key turning in the door.
There he was, the love of your life.
Spencer trudges into the apartment and drops his bag by the door, his shoes find a home beside it. The circles under his eyes are darker than they were this morning when he left, he runs a hand through his hair and glances over at you when you stand with a grin.
âHi.â You do your best to beam, conveying just how much it excites you to see him.
âHi.â He mumbles, tossing you a tight lipped smile as he walks towards the bedroom.
Trying to push away the sick feeling in your gut, you turn back to your blind optimism and take your glasses off.
It takes eight steps from the bedroom door to the closet, it takes him three steps to pace and grab casual clothes. In about a minute, he takes off his day clothes and pulls on something that doesnât feel constricting. You memorized every foot step he makes in this home, itâs easy to focus on when you spent some time not hearing it.
By the time he comes back out to retrieve his bag and sit on the couch, you grab up your laptop and sit on the other end of the sofa.
Paperwork and files soon lay on the coffee table and you watch him organize and complete end of the day tasks. Patiently waiting your turn, when Spencer finally relaxes back into the cushions, you slide closer.
âHow was your day?â You ask.
He grunts. âNothing worth talking about. Oh, Iâm going to Connecticut next week to do a seminar, Iâll be gone two days.â
You nod. âThatâs exciting, right?â
He shrugs, then thereâs silence.
You scoot closer. âI was working on some things, I think Iâm finally getting back into the groove of it. You want to read the last chapter I made?â
He motions to the coffee table. âYeah, just leave it there and Iâll take a glance later. Iâm debating on if I want to shower before dinner or after.â
âI was thinking we could go out for dinner, we havenât in a while.â You offer with a hopeful smile.
Spencer frowns. âIâm not really feeling a social scene right now.â
âOh, yeah, no, of course.â You quickly say. âWe could do take out then, Italian maybe?â
He shakes his head. âWe shouldnât do take out anymore, itâs basically inviting a serial killer into our home, giving him some place to come back later when Iâm not around.â
Right. The paranoia.
You knew things were going to be different when Spencer came home, and you did your best to adjust with an open mind. Sleepless nights consoling him, countless days spent trying to pull him from his own mind. Through tears and breaking points and a few instances where he utterly scares you, you know heâs still your same Spence, but just a little hardened now. Heâs still the man who spent too much on a ring, still the dorky guy you fell for those years ago.
Things are justâŚa little rough.
âOkay.â You say to his statement. âIâll whip something up then.â
At the sight of your willingness to give something up, he feels immensely bad.
âNo.â He sighs, shaking his head. âNo, Iâm being stupid. Italian sounds fine.â
The bad habit of being too harsh on himself has been hard to kick, but itâs getting better⌠you think.
So you order Italian and eat in front of the television while Spencer fact checks what the characters are saying, criticizing the antics of these fictional people. It feels so normal, the whole situation, it makes you momentarily have amnesia, as if the two of you are exactly like before. You lean into his side and laugh at the sitcom, thinking that this Spencer hasnât experienced what he has, that everyone around the two of you still feel the happy affects of your love, that you test wedding cakes and look for a bigger place. A place the two of you can buy together and start a family.
âIâm gonna shower.â He says, rubbing your shoulder.
Looking up at him, you smile playfully. âWant company?â
There it was, that reminder that things werenât like before.
He kind of just shakes his head with a smile and leaves without anything else.
You know he doesnât mean to, but sometimes he makes you feel about an inch tall. He used to look at you with this heavy gaze, something needy, something that never failed to make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. His hands would find a home on your skin, he used to kiss for fun.
You donât remember exactly when he last gripped you in a way that wasnât just polite.
You know he has fears, he has it in his head that he is a danger to himself and you, that his hands are murderous, but it doesnât feel the best when youâre constantly rejected by the man youâre going to marry.
Rubbing your eyes, you clean up the dinner mess and then go to the bedroom to slip into pajamas. The floor length mirror shines your reflection, you stop to stare.
Maybe you werenât the first pick, maybe you hated what you saw sometimes, but the thing about Spencer was he was so sure that no one could ever do it like you. A slew of compliments heâd give you, the fever of his love was scorching.
You give the girl in the mirror a smile, then comb her hair with your fingers and smooth your tank top.
Silly enough, you turn to the side, wrapping your arms around an invisible bump, and you smile fondly at the thought. Two kids. A boy and a girl. Little geniuses. Thatâs what he and you would talk about. The next thing after he marries you, the next thing heâd do was give you a baby. He swore up and down at night when you laid with your head on his beating heart, heâd give you the family you craved and your face would hurt from smiling so much.
All plans are at a stand still now.
And thatâs okay, wasnât it? This was a rough patch and youâre helping Spencer get through it because youâd help him with anything-
The bedroom door opens, Spencer walks in and you step away from the looking glass.
âIâm going to get ready for bed.â You mumble, walking past him, cheeks burning red.
To say the least, Spencer feels horrible. Here you were, giving him your undying loyalty, holding his hand through all of it, and heâs the reason life has stopped. Youâre so brave about it, always patient and understanding.
He hates it.
You should be angry, you should be arguing. He knows his bad moods kill you, he knows youâre waiting for things to be normal again and they wonât. You get up in the middle of the night when heâs asleep and put on your wedding dress, just to smile at yourself and promise that soon, itâll be better. You think he doesnât realize, that heâs passed out, but from the bed he watches you turn in front of the mirror and bite your lip, the way you always do when youâre too pleased with something. Then he sees you cry, softly, hand pressed to lips so you donât make any noise and inconvenience him. You only let the break happen for a fee minutes, then you wipe your tears, take off the dress and tell yourself that itâs all alright.
Things will be okay.
What if they wonât?
What if it all just crumbles, every wall of the castles built?
Itâs not a matter of âwhat ifâsâ anymore, is it? Not when the two of you argue into the morning about things. Youâre trying so hard to give him the benefit of the doubt but when he isnât giving you anything at all, it makes for situations like this one.
Head in your hands, you pause for a brief moment and breathe before looking back up at Spencer. The two of you have been at this for about an hour and a half, all because you mentioned how unfair heâs being. Here you were, taking the scraps he throws to you like youâre a dog, and heâs saying itâs you who is unfair.
âI know you want things to go back to the way they were, but itâs not gonna happen.â He says in that bitter tone you hate, looking down at you, sitting on the mattress.
âI know things are different, Spencer.â You claim. âBut I didnât think I had to be okay with you hardly looking at me, or-or not baring to ask me a simple question like how my day was.â
He scoffs at you, running a hand through his unruly hair. âIâm sorry if my attention isnât devoted to you now.â
You stand to match his position. âDonât make me seem selfish.â You shout.
âIâm- youâre not selfish, I justâŚwhat do you want from me?â He questions, throwing his arms out and staring at you with absolutely no love in his eyes.
âWhat do I want?â You reword. âWhat I want is some progress. Every day I wake up, and I do my best to convince you that youâre not something evil, that these unforeseen circumstances donât define you, and itâs like Iâm stuck in a loop. I canât help you if you donât help yourself.â
A lump forms in your throat, your eyes burn but you canât find it in yourself to let those tears fall.
âThatâs the problem!â Spencer shouts. âYouâre looking at me like Iâm some sort of sick animal and I canât stand it!â
âYouâre looking at me like Iâm not the love of your life anymore, so I suppose some things change.â
Silence.
Spencerâs at a loss for words.
Your tears start falling now. You wipe at them with fever.
âIâm trying to give you time, Spence.â
âAngel-â He tries to interrupt, only to be stopped with the movement of your hand in the air, halting him.
âDonât. Donât be like this. I know this hasnât been easy for you, but I have felt so alone.â You say with a squeak. âAnd you just⌠donât care.â
He shakes his head, demeanor changing. âOf course I care!â
âReally? Because it feels like you gave up on me when you gave up on yourself.â You gasp lightly, trying to calm your shaking hands. âAnd thatâs mean, baby. I know you have been through so much and you lost the game of chance, and Iâm sorry- I am so sorry, but you canât toss me aside like I havenât formed my whole life around you!â
Itâs strange, standing in a room that once knew laughter and the warmth of your escapades. Only now, itâs ghostly and tired and blue. Spencer wants to defend it, wants to shout that youâre just not understanding him but itâs wrong. You understand him better than anyone ever has, and youâre immensely right, heâs abusing the situation. He knows all of this and canât help but back peddle like his life depends on it.
âIâm not trying to toss you aside, Iâm sorry.â He says, reaching out to grab you, deciding his touch canât be your downfall.
But you side step him. âBut you are, do you not understand? Use that smart head of yours to realize the instance here.â You plead. âIf youâre done trying, then I am to because I have no more to give. Iâm empty, you took it all from me, Spence. What do I get in return? Nothing, not even a fucking marriage.â
Thereâs a certain level of hurt that mixes with the anger and creates something crazy in your brain, makes it malfunction and all your repressed thoughts come out.
As you go to leave the bedroom, Spencer follows after. âWhat does that mean?â He asks.
You need to get out, these walls are whispering with your promises of a future, theyâre getting louder.
âYou arenât going to marry me.â You state, searching for some place to hide and sink away.
âOf course I am.â He claims, calling your name to stop you.
âYou canât even pretend like you love me, Spencer, you arenât going to marry me.â
A hand catches your arm and spins you to face him. His eyes are confused and reeling.
âI do love you, I always have.â
Thereâs a waver in his voice, is there?
I swallow. âSay it again. With feeling.â
âI love you!â
As the air leaves your lungs in a death rattle sort of way, you just canât feel the warmth. It makes sense, ghosts have no heat, no matter how beloved they are. You know he expects you to give a different statement than what you do, and it hurts when you tell him the truth.
âI donât think thatâs enough now.â
âDonât say that.â His tone comes out angrier than intended.
âI just did.â
One might describe him as a scared dog, one who lashes out now like he never used to.
âItâs not enough? Then why donât you just spare yourself?â He spits, resembling a man youâve never known, tossing your arm aside, probably too harshly.
The knife twists in your chest, youâre convinced youâre bleeding. Slowly, you nod. The ring seems to hold on for dear life, but you still pull it from your finger and offer it forward.
Everything inside of him feels sick as he reaches out his hand, watching as you drop the diamond into his palm.
With your heartbeat in your ears, you go to the door, sliding into your shoes and grabbing your heavy coat to brave into the weather. With Spencer calling your name, you shut the door on his impending questions of where youâre going.
Spencer stares at the door, and for a moment he canât believe it all happened like it did. But he said the words and you followed his lead like the faithful partner you are and now youâre gone.
It takes him twenty two minutes before he begins to really panic. What if youâre gone forever? What if some force is going to take you now? Where did you go? Are you cold?
And if you left, that meant heâs alone for good, alone like heâs always been. How could he do this to you? Heâs horrible, heâs a monster, all of those things heâs thought about are true.
He sets the ring on the counter, then throws the dirty coffee mug into the sink with such force, it breaks.
He paces the apartment while you stand at Penelopeâs door, your dearest friend you only know because of Spencer, trying to hold it together until she comes to find you.
âWhat happened?â She asks, taking in your appearance.
âI donâtâ know.â You sob out.
Two weeks laterâŚ
âŚ
âŚ
âŚItâs a weird feeling, having your spine split in half from carrying so much weight uphill for so long. You know a lot about weird feelings now, that empty space in your chest, Spencer sized, thatâs your new lover.
Penelope sets a duffel bag by the pullout couch where you hardly move from, sheâs been making trips to the apartment over the days to retrieve what you need.
âHey, lovebug.â She coos softly, sitting by your knees, petting your mess of hair. âHow was work?â
You open your mouth to tell her it was fine, that today was actually a good day, all the way up until Spencer texted you and asked if you wanted to move all of your things out.
A strangled sigh leaves your cracked lips.
This sums up how the last two weeks have been, and you wonder if Pen is a little embarrassed for you yet, the way you can hardly get out of bed.
âEmily and JJ and I are going outâŚwhy donât you take a shower and come with us? Itâll make you feel better.â She says in such a gentle tone, one sheâs learned that can get you to do anything.
It drags you to the shower, where you sag against the wall and do your daily crying. Then you get dressed and tame your hair and somehow make it to the bar.
Emily and JJ look at you with pity and you have no energy to be upset.
âReidâs not enjoying it either.â Emily offers in a corner booth, because the conversation has turned to discussing the loss of your life.
Pen and JJ nod in agreement.
The BAU feels like theyâre going through this break up at the way Spencerâs moods affect all of them. Theyâve never known his anger like they do now, how heâs quick to snap, how the littlest thing sets him off. Theyâll spare you, they wonât tell you how he swiped the picture frames off his desk, the ones of you and him. They wonât mention the fact that he hasnât smiled once, that he looks like he doesnât sleep.
They wonât tell you any of this but theyâll offer words of condolence or comfort, neither work.
âItâs going to be alright.â Emily encourages, squeezing your hand from across the table. âHeartache doesnât stay forever.â
JJ nods like itâs going to fix the way youâre as empty as a drum.
âWe all know how youâre feeling, donât worry.â She says, her perfect, Barbie doll smile.
It makes you sick. You really shouldnât take the anger out on anyone, but you do because thereâs so much of it and you canât stop it from flowing.
âYou know what Iâm going through?â You question her.
âYes, Iâve had heartaches too.â
You suddenly canât stand being here, you need to leave.
âYou can go home to a husband, Jennifer, you donât know how I feel.â
With those as your parting words, you flee, you tell Penelope you need air and youâll see her at her apartment.
While you brave the cold city, the three women ask themselves how it could have possibly ended like this, with the greatest love of all in shambles. JJ calls Reid, of course she does.
âYou need to fix this.â She tells him.
ââŚHow is she?â He asks, sitting on the sofa, eyeing the framed pictures on the wall.
âSheâsâŚlost. Sheâs ghostly, she-âŚSpencer, she loves you and she canât stop. Fix it.â
âI donât know how.â He says, monotone.
âHow did it end, anyway?â She asks, seeing Emily and Penelope return with more drinks.
Spencer sort of sighs, though itâs sad and broken.
âI donât know.â
- - - -
The air bites, itâs as cold as you feel, makes your bones ache. You wander in hopes of getting lost permanently, but to no avail, you know your city. Your city that feels so harsh and cruel, itâs one big reminder that you used to not walk the sidewalks alone, that you once stole kisses under streetlights. And as youâre walking down fifth avenue and memory lane, your feet drag you to the place you really want to go. In the time you left the bar and got frostbite from the early stages of falling snow, youâve worked yourself up enough to believe you could stand your ground. Your anger has made a platform to stand on, youâre at the top of the fucking podium by the time you knock on the apartment door.
Why are you knocking?
Your name is on the fucking lease.
You shove the key in the lock and barge in, mouth agape, ready to fire.
And then you see it.
The bedroom door is only halfway shut, but you see movement. In the room that is gray and sullen, Spencer stands with his back to the door, staring at the cascade of white that he has laid on the bed like a memorial, like it was an open casket viewing.
Your podium shrinks.
âI was going to wear my hair up.â You say, causing him to turn and face you.
Heâs tired, hair messy, unshaven, and those round brown eyes are the saddest things youâve ever seen.
âI like your hair up.â He says, the words echo off exposed brick walls.
Heart beats pass, ba-bum ba-bum in your ears and you quickly huff and bush melted snow through your hair.
âIâll get my things out now, if you want.â You say, choosing words carefully, eyes watching the way his avoid you.
âI donât have any boxes.â He says, fingers brushing satin and lace before he picks the dress back up, puts it in the dust bag and death marches it to you. âYou wouldâve looked beautifulâŚyou always look beautiful.â
How is it he can be so blissfully unaware? The smartest man youâve ever known and heâs saying things to break your heart, with no clue that heâs doing it. You take that dress- that beautiful, vintage gown with the hundred fabric buttons running down the back, and lay it over your arm, then rock back on your heels.
