She/Her - On Earth since 1982 - Here's a blog for Criminal Minds, Xfiles and SVU related! MASTERLIST (Yeah! I write too! With a friendly reminder that English isnât my first language)
The Ainât Love (New!SVU!Reader - Former!BAU!Reader)
-------------------------
Snippet 3 - Readerâs story after Crush and Burn
Snippet 1 | Snippet 2
-------------------------
I wasn't sure what Benson meant by that, but I didn't want to dwell on it, so I focused on the case. Fin, Rollins, Bruno, and I went over what we knew repeatedly, just in case we'd missed something. We knew the BAU was in the other room, going over every detail with Garcia on the phone, and we didn't want to overlook anything useful. But even the most focused detectives need a break, usually in the form of coffee.
One thing I appreciate about this job is that Benson, like Hotch at the BAU, likes to have decent coffee for her team.
I was right in the middle of mentally appreciating my boss's choice of coffee and preparing the sacred liquid when I heard my name behind me. When I turned around, I saw Spencer in the doorway of the break room, hands in his pocket, with a sheepish look.
âSpencer,â I mumble. It felt so strange for his name to roll from my tongue after all this time. âSomething happened?â
My question was precisely to avoid any topic different from the case, although I knew I couldn't evade the elephant in the room throughout the case.
âNo. Uh. I mean, we donât have anything solid yet.â
âOh. Okay. Do you want a coffee then?â
Avoiding. Again.
âYe- yeah. Thank you.â
Spencer knew what he did back then, and I knew what I did after that. Maybe not the most mature thing, but I couldn't stay.
That's why I handled my resignation letter to Hotch and left the city two days after everything happened. I didn't tell anyone why I was doing it or where I was going.
But I donât think it surprised them or even care. No one tried to contact me. And although it left me with a bittersweet taste, it was the confirmation I needed: the BAU wasnât my place anymore.
Handling the coffee cup to Spencer, I was ready to run again, but he spoke before.
âIt's certainly not the time or the place. And Emily will kill me. But I couldn't just see you after three years and not say anything.â
I took a deep breath. I wasnât ready for any of this, although I told myself a million times that I had gotten over it.
âYou're right. Not the time or the place,â I mumbled, eyes fixed on the fidgeting of my hands with the coffee cup.
âYou just vanished. At some point, I thought you- you,â Spencer trailed off. âI knew the last person you wanted to talk to was me, but the team? They didn't have any blame for what I did.â
My gaze lifted when I heard the last part. Of course, I thought about it. I didn't blame them, but they didnât help me either.
âI had my reasons for that, too.â
Spencer huffed, a sipping frustration showing off.
âYou donât even know the extent of everything that happened after you left.â
It was my turn to scoff. âAre you serious right now? Youâre blaming me for God knows what happened to you after I left?â
âEverything okay?â
Fin's question brought us back to the moment. Neither of us had realized we were raising our voices.
Spencer immediately changed his defensive stance to a more composed one.
âYes. I was just leaving.â
Said and done. Once the words were out, Spencer had passed by Fin and left the break room.
Raising an eyebrow, Fin stared at me questioningly.
âWhat?â I asked, sipping my now-cold coffee, and hiding my gaze behind the rim of my cup.
âWhat, what?â He asked back, not altering his stare at me.
âDonât look at me like that. I was peacefully grabbing coffee.â
summary: they say love is the most powerful drug there is, and when it comes to spencer reid, you're shown just how powerful addiction is. you try to ignore your feelings for your fellow profiler, but as the days pass, your feelings get harder and harder to ignore... until one night, you can stand it no longer
genre/tags/CWs: there is plot, and it follows the same morbid qualities as a REAL CM episode, so there are heavy mentions of suicide, murder, rape, abortions, the foster system, evisceration, organs, hostages, threats, knives, blood, dead bodies. now onto the fun stuff. SMUTSMUTSMUT, porn WITH plot, dom!Spencer, sub!reader, squirting, no physical description of reader besides female anatomy, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, breeding kink? how did that get in here, reader and Spencer both have repetitive habits mentioned OFTEN, DIRTY talk, like filthy, like nasty, maybe ooc Spencer dialogue but I can picture him saying it all, coworkers to lovers, workplace romance, nothing bad happens to Spencer or reader!! they are safe!!, this is NASTY so read with caution
a/n: this is based off the dom!reid x sub!reader workplace romance request I got! not every request I get will be this long I just like ate it up so hard, so thank you anon for your gorgeous freaky mind giving me ideas, and I am SO SORRY I FORGOT IT WAS ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, my freak pervert brain took hold of my writing reigns... forgive me
They say that there are three main chemicals that manufacture the feeling of initial attraction in the brain: dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine. That thereâs a million factors that can contribute to the attraction you feel towards your fellow man. Childhood development, proximity, subconscious pattern recognitionâ all of these things make up the scientific explanation for why one person becomes more enticing than the next. All of this, you knew. But none of it could save you from devolving into madness when it came to Spencer Reid.
You were a professional, someone with standards. Youâd attended- and subsequently obliterated expectations at- the FBI academy. You had years of field profiling experience under your belt. And yet, Dr. Spencer Reid seemed to reduce you down to one thing:
Needy.
Spencer was a, too, a professional. He was a man of incredible intelligence and excellent at profiling. Which is why you were such a problem â because you would have moments where you were anything but subtle about your attraction. Youâd gaze at him with utter lust during debriefs, bite your lips and bat your eyes at your desk after a conversation. You werenât outright sexualizing him, nor were you openly flirting. But with his expertise in body language, you might as well have been stripping him right there in the bullpen.Â
It drove him crazy.
Spencer had a reputation of composure, but you were driving him over the edge. He noticed. Every time you lost your composure, he noticed. And you knew it, too. You felt a little ashamed, like a schoolgirl with a crush, you were inconsolable when it came to your absolute desperation for your unitâs resident genius.Â
-
You were on a case now, and you and Spencer had been sent together to meet with the medical examiner. There was an unsub targeting women who had given up their children for adoption, eviscerating them before dumping them in lakes unweighted. You decided to drive, hoping that the details of the case and the attention the road demanded would keep your mind from wandering. You were capable of being normal around Spener- in fact, you would consider him a very close friend. Youâd talked for hours in the past, but as of late your tolerance for surrogate hookups had expired, and your vibrators simply werenât enough, so being around him was becoming difficult.
âDo you think weâre looking for a child abandoned by their birth mother?â You asked, thumb fidgeting with the wheel as you drove.
âItâs definitely a possibility. Thereâs so much rage in the kills, at least as much as weâve seen in the photos. The unsub could see himself as a sort of vigilante for children who were unwanted,â he replied. âIn the year 2005, there were at least 146,172 finalized adoptions across the United Statesâ children are given away every day. The question is, why now? What stressor would make the child start killing years after they were presumably given up?â
You were silent, thinking about everything you knew about the foster care system and what happened to kids when they outgrew their placements. Finally, you arrived, parking fairly close to the door of the morgue. As Spencer exited, you turned to grab your jacket from the back seat. It was a brisk day, and you knew morgues werenât known for their warmth, either. When you went to reach for your door handle, you found that Spencer had come to open it for you. You flushed slightly.
âOh, thank you! I could have gotten it,â You said, and he shrugged.Â
âItâs the chivalrous thing to do. Actually, did you know that while door holding was popularized by knights in the Victorian Era, Greek men used to carry their wives on their shoulders to prevent them from dirtying their clothes?â He asked, offering you his hand as you stepped out. You felt distinctly princess-like, and could easily get used to Spencer taking care of you, opening your doors, opening your legsâŚ
You blinked hard before looking to meet Spencerâs gaze. You were blushing, and Spencer tensed, ever so slightly. He licked his lips before turning his head towards the door. He had dropped your hand, and you immediately put it in your coat to make up for the loss of his warmth. âThatâs really interesting, Spencer,â you said, and meant it.Â
When you met with the M.E. she began to describe the victimâs injuries. âShe died from loss of blood, a class three hemorrhage from this slash to her throat. She was found in a lake, which explains these notches hereâ the environment began to deteriorate the body right before it was found, probably from something in the water that was hungry enough to approach.â
Spencerâs face wrinkled in confusion. âSo she didnât die from the evisceration? Was it done postmortem?âÂ
The medical examiner paused. âMy guess? It occurred very soon after the throat was slashed. However, it would only take about 2 minutes to die from blood loss after a gash this deep, so thereâs a chance the victim was still alive, but they definitely wouldnât have been conscious. After about 15 seconds, she most likely passed out.â
You sighed. âSo not quite torture, but still an extremely violent way to kill. Was there any signs of sexual assault?â
The woman shook her head. âThere is something to note, however. Though a lot of the internal organs were damaged during the evisceration, there was extensive injury to the uterus, gashes not aligning with the other cuts.â
Spencer nodded curtly. After a few more questions, you both made your way out. The details of the case fresh in your mind, you wanted to discuss with Spencer before you forgot anything.Â
âNo sexual assault and a water burial points to a female unsub, but the cause of death was so extremely violent and messy. If there was no sexual motivation, this unsub would have to have incredible amounts of rage and privacy to attack in this way,â You mused, and Spencer nodded, casually going to open your door before you got the chance. You again were caught off guard. Youâd been sent alone with Reid before, and never had he acted this way. It was a small change in behavior, but noticing changes in behavior was your job. You gave him a small smile before climbing in. Something heated in your core, and butterflies fluttered in your abdomen. You took a deep breath before Spencer entered the car, trying to keep your composure. This was going to be a long case.Â
-
When you and Spencer returned to the police station, you met with everyone and began to relay your information. There was very little difference in the appearances of the women, the MO consistent with every kill. Forensic countermeasures, no witnesses at the dump site, and no apparent connection between the victims besides the obvious physical resemblance and the fact that they all had kids put into the system. That was, until Garcia called.