âI can grab what I can and come by when youâre at work to get the rest.â You offer, wishing heâd say all the things you want him to say, like stay and Iâm an idiot and I love you.
Spencer only nods. âYeah. That works.â
âOkayâŚâ You whisper, then drape the dress over the reading chair in the corner, the one too small for the both of you. You used to curl as small as possible on his lap with your legs over the arm and your head on his shoulder.
Every corner of this place is haunted.
In the closet, you pull the string and the lightbulb burns orange. You grab the two handheld suitcases, the ones you came home to find on the bed one day with Spencer telling you he was taking you to London while your school was on Spring Break.
When you come back out, Spencerâs left the room. There was no way he could watch you pull open the drawers where your things sat beside his.
With a knot in your throat, you fold and place things neatly and keep your cool like the mature adult you are.
That is until you grab the MIT t-shirt youâve worn in. Itâs a light gray color now, the neckline stretched so it only hangs right on you and not Spencer. Holding the ratty shirt you refuse to let him toss, thatâs when you decide you donât want to be a mature adult.
Youâre a teenager with a broken heart is what it feels like, the world is ending and your soul has been split in half.
One tear comes, and then another, and one more until your face is soaked with your desperation and mourning. You ball that silly t shirt up at toss it away, and decide those suitcases are insufferable and onto the floor they go.
You stare at them, the clatter they made did nothing for comfort. With a raspy sigh, you sink to your knees to put everything back inside, and your blurry eyes drift to Spencerâs socks that appear in front of you after he hears the bang.
Wordlessly and gentle, he lowers his tall frame to crouch in front of you. The look in his eye is fools gold, it makes you think heâs the Spencer he was before everything.
You look at him, sure you look like a mess but you donât care. Your chapped lips part and heâs prepared for the scolding, for your temper.
It doesnât come.
âWe were supposed to grow old together.â You sob out. âIt was gonna be you and me, Spence, wearing matching outfits when weâre eighty, going to senior discount days at the theater.â
Those are the words that bring him back to reality, and the fall is harsh and heâs mortified that heâs done this to you.
You hiccup for air, pushing his hand away that tries to grab the suitcase. âI was going to walk down the aisle to an instrumental version of Heartbeat by The Fray, itâs unconventional but itâs my favorite song.â
âI know.â He whispers sadly.
âWe didnât make a deposit on that little venue with the pond, they gave our spot away but thatâs okay, we were going to figure it out because we always do. We always do, Spencer.â
Youâre not even sure youâre making sense but he understands, you could go mute completely and heâd understand because youâre his person, who heâs ruined.
âI know. I know, baby, I know.â He keeps repeating, adjusting to pull you away from the mess and into him.
With no strength left, you have no fuel for the fight. You fall into him, face in his chest as he sits against the bed and hugs you like heâs not seen you in years. Itâs what it feels like, he hasnât had you this close in too long. His fingers press into your skin, the warmth is almost groundbreaking in feeling, makes him unsure of where to hold you because he wants to touch everywhere, all at once. A lifeless frame full of hunger, you canât move as you feel his caring grip in your hair, his lips to your crown as you canât seem to get a solid breath in.
âDonât make me leave you.â You plead, curling into him like a whimpering dog, clutching his chest to make sure thereâs still a heart in there that beats for you.
Spencerâs crying now, the familiar feeling of fear in his lungs that donât want to expand if youâre not around. He drags hair out of your face and presses his forehead to yours.
âI donât want you to leave. Donât leave me, donât leave me.â He says with the emotion of the man before.
And just like that, you waltz right back into each other, you know the steps. Sitting in your fairytale, on the cold hardwood floor, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you both determine this isnât the end of the greatest love affair theyâve ever seen.
Youâre not sure how long you stay like this, in his lap, face red and salty as you stare at your bare left hand, but eventually the tears stop for the both of you. Spencer is the first to speak, he gently shifts, his hand sliding up your arm and shoulder to rest on the side of your neck, as if heâs checking your pulse.
âIâm sorry.â He rasps. âIâm sorry for everything, all of it, every single thing I did and said and ruined. Iâm an idiot, angel, and you donât know how lovely you are.â
Like water to a flame, those words are cooling. The grief and remorse in his tone makes you grab that hand checking your lifeline, and hold it.
âIâm sorry too.â You say. âFor everything that went wrong and the fact I couldnât do anything about it.â
His chest shudders, he leans down and kisses your forehead. âIt doesnât matter, itâs over now.â
You tilt your gaze up to meet his eye. âIs it?â
Bless you and the ground you walk on that he should worship better. Spencer gently runs his finger down your cheek and across your jawline. He nods then. âYeah, baby, it is.â
hii! i lovedd 'lover's rock' sososo much and would absolutely love if you'd write more about that reader & spencer's relationship! maybe the way it develops or their dynamic when they are like 100% official? anything'll do but the way you wrote reader is so unbelievably me i was absolutely eating it upp!!! i love you & your writing!
Hiiiii!!! Thank u sm !!! Loverâs Rock got so much love, hereâs a part two!
My Spencer Reid requests are open!
Everybody Loves Somebody ~ S. Reid
Part II of Loverâs Rock
Spencer!Reid x Fem!Twee!Reader
Warnings: 18+ content, brief smut, reader gets wine drunk with BAU women. Reid being dirty, reader being dirty. Idiots in love, omg so cute, season 6/ 7 Reid is soooooo boyfriend. Morgan thinks Reidâs gone crazy. Um yeah okay enjoy
86% of Americans believe in true love, but only 67% of them say theyâve experienced it. Thatâs a statistic Spencer told you once.
How lucky you are to be apart of that 67%.
How lucky you are that you didnât settle, that you waited painfully long for it to feel right, because it feels so right.
Ever since that everything but casual hookup, it was like a stone that was always supposed to be in motion, finally started rolling. Spencer took you to dinner, a nice Italian hole in the wall because you mentioned a love of pasta, then he started to call at the end of the day just to talk, and a second date became of that. Itâs like he blinked and all of a sudden you two were spending all of his free time together, watching movies, his hand in yours as you dragged him to record stores.
He seriously thinks that in the moments youâre half dressed in his bed, rambling on and on about something you think is important enough to talk about until you practically pass out, that itâs all a dream and heâll wake up alone come daybreak.
It never happens though, he wakes and youâre curled into his ribcage like thatâs where you belong.
You do, he determines.
So three months of this honeymoon dance, the words âI love youâ come out unexpectedly in one of Spencerâs ramblings as the breeze blows in, feeling awfully like the winter thatâs coming soon. You were bundled up beside him, hand in his like it always is as he tells you about work and how Morgan is always after him about the âscandalous love affairâ heâs having with âbar room girlâ. Aka you.
âThey ask so many questions, itâs unbelievable the lack of privacy I have. You know what he told me?â He had asked, which you answered with âWhat did he tell you, handsome?â before he continued.
âHe seriously asked me if I was keeping my options open just in case you turned out to be crazy, clearly he had to be joking because there are no other options. Not that I would want another option! I wouldnât, youâre the option Iâll stick with- no not an option just, well, youâre you and I love you so I donât really care if you turn out crazy. Iâd see the signs by now anyway.â
You stopped your stride, looking up at him with wide eyes and a wide grin.
âWhat?â You question.
âWell Iâve been with you long enough to learn your habits and if you were crazy then-â
âNo.â You stop him. âYou love me?â
He faces you, realizing he had just said it. But even if he wanted to try and back track, he couldnât, heâs smiling too wide.
âYeah, I do. I love you.â
âGood. I love you too.â You say, watching your words click in his brain and immediately his hands are cupping your face and heâs kissing you in the middle of the sidewalk, leaning over you as you laugh against his lips. Spencer doesnât do PDA, or so he thought until he learned that itâs sometimes the only way youâll understand his feelings and how he canât put them into words.
You adore the sporadic behavior, getting kissed on sidewalks and trains and movie theater seats and anywhere else he thinks youâre far too beautiful in.
Thatâs what life has been like for six months together, madly and truly and deeply in love, deeply intimate in every word and touch and action. He goes to work and youâre the thought in the back of his mind as he crakes cases, you teach students and find yourself smiling at any free moment you have to think of when youâre going to see him next.
Now, the team has noticed the shift in their beloved Dr Reid, how he didnât go out with them like he used to, how he spent a lot more time texting, how heâd casually mention you, but Spencer was a selfish man who wanted you to be something of only his. He shared his whole life with his team and even if they were his family, he took pride in knowing he had an escape they didnât, which was you.
If the world got too much, you were there with your quirky outfits and strawberry lipstick to stain his cheek. You were his fix. Screw drugs, he had your laugh engraved in his head and that was far better than a needle.
That being said, there were times he was feigning, going through withdrawal all over again when he was gone for too long.
Like now. When heâs been everywhere but where you are for a week and three days just because he had back to back conferences and then fell right into a case.
He was tired and drained and felt a migraine coming on, painfully antisocial as he leaned back in the seat in the jet. Momentarily, he takes a second to breathe, then immediately digs his phone from his pocket and messages you.
He knows that youâre probably just getting home from the school day, that youâre probably sitting down at your desk to grade papers or work out lesson plans. Heâs learned your routine in and out, it might be a little stalker-ish if he really thinks about it, so many cases has he worked where the unsub knows where a girl is at 4:30pm.
Heâs no unsub, he just loves you enough to know everything about you.
Morgan, nosy like always, notices the way Spencer softly smiles at his phone.
âWhat are you grinning at, lover boy?â He asks, watching the way Spencerâs expression quickly shifts.
âNothing.â He states, putting his phone away.
Morgan smirks. âOh donât be coy with me, we all know youâre dying to get home to that girl of yours.â
Spencerâs brows furrow, he opens his mouth to deny but the words donât come. So he gives into it instead.
âSo what if I am?â He questions, making Morgan- and Emily who is now paying attention- laugh.
âAw, Reid, youâre all twitter-patted.â The dark haired agent says in a sweet tone.
Spencer presses his lips together and looks away.
âHeâs not even trying to deny it.â Morgan tries to jab.
Only Spencer just shrugs. âWhy would I try to deny it? Iâm in love with her.â
The two widen their eyes.
âThatâs a big word to use.â Emily hums.
âItâs a big feeling to have.â Spencer states. âYou know, Iâm used to feeling like Iâm slowly going crazy everyday but ever since I met her, I donât really feel it as intensely. Itâs all the chemicals released in my brain I think, the dopamine and oxytocin over powers anxiety. Maybe itâs a placebo effect or something but Iâve never felt better than I do with her, so in short words, sheâs cured me.â
For a moment, the two are at a loss for words, staring at their friend. Itâs no negative thoughts they have, because they are overjoyed that their nerdy, awkward sidekick has finally found a match.
âIâm happy for you, Reid.â Emily smiles. âSounds like sheâs a good fit.â
Spencer, who could never speak ill about you, nods. âSheâs probably the only one out there for me so yeah, sheâs a good fit.â
âAnd you have me to thank for having her.â Morgan smirks. âWithout me, you wouldnât have approached her at the bar, you wouldâve sat with your nose in that book and died alone.â
âWow. Very encouraging.â Spencer says dryly.
âI want to meet her. Iâm sure the whole team does.â Emily says, changing the subject.
âWhatâs that?â JJ adds in.
âReidâs gonna introduce us to the girl who makes him leave the office at a decent hour.â Emily states before he can protest.
You arenât going to like this idea, but the team is all talking about it like itâs the biggest news ever. Heâd get you to settle and agree somehow, just so Morgan will finally see why he is so infatuated with you.
Besides, Rossi is already planning a night at his mansion for the team just so Spencer can bring you along.
- - - -
You completely lose track of the time as you continue to prepare dinner in his apartment, adding homemade sauce to pasta, cutting up seasoned chicken.
Thatâs probably why you donât realize Spencer is home until heâs shutting and locking the door behind him.
He smiles in surprise as he sees you, dancing around his kitchen, hair clipped up in a messy updo, knee socks sliding around the floor.
âHey.â He speaks, causing you to startle and flip around to face him.
Immediately, youâre joyous.
âSpence! Hi!â You rush to him.
Heâs never been greeted so warmly until you, and now he canât have anything different.
His arms encircle your waist as you clumsily throw your arms around his neck. The first words out of your mouth are ones he had never heard that often before you.
âI missed you.â You say, hugging him tight.
He pressed his nose to your hair, soothed by your citrusy shampoo. âI missed you too. I thought we were going to meet at the restaurant?â
You pull back only enough to see his face, your hand in his hair. Itâs shorter than when you met, but itâs a good look for him.
âI know but I got impatient and figured I could surprise you with dinner. Is that okay? I suppose I could have asked. I used the key you gave me, I figured that the key meant I could stop in but I really should have asked, huh? Sorry, you know I get ahead of myself. Is this a violation of privacy-â
His lips find your rambling ones, immediately shushing you. Itâs a warm welcoming feeling, something the both of you have missed terribly. You sink a little more into him, eyes shut in bliss as you slowly mold your lips with his, savoring it, deepening it.
âYou being here is perfect, I gave you that key for to use. Thank you for using it.â He says closely as he pulls back, leaning his forehead to yours.
You sigh with a smile. âI really missed you.â
âI really missed you too.â
Thereâs a very peaceful silence for a moment, filled with your hands on his chest and your lips trailing over his face.
âHey, sweetheart?â He asks before you press into him again, a little deeper now.
You hum in question against his lips.
âWhere are your pants?â He asks, all muttered.
He really wasnât complaining if you decided a new fashion trend was wandering his apartment in knee socks and funky patterned boy-short underwear.
âRed wine tragedy.â You state, pushing his coat off. âThe cork wouldnât budge, I put a little elbow grease into it but the thing toppled over when it popped and it was like a crime scene. Red stain everywhere.â
He tosses the coat to the arm chair. âThat answers my next question as to why youâre wearing my Lacoste shirt.â
âMy clothes are in the bathroom sink, had to scrub them down, though I think they canât be salvaged.â You frown, turning back to the dinner, reaching for your wine glass.
Spencer just stares, watching how domestic it all is. You in his clothes, making dinner.
âAre you tired? Hungry?â You ask, looking over your shoulder at him.
âHungry, yes. Tired, not yet. Are you staying the night?â He asks, coming behind you, kissing the top of your head as he leans to pick at ingredients and snack on them.
âOhâŚdo you want me to?â You question, trying to be coy like you donât already know the answer.
âOf course I want you to.â He responds, making you chew your lip.
âGood, because my bag is already in your bedroom so it wouldâve been really awkward if you said no.â
Spencer laughs, squeezing your hip in affection before he goes to clean up and get out of his work clothes. He takes a quick shower, warm water rushing over him, but he doesnât want to be away from you for too long.
He comes out in sweatpants and a graphic shirt youâve finally returned back to him.
The two of you sit and eat dinner and you listen to every single word he has to say before you explain your day and everything you didnât cover in the nightly phone calls he made to you while away. Itâs sometime after cleaning up, after the two of you washed dishes while bumping hips, that Spencer notices the trickle of things that have made their way amongst his belongings. Some have come over time, like a collection of cdâs, books, scarves you constantly forget to grab on your way out. Some things are new, like the makeup products in the medicine cabinet, your favorite snacks in the fridge.
âDid you move in while I was gone?â He laughs, coming to sit beside you on his couch.
Your legs immediately are tugged into his lap, his hand rubbing your calves.
âWhat? No.â You state, taking your hair down. âI just came by to collect your mail and put it on the coffee table âŚand to water your plants.â
Spencer cocks his head, looking at you in question. âI donât have any plants, lovely.â
He watches your smile grow. âI got you some plants.â You say with a giggle.
That explains the golden pathos on the television stand and the small fiddle leaf fig by the window.
He thinks itâs charming, endearing. He noses your hair line, drawing you closer to him. âI no longer live alone, it seems.â He hums.
âDoes that bother you?â You question, leaning your head into the space between his collar and jaw. The perfect you size space.
Spencer is quiet for a moment, then he shakes his head and speaks something into existence that he probably should have taken more than a second to think over.
âNo, it doesnât. Actually, I think I want you to move in. Permanently.â
Why should he have to think about it? Itâs you, he wants you around 24/7. You could be his home, you could greet him like this always, your perfume could linger around like a friendly ghost.
âIs that a joke? I know you have an odd sense of humor.â You say, pulling back to look at him.
Spencer smiles gently, fingers tucking hair behind your ear. âNo joke. I want you to be here with me all the time, Iâm selfish like that.â
âYou arenât selfish.â You scoff playfully, but your expression quickly turns into one of concern. âBut-but are you sure? Iâm probably not a good roommate, I can be messy and I sleep weird hours. And I leave wet towels on the floor a lot, and sometimes forget to put the toothpaste away.â
Spencer shakes his head. âThatâs fine, Iâll pick up the towels and put the toothpaste away.â
You continue to fuss. âBut what about all of my things? I have a lot of stuff, youâd have to move things around and youâd get sick of all my shoes in your closet.â
âI donât have much in my closet as it is, Iâm fine with sharing. Iâll get another bookcase for your books.â
âBut-â
He cradles your face in his hands. âBut I love you and Iâd be happy to trip over your heels forever. Now, do you want to move in or not? You can say no.â
You donât want to say no.
âYour apartment is bigger than mineâŚand your shower has better water pressure.â You slowly say, cheeks still squished slightly between his palms.
Spencer begins to break out in a grin, but he lets you finish.
âAnd I could get to work fasterâŚand I like the thought of never having to go back to my apartment for clean clothes.â Then you pause and look back up to his eye. âIt would be nice to share something with you besides my entire heart and body and soul.â
How dare you say something so loving and honest, and just sit there like you were always meant to say these sort of words to him. Spencer is going to be love sick his entire life, he has no back bone, he is not a man but your man and this is all he has ever wanted. He starts to nod with starry eyes, slowly bringing his face closer to yours. âSo?â He presses.
âSo yes, I want to move in!â You say in a gleeful tone, throwing your arms around his neck as you rush a kiss to him.
You canât help the cheerful laugh that leaves you, it makes it hard to kiss when Spencer is doing the same thing, completely at your will as you nudge him to shift and lay down on the cushions, you falling on top of him.
This is usually how it goes.
Someone makes a small move and then both of you get carried away. Neither of you ever seem to mind. You could spend an hour kissing and doing nothing else, but you havenât felt the heat of him in ten days and nights, so youâre hungry for the breath in his lungs and the electricity in his fingers.
Spencerâs hands start to wander as you sit on his hips, kissing him slow and deep. They smooth up your thighs, over your underwear and up your back. Your mind is always as good as blank whenever those hands are on you.
âIâm never leaving again.â He declares, trying to work on the buttons of his shirt that you wear.
You sit up to help him. âThatâs not possible.â
âIâll find a way to make it happen, I only ever want to be here.â
You push the fabric off, leaving you in your lacy bra that he thinks is almost too pretty to take off.
Almost.
âRight here? On your couch?â You question sarcastically, fingers in his hair as he sits up to taste the skin of your neck.
âYes, on my couch, about to show you how much I missed you.â He clarifies.
Itâs blissful and exciting, how he ends up between your thighs, giving you relentless pleasure with no indication that heâs ready for you to return the favor. Heâd stay like this all night if you wanted, tongue on nerves, fingers drawing out pretty noises from your blushed lips. Itâs because itâs as good as breathing, having you reacting the way you do, tasting you in the most intimate way.
âSpence, baby.â You whine, legs threatening to shut.
Heâs working you up, pushing you closer to the edge, looking up at you with those big brown eyes of his. Your hand tightens in his hair, holding him close as you plead for your finish. Thereâs no need to beg, Spencer would give this to you all day long.
When you do get to that point, itâs throwing you into another existence momentarily. A rather desperate moan frees from your throat, your head digging into the arm of the couch. It makes you feel warm and shaky. You have to blink harshly for your vision to clear.
âI- mmm.â You hum as he comes up to kiss you, itâs sinful the way you taste yourself on his tongue. âI think youâre the most perfect person in the history of persons.â
Spencer chuckles. âIâd correct your grammar but I donât think your minds working at full speed right now.â
Itâs true, everything is slow and fuzzy, yet you still find the urge to ask for more.
âWe donât have to.â He says, wanting to make sure you donât feel obligated.
You never do, your drive just happens to be something he marvels at. In all actuality, heâs learned that he can match your pace, so itâs always fine. The two of you could spend nights on end falling into each other, either softly or with a hunger.
Tonight is probably one of those nights.
Thatâs how it seems when he has you in the bedroom after taking you on the sofa.
Itâs your shared apartment now, he could probably have you on every available surface. But he has you in his sheets, teeth dragging across his skin, bare and the most beautiful thing heâs ever seen.
Sex is never just sex with Spencer, even when it feels like it. Like when he comes straight to your apartment after a bad day and you offer yourself as a cure. Itâs never just using each other, itâs all feeling and praise and making sure the other is reassured and happy. Itâs nerves on fire and constantly stroking those deep, hidden parts of heavy pleasure inside each other that have never been brought to life. Thereâs borders pushed, you just let it happen because there is no way youâd ever want to say no and deny yourself the feeling of what he does to you. He has you arching with an empty head thrown back against the pillow as your tongue goes lame and you can no longer properly tell him how amazing it feels. Spencer has an idea, given the way you shudder and make the most criminal and attractive sounds heâs going to be replaying in his mind forever.
You learn a lot about care in the moments following bliss. Spencer could be compared to an animal of prey, the way he comforts without question, wipes tears from your face and does anything you ask of him.
âHey.â He calls softly, leaning up on his side, watching you with your messy hair sprawled on the pillow. âYou still with me, angel?â
You hum, head feeling heavy as you turn it to face him. Youâre thereâŚmost of you is.
You suck on your bottom lip like you always tend to do, not needing words as you nod.
His hand reaches for your cheek, thumb brushing the flushed skin. âOverwhelmed?â He asks in an intimate tone, one he only uses with you.
You curl yourself closer to him. âA lot of feelingsâŚI feel a lot.â You jumble, brows furrowed as you try to get power back to your limbs.
He hums, understanding, adjusting to hold you. âItâs the endorphins.â He speaks. âYou have a high release of them during sex, then it all comes crashing down post orgasm. Your bodyâs trying to regulate your dopamine, because you got a thousand milligram shot of it basically, and now the high is coming to an end.â
You love it when he proves just how smart he is. Itâs also insanely hilarious if you think about it, because he was just leaving bruises on your thighs as he pushed deep inside of you over and over, and now heâs explaining the science behind everything he made happen for you. To say the least, you were insanely in love with how much of a nerd he is.
âI feel good though. Not sad or anythingâŚjust sensitive.â You breathe out, somehow your voice trembles and squeaks, nudging closer to his skin like you need it pressed to yours or you wonât live.
âWhat do you need?â He asks in concern, tightening his arms around you like a weighted blanket.
You could cry. You wonât, but you could at the way heâs so caring and gentle. In what life do you do good enough in order to deserve him?
This one.
Shifting to see him face to face, your hand rests on his jaw, your thumb brushing the stubble there, and then traces to his upper lip. You like when he doesnât shave, it makes him look more mature.
âI just need you.â You tell him, continuing your slow rubbing motions. Itâs all you can say because youâre not sure heâll understand that you have the urge to be wrapped in his skin and bones entirely, like you could just absorb into him and be your happiest.
Spencer knew in all of those years of awkward strike outs and getting ignored, that when the day came when heâd have a you to tell him sweet things and caress gently, heâd have to recognize the feeling. Heâd have to be aware that this was a gift and to not be blind to the fact in front of him. The fact being that he has someone to love who loves him back just the same, and now he has to use that fact in every choice moving forward.
âHoneymoonâ months have come and gone and though the two of you did argue once in a blue moon, things were great and were going to stay great.
He thinks a lot about this as he stares at his book page, leaned back in a chair next to the sill of the tub you reside in. Warm water relaxes you, scented bath soap makes your skin smell fresh.
Youâre watching your painted toes pop up from the water, perfectly content with his hand twisting a strand of your hair around his fingers.
âI like my bedsheetsâŚtheyâre soft and broke in.â You say promptly.
âIâll take my sheets off the bed, you can put yours on.â He tells you.
You turn the hot water dial on and off with your foot quickly. âYouâll let me put my stockings in your sock and underwear drawer?â
âOf course.â
âYou wonât laugh at me when I come to bed in nightgowns because I spent way too much money at a 1960âs lingerie store?â
âDid you really do that?â He asks, looking down at you, taking better notice of your hair as he does.
You must have given yourself a trim again, your bang part isnât straight. Youâre always changing your hair on the whim and itâs never perfect, but it always looks great on you.
âI was really bored while you were gone.â You exclaim. âThe girls and I went shopping and I somehow ended up with lace teddyâs in four different colors.â
âWhich colors?â
âYellow, pink, blue and purple.â
âI like purple.â He nods.
You smile, then turn over to gaze up at him, arms resting on the edge of the tub. âI love you.â
He looks away from the inked words on the page and to you, resting your cocked head on your folded arms. âI love you too.â He says, leaning down and kissing your temple.
Then he drops the bomb.
âOh, weâre going over to Rossiâs and you have to meet the team.â
âNow!?â You panic.
âNo, no, angel.â He laughs.
- - - -
âMy hair.â You fuss.
âYouâre beautiful.â Spencer reminds, leading you to the escalator after you get off the metro.
Youâve made every excuse in the book not to go tonight, youâve worried yourself sick about absolutely nothing.
âIs Rossi really rich?â You ask, wrapping your arm around him as he crowds your space on the moving stairs, hand on your waist, not minding one bit at how you shrink into him as he faces forward.
âExtremely rich, actually. Sometimes I think I should write a book or two and live his lifestyle.â He tries to joke, but you merely groan.
âI shouldâve worn different boots, nicer ones.â You sat into his sweater vest.
âWhy didnât you?â He asks.
âThese are my nicest boots!â You protest, and Spencer just laughs because he knew thatâs exactly what youâd say.
He likes that fact, that he knows you well enough to predict the words from your perfect mouth.
His hand rubs your hip, feeling the thick material of your coat. âYour shoes arenât going to make them love you, honey, theyâre going to love you because youâre you.â
A frown pouts at your red stained lips despite the way you swoon over his sweet words. Spencer is always good at stringing together terms of endearment to make you feel warm and fuzzy.
âYes, Iâm me, and people tend to not like me for obvious reasons.â
He doesnât like those words coming from your mouth.
âI like you.â He chimes.
âYes but youâre weird.â
âThatâs no way to speak to your boyfriend who just put together a brand new bookcase for your things.â
You smile now, still clinging to him as the two of you head up to the night street. Youâll get a cab and youâll be unsteady all the way to Rossiâs mansion of a home.
âIâm scared.â You squeeze his hand, staring at the iron door knocker.
Spencer squeezes back. âThey pick on me, but they wonât pick on you. Besides, if you want to impress Rossi, just say a few things in Italian and tell him about your year abroad.â
âVuoi fare sesso con me?â
His brows draw. âWhatâs that mean?â
You bite your smile. âSomething I really canât say to your boss.â
He rolls his eyes and knocks on the door.
This is the end. Theyâll hate you, youâre sure of it and then Spencer will break up with you because his team will tell him he should ditch you and-
âReid! Youâre finally here!â An older man opens the door, dark hair slicked back, maintained facial hair, gold chain. He quickly ushers the two of you inside.
When his attention is turned to you, he is warm and inviting, introducing himself as David, calling you Italian terms of endearment, leading you to his living room after taking your coat.
The team- more like a family- is all talking amongst themselves with drinks in hand and laughing.
Youâre thrown into the mix and come to realize you made it all up in your head.
The wine helps.
While the others are still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that Spencer Reid who doesnât shake hands is showing signs of PDA, the girls who have been plotting for some time are pulling you away from him.
Spencer watches your eyes widen and he opens his mouth to suggest that maybe itâs not the best idea but Morgan sits him back down.
Thatâs how you end up in the guest bathroom with a bottle of wine and three women who ask you question and question. And as the four of you get tipsier and tipsier, all nerve is lost.
âWe moved in together.â You say after handing the bottle to Penelope.
The three exclaim in surprise.
âHe never tells us anything.â JJ frowns, possibly the most lightweight of them all.
Emily, who you learn gets more buzzed off of energy than anything, snickers a bit. âSorry, I just got the image in my head of Reid sleeping in a twin size bed next to yours.â
The rest of you join her laughter.
âWe share a bed.â You state, wondering why you thought these women were going to be monsters.
âAw does he wear his pajamas and night cap too?â Penelope giggles. âOh! Oh! Does he snore?â
She proceeds to imitate a very fake yet cute way of snoring.
âNo, no. You guys have no idea what youâre talking about. He-heâs very normal, no striped pajamas, no oil lamp-â
âHa! Oil lamp, thatâs a good one.â JJ snorts.
â-just normal night routines, normal sex life, normal-ish sleep schedule.â
The three pause and you donât even realize what youâve given them.
âNormal sex life?â Emily questions, leaving you to drink from the bottle in confusion.
âHuh?â
âYou said normal sex life.â Penelope presses.
âOhâŚyeah.â Your cheeks go red.
The three cringe.
âOh, ew.â
âYeah, thereâs no way Reid has a sex life and I donât.â
âIâm never gonna get this image out of my head.â
Meanwhile, in the living room, Spencer is getting a similar interview.
âYou love her?â Rossi asks with a proud smile.
âI do.â Spencer nods.
âSheâs going to be moving in next.â Hotch jokes, fully being satire.
âNo, sheâs already done that. Iâm going to marry her next.â
The men freeze and their eyes widen.
Their Spencer Reid, the young genius with a funny haircut who was just 24, is sitting here now talking about marriage.
âYouâre too young for that, kid.â Rossi states, the others seeming to agree.
Only Spencer has thought of this for countless nights. Sure, he isnât going to marry you tomorrow but he is going to marry you.
âIâm thirty, thatâs a very average time for a man to marry. Besides, why would I push it off? Iâm not waiting to be sure if sheâs the one, I already know that.â He says like itâs so simple.
Thereâs no reasoning with him because he already has his reasons. The men realize this and accept it, because who were they to try and damper his mood? Everybody loves somebody, and Spencer finally fits that description.
- - - -
Crash
âI broke your plant.â You frown, stumbling over your feet, clinging onto Spencer as he pulls you through the apartment.
âThatâs alright, it was more your plant than mine.â He reassures, trying to get you to the bathroom.
He knew he shouldnât have left you with JJ, Prentiss and Garcia for that long. Now all three of you were wine drunk. Heâs just grateful he only has to take care of you. Emily passed out on Rossiâs couch, Morgan was trying to wrangle Penelope when the two of you left.
âYour friends are nice.â You slur, hair in your face as he flicks on the bathroom light and sits you on the closed toilet seat.
âYeah, real nice.â He huffs, pulling your hair up into a bun before going to grab your toothbrush.