âHey, Babygirl. What do you have? Youâre on speaker.â Said Derek, setting his phone on the table.Â
âHey sweetness. I did what you asked, and thereâs no links romantically between the woman, so no sharing baby daddies over here. All three women had their cases sealed as no-contact, but I didnât want to come up completely empty handedâ so I did some more looking and I think I found out how the unsub is targeting his victims.â
Spencer cut in, raising his hand. âActually, Garcia, when we visited the medical examiner, we floated the theory that the unsub is a woman due to the apparent lack of sexual interest and mode of disposal.âÂ
Garcia let out a small gasp, âOh, that is not good.âÂ
âWhy?â Spencer asked, face scrunched.
âBecause all three victims attended support groups for women who put their children up for foster care.âÂ
You stiffened, and your mouth dropped slightly.Â
âOh, my god,â You said. Everyone looked at you as you placed your hand on the table. âSheâs killing herself.â
-Â
After realizing the unsub was targeting women who represented herself, the team decided to do more research into why the woman would attack others instead of actually killing herself.Â
âGuilt for leaving the child is the most obvious option, but it doesnât make sense that simply putting the baby up for adoption would have triggered her like this. She likely knew that she wouldnât be able to care for the baby upon finding out she was pregnant. But if sheâs stable enough to recognize that something about her situation makes her an unfit mother, then it feels like weâre missing a part of whatâs triggering her. She cares enough for her child to try and give it a good life thatâs not with her. That doesnât sound like someone who is capable of this level of violence.â Emily mused, and you nodded.Â
Spencer came up beside you, standing behind your chair. Your hair went on end as he joined the conversation, hand resting on the chair only an inch away from the back of your neck. You imagined him resting his hand on your neck instead, snaking it around to the front and squeezing while he directed your gaze upward. You swallowed hard and sat up straight in your chair. Spencer looked down at you from where he stood for only a moment, and you worried he could read your mind. He smelled good, you could tell from his proximity. He was so intoxicating, and no matter how hard you tried, your mind couldnât find its way back to the conversation. You nodded as if you were listening, but his looming presence had you nervous, paralyzed. He had that effect on youâ he was your greatest distraction. Once you registered that he had finished speaking, you stood abruptly and said, âExcuse me,â you muttered, before cutting beside him and making a beeline for the coffee pot.Â
Spencerâs brow furrowed, and Emily quirked her head. âIs she okayâŚ?â She asked.
You grabbed a styrofoam cup and decided to pour some water from the cooler. You breathed deepâ your feelings for Spencer were becoming suffocating. You stood from your bent position at the spout when you felt a hand on the lower-middle of your back. You startled, and almost spilt your water. You held your heart and felt it twist when you met the ever-enveloping gaze of Spencer Reid.Â
âOh! You- you scared me.â You said, looking down at your cup, but Spencer moved to include his face in your line of sight.
âHey, are you okay? Youâve been acting strange⌠you space out a lot and youâre back to biting your lips. Is there something on your mind?â He asked, eyes slightly darkening before he slipped his voice in a lower, softer tone. âSomeone on your mind?âÂ
Your eyes went wide and you bit the inside of your cheek to make sure you werenât having another dirty work dream. But lo, this was real.Â
âSpencer! Why would you ask me that? Iâm fine,â You said, but Spencer cocked his head.
âThat wasnât a no.â He stated simply, his furrowed brow catching your attention. His thinking face was something youâd always admiredâ but now his quizzicality was turned on you, and it made you sweat. You quirked your head slightly and narrowed your eyes. Two could play this game.Â
âWhy do you care?â you asked, turning the question on him once more.
Spencer blinked and he wet his lips. Before you could give him the chance to reply, you pressed him again. âYouâve been licking your lips. Itâs a nervous tick. You did it when you held my door, too. Were you nervous then, Reid? Do I make you nervous?â You asked, a challenge in your eyes. Despite your brave face, your heart was pounding and you felt heat gathering below your belt. You wanted him to take you by the lips and work your biting attitude out of you. When he didnât reply, you let yourself smile like youâd won.
âThatâs okay. We donât have to do this here, hm?â You said, and Spencerâs gaze darkened. Just as you went to walk away, Spencer moved his hand from your back to your arm, grabbing your tricep and stopping you in your path.Â
âYouâre right. Weâll finish this later.â He said after he moved close to your ear before walking ahead of you back to the conference room the team had posted up in.Â
Oh, fuck.
-
That night when you got back into your hotel, you turned and closed the door behind you as quickly as you could. You panted heavily and closed your eyes. The rest of the night there were no further developments in the case, and you all felt defeated. More than that, every time you were in a room with him, you felt Reidâs eyes burning a hole into the back of your head, always watching. You felt like a deer in headlights, trapped in wait. You pushed off the door and threw your go-bag onto the bed, searching frantically for the item you had most shamefully added within the last few weeks.
A small pink mini-wand. It was the quietest toy you could find, and you were paranoid of your coworkers somehow hearing you fucking yourself over the sexy genius none of them knew you wanted. Or, you thought none of them knew. All of the members of the BAU had suspected your feelings for months.
You threw your clothes off your body, stripping down into your underwear and walking to the bathroom to turn on the shower. The toy was waterproof, thank goodness, because you were aching to take care of yourself and didnât want to wait until you were showered to do so. After taking off the rest of your layers, you stepped inside, feeling the warm water trickle down your body. You clicked on the wand, and gingerly pressed it to your throbbing clit. Unfortunately, you heard a noise that made you jump and hurriedly turn it off.Â
It was knocking, on your door. You groaned and turned off the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping yourself before angrily going to see who it was. You left the toy on the bed, just around the corner from the door, out of sight. You looked through the peep hole and blinked in surprise when you saw it was Spencer. You adjusted your makeshift cover before cracking the door just so.
â...Yes, Spencer?â You asked, pinning him with a look of annoyance as he noticed your distinct lack of real clothes.Â
âWe just got to our rooms, and youâre already naked?â He asked, and your face flushed red. It was as if he knew that a shower was only half your motivation, like he could see the hot pink vibrator waiting for you just out of sight.
âYou make it sound so weird! I was in the shower. What do you want,â you said, less like a question and more of a statement of annoyance.
Spencer narrowed his eyes. âBut your hair isnât wet?â
You rolled your own and glared. âI had only just got in before someone came knocking on my door, apparently just to bother me. Goodnight Spencer.â You went to close the door in his face.
âWait,â he said, jamming his foot in the frame before you could close it.Â
You groaned and opened it again. âSpencer, what is it? Iâm literally naked. Let me close the door.âÂ
It was his turn to pin you with a look. âIf you were literally naked, I wouldnât be standing out here.âÂ
Apparently, Spencer didnât recognize the innuendo in his statement, or if he did, he refused to amend itâ he just let out a heavy sigh while your mind ran wild with the musings of what he could have possibly meant by that.Â
âI have a theory about why the unsub started killing surrogates,â he said, and you blinked. âI started thinking about the reasons most women put up their children in the first place. Poverty, indifference, drug use-â
You cut him off. âSpencer! If you need to talk about this so badly, come inside. I donât like standing here in just a towel.â
Spencer let out a sigh of relief and gave you a look that said, âFinally.â You moved aside and began to walk over to the room when you felt a jolt of panic shoot through you. In your frustration and anxiety to get out of the doorway, you managed to forget you left your very neon pink toy square on the bed. You let out a yelp and tried to reach for it before he noticed, but it was too late. You panicked, and began mumbling.
âAH! Iâm sorry- sorry thatâs- I was just.. Itâs just, it was just in my bag I wasnât-â Your ramblings were cut off by Spencer stopping you.
âHey! Itâs- itâs fine! I donât care!â He said, looking at the wall, giving you time to put it away. âApproximately 52.2% of the American female population have used a vibrator in their lifetimeâŚand about 45% of American men, itâs normal! I- not that Iâd care anyways.â he said, and you felt the hair on your arms stand up. The thought of Spencer using a vibrator, or using one on you⌠You coughed and turned to face him.
âUm. Thanks. Sorry. One second,â you said. You moved to the bathroom to change into the pajamas you had laid in there earlier, leaving Spencer alone in the bedroom. Your face was red and hot, and you felt something between embarrassment and lust fill your chest.
While you were in the bathroom, Spencer had his back turned to the bathroom door, biting his lip and trying to will away his growing erection. Of course you brought a vibrator on this tripâ you were trying to kill him. After the little stunt you pulled earlier, heâd spent the rest of the day trying to forget about how soft your skin was, and how badly he wanted to take you back to his room and show you exactly why he cared if someone was on your mind. When he heard the door open, he turned to face you and prayed to every god heâd never believed in that he didnât have a noticeable boner.Â
âOkay, so.. I was.. Thinking. About why children are put up for adoption. And then it dawned on meâ most women whoâve been raped but donât want to abort will give up their child.â You nodded, now distracted by his credible hypothesis.