âYouâre mad?â You frown, mouth opening as he starts to brush your teeth for you.
Spencer looks down at you, one hand holding your chin while the other works the brush back and forth. âNo, angel, never at you.â He reassures.
Once that task was tackled and he helps remove your makeup, he supports you all the way to the bedroom where he sits you in the bed and crouches to unzip your boots and pull them off.
Your eyes squeeze shut in hopes to get rid of the blur, and you yelp as he tugs your stockings down too roughly on accident. As your head hits the mattress, you erupt in a fit of giggles. Spencer can only apologize with a smile and kiss your knee.
âYouâre taking my clothes off.â You state the obvious.
âYes, I am.â He says, sitting you up after he pulls off your skirt to pull your sweater over your head.
âCareful now, Iâm a married woman.â You joke, pulling at his sweater vest.
âOh, are you?â He questions, pushing your hands away. The action draws a childish whine to escape you.
âNo, sadly Iâm not. Iâm a spinster.â You sigh.
âThatâs not what that means, lovely.â Spencer laughs.
âDoesnât matter! Take off your clothes.â You whine and pull at the sweater again.
âHey, Iâm trying to get you ready for bed.â He dodges your advances once more, though itâs hard when youâre begging for a kiss.
Spencer kisses your nose and then goes to the dresser to retrieve a t shirt to slide on you when youâre just down to your underwear.
âI want a real kiss.â You frown, refusing to get in bed until you get it.
Spencer leans to softly peck your lips, once, twice, three times.
âGet in bed, Iâll get you some water.â He says, pulling back and motioning to the pillows.
With an audible humph, you do your best to crawl to your spot and slide into the sheets that came from your old apartment.
Spencer returns quickly with a glass of water, sets it on your bedside table and proceeds to get changed himself, well aware of your gaze.
âSpencer?â You question.
âYeah?â
âYou should make me your wife, Iâd be a good one.â
He looks over at you, mostly covered in darkness accept for the light coming in from the window. You look so peaceful, watching him with love, saying the most perfect things.
âI know you would, pretty girl.â He smiles.
Youâre satisfied with that answer.
Patting the empty space, you beckon him to your side, wanting to be tangled together. Spencer comes to his side of the mattress, the side closest to the door, and slips under the covers and helps you adjust into him.
Mostly incoherent, you speak. âWe could get married, I could change my last name to Reid and weâd be the smartest couple around, you and me.â
Spencer hums, lying on his back as you nuzzle into his chest. âThat sounds pretty nice.â
âI wonât ever ask for a divorce either, I wouldnât even spend all your money.â
âIs that what you think wives do?â
You shrug. âThatâs what my dad says about my mom.â
Kissing your head, he beckons you to go to sleep and you could continue this conversation another time.
ââŚTake your clothes off.â You say, shut eyes and mischievous smile.
bombshell of the bau was soo good, I need more of those two pls!!!
Aghhhhhh thanks! Okay, upon popular demand, hereâs a part two.
Bombshell Of The BAU~ Part II
Spencer Reid x Fem!Agent Reader
Summary: With all the attention you get, itâs hard to hide something as scandalous as what you and Spencer have going on. Often times, it comes down to stolen moments and too close calls.
But you donât expect the team to find out the way they do.
Warnings: Tehehehehe. Okay, 18+ content, suggestive material, smut, MDNI, um theyâre so cute! Morgan being a c!ck block on like too many occasions, slight voyeurism kinda?? Exhibitionism kinda? Two second mention of Reidâs addiction. Reader gets hurt by UbSub but sheâs fine. Idk, enjoy.
âYou sure you donât want a drink?â Emily asks as she walks with you down the hallway.
You pull the clip from your hair so it softly falls down around your face. A sigh leaves your pouty lips that are long gone of lipstick.
âAfter the day I had? Iâd much rather take a very long shower, order room service on Hotchâs dime and watch Sex and The City.â
Emily laughs. âThat sounds pretty perfect to me. Hey, did Morgan really make you crawl up in that attic?â
A shiver runs through you. âI donât want to relive that trauma.â You claim.
She rubs your arm affectionately. âWell, you try your best to recover.â
âIâm a fighter, Iâll be okay.â You say dramatically, flicking your hair out of your face.
Emily drops you off at your door. âCall me if you need anything.â She says.
âAw, sugar, I can always count on you.â You place a kiss on her cheek, the way you always do as a goodbye to your female agent friends.
You dig the room key from your pocket and press it into the slot. Though, you donât push the door open, you instead look to the elevator where Emily disappears in, headed down to the lobby where most of the team resides.
When the coast is clear, you briskly turn further down the hall, passing multiple doors until you come to stand at the right one. Sparing another glance over your shoulder, you raise your knuckle to the wood.
The door opens after two knocks, and that arm raised in the air is grabbed and tugged, making you fall swiftly into the room.
You let out a soft giggle, though itâs cut off by an equally smiley kiss.
The door clicks shut behind you as you wrap your arms around his neck.
âSpence.â You sigh dreamily against him. âLong time, no see, handsome.â
He pulls back to look down at you, that lopsided smile you love so much, playing on his lips.
âI saw you this morning at the station.â He reminds, letting his hands roam up your sides to hold your face.
Heâs learned how to be comfortable in his actions, knowing now that you arenât going to push him away when he reaches out. For three months, the two of you have been hiding this well kept secret, and maybe it was wrong to keep something like this from the team butâŚ
Both you and Spencer agree that itâs nice, having something to yourselves.
So thatâs why the two of you steal away any moments you can, like being on the same hotel floor after solving a case.
You give a pout. âBut Iâve been stuck with Morgan all day. He was so cruel to me.â
Spencer matches your rutted lower lip. âOh, he was cruel, huh? How was he cruel, angel?â
You love it when he calls you that.
Your hand slips into the hair on the back of his head, itâs definitely gotten a little longer.
âMade me follow him all around town, boosted me up into an icky crawl space to search for evidence.â You explain, trying to kick your heels off.
âOh, you poor thing.â Spencer jokes, his thumb rubbing your cheek.
âIt was a miserable, miserable day.â You sigh, dropping a few inches in height once your shoes are off. âBut Iâm here now and let me tell you, Iâve been thinking about you all day.â
Spencer gets that slight blush he always does. âHave you?â
âMhm.â You nod, pulling him down for another searing kiss.
Instantly, lips are parting and heâs tasting that unique-to-you taste of your tongue. Maybe itâs a placebo effect, but after awhile, heâs addicted to that sweet flavor that lingers on your lips.
You sigh and melt into him, ready to forget about all the work the two of you went through today. Taking your hand, you grasp one of his and bring it down to your belt. He gets the hint, then quickly tries to get you out of the clothes you canât bear to be in any longer than you need to be.
While you pull his tie loose, he pulls the concealed carry holster from where it was tucked inside your waist band. He sets it on the nearby table, then pulls your shoulder holster off. You chuckle against him as you pull his own fire arm off and join it with the other two.
âSo many guns.â You comment.
Without a risk in the way, he untucks your blouse. âOccupational hazard.â He adds.
Slowly, articles of clothing are making a home on the floor, and once youâre down to your underwear, youâre falling onto the bed with a laugh.
âYouâre on my hair.â You wince.
âSorry.â He adjusts, gripping your waist as he flips the two of you over.
Knees on either side of his hips, youâre free to do the thing youâve been thinking about all day. Your favorite thing is the little gasp Spencer gives you when you first create a dizzying friction against him. You absorb it with your mouth on his, hands on his cheeks, manicured nails slightly pressing into his skin. You still havenât figured out what flips inside of you, or what it is exactly that he does that makes your brain think âI want to eat himâ.
âWhat time are we flying out tomorrow?â You ask, placing his hands on your hips.
His fingers flex into your skin, and drags you against his lap.
â7:00.â He answers, knowing how much you hate early mornings, and long flights home.
âI have a bone to pick with that Hotchner guy, I think heâs out to get me.â You huff. âHe ships us out when the sun comes up, he puts me with Morgan all day, and he never lets me hang around when youâre doing paperwork in the briefing room.â
Spencer, much more brave now, trails his lips down your jaw and neck.
âThatâs because youâre distracting.â He states.
You gasp. âI am helpful!â
âHelpful when you have your hand between my legs under the table?â
You giggle. âIâm helpful in more ways than one, baby, and you are no better than me.â
With a slight disbelief of his eye, he pulls away from tracing your pulse with the tip of his tongue, and shakes his head at you.
âHow am I no better?â
You slightly tug at the ends of his hair. âSpence, you almost got us caught when you shoved me into the conference room on your lunch break and Emily was looking all over for me.â
He smirks, feeling all too proud of himself for that bold move. âIt was my lunch breakâŚI was having lunch.â
Ever since Spencer learned how much he enjoys his face between your thighs, itâs like heâs a junky all over again and can only go so long without making you fall apart for him. You remember thinking that there was no possible way the two of you could get away with it as he pushed your skirt up and sat you on the edge of the table, kneeling before you. You also remember thinking this was one of the hottest things he has ever done.
In the beginning, you were worried that he thought you only wanted sex. The sex, itâs great, itâs âŚwell, itâs wow. But being with Spencer means laughing more than you ever have, spending days off together, holding his hand in public and going to as many bookstores as he likes. Itâs all so much more than you ever had before.
At work, itâs the same as itâs always been, you shamelessly flirt and Spencer, being the victim of your sultry ploys, keeps stumbling his words and hardly ever raises red flags.
Sure, the team noticed that heâs a little more out of his shell, has more confidence about him, but they just think he started believing all those compliments you tell him. In all actuality, he just feels proud that he has someone like you in his life, whose socks end up in his laundry and who leaves lipstick stains on the collars of his shirts.
Fingers trace up your spine, raising goosebumps on your skin as they aim for the clasp of your bra. Heâs getting pretty good at undoing the hooks.
But just before he can try to beat his time, a knock comes from the door.
The two of you pause, your lips pull back, your fingers leave his hair.
âWhat do we do?â You whisper.
Panting slightly from the lack of oxygen he receives when your tongue is slotted to his, he just shrugs. âMaybe theyâll go away.â
Just like that, your hips continue their motion and heâs going to free your chest.
Another knock.
âReid, itâs Morgan.â The voice comes.
Spencer lets out a rather irritated huff, his eyes shut as he swallows hard, willing the man to just go away.
âReid! Open the door.â
Nope, heâs not leaving.
âSon of a bitch.â He grunts.
âOh, watch that dirty mouth, Doctor.â You tease as he pulls you off his lap.
He stands, running through mathematical formulas to try and calm down in his boxers. He scoops up a sweatshirt that lays on the back of the desk chair and pulls it on. In a panic, you roll off the bed and hide behind it on the floor, trying to be as quiet as possible.
âReid-â
Spencer pulls the door open. âWhat?â He snaps.
Derek is surprised by his bluntness, but he takes in his disheveled appearance and is more confused.
âWhat were you doing?â He asks.
âR-reading.â
Derek looks at his bare legs. âWithout pants on?â
Go away, go away, go away.
Spencer breathes out. âI was about to take a shower. Now, whatâs up?â
Morgan folds his arms over his chest. âEverybody is downstairs, donât be a loner up here.â
Spencer shakes his head. âIâm pretty tired so uh, Iâm gonna turn in.â
Morgan looks at him for a moment too long. âYou sure youâre okay? You seemâŚflushed.â
âIâm fine, Morgan, really.â He reassures.
Laying face down on the carpet for a few minutes while the two men hash out whatever it is Morgan needed to, you come to the realization that youâre actually exhausted. By the time Spencer finally gets Derek to leave, youâre sitting yourself back up on the bed with a frown.
âWhat is it?â His brows furrow as he sees your expression.
Never have you ever had a partner so attentive, so loving in every touch they gave you. But Spencer runs his fingers through your hair as you tell him how you long for sleep, and he reassures you that it was okay you werenât in the mood anymore.
He brought your bag from your room to his, though you truly just fell asleep in a t shirt and panties.
In the morning, you pretend you were in your room the entire night, and you meet the team in the lobby, fresh faced and ready to fly home.
âWhatâs your plans for this weekend?â Morgan asks after discussing with Emily what sheâll be doing.
You, who is currently taking up too much space on the couch, look over at the pair and shrug.
âIâll have you know I have a very hot date with my bathtub when I get home and a very big plan to clean my apartment.â
That was all a lie.
Youâd be over at Spencerâs this weekend, youâd be spending all your time with him, acting like a normal couple in public, having dinner and heâd get flustered when youâd kiss him in public.
But the team canât know that.
Spencer comes back from the back of the jet, only to see his spot on the couch has been taken by your legs. He stares at you for a moment.
âOh, Iâm sorry, did you want to sit here?â You innocently question.
âYeah, Iâd prefer to.â He nods, watching you smirk.
âAll you have to do is ask nicely.â
âPlease?â
You sit upright, planting your feet on the ground. âAlways so eager to beg.â
Emily laughs, Spencer goes red in the face.
To them, itâs exactly how it always has been between the two of you.
He sits beside you, not too close, but your fingers twitch to reach over and touch him. Your nails go to your mouth instead to keep them busy.
Without truly paying attention, Spencer reaches over and tugs your hand away from your mouth and instead hands you a sucker he pulled from his bag.
Itâs such a domestic act that though thereâs nothing too suggestive about it, Emily notices. She clocks the behavior as something a little odd. Sure, you and Reid have always been close but since when has he carried around things for you?
Truly, you shouldâve known that Emily would be the first to suspect something, but you continued on blissfully, believing that the team was so caught up in everything else that they wouldnât catch what was happening right under their noses.
âThe station was able to get us last minute rooms but thereâs only four available, some of us are going to have to double up.â Hotch says nearly a month later on a case in a small Texas town you were only supposed to be in for the day.
But when the case turned into something far more complicated than anticipated, the team opted to stay for a bit longer.
The team shares a few looks as Hotch holds the motel room keys in his hand, all knowing that he wasnât about to bunk in with Rossi anytime soon.
âIâm not sleeping with Reid.â Morgan declares as he begins to feel like itâs going to be assumed. âMake the girls share a room.â
All three of you begin to protest, knowing youâre fine with sharing but not fine with Morgan making that decision for you.
He holds his hands up in surrender.
JJ, always such a leader, looks to you. âIf you and Prentiss want to share, Iâll bunk with Reid.â She sighs.
Spencer starts feeling like heâs a child again, watching his parents talk about custody, knowing one parent truly doesnât want him.
The suggestion, though innocent, has your nails pressing into your palms. Itâs a terrible idea in your mind, because here is a chance to stay with your golden boy for the night and itâs getting taken away.
âIâll stay with Spencer, I donât mind. Is that okay with you, Spence?â You turn to look up at him, innocent smile, sultry eyes.
âOh, uh, yeah, sure. Fine- itâs fine with meâŚIâll take the floor.â He stutters awkwardly, sealing the deal with a cricked smile thatâs very Spencer Reid.
Hotch narrows his eye as he hands you a room key. âKeep the flirting to a minimum.â
âHow can I when he just makes it so easy?â You joke, taking the key.
As you grab your bag, Morgan begins to uncontrollably laugh.
âGo easy on him.â He jokes. âHeâs a romantic.â
âMorgan.â Reid sighs, following behind you.
âYou have a fun sleepover! Hey, you still got that whistle? Yell fire if she gets to be too much!â
I glanced back at Morgan, shaking your head before looking to Spencer. âCome on, lover boy, I donât bite.â
âYes you do.â He mutters.
âOnly sometimes.â
Hotch prays heâs not going to get an email from HR. Heâs already hearing it from Strauss, a meeting needs to be set up for inappropriate conduct between coworkers, and everyone knows Garcia and Morgan arenât the only ones to blame, not when youâre addressing Spencer as âhandsome geniusâ in work emails.