âItâs a good start, but that still doesnât explain why sheâs killing now. UnlessâŚâ Spencer cocked his head, hanging on your words. âReid, what percentage of rape victims are revictimized in their lifetime?âÂ
Reid paused, before squinting. âSixty-six percent, why?â
âSpencer. What if she was revictimized, and impregnated again?â
Spencer's arms jolted in realization. âThe thought of having to carry another child to term that sheâd have to let go might have been too much, but she might be unwilling to kill herself because-â
âBecause sheâd be killing the child in the process.â
âAnd thatâs why sheâs killing the surrogates!â
You and Spencer both immediately went to leave, and you grabbed your badge and gun as you beelined for Hotchâs hotel room. You practically ran down the hall, reaching his door and rapidly knocking. Hotch answered, still in his suit from earlier in the day when you and Spencer both blurted out, âWe know why sheâs killing surrogates.â
-
The team descended on the scene, previously dreary from a lack of sleep but now pumped with adrenaline. After calling a much bothered Penelope to have her work her technological genius, you asked her to pull records of women who reported being revictimized recently that also recently began prenatal medications. There was only one name: Erika Hawley. Derek led the infiltration, kicking down the door to reveal an empty house, but a lit basement. You called, âFBI! Erika Hawley, come out with your hands up!âÂ
The basement door remained shut, so it was broken into. In the basement, Erika was found with another woman from the support group, knife to her throat. You put your hands up as you approached.
âErika⌠put the knife down. I cannot imagine the amount of pain you are in right now. But Erika, she hasnât done anything.â You kept your voice calm. Behind you, Spencer had followed, and he had his gun trained on the womanâs head, ready to do whatever necessary to protect you. His heart hammered in his ears as Erika spoke.Â
âI canât take it! Itâs not fair!â She screamed, tears running down her face. You looked at her with utter sympathy, and took another slow step.
âErika⌠I know you have a good heart. Thatâs why you feel trapped, right? In your own body, because youâre unwilling to abort your baby. And thatâs your choice, and Iâm so sorry you have to go through this a second time. But the woman in your arms⌠is not you. Killing her wonât undo your hurt. Her name is Ashley Sullivan, and she has a family. Erika⌠Itâs time to let her go.âÂ
Erikaâs eyes filled with tears before dropping the knife and releasing the woman from her grasp. As soon as the knife hit the floor, you moved forward and kicked it towards Spencer. When it was out of reach, you handed Spencer your gun and moved to hug the woman. She collapsed into your arms, and you consoled her before gently telling her to turn to be apprehended and reading her her rights.
-
Once Erika was arrested, you flew home the next day to rest before returning to the office the day after to finalize all of your paperwork. What had happened with Erika was devastating, but despite everything that happened, all you could think about was how Spencer came to your room that night. About how he had seen your toy, sure, but mostly about how he had a breakthrough and came to see you. He thought the best thing he could do with this important information⌠was to gather your opinion because he thought you would be to help.
God, heâs sexy.
Your bedroom was as messy as you had left it before you embarked on the trip, and you decided to clean it some before relaxing the rest of the day. You knew as someone who took the lead in the arrest, youâd have some of the most paperwork to do tomorrow, second only to Hotch. You groaned, and began to put the dirty clothes and strewn about accessories away. Once your room was clean, you grabbed clothes to bring to the shower with you and turned on your CD player.Â
-Â
When you exited the shower, you went back to your room, and grabbed the very same vibrator from the go-bag youâd set in the corner. You threw yourself onto your bed, still naked and needy. You moved to press it to where you wanted it most, and you whimpered when you felt the sensations on your clit. It was the pressure youâd been desperate for for days, and your hips bucked slightly. You circled around your core, letting yourself give into the fantasies that flooded your mind.
There, in your head, it was Spencer giving you your relief, moving over your clit to coax your orgasm out from you. You moaned, and clicked the button to make the vibrations more powerful. You pictured him: curly hair, beautiful hazel eyes, sweet voice. You pictured him kissing your thighs, your lips. You felt your orgasm quickly build.
âThatâs it, just focus. Youâve got this, youâre so pretty⌠doing so well, there we goâŚâ You bucked your hips into the pleasure. But you found that no matter how hard you tried, you couldnât cum. It was agonizing - waiting on a crash of pleasure that never crested. You lay there for an hour, whining and pleading before getting frustrated and throwing the vibe across the room. You didnât know what was wrongâ youâd spend your whole LIFE giving yourself orgasms, and now suddenly, itâs not enough? But really, you did know what was wrong. What you needed.Â
In utter desperation, you went to your underwear drawer. You pulled out a purple lace set youâd bought on sale, and put it on.
This was a bad idea.
This was a terrible, horrible idea that could potentially ruin one of the best friendships youâd had in a long time.
âŚ
You didnât care.
-
You pulled into Spencerâs apartment parking lot, parking and marching into the buildingâ a woman on a mission. You walked into the elevator and pressed the button, hands shaking slightly. The sun was setting, you hadnât eaten, and you knew what would happen if this went awry. But you were losing it, and if this didnât go well youâd probably end up ruining things some other way in the coming weeks, unable to do anything but ogle him. You had become well and truly obsessed with this man. He had bewitched you, and you had to do something about it.Â
Taking steps so broad you were nearly jogging, you hurried to Spencerâs door, fist raised to knock before you pausedâ what if he wasnât even home? What if there was someone inside with him, someone he had kept secret? You decided to take the leap before you could psych yourself out, knocking one, two, three times before taking a step back. Your foot tapped the floor, looking all around the hall. You must have gone completely crazy.Â
It was taking too long. Maybe he had looked through the peep hole and saw your face, backed away. He didnât want you like you wanted him, he didnât need you like-
âHello?â Your head whipped to his front door, meeting his beautiful hazel eyes immediately. Your face was red, and terribly, your mind when blank.Â
âIs everything okay?â Spencer asked, face twisted in concern. You hadnât called ahead- at least, he was pretty sure you hadnât. He was too busy fisting his aching cock to the memory of you to check his phone, lest a new case or some random news article interrupt. He was still hard, using the door to shield his lower body. However, upon realizing it was only you, his worry overtook his consciousness of his boner and he opened the door all of the way to step out and greet you.Â
This immediately came back to bite him, as your greedy gaze flicked downwards for just a moment before meeting his gaze again. Then there was something in your face, something hungry and almost primal. Spencerâs tongue flicked across his lips instinctively as he fought his bodyâs urge for his dick to twitch.Â
âYes. Well- no. SpencerâŚâ You searched for the perfect words. Nothing too straightforward, but you didnât want to seem aloof. Then, it hit you.
âWe have a conversation to finish, yeah?â
-
It was about the cheapest shot you couldâve taken, but somehow, it worked. Spencer opened his door further, stepping aside to let you in. You let out a deep sigh of relief, but before you could figure out your next move, you found yourself boxed into the corner of Spencerâs doorway, his arm trapping you in close to him. You found yourself trembling, but not with fear. You had felt Spencer behind you the night you took down the unsub, and knew he wouldnât hurt you. At least, not in ways you didnât want. You looked up through your eyelashes at him, and swallowed hard.Â
âYouâre right. We do have a conversation to finish,â He said, voice low. âAnd Iâd love a reply from my earlier question, but I think I have a more pressing one now. You couldâve called, texted. We couldâve talked on the plane or the night before we flew home. Your pupils are dilated, your face is flushed. Youâre breathing fast and your pulse isâŚâ
Air caught in your throat as Spencer brought a gentle hand to your neck, pressing down slightly. You fought the urge to moan, his proximity making you dizzy. His fingers were warm, and you wanted to take them into your mouth, suck on them while he kept speaking to you in his deep saccharine voice. âAt about 95 beats per minute. So tell me; what really brought you here? Because Iâm not stupid enough to believe it was just to talk.âÂ
Spencerâs confidence when he spoke to you had your knees buckling, and he grasped your chin and forced you to keep eye contact. Your brain was slowly turning to mush, but Spencer needed to hear you say itâ say what he hypothesized had brought you here. Heâs spent the last few months in limbo, wanting you desperately, but caring too much about your relationship â as friends and coworkers â to act on what he could read in your eyes. But you were in his home now, in his territory. He was at his most comfortable now, and he had to hear you say that you wanted him, too.
âCome on,â he cooed, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip. âTalk to me.âÂ
Your eyelashes fluttered and you let out a soft, breathy whimper. You couldnât believe this was happening.Â
âSpencer,â you started. âYou asked me⌠if I was distracted because I was thinking of someone. You were right. Spence, youâre all I think about. Actually, I canât think around youâ at least, nothing appropriate. And sometimes, I think you feel that way too. But sometimes, I think that maybe⌠you donât think about me at all. But SpenceâŚâÂ
He held on your every word, searching your eyes, begging to see truth in them.
âI need you. Itâs gotten to the point that I canât-â Your face burned. You tried to look away, but Spencer turned your head back towards him once more.Â
âCanât what, Angel?â The nickname broke your resolve.