The door clicks shut and you turn the lock, letting out a sigh and taking in the modest room, everything decorated in a dated western fashion.
âWere you serious about taking the floor?â You ask, causing him to look back over to you.
âIf you want me to, yes.â
Bless him and his gentleman qualities, it has you wanting to jump him in the most passionate way.
âNow, why would I want you to be down there when Iâll be up in the mattress all alone? Here I thought you had a high IQ.â You tease, opening your go bag. âYou mind if I shower? You could join me if you want.â
The offer is tempting.
âI better stay here in case someone comes knocking, might be a little suspicious if weâre both dripping wet at the same time.â He says, feeling proud that he still can think logically, though itâs far too hard when youâre around.
A smirk pulls at your soft lips. âI thought I was the only one who knew anything about being dripping wet.â
Spencer becomes flush, his cheeks burning as he says your name, prompting you to stop your explicit behavior.
âSorry, baby, itâs just so easy.â You come to kiss his jaw before finding your way to the bathroom.
The shower is warm and the low light in the bathroom is soothing, you rinse clean and shampoo your hair, making the steam smell like your scent. Spencer browses the minimal television selection, then fights his urge to unmake the bed because he knows youâll want to adjust the blanket and sheets a certain way.
âThe water pressure is surprisingly good.â You say after about fifteen minutes, coming out, releasing that waft of steam.
Toweling your hair, you come back to your bag to find your various travel lotions, though you donât get very far because Spencer is looking at you like you just hung the moon.
âWhat?â You ask, slightly adjusting your robe with an unsure smile.
He smiles softly. âI justâŚitâs unfair how beautiful you are in every form.â
Your heart swoons like it always does when heâs around.
âYou have no room to talk, mister.â You remind, abandoning the skin care and come to stand between his knees that he parts for you.
Your finger traces the line of his jaw as his hands gently place on the backs of your thighs.
âYouâre so sexy with your hair pushed back like this. Did you start wearing it like this because you knew it would drive me crazy?â You ask coyly, half teasing, running your fingers through it.
âItâs getting long.â He says.
âNonsense, I love it.â
âYou love everything.â
âI love you.â
The two of you pause. Those are three words you havenât exactly expressed often. Itâs been said, in a ramble from Spencer where it just came out and you had beamed up at him like youâve won a prize.
Now, you say it with certainty, and he wants to hear it again.
âI love you.â You say with more intensity, leaning down to where you have his face in your hands, holding him there as you kiss him.
âI love you too.â He mumbles against your lips.
You donât pull away when he slowly reaches for the tie of the silky robe, youâd never reject him.
Heâs already lost his shoes and socks, his tie and the top buttons of his shirt, but he loses more as you help him. Further up on the bed, you let the open robe fall off your shoulders, not feeling bashful as he studies you with his eyes.
Spencer could never look at you in anything other way than adoration.
âHotch is dumb.â You decide in his lap, placing his hands on your hips.
âWeâre taking advantage of the situation.â Spencer declares, face falling to your shoulder as you sink further down onto him.
âI feel no remorse.â You breathe.
This isnât the first time youâve had sex, the first time was a long time coming and it was perfect. So gentle and warm and everything the two of you craved. You laid in his sheets and traced the freckles on his skin and itâs a moment you think of often because you often donât get them.
Now, you have a moment and are seizing it.
âYou okay?â You ask with the drag of your hips.
âYouâre heavenly.â Spencer proclaims, tasting the clean skin of your neck.
âSpence.â You gasp, getting the hang of a rhythm. âFuck.â The word leaves your lips as soon as he thrusts up into you.
You and Spencer have always worked well together so this is no different.
Itâs addictive, the feeling stirring in you, the shear pleasure washing over him. He knows a thing or two about addiction and he can confidently say that you make him feel far better than any needle in the vein did.
At some point, with your hands in his hair, mouth hot against his, and his grip moving you how he wantsâŚ
Your phone rings.
At first, you do your best to ignore it, but it continues in an annoying fashion.
âNo.â You plead, trying to chase that oncoming feeling.
âWho is it?â Spencer breathes heavy as you reach for the device.
âEmily.â
His head falls in defeat, movements slowing, prompting you to answer.
You do your best to not sound aggravated as Emily asks if she can bring dinner by, but the idea of a burger does sound nice.
âYeah, we could eat.â You state, free hand over Spencerâs mouth to keep him quiet as your slow movements continue.
âLet me know if you need anything else.â Emily states in a kind yet suspicious tone.
âWill do, thanks Em.â
You throw the phone away, overwhelmed and determined to reach the high that was slowly slipping away.
âI hate our team sometimes.â You determine, frustrated that you lost momentum.
Not so gently, Spencer adjusts you to be on the mattress, taking over when you threaten to call off the entire idea because there was a stumble in the step.
âThey should just know not to call on the off chance two coworkers are breaking HR rules.â He jokes, entering you without hesitation, making you gasp out.
The roll of his hips is slowly bringing you back to the precipice at a dangerously fast rate, leaving your legs to shake a touch.
âEmily is going to be here soon.â You stress, digging your skull into the pillow.
âWeâll be done before then.â He assures, reaching his hand down to rub his thumb against your clit in a hot friction.
âEmily could stand here and watch for all I care.â You state, pleading for a release. âI just- I need it, baby, please.â
âI know, I know, angel, youâre going to get it.â
How could a man be so soft when heâs doing such dirty things to you? Itâs a mystery youâll never quite understand, but Spencer has always been a wonder, so this is to be expected. Heâs coaxing you to the finish, letting you suck on his shoulder to keep your noises down.
And when it happens after the build up of waiting for weeks, it hits like a tidal wave, leaving you speechless, open mouth gasping silently for air. Spencer is shuddering and pressing his face into that space between your jaw and collar bone.
You half expect a phone call, some kind of urgent message that will ruin this moment but nothing comes. Itâs just you and Spencer.
At some point after getting cleaned up, you lay side by side, limbs tangled. Your eyes threaten to shut at the way he traces the shape of your face.
âSometimes Iâm just waiting to wake from this dream.â He whispers, tucking hair behind your ear.
You hum. âItâs not a dream, thatâs what makes this so great.â
He shifts slightly, tilting his head down to brush his nose to yours. âSometimes I think it is, because in what reality am I really the person you choose?â
You donât like that, it obvious on your face. âIâd choose you in every universe, even if you donât choose me.â You say sternly, a hand pushing his hair back.
He likes when youâre genuine. Well, youâre always genuine, but you also always have a face on, one of coyness and humor. When youâre like this, emotionally bare, he likes you the most.
âIâd never not choose you.â He states before turning to kiss your wrist.
You want to comment about how romantic he is without trying, but Emily knocks like you knew she would.
The two of you spring up, thankful youâre already dressed. You take a calming breath as you head to the door, and Spencer quickly tries to straighten the wrinkled sheets.
Emily isnât dumb, she knows something is different, but she truly doesnât suspect anything yet, which is questionable because she has a perfect view of signs that indicate adult activities when she comes in to deliver the burgers.
She goes and tells JJ that the two of you act different, a little more guilty, but Emily doesnât know for sure until a completely different scenario comes about.
Two weeks later, when youâre sent into a living nightmare. Hotch makes the call to send you into the Unsubâs house alone first, you do it without hesitation because that is just how you do your job when it comes to the life or death of three missing children.
âHouse is clear, Iâm going down to the basement.â You say into the com on your vest, confirming your safety to the team.
But you speak too soon, the Unsub does something the profile was wrong about. Hotch sent you in there because he suspected the man to be submissive to confident women of higher standard.
Though you were cautious, you werenât expecting the Unsub to attack you at first chance.
You do your best to fight back and get the kids free, but youâre completely blindsided. Who knows what would have happened if SWAT and the team didnât storm in when they did.
When you sit in the back of the ambulance, in shock, a paramedic cleaning up the gash on your forehead, Spencer is there with concern and comfort.
âThe kids?â You ask.
âTheyâre safe, theyâre going to be okay.â He reassured, holding your hand between both of his.
âI didnâtâŚI shouldâve-â
âShh.â He frowns. âYou did good, angel, everythingâs alright. Do you feel okay?â
Your brows draw and you shake your head. âI donât feel well. Do I look well?â
âYou have a concussion, sweetheart.â He says, gently pushing your hair back behind your ear.
âAm I still gorgeous?â You ask in a dreamy voice.
âYouâre always gorgeous.â He assures, cradling your cheek. âYouâre just gorgeous with a head injury that youâre going to go to the hospital to get it looked at.â
Your eyes shut as you hum, the warmth of his palm runs through you. The two of you embrace gently, completely forgetting how casual you are supposed to be appearing.
The team sees it now, of course they do.
Youâll have to explain the secret youâve been hiding from them later, but now youâre just listening to Spencerâs voice murmur to you, wrapped in his FBI jacket, fighting the urge to adjust his hair.
in which you have to get your tetanus shot, and spencer is there to hold your hand. and⌠tease you. just a little bit. (bandages universe)
fluff
warnings/tags: needles/r has needle phobia, flirty!reader, idiots in love, teasing, not established relationship yet, anxiety, Spencer makes a joke abt his addiction, did I mention IDIOTS IN LOVE
a/n: works as a standalone, as do all the bandages fics I believe. anyway hope u like! <3
âSpencer, I donât think I can do this.â
He sets down his shoddy hospital coffee and grabs your knee to stop your leg from its rapid bouncing, exerting a gentle pressure when you donât immediately comply.
âYes, you can. Just breathe, okay? Try to relax. Itâs much harder for your brain to remain in fight-or-flight if your body is relaxed.â
âNo, itâsâI feel like I canât breathe right now,â you say, chest constricted in a vice of panic. âI think my heart is beating too fast, Iââ
Footsteps approach from the hallway and your head snaps up, cold dread filling every vein in your bodyâbut they continue past your door.
âOh my god, Iâm losing it. Iâm going to die here,â you rave, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. The gauze wrapped around your hand presses against your brow and beneath it a cut throbs dullyâa cruel reminder of what it is that youâre doing here in the first place.
Spencer gives up on trying to make you stop bouncing your leg, and instead the hand travels to your jaw to find your pulse. His fingers feel cool against your warmed skin, accentuating the constant thrum of your heart. You watch his face anxiously as fifteen seconds go by.Â
âYour pulse is pretty high,â he admits gravely, returning his hands to his pockets. Your brow knits at his sudden solemnity as you look up at him. âIâm not a medical doctor, but⌠we might have to take you to the hospital.â
Any trace of worry withers from your face. âTruly hilarious.â
The corner of his mouth turns up a little.
âSee? Youâre calm enough to make a sarcastic joke at my expense. If you were actually going to die I doubt you would be able to do that.â
âWanna make a bet?â you snap.
âDefinitely not,â he smiles, warm eyes alight and not at all fazed by your attitude. âYouâre the last person Iâd bet against.â
âHa,â you say bitterly, eyes darting to the door again. âIn that case I might just take my chances with tetanus.â
âI just watched you slice your hand open on a rusty fence, take down a man twice your size, and get ten stitches without flinching. Needles should be afraid of you.â
At least now your face is warming from the compliment and not the anxiety.Â
âItâs... different. Like, stitches and shots. Shots really fucking freak me out. I donât know if you could tell. Iâm sure I seem really chill about it.â
He nods sagely. âTrypanophobia. Itâs among the most common phobias in the world, next to Arachniphobia, Ophidiophobia, Acrophobia, Aerophobia. You have Astraphobia, too, donât you? Fear of storms?â
âSpencer.â
âI also used to struggle with needles, actually.â
You look back at him, suddenly curious.
âUsed to?â
âYeah, but I pretty much got over it when I got all the vaccines for my clearance at the Academy. Becoming addicted to intravenous drugs helped, too, but I wouldnât recommend it,â he muses, examining the art on the wall behind you and taking a sip of his coffee.
At that exact moment, the door opens and a very professional, very exhausted-looking nurse hurries in. You hardly even register her because youâre staring at Spencer, trying to figure out if you just heard him right. Heâs looking right back at you over the rim of his cup, eyes dancing with what looks like suppressed mirth.
The nurse says something, and you bless her with an âuh-huhâ, unable to take your eyes off of Spencer.
âI must be hallucinating,â you say.
âWhat? Youâre the only one allowed to make off-color jokes at inappropriate times?â
âI didnât even know you could make a regular joke, honestly.â
âYou ready, dear?â says the nurse, swabbing your upper arm with an alcohol wipe.
âAh! Spencer!â You yelp, thrusting out your hand for him to take. He quickly sets the cup  back down on the window sill and takes your outstretched hand, stepping closer.
âRelax,â he laughs upon seeing how your shoulders have risen to meet your ears. âDonât look over there. Look at me.â Gently he brushes a loose strand of your hair behind your shoulder, redirecting your focus toward him. At this point youâve gone catatonic anyway, so you donât resist, although it doesnât seem to matter much because youâre basically blacking out. âLiterally relax your arm. I'm serious. It will hurt less.â
âSmall pinch, darlinâ,â the nurse says, and you clench your jaw so hard youâre afraid you might break a tooth, and maybe some tetanus-induced lockjaw wouldnât actually be so bad, and sheâs touching your arm now, and who made that extremely undignified squeaking noise, andâ âAnd youâre done.â
You frown.
âIâm done?â
âYouâre done,â the nurse repeats. Logically she has no reason to lie to you about this, but you look over to check anyway because thereâs simply no way youâre done just like that. Sure enough, sheâs smoothing a band-aid over your shoulder and pulling your sleeve back into place.
You look back at Spencer as if searching for a second opinion, utterly baffled. He carefully frees his poor hand of your bone crushing grip and grabs your discarded FBI jacket from the chair, handing it to you.
âThatâs it?â you say, taking the jacket and absent-mindedly folding it on your lap.
âThatâs it. You did it.â
âReally? Thatâs all? I feel like it canât be that easy. I donât even think I felt anything,â you ramble, rolling your shoulder around, and finding just a bit of soreness.
âYou were so brave,â he nods, stepping closer to wipe something warm and wet away from under your eyes. âAmericans can rest easy knowing theyâve got someone like you in the FBI.â
âShut up. Am I crying?â
He laughs, and the twinkly sound fills you with even more joy than normal. Everything seems a little brighter, a little warmerâprobably another adrenaline rush or a result of your brain releasing a trace amount of opioids in response to the pain.
âJust a little bit.â
âYou two are FBI?â The nurse says, like she canât quite believe it.
Before you can tell her that you donât very much like her tone, Spencer nods.
âBehavioral analysis unit.â
âOh! You guys catch all those serial killers?â
He nods politely, giving her a flat smile. âThatâs the goal, yes.â
âWow. Thereâs a meet-cute to tell your children.â
You snort and immediately clap your good hand to your mouth, looking up at Spencer to see how heâll react. Of course heâs already red and stammering.
âOh, noâIâmaybe I misled you, weâre not, uh⌠weâre not together. Not like that. We are partners in the, in the sense of our job, notâweâre not romantically involved. Justâco-workers. Friends. Weâre, Iâd say weâre good friends. I mean, sheâs great. Sheâs very nice, and, wellâmaybe nice isnât exactly the right word, but sheâs, you knowââ
âSpencer,â you interrupt.
âYou ready to go?â he says immediately, looking very grateful that someone finally cut him off. Works like a charm, every time.Â
You stand, and to your surprise, wobble a bit on your feet. Spencer steadies you with a hand to your waist. âWoah,â you mutter, trying not to look too disoriented.