âI canât cum, Spence,â you whispered, turning your gaze at the ground, simultaneously embarrassed and more turned on than youâve ever been in your life.Â
Spencerâs body went completely on edge, and he felt his every nerve buzz to life. His cock ached and strained against his pajama bottoms, and he could wait no longer. He crashed his lips into yours, a beautiful, passionate display of absolute obsession. Kissing Spencer felt like being the most relaxed youâd ever been, while simultaneously being lit on fire. Something ignited inside you, while a smaller beast finally could rest, knowing you were where you were always meant to beâ in Spencerâs embrace. You moaned, unabashedly, taking his tongue into your mouth. Spencerâs hands grasped the sides of your head, trying to close any and all distance between you. Your hands grasped onto his shirt, fisting the fabric. You were so happy, you could cry. Youâd wanted this for so long. Spencer never wanted the kiss to endâ he felt complete when in contact with you. However, his leaking head was now making a pool of precum in his boxers, so he pulled away. You whined softly at the loss of his lips on yours, but then he bent to pick you up, bridal style. Despite his appearance, he was fairly deft, and had a good enough grasp on physics to make lifting you nearly effortless. He looked at you, eyes dark and sultry. There was a promise inside them that had your pussy twitching in anticipation. He took you to his bed, where he put you down into a sitting position.Â
âI need you to understand something, angel,â He said, hand coming to the side of your face, brushing it sweetly with his thumb on your cheek. You leaned into the contact, doe eyes meeting his stare intently. âOnce we start, it will be extremely difficult for me to stop. The flood of dopamine acts as a filter prioritizing desire over rationale. Not- not that Iâd ever do anything you didnât want. But it will beâŚâ He swallowed thickly, looking to your lips, then back to your eyes. âSo, so agonizing. I need you to tell me now if this is really what you want to do, because it might kill me if I have to pry myself away from you.âÂ
You were putty in his hands. All of his words sounded like the most beautiful melody youâd ever heard. Your hand reached up to grasp the one holding you, and giving in to your earlier fantasy, you moved his thumb over to your mouth to wrap your lips around it. He might as well have been made of sugar, he tasted so sweet. You kept your gaze locked on him as you nodded slowly, swirling your tongue around his thumb. Spencer let out a low sigh before abruptly removing his digit from your mouth and grasping your face, hard. It didnât hurt, but the command in the action was clear.
âUse your words, angel. Donât make me ask again.âÂ
You swallowed.Â
âI want this, Spencer. I want you. Please, I need you.â
Spencer smiled a condescendingly sweet smile and tilted his head.Â
âGood girl, that wasnât so hard?â He loosened his grip on your face and moved it to the back of your hair, tangling at the nape of your neck. You let out a soft whimper and titled your head back just so.
âYouâve been driving me crazy, you know that? Anytime I try to get work done and youâre somewhere eye-fucking me in the corner.â Spencer used his free hand to pull the drawstring of his pajama bottoms undone, pulling them down to free his cock. It was red and leaking, covered in shiny precum all over the tip. He took it into his hand, squeezing the base to try and relieve some of the pressure. Your mouth watered and you instinctively went to take it into your mouth, but Spencerâs hand in your hair kept you in place. He began to stroke it slowly, tantalizingly close to you but just out of reach. He tutted and shook his head.
âYou want to make me feel good? Want to make it up to me for all those nights I had to come home and touch myself to the thought of you?â
You whined, nodding your head as much as you could as he held you. After a few moments of agonizing waiting, he finally smiled and said, âOkay, Angel. Go ahead.â
You moved forward, his hand still on your hair, but allowing you to move freely. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the head of his cock before giving it a soft lick. Spencer let out a soft laugh at your affection in a moment so sensual.
âSo sweet for me,â he praised, and you giggled before dipping your head to lick up his length from base to tip. He shut his eyes and released a shuddering breath. You opened up to take the tip into your mouth, slowly lowering yourself. He was bigger than anything youâd had before, and you hesitated slightly at the size. He rubbed soft circles into your scalp, and you moaned around him.
Spence tipped his head back in pleasure, letting out unsteady whimpers as you sucked him slowly. Your mouth was warm, your tongue dragging on the underside of his dick right along a vein. You felt so much better than his hand, better than anything he'd ever known. You were losing yourself in the motions, almost high on the knowledge you were making him feel good. As if he could read your mind, he began to praise you again.
âYouâre doing s-so well,â he choked out, and your clit buzzed with want. You moved faster, your head bobbing in a steady pace that drew his orgasm near. Not wanting to finish so soon, he tugged on the back of your hair again. Unfortunately, you resisted, staying where you were. Drool dripped from your lips, messy from the act. You whimpered, slightly frantic, like the thought of not having his cock in your mouth anymore caused you grief. Spencer was surprised by your defiance, and brought his other hand to your chin, holding you still while he pulled out of your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks when he did so, desperate to get him to stay.Â
When he pulled his cock free from your mouth, it was shining with spit and twitching. Heâd gotten so close to cumming in your mouth, and he cursed at the loss of feeling. He pinned you with a look. âYou think you can decide what you get from me, after the way youâve been behaving?â He released you, finally, and stepped out of his bottoms fully before taking off his shirt. He looked at you and gave a slight nod of his head.Â
âStrip.â He said simply, tossing his shirt in the corner before crossing his room and rummaging in a drawer. He pulled out a box of condoms, and brought them over to his bedside. You were naked when he turned around, and in an instant, you were brought out of the moment at the realization. You were naked, in front of Spencer Reid. You began to nibble on the corner of your lip, and Spencer immediately picked up on your change in attitude. He came to you, and grabbed your waist, admiring your body. Your nipples peaked from the change in temperature. Spencer was nearly breathless, and he told you as much.Â
âYouâre so beautiful, angel. I canât tell you how long Iâve wanted to see you like this. Well, actually, I could. I can literally recall every time I've thought about you naked.â You let out a soft laugh and looked at the ground. His change in demeanor was heartwarming. You felt strangely vulnerable to his kindness, feeling your stomach twist in nervousness.Â
âSpencer,â You started, and he brushed the hair from your eyes.
âYes, sweetheart?â He said, and butterflies roamed in your gut.Â
âAfter this, will youâŚâ you bit your lip again, then softly smiled, remembering his pointing out your habit. âDo you think youâd want to go on a date, maybe?âÂ
Spencer felt his heart melt a little before bringing you in for a hug. His hands trailed your back, and his still hard cock pressed against your lower abdomen.Â
âI would be honored,â he said, before pressing warm kisses along your neck. You let out a sigh, your hands pressed flat against his chest. He pressed you back so you were sitting on the bed once more, and then had you move so you were lying down the center of the bed.Â
He sucked the side of your neck, leaving dark red marks that would surely become a deep purple in the coming hours. He took one of your tits in his hand, squeezing it. He pressed a kiss to your temple, close to your ear, before whispering.Â
âDonât think this means youâre getting out of trouble,â he said, voice low. It was an empty threat, and he knew it. But you didn't have to. He trailed down your body, moving to suck your nipple into his mouth while the other continued to massage the other. Your chest rose as you moved into his touch, and he smiled. His hand moved away from your tit to finally touch where you wanted him the mostâ where youâd wanted him months. His middle and ring finger pressed in agonizing circles, and you moaned. He dragged his fingers through your soaked pussy, the evidence of your desire collecting on his hand. His middle finger pushed through your folds to gently press into your hole, and you whined loudly.Â
âSpencerrâŚâ you mumbled, biting on your knuckle to try and silence yourself. He detached himself from your chest where he was making a fresh hickey to shake his head.
âUh-uh, let me hear you baby. You like that?â His finger pushed in deeper, curling with expert precision, and he took your hand from your mouth to hold it. The domesticity of the action had you clenching around his finger. When he drew it back, he added his ring finger, both curling and dragging along your insides. Your back arched.Â
âThe average female g-spot,â he breathed against your skin, now kissing your hand, entwined with his. His pace quickened as he talked. âIs about 2-3 inches inside the vaginal walls, facing the ventral side of the body.âÂ
He brought his thumb to press onto your clit as he moved his fingers, not doing much but applying pressure, moving it with the rest of his hands as he worked your core. His palm pressed up and he sped up significantly. You were falling apart under his touch. You bucked your hips, allowing yourself to get lost in the sensation of him inside of you. Spencer watched his own movements with intensity, analytical and ravishing.
âWhen enough pressure is applied to both the Skeneâs glands at the opening of the vagina and the g-spot is stimulated, itâs theorized that many people with female anatomyâŚâ You felt a sensation not unlike needing to pee, and opened your eyes, panic and pleasure combining in an absolutely consuming high. You were close, so close, but so was the feeling like you needed to urinate, and you panicked.Â
â...Will experience the phenomenon known as âsquirtingâ,â Spencer finished, as you reached your orgasm. It ripped through you, your legs spasming violently. You cried out, loudly, screaming his name while he worked you. You squired along his hands, something youâd never been able to do previously. It was unlike the orgasms youâd become accustomed to. While you came, Spencer kissed your hands and spouted praise.
âOh, good girl, good girl, thatâs it⌠So beautiful,â He muttered. He finally stopped his movements when your body began to calm, your breathing and moans evening. He smiled widely and looked at you. When you opened your eyes, you saw Spencer, pupils completely blown out looking like the king of the world. You panted, brain short circuiting as you attempted to process what had just happened.Â
âHowâŚdid you know⌠I could do it?â You asked eventually, while Spencer gently massaged your clit. You were sensitive, but his movements worked to soothe you more than to overstimulate. Spencer shrugged and did his small half-frown, half-smile before speaking.Â
âI didnât. I mean, statistically speaking, only about 5% of women in the western world experience squirting during intimacy. But Iâd read about it, and I really wanted to try. Iâm just surprised it worked so well.â He said. He moved to spread your legs, slotting himself between them before leaning down to embrace you. âYou did such a good job listening to me. Do you want to make me feel good now, baby? I think you earned it,â he said softly, his cock pressing against your now slightly-sore entrance.
You looked into his eyes and nodded, and he went to reach for the condoms. You whined out a sound of protest before grabbing his hand.Â
âWait, please- please, Spence, wanna do it raw. Iâve been so good, want you to feel all of me. Wanna feel all of you.â You pleaded, giving him your best begging look. Your other hand reached down, giving his cock a gentle tug before dragging it along your soaked folds. âI want you to cum in me, Spence, I need you to fill me up.â You were kissing his neck now, trying to distract him with pleasure so heâll give in.Â
Spencerâs body and mind stalled momentarily, running statistics of the success of emergency contraception. His breath quickened, and he felt his resolve crumbling under the weight of your absolutely perverted requests.Â
âGod, angel⌠how could I say no when youâre begging me so beautifully?â He sat back on his heels, taking his cock from your grasp before aligning it with your entrance. His sticky precum mixed with the fluids from your release, causing his length to slide in completely unbarred. With absolutely no resistance, his dick penetrated your hole completely, instantly bottoming out. Spencerâs mouth gaped, and you clenched hard around the change in pressure, crying out and arching your back. Spencerâs hands dug into your hips, grounding himself. He gently pulled out some, and you felt every inch as it left you, before he rocked back into you with intensity. His tip kissed your cervix, and you felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes in pleasure.
Spencer was inside of you. Spencer was inside of you, and he was inside of you raw. Immediately, you became inconsolably cock drunk, only able to think about the man you were completely enveloped by.Â
âS-spencer, baby, I- itâs too good, âs too much,â you rambled out, and you were vaguely aware of a trail of drool coming from the side of your mouth. Spencer smiled, soaking in the raw power that he had over you, wanting to do nothing but make you incandescently happy.Â
âFeels so tight angel, youâre so goodâŚare you my good girl? Gonna make me cum in you?â He asked, blinking fast, your warm walls sucking him in. You moaned at the praise, and bucked to meet his thrusts, wanting more.
âI-Iâm your good girl, Iâm all yours, wanna be all yours forever,â you babbled, the intensity of his thrusts making you see stars. âOhmygod, Spence, âs so deep,â you cried, and he let out a soft laugh. He took one of his hands and pressed on your abdomen, right where he was fucking into you.Â
âYou feel me right there baby? Gonna â mh, fuck â gonna cum right in there. You like that, yeah? Dirty girl, want me to- ngh, want me to make it all warm and sticky? Youâre filthy for me, just want me inside you so bad, donât care what I do to you,â Spencer was the one losing it now, a crazed look in his eye as words he never thought heâd say aloud tumbled from his mouth. His moans were coming out broken, like he was about to cry. You felt your orgasm crashing towards you, his nasty words pushing you over the edge.Â
âS-spencer! Spence, mâgonna cum, can I cum, pleasepleaseplease,â you babbled, and Spencerâs pace became absolutely punishing.Â
âThatâs it, you can cum baby, cum with me? Finish while I cum inside you?â He replied, his own orgasm taking over as he rutted inside of you. You saw white as you felt Spencer spill inside you, warm fluid filling you. You cried, tears falling as you felt the most intense orgasm of your life.Â
Spencer felt his core tense as he came, bending over and catching himself with his arms, the pleasure nearly making him dizzy. Once you had both finished, the silence settled comfortably. When he was sure he wouldnât completely collapse, Spencer gently pulled out, his seed spilling out of you and onto the covers. Spence watched in fascination, before laying beside you and pulling you inside close. Neither of you were sure what to say yet, content to lay in the post orgasmic bliss with the person youâd both spent so long chasing. You lay like that for a while, not really knowing how much time was passing. Spencer drew lazy figures onto your back while you nestled in his chest, planting the occasional kiss to his pec. It was after a while that the feeling of Spencerâs cum drying on your body as it mixed with the remnants of your previous release began to itch, much to your displeasure. You lifted your head and met Spencerâs eyes, and a warm smile grew as you saw your feelings reflected in his gaze. There was love there, between you two. Maybe you wouldnât say it now, but you both felt it. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, unhurried this time. It was soft, warm. You pulled back and brushed a hair from his eye before you spoke.Â
âDo you have a washcloth?â You asked, and Spencerâs eyes went wide.Â
âOh! Oh my goodness, yes, of course! Iâm so sorry, I shouldnât have made you just lay-â You pressed a hand to his lips to quiet him. You gave him a look and smiled.
âSpence, itâs okay. I didnât mind before. I wanted to cuddle, and itâs just now bugging me.âÂ
Spencer gave a grateful smile, happy for your reassurance. You almost couldnât believe this was the same man who was just fucking you into the mattress, rambling about you being a âdirty girlâ. It was as if heâd become momentarily possessed by the most lust-filled demon that there ever was. Not that you were complaining.Â
Spencer gently rose from the bed and went to the bathroom to grab a warm rag, coming back quickly to hand it to you. While you cleaned yourself, he gathered your underwear and brought you a shirt from his drawer that looked like it was about 5 sizes too big for him. When you quirked a brow at the shirt, he blushed a little before placing it with your underclothes on the bed beside you. He took the rag from you to clean his softening cock before dressing himself.
âI, uh, get overstimulated sometimes?â He laughed to himself before continuing. âDespite what you might now think, I actually donât often enjoy being naked.âÂ
You giggled at his joke and grabbed your clothes. He had redressed himself in his pajamas, and sat beside you once you had your panties and the shirt on.
âSoâŚâ you drawled. Spencer smiled and his tongue swiped at his lips. You melted a little, the habit now slowly becoming one of your favorites.Â
âWould you like to spend the night?â Spencer asked, and your heart soared. You werenât going to ask, but you didnât really feel like leaving after this relationship-altering night. âI have takeout menus to a couple places open late, mostly oriental cuisines, and Iâd really like it if you stayed. Itâs up to you though! I justâŚâ he looked away sheepishly, the statement seeming silly after what you two had just done. âI really like you. I like being around you.âÂ
If you werenât in love before, you were head over heels now. You leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. âI would be delighted to stay. I might shower, even though we just cleaned up, I wanna get the sweat and other⌠fluids⌠off.âÂ
Spencer sat up and offered you his hand. âYouâre more than welcome to! Iâll grab you a towel, and Iâll change the sheets before we sleep. That is-â Spencer hesitated, making you giggle.
âYes, Spencer. We will be sleeping together in your bed. Again.â He laughed at your joke and smiled.Â
âRight. Yes. Hopefully many more times, if Iâm lucky.â You giggled again and sat up. You walked towards his bathroom and he followed, heading to show you where the towels were kept beneath his sink. Before he left the bathroom, he turned.
âOh! Also, I can go get the emergency contraception, so you donât have to worry about it.â He offered, blushing again before you cocked your head.Â
âSpence, you donât have to. I mean, I guess you can. But I have an IUD, and itâs nowhere near its expiration.â You smiled reassuringly. âYouâre a sweetie, though.âÂ
Spencer felt a slight embarrassment creep in. You were one of the smartest women heâd ever met, of course you wouldnât blindly risk pregnancy.
âOh. Right. Uh, sorry. I shouldâve asked earlier.â Your smile never faded as you walked back to embrace him.
âSpencerrrr, itâs okay. I promise. You were preoccupied with more important opportunities.âÂ
Spencer laughed and hugged you back. It felt so nice to have you in his arms, like knowing you were safe there made a certain part of his brain finally go quiet.Â
âIâm going to go strip the bed now,â he said, kissing the top of your head. You nodded and began to take off your clothes.Â
âFeel free to join me in the shower when youâre done,â you flirted, and Spencerâs replying grin made you happy.Â
I could get used to this, crossed both of your minds, excited for whatever comes next.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
a/n: if you enjoyed this please comment or reblog! not because I want this viral, but because it literally brings me the most joy in the world when I hear all of your thoughts. I love talking to you guys and read EVERY single comment I get!
The Ainât Love (New!SVU!Reader - Former!BAU!Reader)
-------------------------------
Snippet 2 for Readerâs story after Crush and Burn
Snippet 1
-------------------------------
âThatâs new,â Fin murmured, with the same unamused expression as always.
Benson scoffed. âReally, Fin?â
The man just shrugged. âIâm just saying. Bosses doing what bosses do. Nothing personal, Liv.â
I love this man. And it's a good thing Benson loves him, too.
âSo weâll have âhelp,â Rollins concluded, sitting on the edge of her desk, arms crossed.
âFBIâs help,â Benson said, turning her gaze to me.
I wasnât stupid. I knew the case details. Rapes, murders, and a body count crossing several cities in the country. Patterns. Serial killer. My former team.