âYou need to eat,â he says. âWith how anxious youâve been you probably completely burned through whatever calories were in your system. Itâs a parasympathetic nervous system response to adrenaline.â
âI know what it is.â You grab his hand and turn to the nurse, who is looking at the two of you with a bemused, slightly clinical interest. âUm... thanks? Right?â
âOkay,â Spencer says. âWeâre leaving now. Come on. Go.â
As heâs herding you out the door, you keep trying to look at him over your shoulder. âIs it weird that I kind of liked it? Does that, like⌠point to something?â
âNever repeat that,â Spencer says, shaking his head, but you can hear the strain of a hidden smile in his voice.Â
You smile up at him as the two of you walk down the empty hallway, swinging his hand in yours.
âShe thought we were together,â you say, and itâs almost a gloat, though Spencer canât quite wrap his mind around what that might mean. Instead, he relishes the weight of your hand in his. He doesnât exactly remember when that became commonplace, but he never takes it for granted. He canât help the smirk across his face which always lets you know heâs going to say something snarky.Â
âShe just doesnât understand that you need constant attention or youâll die.â
Luckily, youâre used to each other. Quips are just one prevalent dialect in your vast love language.Â
âYup. Iâm a delicate, rare flower.â
Spencer scoffs lightly.
âYeah. Like deadly nightshade. Or water hemlock.â
âThose ones are pretty, right?â
He squeezes your hand. Imagines telling you that heâs in love with you and has been for a very long time.Â
Instead, he thinks about dinner.Â
âGorgeous. Where do you want to eat, Belladonna?â
for more of these two, check out the bandages universe masterlist!
You begin to have intimate dreams about your roommate, Spencer. [9k]
c: pining roommates, dreams, tipsy non-confessions, spencer being a sweetheart. fem!reader. this fic was requested!Â
・đŚšÂ°â§â.
i. a dreamt bruiseÂ
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
Your chest lists slightly forward as a body warms your back. Arms wrap around you, solid but gentle, arms youâve been held by a thousand times.Â
You cover them with one of your own. âWhat does it look like Iâm doing?â you feel yourself ask.Â
The room is golden, gaussian, better now heâs behind you.
âI donât know, dove. Thatâs why I asked.â His voice is soft in your ear. His hair presses to the side of your face as he hugs you âyouâve never felt love like this. Itâs palpable. Itâs in his hands.Â
Nobodyâs called you dove before, but he is, he has. It might feel strange if it werenât for how softly he said it, affection in the very marrow of the word, warmth of it kissing your cheek as he holds you. He says âdoveâ, and it feels like he loves you. Feels like youâve done something beautiful to earn it, but thatâs the beauty of it: you didnât do anything.Â
The room turns narrow, sunlight on the dining room table of your apartment. A table usually crowded thickly with books, or your work. A space has been cleared away and filled with pieces of a jigsaw.Â
âI thought you were going to do this with me,â you say, dragging a piece across the table with your fingertip.Â
âMaybe later.âÂ
âYou canât stand there all night.âÂ
Are you sure? you think he says, but things are hazy, and heâs turning you toward him suddenly, youâre standing, the puzzle forgotten. âHowâs your bruise?âÂ
âWhat?â you ask, almost sleeping as a big, kind hand drags up the front of your shirt, holding it to the underside of your breast.Â
âDoes it still hurt?âÂ
His thumb brushes over your contusion, skin on your side, your back. Itâs tender. Any breath is lost, any sense of breathing at all. Youâre not a girl so much as something being touched with care, warm joy and love and a contrasting ache wedged under your heart as he draws a circles into your skin.Â
He hums sympathetically, the weight of him ebbing as he leans away, letting your shirt fall back into place.Â
The dream stretches on for a lifetime, the two of you standing in your living room, dining table behind you, couch and TV opposite. Your life in one room, his life, his books, his furniture, but your home. You know it all well, just, in the light, you canât see the stitching.Â
He takes your face into his hand. Nobodyâs ever touched you like, turned your face up like they were moving through honey, staring at you with eyes that shade of brown. Brown, brown⌠so big. So melting.Â
Spencer holds your face gently.Â
His nose touches yours. He tips his forehead into yours, his breath skimming lips heâd just warmed as he says, âDonât worry, alright? Youâll be okay. Just take it easy,â he says, the last of his pleading lost to your mouth.Â
You wake up with a caught breath.Â
Your eyes are glued together, eyelashes threaded, gummy. You turn into the pillow beside you, slightly deflated and cold where youâd turned away in the night.Â
The room is dark when you manage to pry your eyes open. You close them just as quickly, begging your body to sleep, to plunge back into the dream. Just five more minutes of golden colour, hugging your pillow, love in somebodyâs hand, in Spencerâs hand⌠five more minutesâŚ
Your eyes open again.Â
Spencerâs hand on your cheek, guiding you carefully upwards for a kiss.Â
You raise your hand, feeling along the swell of your bottom lip with your thumb and index finger. They tremble with the weakness of having just woken up. With having something torn away from you.Â
What was that? you think, the hook of sleep lodged in your throat as you struggle to sit up. Your face tips forwards heavily, but your back doesnât hurt like it tends to in the early mornings before work. Thereâs no ache there âyour body slept well. You use your hands as anchors and drag yourself foot first from the bed. Your sheets fall to the floor with a quiet shush.Â
It felt so real that for a moment youâre wondering where Spencer went.Â
He was touching you, he was caressing your waist. You rush to the door of your room, every night left ajar, pushing it open and beelining for the bathroom. You flick on the light and stop in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, wondering if youâre foolish enough to do this, before peeling your shirt from your stomach to analyse your bruise.Â
Itâs not there.Â
You turn and contort yourself to catch the light. Maybe it was further back? But no⌠thereâs no bruise, nothing for Spencer to check. Your torso is a stretch of unharmed skin to run your hand down without pain.Â
Your head whirs.Â
From somewhere in the apartment, Spencer puts down a mug. You flush with heat at the realisation that heâs home, and panic flares when his footsteps move in your direction. Your bedrooms are on opposite sides of the apartment, and there are two bathrooms âthe bath and toilet near your room, and the en-suite to his roomâ meaning Spencerâs coming to see you specifically.Â
âHey, Y/N?â he says.Â
Itâs been a few days since he was home, and you arenât just roommates, Spencerâs your friend. He sounds happy that youâre awake, pausing at your bedroom door.Â
âIâm in the bathroom!â you say, your dry throat turning your voice to fractures.Â
âI just wanted you to know Iâm home. Are you working?âÂ
âItâs Saturday.â
He laughs. âOh. I know, I forgot. Well, can I make you breakfast? I was gonna have oats and sliced bananas and stuff.âÂ
âOkay.â You clear your throat. âIâll be right there.âÂ
âSorry,â he says, like heâs just remembered where you are. âThis is harassment. Iâll be in the kitchen.âÂ
You wash your face and brush your teeth. You head back into your room to change from your pyjamas into loungewear thatâs just as soft. The flavour of your dream follows you around, youâd like to call it sweetness, saccharinity, but it doesnât fit the bill. The feeling youâd woken with wasnât a sugar high but contentedness, like a warm evening meal. Youâd felt utterly sated, your arms reaching out for a body that wasnât there.Â
A heaviness takes your heart. Suffocating longing, you carry it to the kitchen with you to find Spencerâs already made you a cup of your tea. Heâs warming oatmeal on the stove, blueberries and bananas on the countertop. You sit at the island. You should hug him. If you hadnât dreamt of his hands on your waist what felt like mere moments ago, you wouldâve.Â
âDid you go shopping?âÂ
âI did, I went to Leaven last night. You were already sleeping at ten.â He peeks at you from over his shoulder. âLong day yesterday?âÂ
âI get too tired by Friday,â you say, averting your gaze to stare down into your mug, steam twirling up to kiss your chin.Â
âNo, I get it. Me too. Are you feeling any better today?âÂ
You were sick when he left. âIâm fine.âÂ
âOkay, good. Iâm gonna put the blueberries in with the oatmeal, is that okay?âÂ
âSure.âÂ
âOkay.â Spencerâs gaze lingers on you. He turns back to the counter.Â
He cuts two bananas. You realise he has strawberries, too, watching as he cuts them, wetness leaking from their punnets where he mustâve rinsed them in the sink. He slices out the stems and cuts the strawberries in clean halves like hearts.Â
âI missed you,â he says.Â
You canât read his tone, but you arenât cruel, even feeling shy as you are. âI missed you too. How was the case? Everyone made it home in one piece, right?âÂ
âEveryoneâs fine. Emily got into a car accident and it was pretty bad, but sheâs okay now. Recovering from her concussion at home with Sergei.âÂ
Thatâs good. Youâve met Spencerâs boss, Agent Hotchner (very scary), and Emily, JJ, and Penelope (who arenât scary at all). Youâre glad to hear theyâre all okay, because theyâre good people, and they risk a lot to keep others safe. You forget sometimes how much Spencer puts on the line whenever he leaves.Â
You poke at him for details of the case, though legally there are things he has to keep from you, and you donât mind either way. Nothing personal can crop up while talking of murder, and for now youâd like the conversation to stay far away from you and your bed and your sudden dream.Â
You assume youâre safe, but then Spencer mentions the bruise one of the sergeants got from their weaponâs kickback and youâre flushing nervously all over again.Â
Spencer grabs two bowls from the cabinet, dark brown ceramics he got from Koreatown, the perfect size for each helping of oatmeal. The purple from the insides of the blueberries bleed into the oats as he pours.
He lays each bowl with a curve of banana slices, strawberries, and covers half with a drizzle of dark fudge sauce. âSalt?â he asks.Â
âYes, please.âÂ
Spencer grabs two spoons from the cutlery drawer. He grins when he finally turns, bowls held aloft, making his way to the stool beside you. He puts his own down first, then the cutlery, standing ever so slightly behind you as he lays your breakfast down in front of you. âWhat have you been doing while I was away?â he asks softly.Â
You canât look at him. Canât think.Â
What are you doing?Â
What does it look like Iâm doing?Â
I donât know, dove. Thatâs why I asked.Â
You lean away from his presence, desperate to have him follow, and ashamed. Spencerâs a friend, a good one, heâs kind and loving and handsome beyond description, but youâve never thought of him like that. Each time your mind slips wondering what he might be like in love, youâve let the thought go. But now...Â
You shrug, grabbing your spoon. âNot much, Spencer. This looks amazing, itâs really pretty. Thank you for cooking.âÂ
âNo problem. Are you sure youâre feeling better? You donât look so good.âÂ
You take a quick bite of oatmeal, the spoon scalding your tongue, âAh,â you say, breathing harshly around it, âIâm fine. Woke up a little wrong, thatâs all.âÂ
Spencer sits in the seat next to you with a soft smile. âGood. I donât know what Iâd do if something happened to you.âÂ
Oh, no, you think, reading way too much into how he says it. No, no, no.
â
ii factsÂ
We should explore the city, Spencer declares after breakfast, before we forget what itâs like to be outside!
You were outside yesterday before you got home, and everything sucked as much as it usually did âitâs the weekend, and the point of it is to stay home resting and or lazing, but you wouldnât usually say no to Spencer so you canât now. He canât ever know about your dream, so he canât know how youâre feeling, so you have to be the friends youâve always been.Â
Spencer analyses people for a reason, but you have practice. Youâve successfully hidden what it was that morning that made you feel cagey and tender. He knows something is wrong regardless. He attempts to fix it the best way he knows how: Spencer talks.Â
âCheese production globally outshadows coffee, tea, tobacco, and chocolate, over twenty two million metric tons of it every year, with almost half of that made in Europe alone, which is only a half million metric ton more than whatâs being eaten. The average American eats forty two pounds of cheese a year, but I donât really like cheese that much? So Iâm bringing the average down. Besides, every time I eat cheese I get strange dreams. Thereâs actually a chemical in cheese called tyramine which is linked to nightmares. Hey, you okay?âÂ
âCheese gives you weird dreams?âÂ
âWhy, have you been eating a lot of it lately?âÂ
âNo,â you say resolutely. âI hate cheese. Iâve never eaten cheese before.âÂ
âThatâs a lie.âÂ
âLetâs get donuts.â
Spencer is easily swayed. You glance around the square for the McDonaldâs and follow that to the street with the bakery, landmark to landmark, until the smell of sugar and oil is strong enough to follow. âDo you wanna know something about donuts?â he asks, crushing in behind you as you pass through the heavy wooden door of the bakery and join the line.Â
âSure.âÂ
âThey were first called oily cakes.âÂ
âI knew that,â you say, âyouâve told me that, Spencer. Thatâs the first fact anybody thinks of.âÂ
âOkay, donât be rude,â he says, giving you a playful poke in the ribs, right into the bruise that isnât a bruise.Â
You look over your shoulder at him, catching his eye. You share a long look thatâs daunted on your part and confused on his, brown eyelashes tangling in the corners the longer he looks at you. âWhat?â he asks, squinting.Â
âNothing.âÂ
âOkay,â he says, his voice lowering, quiet to match the hush of the bakery and its humming fridges, âdonât tell me. Iâll work it out eventually.âÂ
âDude!âÂ
âWhat?â he asks with a laugh.Â
âBoundaries!â you laugh back. âStop trying to figure me out.âÂ
âBut thereâs something to figure out?âÂ
Heâs evil when he smiles like that. His pride is adorable, giving his sweet face an even fresher look. Youâd pinch his cheeks if they werenât already pinking in the October cold. His scarf hasnât saved him, his coat buttoned tightly no match for the winds. Not to say itâs a bad day. The weather is fine if you keep your fingers in your pockets and your nose in the depths of your coat.Â
âWhat do we want?â you ask rather than answer.Â
They have white icing, chocolate with sprinkles, jelly middles, smiley faces. They have donut holes by the bag. âHazelnut spread,â you say, pointing at the side of the case. âThat looks good.âÂ