I sighed, out of resignation, I guess. âThey did call the BAU, didnât they?â
The captain nodded. âThey did. And they are landing here in any minute.â
It was common knowledge that I worked for the BAU for many years, but I've never told anyone the real reasons why I left.
I know Benson suspects it, but she's never forced me to say anything, which I appreciate. Fin and Rollins assume it's none of their business. As for my partner, Bruno, it's as if he knows without me having to say a word.
The poor guy had to witness some of my outbursts when I first started at the SVU, and any mention of my past life was enough to trigger the shutdown wall.
âThat was fast,â the very same Bruno pointed out, his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.
âYou okay with it?â Benson checked with me, trying to be as casual as possible, so the breadth of possibilities for why I might not be okay with that was wide enough: from nostalgia to simple discomfort, work-style conflict, or personal issues.
âYeah. Okay.â
Neutral response. It's not like I canât refuse or argue with it. Iâm not thrilled, but hey, three years and counting since I last spoke with any of my ex-team. I donât even know if they are all still there. Or if they are aware Iâm working here, for that matter. I never told anyone.
âGood. As I prepare the welcome party, you and Bruno go to check Verna at the hospital. She might be conscious now and remember something. Fin and Rollins go to put some pressure on TARU and the hotel footage.â
-
âBenson wouldnât have mind, you know?â
Brunoâs words cut the silence of our driving to the hospital. I didnât spare him a glance, focused on the road ahead, but my hands tightened on the steering wheel.
âWouldnât have mind what?â
It's not difficult to guess what he meant, but one thing I've learned from the past is not to assume.
âIf you had asked her to skip the case. Clearly, she gave you the chance.â
I left a humorless laugh, shaking my head.
âOne. Why would I have asked that? Two. Iâm a grown-up woman. It's not like I can run from doing my job because of-â I trail off. How to put it in words without saying much? Bruno noticed.
âYou donât have to tell me. I have never asked you to. But donât say your old job isnât an unresolved issue to you.â
I clenched my jaw. âYou wrong. It's resolved. I left.â
What a shitty attempt at defense. I cringed even saying it.
Bruno chuckled, seeing how I couldnât even convince myself. âYeah. Run, Forest. Run.â
âFuck you, Bruno.â It wasnât out of rage; more like embarrassment at being called out.
âHey, Iâm just trying to be a supportive partner. It's not a crime,â he said, raising his hands in mock defense.
What can I say? Among the things I appreciate most about Detective Terrence Bruno are his respect for other people's limits and his major-brand sarcasm. It never fails to steal a smile from me.
The Ainât Love (New!SVU!Reader - Former!BAU!Reader)
Snippet - Reader story after Crush and Burn
-------------------------------------
âWhy SVU?â Captain Benson asked me. Honestly, I haven't questioned it that much since I decided to move to New York a couple of months ago. I knew I wanted nothing to do with the FBI, but I also didnât want to leave law enforcement. So it wasnât hard. I knew the job Manhattan SVU was doing, and I thought I could fit in. That, and the recommendation letter from Director Strauss, who knew Chief MacGrath, did it.
âIn my days with the FBI, I had some involvement with cases entangling sexual offenders. I think I can be useful here.â
Benson hummed. âI can say. Your recommendation letter and file are quite impressive. Although I would have thought you wanted to stay in the federal ladder or at least keep it local.â
She may not be a profiler, but Olivia Benson has more than 20 years working here, and hell, she knows how to read people. I wasnât anybody with the right to insult her intelligence.
âLetâs say I needed a change of pace and space. But I promise you, nothing that I carry with me right now will interfere with my job here.â
She looked at me and smiled knowingly. âOh, Iâm sure it will be interfere at some point. But Iâm confident you can manage.â
There is when I noticed something different from my new boss compared with the former one: they both knew their people so well, but Benson just said it aloud. It wasnât a guessing game like it was with Hotch at first. Well, maybe I can actually handle this change.
Summary: Reader has given everything to take care of Spencer, even having to hide her own broken heart for his sake. Things seem to be improving with time, but some ghosts never truly disappear.
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: ANGST/SMUT. Maeve's arc. Spencer is hurting, but is also an asshole.
A/N: I'm in the mood for angst today. Don't hate me.
------------------
Let me be the one you call
If you jump, I'll break your fall
Lift you and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart, I can mend a broken heart
If you need to crash, then crash and burn
You're not alone
------------------
Masochism. Lack of self-love. A tormented soul suffering for the man I will never call mine.
I've lost count of how many times people have said those things to me over the years. Both true and wretched. Ignored and locked away in a drawer in the back of my mind.
They come back to the surface from time to time, when I get to be alone in my room, when I allow myself to feel sorry for myself.
But this time I chose this. It's nobody's fault but mine. I'm the one who opted to push back my feelings and needs for his sake. He deserved it. Not my specific sacrifice, for that matter, but any form of care he could get.
I always knew I had a soft spot for Spencer. I knew it since I joined the team, actuallyâthe very first moment, when he was a stuttering mess after Hotch introduced us.
I didn't think much of it then. I found it endearing and cute. But as much time passed, and I got to really meet Spencer, I started to fall for him.
How could I not? He made me believe again that love could be in my life. Was it in the form of a beautiful friendship at first, and then something more?
I can't lie and say we got that far, though not for lack of enthusiasm from me, or because of the signs I thought I was getting from him. But just when I was about to take the leap of faith, something happened.
Or rather, someone happened.
Maeve Donovan.
Everything ensued so fast and so slow all at once. When I started noticing the calls in phone booths, the longer silences between us, the things Spencer no longer said to me, the time we no longer shared, that's when I realized what I had built in my mind all that time was collapsing like a house of cards.
The first time he mentioned her name, it was like a cold bucket of water down my spine, but at the same time, it gave me the confirmation that I wasn't crazy, that I still knew him so well.
It hurt even more.
And so everything became about her. About how beautiful she was, how intelligent, how she was the only one who understood and accepted the way he was. The day Spencer told me he'd never felt so seen by anyone, I couldn't bear it and almost ran out of the police station where we were working.
It was unfair. It was a lie.
But apparently, no one cared. And maybe it would have been better that way, because when the team started to realize how much it hurt me, the looks of pity became regular.
After a while, I decided it was best to accept that I had lost. Spencer Reid would just be another unrequited love in my life, and I had to accept it.
That didn't return me to who I was again, but at least it gave me a starting point. Spencer and I weren't the friends we used to be anymore, and apparently, that didn't bother him. Of course, in the love bubble he was in, I was the last thing on his mind.
Time will heal everything.
I repeated the same thing over and over. Every day, until it started to stick.
-
One morning, I crossed the bullpen doors and saw everyone extremely quiet. Eyes fixed on Hotch's office, where he and Spencer were talking behind closed blinds. No one could tell me what was wrong; they didn't know either. But when the door opened, revealing a defeated Spencer and a worried stoic Hotch, I realized something really bad was happening.
Maeve's disappearance took everyone by surprise, especially given the circumstances. Now it was an active abduction case, and we were racing against time.
No one knew how to talk to Spencer; no one even tried to offer him a word of encouragement. It didn't feel okay. But I wasn't the right person to do it either. Probably the last someone he wanted to hear from was me. So I stayed out of it. Working nonstop, yes, but not having the courage to approach him.
I had this feeling the whole time that things wouldn't end well. I know the statistics, we knew the profile. Even so, I secretly hoped I was wrong. Spencer deserved to be happy, even if it wasn't with me.
I don't know what was worse: being there and hearing the defeating sound of a gunshot echoing in the room, or Spencer's heartbreaking cries as he fell to his knees, watching the love of his life lie there, lifeless.
Hotch and Rossi helped him to stand up so he could walk out of the scene. We were all there, watching, paralyzed, breath held.
But from all the people there, Spencer only locked eyes with me.
It was a strange feeling, like we hadn't look each other in a long time.
Without warning, he rushed to me and enveloped his arms around my waist, hiding his head in the crook of my neck, sobbing like an inconsolable child. My instinctive response was to hug him tightly, stroke his head, whispering he could let it all out. I told him I was very sorry and that I was there for him.
And indeed, I was the one there for him, and the only one he let in. Not even JJ's visits, or Garcia's baskets, or Morgan's calls could bring Spencer out of his shell. The only times he opened the door or answered the phone were when it was me.
I didn't want to question the situation for my own sanity and his healing process. Of course, it wasn't easy being there when all I saw was how a part of Spencer had died with Maeve Donovan.
It filled me with helplessness and rage. Rage against a dead woman. I know that probably made me the worst person on earth, but I couldn't help it. How could she do this to him? Fill him with happiness, give him hope for a life she couldn't give him now because a psychopath decided that taking her from his life was the best revenge.
It wasn't Maeve's fault, but I blamed her nonetheless. It was that or punishing Spencer for falling in love with her. I would never do the latter.
I spent entire nights by Spencer's side, comforting him and telling him that things would be alright in time. Words that even I found hard to believe, but I desperately wanted to be true. My heart broke a little more each time I saw him so sad, so numb.
His healing process became my priority. And I don't know if it was a good thing or not that the team allowed me to do that. Knowing how Spencer's relationship with Maeve had affected me, no one questioned my role in ensuring his well-being after what happened. I suppose not losing the team's genius was more important than my own broken heart.