He enters in conspiratorial whispers with you. âApple cider doughnuts with cinnamon sugar,â he says, pointing at the row below. âWhat about a double chocolate chunk cookie? They look good. Hey, thereâs cake in the fridge.âÂ
You let him lean into your side. His hair kisses your cheek. Â
âPick whatever you want, okay?â he asks, offering a smaller smile than before. âIâm buying.â
âYou canât, Spencer Reid, I want so many things.âÂ
âItâs fine, I missed you, I dragged you out when you wanted to stay in bed.â He stares at you. âLet me,â he mouths.Â
You ignore the hot twist of your stomach and nod. Okay.Â
Spencer buys the baked goods youâd admitted to wanting and the three others youâd eyed, as well as a cookie and two fat slices of red velvet cake. He asks you to carry the box while he pays. The woman behind the counter gives you a knowing look and a flick of her head, as if to say, Lucky you. You canât quite smile back, distracted by the insinuation. You havenât thought of it before, but you and Spencer, naturally, look like a couple. You could easily be one. And the idea that she thinks so fills you with a shocking amount of smugness.Â
You and Spencer head home before dinner. On the walk back, he pulls the cookie apart and offers you half.Â
â
What if, when you fall asleep tonight, you dream of Spencer again?Â
You lay on your back with your hand on your chest, drawing circles. The cold of the evening is explained by the rain lashing your window, distant winds coming forceful now. A thunderstorm. You tap the middle of your chest in an attempt to be idle, rather than restless.Â
It isnât a dream youâd like to have again, you decide. Spencer had been soft. Youâd been familiar with each other.Â
What would it really feel like to have him touch you like that? Is Spencer confident, when heâs comfortable? Is he imposing?Â
My stomach, you think slowly, is never going to stop spinning.Â
âY/N?â Spencer asks.Â
You can hear him all the way from the kitchen.Â
âYeah?â you ask, raising your voice so it carries.Â
âCan I come and sit with you?â
Itâs an odd request. You know Spencerâs like you, no social butterfly, quiet and content to spend time by oneself because being with others hasnât always been an option. He isnât timid, however, and his asking shouldnât shock you, but it does. âSure,â you say, shifting onto one side of the bed.Â
Spencer arrives at the ajar door and lets himself in. He carries two bottles of water and a heat pack, which he likes to use when the weather allows it. A creature comfort, you assume. Something soothing and constant, like the sound of a fan at night, or rain on a window.Â
âI canât sleep,â he says, âwhich doesnât make much sense.â Spencer sits on the empty side of the bed, his lips pulled into a grimace. âI like the rain.âÂ
Heâs more handsome when heâs smiling, but thereâs a charm to him as he passes you a bottle of water and crosses his legs. The plaid slacks heâs wearing are rough with age, dark blues that seem black in the low lighting.Â
âMaybe itâs because of work,â you say.Â
âMaybe, but Iâm pretty used to getting woken up.âÂ
âRight. Itâs not easy, though, the stuff you do. It would keep me up at night if I did your job.âÂ
âI think sometimes doing my job is the only reason I can sleep.âÂ
âIt's hard. Sounds hard, Spence.â You relax into your pillow, turning to see him. Spencerâs eyes run along your hip for a millisecond, just long enough to remind you that heâs a boy, that he could see you in a different light.Â
âItâs okay,â he says.Â
âWas it hard, this time?â you ask.Â
âNo,â he whispers. âI donât know, it was bad when Emily got hurt, but sheâs so stubborn. If Morgan didnât strap her down she wouldâve kept going like nothing happened.âÂ
You and Spencer have lived together for so long that you remember a time before he even knew Emily. You answered his ad in the paper âyou hadnât realised people still put ads in the paperâ looking for a roommate. His apartment was already furnished and he didnât want to change much, but the second bedroom was spacious and the bathroom could be monopolised. As a girl, youâd been a little dubious reading about a single male looking for any gender, but his self-description was inviting. Twenty-two, just finished a doctorate, working for the FBI and expected to be away from the state at least once a month.Â
Youâd met Spencer and felt even less intimidated. He was awkward and dorky but friendly, too, with his glasses he apparently didnât want to wear, but would eventually give in (before choosing contacts), and his big red sweater fit for a grandpa. âI can make more room for you but I canât get rid of the books,â he said, âso I donât expect you to pay a neat half.âÂ
How could you pass it up?Â
âI canât believe Iâve never met them,â you say.Â
âDo you want to?âÂ
He sounds so surprised. âTheyâre your friends. Iâm your⌠friend.âÂ
âYouâre my best friend. Iâll arrange something, or try to. Itâs hard to get us all in one room when that room isnât the conference room,â he says.Â
âYou look nice in a t-shirt,â you say, not thinking as the words come out.Â
Spencer leans in to whisper, âThanks. You like this one?âÂ
His t-shirt says, I may be NErDy, but only periodically. The NErDy is made up of elements from the periodic table. Itâs a bad pun.Â
âI love it.âÂ
He reaches for you. Tentative, he squeezes your elbow. âIs there something wrong? All day itâs like⌠I donât know, did something happen when I was gone?âÂ
âDonât worry about it.âÂ
âButâŚâÂ
âPlease,â you say, as he catches the last bit of light from the hallway, every eyelash illuminated for the counting. âI donât wanna talk about it, Spencer. But thank you.âÂ
He, in a move thatâs almost uncharacteristic, pushes your arm into the mattress and leans over you. âI wanna be the first one to know when you do wanna talk,â he says firmly, holding your gaze.Â
Howâs your bruise?Â
You nod mechanically. Spencer recedes. âOkay, good,â he says, grinning.Â
âGood,â you echo, thinking of Spencer in the dream, his hand on your hip and climbing up your sore ribs. âLetâs watch TV.âÂ
â
iii. scared of snowÂ
âYouâre being weird.âÂ
âIâm not,â you refute.Â
âYou are.âÂ
Spencer frowns at you, a show full downturn of the lips. A dusting of snow lands in his hair and you both look up to catch it, a drift of it from the marquee as you pass. You donât remember when it started snowing, but it feels like itâs been coming down for days. Itâs in his eyelashes. Your sleeves are wet with it.Â
âThe snowâs making you strange.â
You hold out your hand with fingers parted, feeling his laugh travelling down his arm and into yours as he takes it, intertwining your fingers tightly. He doesnât feel cold.Â
âItâs making you strange,â you mumble.Â
You and Spencer walk down a cobbled road. Snow crunches under your shoes, turned to slush in the high traffic spots by vendors booths left curiously empty of shopkeepers, though their festive wares still line the insides, carved cuckoo birds and metal ornaments, glass balls made to be personalised for mantles. You can smell orange oil and chocolate fudge, crepe carts and churros and cinnamon, and then suddenly any hint of your olfactory sense is gone.Â
âItâs so quiet.âÂ
âItâs the snow,â he says, pulling your arm against his chest as you walk and walk, your footsteps the only sound. âIt acts as a sound absorber when itâs fluffy like this. The sound waves get caught.âÂ
Caught. You think, or say, not sure if it makes it out of your mouth.Â
âLike you,â he says, stopping in the middle of the road.Â
âWhat?â you ask.Â
Snow lands in his eyelashes. âYouâre caught,â he says.Â
You wake up thinking his hand is on your cheek. Like a nightmare, you start, still picturing his lips moving around the words. Caught, you think again, heart a hummingbird in your chest. Your mouth is dry. The heat is up âSpencer must be home again.Â
You suck in a deep breath and sit up, curling over yourself protectively.Â
You dream about Spencer more often than ever, and half the time theyâre normal dreams, which is to say, they follow no rhyme or reason, with no discernible plot. Spencer loses all his teeth, or he takes you to the movies to see one of his long Swedish films, or heâs an afterthought, a bystander. The main plot of your dream doesnât involve him at all.Â
But the other half of the time is ruining your life. You dream of Spencer holding your hand like you had been, or touching your shoulder. Never again do you dream of that tender bruise, but Spencer lifts your shirt in other scenarios. He pulls your pyjamas off, his hand inching between your legs but never touching, or he helps you out of your bra. And every time you think, why is this happening to me? Perhaps a sex dream could be explained away by want and Spencerâs proximity, but all these constant intimacies weigh heavy in your head.Â
You head to the shower and picture Spencer helping you out of your bra, and all of you goes hot, so you turn the water to lukewarm and stand until youâre cold to the point of misery. You clamber out and shiver into a towel, then your robe.Â
Spencerâs humming in the kitchen.Â
You honestly wish that the dreams made you like him less, that the sound of him might send you running back into your room, but you poke your head out of the bathroom and wait until he enters the living room. He sees you waiting, his face splitting into a smile. âHey, good morning, did you sleep better?âÂ
You canât explain the discombobulation of your dreams. Spencer had become convinced you have insomnia. You may have let him assume.Â
âSlept fine,â you croak.Â
âOkay, well get dressed and Iâll make you some coffee.âÂ
ââKay.â Your stomach pangs with nerves seeing him, reminded of tonightâs big event. âAre we still, uh, on, for tonight?âÂ
âNervous?â he asks.Â
You feel like you're about to be a fish in a pool of sharks. âOf course not.âÂ
 âYeah, still on, even JJ.âÂ
Awesome. Spencer turns around to make you your cup of coffee and you go to your room, dressing quickly, two pairs of socks. You tone your face and moisturise, fanning yourself slowly. You donât hurry to the living room, but you arenât slow, and itâs not Spencer, you tell yourself. Not Spencer. Youâre just craving the warmth of a cup of coffee.Â
You spend the morning together on the couch. Spencer reads and occasionally chats to you about whatever tome it is that specific half an hour. You make sandwiches at lunch time, he showers in the early evening. You get dressed and primped while heâs gone, and at 6PM, Spencer knocks your bedroom door to ask if youâre ready to go.Â
âCould I fake an illness?â you joke nervously.Â
Spencerâs hand falls on your handle. The door is ajar as usual, but he doesnât tread any further inside.Â
âCome in,â you say.Â
Spencer takes a single step inside before stopping. He looks you up and down without the hunger you crave from him, a more clement, familiar appreciation to him as he says, âYou look pretty.â He traces your arm, leaving the skin tingly in his wake. âReally pretty.âÂ
âThank you. I didnât want to overdress.âÂ
âItâs perfect, donât worry. And no, you couldnât fake an illness. They all know when Iâm lying, especially Hotch. And Emily, actually.âÂ
You squeeze your hands together tightly at your stomach. âI donât know why Iâm sooo nervous.â You lick your lips. âI feel like I canât stop fidgeting.âÂ
âTheyâre used to it, I promise. They know that theyâre gonna make you nervous, but theyâve sworn to be on their best behaviour, and besides, youâre not the only plus one. JJâs bringing Will, and Morganâs bringing his sister, Iâve only met her once. The focus wonât be all on you.â He lowers his voice. âAfter two drinks they forget theyâre supposed to be scary.âÂ
âWhat if I say something extremely stupid to your boss and get you in trouble?âÂ
âWhat are you going to get me in trouble for?âÂ
âI donât know. What if I accidentally tell him that that sick day you took a few weeks ago was to help me make brownies?â
âEveryone lies about sick days.â He deliberates. âMaybe not Hotch. But Iâm pretty sure he knew I was lying, and itâs explainable. I felt⌠irate.âÂ
You raise your eyebrows. âWhat?âÂ
âStaying home with you made me feel better. Which made me a better worker the next day, itâs fine.â His phone rings from somewhere in the apartment. âThatâll be JJ. Are you okay?âÂ
âIâm fine.âÂ
âYeah?â He grins. âOkay. Youâre wearing a coat, right? Itâs cold. The forecast says snow. Itâs thirty degrees out.âÂ
You layer a coat onto your jacket and a scarf to make him happy. You and Spencer get a taxi, black leather gritless under your hands, though you squeeze the seat like itâs gonna stop the car the whole time. Spencer doesnât talk much, but he looks at you unapologetically, and he smiles, and the quiet is as severe as it was in your dream that morning. If this were a dream heâd be leaning over to cradle your ear. Heâd ask in whispers if you were alright, and heâd let his hand rest kindly on your knee.Â
âWhat?â you whisper.Â
His lips part like he might answer. The car comes to a crunching stop outside the bar, and whatever it was he was going to say is kept for later. âIâll tell you after,â he says.Â
He pays for the taxi before you can work it out and you say thank you to the driver. The sidewalk is clean, broad, and glowing with the last bit of light. The sun sets behind you. The bar beckons in front.Â
Your fear is daunting.Â
You have years of practice fooling Spencer. You know that he knows your tells, so youâve changed them, and Spencer cares about you enough to ignore obvious truths if he thinks you might not want to share. His colleagues, FBI agents trained to detect deception, are going to take one good look at you and know youâre lying about⌠this.Â
Youâre plagued by dreams of Spencer, but nothing can touch the real thing.Â
You feel the space between you like itâs aflame. Spencer checks youâre with him and opens the door.Â
The bar is busy even for a Saturday. You arenât expecting the volume, the boisterousness of the patrons already slumped together over tables and waiting at the bar to get their drinks. Itâs smaller than youâd pictured too, but its size is made up for with a patio at the back, smokers haunting the door, wary of the cold.Â
You know what his friends look like already, yet seeing them in person is odd. Hotch is taller than youâd thought, Emily more startlingly pretty. JJâs frowning, and her partner Will looks like heâs about to fall asleep despite a lazy grin.Â
Hotch notices you first. He taps Emily on the elbow, who pauses in a thought to follow his gaze. Her face breaks into a smile, and if you werenât in love with Spencer Reid, you might take a tumble for his pale coworker.Â
âHello,â Spencer says, ushering you to the table with an arm behind your back.Â
âHi,â you say.Â
âHe-llo,â Emily says, leaning into the table, a strand of her hair dangerously close to a short glass of juice. âI canât believe weâre finally seeing you in person. Iâm Emily.âÂ
âY/N,â you say.Â
âAaron,â Hotch adds. (Aaron! Heâs far more intimidating casually than as a boss, it seems.)