I think Emily asked me a couple of times how I was doing, but, of course, I lied and said I was fine, and changed the subject to how Spencer looked a little better every day.
The latter was true. As the weeks and months passed, Spencer gradually got back on track. He returned to work and was more involved in the cases. Our gatherings at his apartment continued. I made sure Spencer took charge of his life again: kept his refrigerator stocked, cleaned the place, and didn't leave his books scattered on the floor. I also managed to get him to smile more. Every laugh that escaped his lips, thanks to something I said, was like medicine for me.
But while he looked better every day, I started paying more attention to myself. I felt exhausted; I had trouble concentrating at work; I was more withdrawn than usual, with the feeling that my composure could crumble at any moment.
What was I doing? I was giving all my energy to someone whom I was still in love with, and I knew would never reciprocate my feelings. With or without Maeve, the point wasn't the opportunity; it was that, for Spencer, I was a better friend than a potential partner. I knew it, but it wasn't enough for me to take a step aside. I couldn't let him alone.
I kept having to repeat the same thing to myself when coffees started appearing on my desk again every morning, when Spencer began waiting for me at the end of the day and walking me to my car, when he actively tried to start a conversation with me on the jet.
We are friends. Nothing more. He's grateful because I was there for him when he needed someone.
So you can imagine my surprise when one day, after midnight, someone started banging on my door. Confused, I got up, and when I opened it, there was Spencer, panting, as if he'd run a marathon, his clothes disheveled and his hair a mess.
"Spencer? What- what happened?"
I imagined the worst, I don't know, a nightmare, the memory of Maeve chasing him in his apartment. But nothing prepared me for what actually came out of his mouth at that moment.
"I have been so stupid all this time."
"What?"
"You have been there for me, and I didn't realize. I mean, I did realize that, but not all things. I was so focused on - on her, that I didn't see you, really see you."
I think I'd dreamed about something like this more times than I'd care to admit, but being there and experiencing it was something so hard to describe.
Without saying a word, without wanting to assume what he meant, I let him in, and the moment I closed the door, Spencer took my hand and pulled me full to his body, holding me tight, as if I would disappear if he didn't.
"Baby, I was so blind. Let me make it up to you," he mumbled into my hair.
Carefully, I parted from his embrace, searching in his eyes what had changed, looking for the truth I desperately needed before indulging myself in this, whatever it was.
"Be honest with me, Spencer, what happened?"
Grabbing my hand, he walked us to the couch. Once we were seated side by side, he cleared his throat. More composed than when he got to my place minutes ago.
"I don't know how to explain it, but I have been thinking a lot lately. About what's going on between us."
I narrowed my eyes. Did Spencer just say 'about what's going on between us'? I was surely missing something, because in my books, nothing was going on. Not because I didn't want it to happen, but because I thought it was impossible.
"And what's your conclusion?"
Spencer smiled at my question. "I want us to be more than friends. I need you in my life more than ever. It's the only thing I've been thinking about. And I know you have been thinking about it, too."
He's not wrong, but I'm dizzy from the sudden turn of events. Is he playing with my feelings? No, Spencer wouldn't do that.
"You don't mean that. We are friends, Spencer." I tried to reason, more with myself than with him.
"Yes. You've been my best friend, but you're certainly more than that now. Would you give me a chance? Please?"
A tear rolled down my cheek. And then another, and another. I couldn't stop them. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to throw all caution to the wind.
Spencer's thumb tenderly wiped them away.
"Do you know how long I have dreamed about this?"
My voice cracked in the end, leaning into his touch.
"I'm so sorry for not noticing. But I'm here now."
I closed my eyes and slowly leaned in. It was both my answer and my prayer that this was real and not a dream.
Spencer didn't make me wait and kissed me. His hands cupped my cheeks, while his lips claimed mine. Sweet at first. Tentative. But when I let myself go, the kiss became passionate, desperate as if we had both been holding back for so long.
We kept making out until our lips became swollen and our lungs hurt from lack of air. I climbed to his lap, and Spencer secured me with his hands firm on my waist so we could keep kissing.
When we finally parted for air, he looked at me with hooded eyes.
"I need you." His voice was heavy with desperation.
Still dazzled, I only mumbled "Spencer-"
"Please, I need you so bad. I didn't realize sooner, I'm sorry. But, please, don't push me away."
It wasn't even an option to me. Spencer didn't know that. Or maybe he did and counted on it. Either way, I didn't care.
Those weren't the right words, but how could I ask him for the right words when he's looking at me that way?
I cupped his face with both hands and kissed him. Hard. Fiercely. The way I could ground him here, in the present, with me, telling him I wasn't going anywhere.
Spencer kissed me back with the same urgency. Hands gripping my waist for dear life.
Was it the way I imagined this? No.
Should I go with it, even knowing it would make things worse? Absolutely not.
Was I going to stop? Also no.
No self-preservation or whatsoever.
I was so lost in his lips that I didn't feel his hands pulling up my sweater until the fabric got stuck between us. I parted for a second and lifted my arms so he could push the whole thing over my head. My almost naked torso was on display, only clad in my bra.
"So beautiful, baby," Spencer muttered, voice laced with lust, pupils full blown.
What a confidence boost. Enough for me to reach for Spencer's shirt and start unbuttoning it.
"Let me see you, Spencer." At first, he tensed, but as my hand smoothed the skin revealed from the fabric opening, he relaxed. His breathing sharpened as my hands reached for his belt buckle.
Before I could lose the belt, his hand stopped me. Looking me direct in the eyes, he spoke.
"Tell me you want this. Tell me I can have you tonight."
It was my way outâthe rope I should have taken to pull myself out of this situation. But I was already so deep that even if someone had pinned my hands behind my back, shouting at me this is the worst idea in the world, I would have fought against it anyway.
"You can have me. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever you want. I'm yours, Spencer."
That sealed it.
In one fluid movement, he piked me in his arms, bride-style, and carried me to my bedroom.
Lying there in my own bed, I could only admire the man I had dreamed of so many times, just like this, undressing as he looked at me as if I were the most gorgeous woman in the world, as someone worth being worshiped.
The heat radiating from my body suffocated me, and I knew the only thing that could help me was to have him, feel his skin against mine, get lost in his arms.
Crawling to the bed, Spencer hovered over me, eyes full of lust, hands touching my skin as he was learning a new territory. His new territory.
I could feel his breath hot on my face before he leaned to devour my lips with his.
The most pathetic whine left my mouth when he stopped kissing me. Chuckling at my eagerness, Spencer didn't make me wait any longer, and his lips latched to one of my nippless, while his fingers toyed with the buttons of my jeans, undoing them, and sliding the fabric agonizingly slow down my legs.
When his fingers made contact with my wetness through my panties, Spencer grunted in satisfaction.
"Baby, you're dripping. This is for me?"
It was embarrassing how responsive I was to his touch, but I couldn't deny it. Spencer had me at his mercy, and I didn't give a damn.
"Yes, all for you." My voice was half a moan, half a whisper.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of you."
I don't think the times I'd heard those words before affected me much, like when he said them.
So lost in his promise that I just let go.
That night, I gave Spencer the last thing that wasn't already his: my body.
Our dance, where our bodies were one, entangled in my sheets, lasted until the chirp of the earliest birds. Both exhausted succumbed to slumber, skin to skin, legs interwined under the covers.
When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I noticed was Spencer's arm around my waist and his breath on the bare skin of my back.
I hadn't dreamed it. It was real, and I still didn't have words to describe it. Turning carefully, I was now facing him, seeing how Spencer's features were completely relaxed as he slept. A smile tugged my lips. Whatever this was, my heart was filled with something I had lost: hope.
-
The hope I felt that morning grew with each passing day and week, until it became a reality I hadn't thought possible. We started dating. Nothing public yet, but in the privacy of our apartments, our relationship blossomed. We laughed together; we could enjoy each other's company in silence or talk about everything and nothing at once. It's true, however, that there was one thing we didn't talk about, a wound I assumed still needed to heal.
There was time; no need to rush things, right?
But to a certain extent, I began to notice that our relationship, with its ups and downs like any other, was leaning more toward the downs: there were days when Spencer was more withdrawn than usual, and he didn't want to talk. Times when the team teased us, and Spencer didn't seem happy about it. Plans that Spencer didn't want to discuss; conversations that became more trivial than substantial.
Maybe I was the one putting unnecessary pressure on him. I don't know, but that feeling of being on my own in our relationship started to arise more often.
And besides, there was that specific topic. Maeve Donovan.
Since the night Spencer came knocking on my door at midnight, he never said her name in front of me again. I never asked him to, and I don't think I ever hinted I wanted it that way; he simply acted as if she didn't exist.
-
After the new year, it seemed the BAU cases tripled. We traveled nonstop for at least the first two weeks. So, having just one day of paperwork at the office was a welcome change of pace.
That afternoon, I remember glancing over at Spencer's desk and seeing it empty. I thought maybe he was with Hotch in his office, but when time passed, and I didn't see him again, it struck me as odd. It was Morgan who told me he'd left.
"Didn't he tell you? After lunch, I saw him gather his things and leave," Morgan said, shrugging. I just frowned and let it go. Spencer would probably tell me later if anything happened.