âDerek was just here,â JJ says in way of greeting, while Will drawls from over her shoulder, âIâm Will, itâs nice to meet you.âÂ
Spencer pulls out a chair for you and promptly sits in the one beside Emily. âSorry weâre late. I forgot my wallet and we had to go back up to the apartment and the cab I called got so angry about it that he left.âÂ
You slide between the table and your chair, looking to Spencer for guidance, but heâs distracted taking his coat off and you have to look at Aaron instead.Â
His smile is immediately knowing. Read for filth in seconds. âWe don't bite.â
âNot so early in the evening,â Emily says.Â
You take a shuddering breath, thankful they canât hear it over the sounds of the bar.Â
â
âIâm caught!â you exclaim.Â
Spencer hugs you under the arms. âI know,â he says gently.Â
âCaught!âÂ
He holds back a laugh as your arms react, practically flung behind his head in a hug that threatens to cut off the oxygen supply to his brain. âI think youâve caught me, instead,â he says.Â
You laugh in his ear. Thereâs gin on your breath and the sweeter smell of orange juice. Itâs not bad, but weird to know itâs from your mouth. Or not weird. It gives Spencer a feeling like seeing the soft curve of your hip when youâre lying on your side. Like watching you bite your bottom lip when youâre distracted by the TV and worrying to yourself, which you do more often than not lately. Theyâre private things that Spencer shouldnât know about.Â
âIâm not trying to,â you say, and Spencer can smell the shot of vodka you did too, which is less pleasant. âNot trying to catch you. Not⌠Iâm sorry.âÂ
âWhat for?âÂ
âItâs hard to explain.âÂ
Over your shoulder, Spencer spots Hotchâs entertained gaze. All the team has done since you sat down together was pick on Spencer and his obviousness. Boyfriend? theyâd asked you. Looking? Sights set on someone? All while JJ nudged him under the table.Â
Things are falling apart now. JJâd departed to hold Emilyâs hair back, and Will with her. Hotch caught the eye of a woman across the way, and they sit chatting amicably at the bar with more peanuts than drinks. Derek, when he did appear, stayed for an hour with Desiree, recounting to you his most embarrassing stories of which Spencer had taken care to shield you from, and laughed at his subsequent blush.Â
He never wanted you to know about his run in with anthrax, and he especially didnât want you to know heâd been stripped nude afterwards and hosed off like a muddy dog.Â
Youâd turned to him with wide, worried eyes. âYou were poisoned?â youâd asked.Â
Itâs stuff like that that makes this difficult.Â
âI donât know if you know this,â he says now, rubbing your back, âbut Iâm good with difficult concepts.â
âI did not mean to be like this.âÂ
âYou didnât eat much.â Spencer helps you stand on your own two feet. âThey kitchenâs still open. I can get you food, how about a burger? Or we can go find you something.â
âWhat kind of burger?â you ask, poorly concealing your excitement.Â
Spencer gets you back to the table. âIâll be right back.âÂ
âWait, donât go.âÂ
âIâm gonna get food. Do you want fries?âÂ
âSpencer, what if I throw up?âÂ
Spencer shrugs. âI can rub your back?âÂ
âI donât want to throw up.âÂ
âThen drink that,â he says, sliding his glass of coke toward you. âAlcohol irritates the lining of your stomach and increases the production of stomach acid. If you drink,â âhe flinches as you knock the cup backâ âslowly you can dilute your stomach contents without upsetting it. Slowly,â he says, squeezing your hand, âIâll order food.â
âNo, wait.â You drop the glass and grab him. âPlease donât go. I donât want to throw up by myself.âÂ
âYou wonât throw up.â
âPlease,â you say, holding his wrist in both hands, your eyes shiny. âSpencer, donât go.âÂ
âI wonât.â He doesnât know how true it is and then suddenly heâs sat down. He wonât go. He wouldnât leave your side ever again if thatâs what you asked of him.Â
He puts your chairs together, entertaining your tipsy thoughts with light conversation and the occasional slight of hand. You have an aura about you, like Spencerâs doing more than close-up magic, hanging on his every word. Your nervousness had you gasping like a fish, not so subtly downing one drink, then another, but now that youâre feeling the effects of them (and a few extras), the tightness youâd held in your fingers is gone. Youâre leaning against the back of the chair with all the ease of you on the couch at home, but the easy fondness youâd usually wear while he speaks is replaced by a bright and shining awe. A sweetness like heâs remarkable. The soft line of your lips and your widened eyes.Â
Youâre not the sort of drunk that leaves you listless and ready for bed. This is giggly and fun, and so long as you donât push it youâll be alright. It wasnât enough alcohol to leave you inebriated all night, anyhow. In a few hours the giddiness will wear away, leaving you with a headache and a deep longing for your missed dinner.Â
âIâm glad you didnât let me fake food poisoning,â you say.Â
âIs that what you were thinking? Thatâs a terrible excuse. You need something with sudden onset symptoms, like an asthma attack, or pneumonia. An acute illness.âÂ
You take his hand. âI love that you know that stuff.â
Feeling as in love with you as ever, and sorry for you drunken state âhe couldâve stopped you, he just didnât thinkâ he folds your hands together, both of his, rubbing the hills of your knuckles with his thumb. Your hands look right together.Â
Thatâs what Spencer likes to think, anyway.Â
You slow like youâre tired, hand lax in his grips. Your mouth opens but nothing follows, no sigh or gripe or conversation.Â
âYou okay?â he asks softly.Â
âI think Iâm having one of those dreams again.âÂ
âYouâre awake,â he says.Â
âI donât know about that. Theyâre all like this.âÂ
He hums, smoothing his thumb down the back of your hand. âIf this were a dream, you wouldn't have control over what youâre doing. Why donât you do something you wouldnât do in a dream?âÂ
âLike what?â you ask.Â
âThereâs a ton of stuff you canât do in dreams. People find they have a poor memory, but I canât ask you to recall anything. You might not remember regardless. How about temperature?â he suggests. âMost people canât feel warm or cold in their dreams. Do you want to feel something cold?â
You watch him for a few seconds, your eyebrows pulled together unhappily. âYour hands are warm,â you say.Â
âRight.â He suspects theyâll feel warmer in just a few seconds when the hot flush in his face manages to work its way down. âIâm warm. So are you.âÂ
âSometimes I feel like youâre warm in the dream, though. You make me feel warm.âÂ
âItâs remembered, maybe.âÂ
You donât look any happier. âSometimes I wish I could stop having them, butâŚâ You duck your head. âSorry, Spencer.âÂ
âWhat are you sorry for?âÂ
Your head ducks lower. With a start to his chest, your shoulders shake, like you're inhaling the first half of a sob.Â
âHey, hey,â he says, reaching for your cheek, ducking his own head to see you, âwhatâs wrong? Itâs okay, you donât have anything to be sorry for!â he whispers emphatically. âYou have nothing to be sorry for, why would you think that?âÂ
âI keep having these dreams, all the time, andâ and Iâ Iâll mess everything up. Everything we have, Iâm going toââ You hiccup, eyes turned glassy, imploring him to forgive you for something you havenât done. âI donât feel good.âÂ
âYou havenât done anything wrong,â he says, his hand sliding back to your ear, down to your neck, âyouâre just drunk. Youâre confused.âÂ
âBut the dreamsââ
âWhat dreams?â he asks gently.Â
You blow out a daunted breath. âWhere you love me.âÂ
âI do love you.âÂ
âBut more than this. You love me more than this,â you say, shaking your head. âI really donât feel okay⌠Do you think we could go home?âÂ
Youâre so sorry and frowny that Spencer would attempt, in all his unfitness, to climb Mount Everest for you should you ask. âYeah, we can go home,â he says, rubbing your arm up and down and up again, a line of affection from shoulder to wrist. âIâll take you home. Itâs okay, Y/N. You donât have to be upset, I shouldnât have asked.âÂ
Heâs not sure what he asked, really, but the answer upset you. His heartâs racing like he just sprinted the length of the bar and youâre close to tears, this strange weepy sullenness about you as you say, âItâs okay. Letâs just go.âÂ
â
Itâs cold to be sitting out by yourself, though the snow stayed its hand another night while the temperature fell again. Your coat poses a weak defence against the chill, nipping at your nose, burning the insides of every breath, and your feet are stiff like ice in your shoes. Yet, the idea of returning to the apartment is a leaden stone in your stomach.Â
Spencer could barely look at you that morning. You hadnât given him much of a chance, slipping out of the apartment with little more than a call to say youâd be back later. Your groceries freeze in a paper bag by your feet.Â
Youâre not too embarrassed about getting tipsy. It was drinks with Spencer and his friends, not dinner. Emily had been twice as drunk, and Derek had encouraged you to drink with a round on him. Youâre mortified, however, by what youâd said. Your memory is clear enough to know youâd told Spencer about your dreams.Â
Heâd been confused at the time, but heâs a smart boy. Heâll figure it out.Â
âThis headache,â you mumble, tipping your head into your hand morosely. You rub your brow, fingers against the ache, the cold getting worse.Â
Why did it take a dream for you to realise you had feelings for Spencer? And why did you have to realise at all? If youâd never had that dream, never had that phantom bruise, his hands careful and caring and touching up to the band of your bra, you wouldnât know now what it is to want him. The dream gave you a bruise, and Spencer presses against it real or otherwise every time he looks at you. You were wrong thinking that it never happened; itâs still there, a purple lash against your ribs.Â
Every time he makes you breakfast, or he texts you from a different state, or he sits down on the couch just to talk to you. Every time he says something smart, or he tilts his head back as he laughs, or he draws a smiley face on the mirror by the doorâ
âAbout those dreams?âÂ
You rub your eyes hard. Of course heâd come to find you. âPlease donât.âÂ
âPlease,â he says. You see him through your fingers. His thick scarf is unravelled at his neck, his hair ragged around his face like heâs been raking it repeatedly behind his ears.Â
You straighten.Â
âI donât get it,â he says, âyouâve been dreaming about me? Why is that such a big deal?âÂ
âItâs embarrassing.âÂ
âI dream about you all the time,â he says. âWeâre in each other's lives, we live together, it makes sense that your hippocampus would use me. You have a lot of memories with me.â Spencer crosses his arms in front of you. âItâs freezing.âÂ
âIâll be home in a bit.â
âIâm not gonna go back without you,â he says, like thatâs a given.Â
You move across the bench to make room for him. Spencer sits.Â
You settle. The occasional bus trundles past, a limited rota for an early Sunday morning. Spencer shoves his hands into his pockets. His lips are already turning blue.Â
âI know you know what I mean,â you say.Â
Spencer presses his knees together. âEven romantic dreams where Iâm⌠where weâre together, itâs all easily explained away by brain science. You canât control what you dream, and Iâm not going to hold you to it.âÂ
Silence, silence. You tip your head back to see a horrible grey cloud closing in on you both, the sun a white and gauzy memory behind it. Spencerâs right about control, but he doesnât get that you like them. Itâs not fair to him that youâve somehow rallied a second life when youâre sleeping, where heâs your mindâs puppet, hugging and holding you, pressing his cheek to the side of your face. Saying things you wish heâd tell you now.Â
âWell, I like you.âÂ
âWhat?â you ask, coughing.Â
âNot to make things awkward or anything, but I like you. Romantically.â Spencerâs voice takes a sharp veer into high-pitched freneticism. âDoes that help at all?âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âItâs far more embarrassing that I like you on purpose than your accidental dreams, right?â He thumbs at the inside of his wrist. âYou donât have to say anything, or think anything, and Iâm not going to change, but I have feelings for you.â Â
You feel like youâre standing at the top of a very tall building. âOh?âÂ
âI kind of thought you knew.âÂ
âHow could I know that?â you ask, cringing as a cold gust of air bites at your face.Â
Spencer takes his scarf off and pushes it into your hands. âI donât know. I guess we know less about each other than we thought.â
The way he says it.Â
Spencer wraps his scarf around you when itâs clear you arenât going to do it yourself, and he touches your cheek briefly, a brush of his fingers like he thinks heâs doing something he shouldnât be allowed to.Â
âI dream about you all the time,â he says quietly.Â
A bus passes by and shines headlights at your feet. The wind blows, your ears roar, and just above you, in a cold front to mark the season, snow begins to fall.Â
You look up simultaneously. A snowflake gets caught in Spencerâs eyelashes.Â
Just one.Â
âThis is so weird,â you mumble.Â
Spencer wipes at his eye. âCould you tell me why?âÂ
âI had a dream just like this.âÂ
He laughs warmly. âOf course you did. Forget all reason, then. Youâre prophetic.âÂ
âI donât think I couldâve predicted this.âÂ
âWhy? Itâs only snow. Virginia gets an inch of snow most Decembers.âÂ
You laugh. In a dream, this is where you and Spencer would kiss or hold hands, or rest your cheek on the otherâs shoulder, but neither of you are brave enough. And, as the snow turns to a sleet below freezing, you canât ignore the cold.Â
â
iv. the endÂ
The longest anyone has ever slept in recorded human history is eleven days. Two hundred and sixty four hours, or nearly sixteen thousand minutes, just shy of one million seconds of sleep.Â
The first pillow was invented in Mesopotamia more than nine thousand years ago, in a time where the amount of pillows a person had directly correlated their personal riches. The history of pillows is tumultuous and eclectic. Headrests made of wood, stone, or jade. Curved neck holders worn soft with use.Â
And, of all Spencerâs gifted facts, you find yourself circling back to the same one as you wait for him to wake: most dreams are no longer than twenty minutes. However, itâs important to note that the longest dream ever officially observed was in 1994, when a man managed to be in REM for just over three hours. Youâve had dreams that felt like they lasted for hours, but likely took place for just twenty minutes. If you could dream for three hours a night, you could live an entire life of longing in a pocket of time.Â
Thankfully, you have no need to hide from reality anymore. Spencer sleeps beside you and you donât want to sleep, you just want him to wake up.Â
âGood morning,â you whisper, drawing your fingertip across his cheek to encourage the hair thatâs fallen there back in line.Â
He doesnât stir. Itâs alright, you hadnât meant to wake him.Â
âI love you,â you whisper, shuffling across the sheets to feel the heat and weight of his body against your own. He doesnât move for a while, snoring gently, his breath kissing the top of your head as you burrow into the slip of space under his chin. Then, as if he were awake, he wraps his arm around you and drags you in further. His face angles down and his nose finds your forehead, and a hum of what youâd personally say is content kisses your brow.Â
You tuck your hand behind his back and rub a circle.Â
Spencer didnât last long after the initial realisation of requited feelings. In a day heâd asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend (vaguely apologetic, still worried about scaring you, though youâd already come clean about wanting him as youâd warmed your cold hands by the stove). A week later he kissed you on a date outside of the cosiest Indian restaurant in Washington, D.C, and things have been nothing but smooth sailing from there.Â
Now, when heâs feeling romantic, he brings home butter chicken and turns your face up for kissing, fork in hand. Every night before bed, he tells you to have good dreams, a self-satisfaction in his eyes that you dearly love.Â
You knew he was a dork and you liked him because of it, but the sheer increase in him is amazing. Yesterday he sent you Close to You by Carpenters over text claiming they wrote it about you. When he got home, he tried to make you dance with him in the living room. After two or three kisses, youâd let him pull you to your feet.Â
Spencer has turned loving one another into an everyday spectacularity, and not some mystical dream you ached for.Â
He squeezes the skin of your shoulder as he wakes. Heavy in the hands of sleep, Spencer rubs the tip of his nose to yours, nudging your face up, and waiting there with your lips a few millimetres apart as he finds his bearings. You donât open your eyes. Thereâs no need.Â
âTime?â he mumbles.
âI donât,â âyou clear your hoarse voice, his hand flattening protectively behind youâ âknow, um. Maybe seven. The sun was risingâŚâÂ
âYou could have woken me up,â he says, and kisses you slowly. Itâs almost gluttonous, how he does it. Not chaste at all. His hair falls into your face and tickles your cheeks, his nose smushes your own with his easy depth.Â
You hold his face and kiss him twice, following a line under his chin, where you pause, smelling yesterday's cologne on his skin. âI was hoping Iâd fall asleep again,â you confess.Â
âOh, no, donât do that.â He scoops you against him and turns onto his back as you laugh. âAngel. Letâs stay up now. Letâs just⌠stay here.âÂ
If you stay here heâs going to waylay you with a smattering of his voracious kisses, and heâs going to turn you on your back and kiss your neck. Heâll touch that place on your ribs where youâd once dreamt a bruise. Itâs a secret you couldnât keep. He likes to kiss you there when he remembers, but most of the time his hands run along it without mention. A slow caressing.Â
You push your face against his shoulder and sigh as his arms close in around you. With a little effort, you get your arms around him in turn, and you hug him for as long as you can stand the pins and needles in your fingers.Â
âYou smell so good,â you mumble.
He pats your back absentmindedly.Â
Today, youâre going to make Spencer oatmeal with banana and chocolate. Youâre going to shower, maybe together if the small space can handle it, laughing at the soap in his eyebrows and the way he squeals when you touch his hips. Youâre going to drape yourself across his lap as he reads, and heâll lean down to kiss the tip of your nose or some other strange part of you unused to affection. The top of your ear, the palm of your hand, maybe the crook of your elbow. Heâll ramble through dinner or creep up behind you to sniff your shoulder, and itâll all be choices youâve made. Nothing left to want or wanting, but being in love while wide awake.Â
âAre you tired?â you ask him.Â
He takes a deep breath of your hair. âNo,â he says, drawing a light line up your side, âIâm okay. There are worse faces to wake up to.â
You try not to fluster noticeably. Heâs always been a good roommate. Youâre still getting used to the boyfriend part, the intimacy of being complimented, but Spencer seems to have slipped into the part easily.
âSorry, that was mean. Thereâs nothing Iâd rather wake up to.âÂ
âThanks,â you mumble.Â
Youâre tired, suddenly. The minutes pass in heavy blinks âyou donât want to sleep now that heâs awake, but being here with him is warming you from the inside out. You doze and wake and Spencer doesnât say a word. His breaths come evenly against your cheek.Â
Eventually, he clears his throat, asksing, âDid you dream at all?â His voice is hewn. He rubs your chest, right over your heart.
âIâm not so sure that this isnât one,â you say, your heartbeat a crawl under his touch.
âThatâs corny.âÂ
âMm, the Spencer in my dreams is usually kinder.âÂ
âDoes he ever get to hold you like this?â he asks, letting his hand fall from your chest to wrap it back around you again.Â
You take a sleepy breath in. âNo,â you say slowly, âhe doesnât.â
・đŚšÂ°â§â.
thank youuuu for reading!! please like comment or reblog if you enjoyed!! thank youâ¤ď¸
this fic was requested! I usually link to the request I was sent at the top, but I lost the post for this one, but this is what the request said:Â
âhi angel! i have a request for roommate!spencer where r has a very romantic dream about him and starts avoiding him because she's really embarrassed but spencer is so confused as to why his roommate suddenly can't even look him in the eye. maybe one of them realizes their feelings aren't entirely platonic in the end? love you!!!â