When I finished my stack of files for the day, I gathered my things and went home. By this point, Spencer was practically living with me, so I took advantage of the fact that it was still early to go and buy some groceries we were missing on my way back.
A couple of hours later, settled on the sofa with a book and a glass of wine in hand, I heard the jingle of keys in the lock.
Spencer walked through the door, and the first thing I noticed was his slumped shoulders, his head down, and his heavy footsteps.
When Spencer noticed me staring, he lifted his head and gave me a forced smile.
"Hey," he murmured, taking off his coat and hanging it with his bag on the rack.
"I didn't see you leave the bullpen today," I pointed out cautiously, but Spencer didn't answer right away.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "I'm sorry for not telling you." His voice sounded distant, with an apology that didn't soothe my worry at all.
I could see in his eyes that there was something else.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Really. You don't have to worry. I just ran to the mail office to send a letter to my mom, and it took me longer than I thought."
It wasn't the first time he'd used excuses like that to divert my attention. Sometimes, I thought it was to bypass talking about the case we were working on, or the calls from his mom's care facility. Things he talked to me about in the past. But this was different. Like a weight on his shoulders, something I couldn't pinpoint where it came from.
"I was thinking we can have dinner in that new Thai restaurant not far from here," I suggested, but Spencer didn't seem very enthusiastic about it.
"What about take-out and stay at home? I don't feel like going out. But if you want, we can go, though."
Usually, it went like that: Spencer didn't close the door entirely at my suggestion, but showed it wasn't his first option. And most of the time, I didn't push.
"Okay. We can do that."
While we were eating, surprisingly, the conversation flowed with no indication of discomfort or anything that could reveal the distress I caught when Spencer came home, so I decided to let it go.
After dinner, a movie was playing on the TV, but we weren't paying attention, focused on our improvised making out. I don't remember who initiated it; maybe it was me, when I started absentmindedly playing with the buttons on his shirt, or maybe it was him, when he pulled me onto his lap. Nothing out of the ordinary, considering the five-day case we just ended with no physical contact or whatsoever between us.
One thing led to another, and we ended up on the bed, giggling as we struggled to undress each other.
Those moments of complicity were the ones I treasured the most, entangled in each other's arms, whispering sweet nothings.
His body pressed against mine, his lips on my skin, his touch mapping my body, set me on fire and made me beg for more.
"So so good, Spencer, just like that."
I could feel the coil forming in my lower stomach, that glorious telltale of the impeding stardust explosion.
"I know you like it, baby. I always knew you liked it."
Spencerâs mouth latched onto my neck, sucking that sweet spot he got to know so well, hips thrusting in and out. Changing the angle, he hit deeper, and I almost lost it.
"Yes, yes, yes! Keep going, please!â
Deep and fast strokes followed my pleas. I could feel Spencer twitching inside of me.
"Iâm almost there. Fuck! Maeve. I love you so much."
My hazy brain almost didn't catch it at first. But Spencer continued, brain-fogged with thoughts about a woman it wasn't me.
"Stay with me, baby. Never leave me again."
A cold instantly ran down my spine. My now alert self short-circuited.
Maybe I heard wrong. No, Spencer didn't just say her name while fucking me, did he?
Spencer didn't seem any the wiser about his slip, as he continued thrusting hard, grunting in my ear. Something I always found hot and kept me going, but this time I couldn't focus on anything but his words. My body went almost rigid, and when Spencer noticed the lack of rhythm, he slowed down and leaned back to look at me.
A mist of still no shed tears clouded my eyes, so I couldn't see exactly what look he had, but I guess his neurons made the right synapses. Spencer stopped completely, frozen, mouth parted in realization.
I didn't even try to let him speak before I pushed him away from me, scooting back in the mattress, back against the headboard, arms hugging my knees.
He sat on his heels, still panting, hands wanting to reach mine, but refrained.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
All this time, was I just a good surrogate? And honestly, I don't know if it was a good one, since he had to remind me who I wasn't.
"Don't!" I cut him off. "Clearly you mean it."
With his head down, Spencer exhaled. And that gesture was enough to bring to existence the nagging truth I had denied myself to believe.
I wasn't winning him over; I wasn't growing love for me in him. It was never about that.
Naked, exposed, vulnerable. I couldnât stand it, so I abruptly stood up, running to the bathroom and slamming the door behind me.
I sat on the cold floor, crying. Spencer started knocking to catch my attention.
âPlease, let me explain. I can explain it. We can talk about it.â
Was this just a mistake? A slip that didnât matter? Deep down in my heart, I knew it wasnât just a stupid slip.
I replayed these past few months in my head. Our conversations, the times I told him I loved him, and he never said it back. And now that he did, it clearly wasn't to me. The unwillingness to talk about the future, the refusal to make plans. I was never part of his future, just his convenient present.
That night when Spencer came knocking on my door, he never said 'I love you' or 'I want you,' but 'I need you,' like someone who might need anyone else to fill a void.
But can I complain about that? I opened myself up to being whatever Spencer needed me to be, regardless of what I wanted or deserved. A second best, perhaps? It hurts to realize I wasn't even successful at that, because the ghost of Maeve Donovan was still here.
Why, though?
Why did Spencer let me fall for this? I deserved to know.
I threw on some clothes I had in one of the bathroom drawers before opening the door. Spencer immediately lifted his gaze and stood from his spot perched at the edge of the bed. He was dressed too.
âIâm so sorry, baby. Please, can we talk?â
Funny, now he wants to talk.
I defensively crossed my arms over my chest.
Voice still trembling, I managed the words out.
âWe have nothing to talk about. Things look pretty clear to me. But I need to know why, Spencer. Why did you do this to me?â
âIt was a mistake. I wasnât- I didnât want to hurt you,â Spencer sputtered, hands trying to reach for mine. I didn't let him.
âYou did. You did hurt me. Made me consider the possibility of us. You knew how I felt, God, damn it!â
Slamming my fist against the wall, Spencer startled, nodding frantically.
âBut I do believe in us!â
âSo do you expect me to keep competing with Maeve?â
Spencer flinched, hearing her name rolling off my tongue. âThatâs not fair,â he mumbled.
I let a humorless laugh.
âFor me? Sure, itâs not fair.â After saying that, realization struck me. âWhere were you earlier, Spencer? And donât tell me it was in the post office,â I warned.
Spencerâs jaw tensed as he considered what to say. His eyes pleaded with me not to force him to answer, but this time, I wouldn't let him off the hook. With no option, he let his head down.
âAt the cemetery.â
Of course. The math wasn't hard; I just hadn't connected the dots. Today is one year since Maeve's death.
I felt sorry for him, but worse for me to let myself be used this way.
âGreat, so you thought the best idea was to fuck me afterward. Were you thinking it would erase the pain?â
âNo. It's not like that. I wasnât trying to use you,â Spencer countered.
âKeyword: âtrying,â because you have been doing just that.â
I correct my last statement. I'm not competing with a ghost, I'm embodying it. I reached the point where, for Spencer, I lost my own identity to become the body of someone he can't have.
I know he could see the same, but the guilt was eating him alive. I could tell by the tears rolling down his cheeks.
âI never meant to do that. But, I promise, if you let me, Iâll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.â
I immediately shook my head no. âNo, Spencer. Youâre wrong. You canât make it up to me. We passed that.â
My own tears were clouding my vision, but it felt right at last to get it all out of my chest.
And with the remaining strength I had left, I managed to utter the words I should have said so long ago. "You must leave now, Spencer. Leave me alone. I don't want this anymore. What I want, and what I need, is something I now know I can never have with you."
It was the nail in the coffin, and Spencer knew it. No matter what else he could try to say, the damage was done.
âI know I donât deserve your forgiveness, and youâre within your rights to not believe me, but Iâm truly sorry. For everything. I screwed everything up.â
Turning on his heels, he slowly left the bedroom, and I could hear how he took his coat and bag, leaving his key on the entrance counter. After the door closed, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, mumbling a quiet âIâm sorry, too.â
spencer reid x f!reader
(she/her pronouns used for reader-insert)
18+ smut
wc: 4.2k
my mastertag & my ao3
She and Spencer are the last to arrive at the hotel, so theyâre informed of the limited number of rooms and are handed keycards by the young concierge running the front desk.
They get along fine; sheâs sure it wonât be too difficult to have to sleep in the same room for a few days, until she looks at him and sees him gulping and asking, âThere really aren't any rooms left?â
She tries to mask her hurt as the boy running the desk repeats his explanation of the local event in town that has booked them solid.
Sheâs always found Spencer attractive, literally since her first day, but heâs pretty closed off when she tries to talk to him about anything thatâs not work-related, so sheâs taken that as a hint that he doesnât feel the same way. He wonât even be alone in the same room as her, always finding excuses to go elsewhere.
When they get to the room, sheâs relieved for both of their sakes that there are two queen beds and that they wonât have to share. As much as she would love to be cuddled up to him all night, she knows that heâd probably rather sleep on the floor.
He places his bag on the bed closest to the door (such a gentleman, she canât help but think), so she places hers on the other, before turning on the lamp between the beds.
She asks him if itâs okay if she takes the first shower, and he nods, âYeah, of course.â
Itâs then that she realizes her mistake. She only has one real pair of pajamas in her bag, and itâs a thin, silky set with laced edges. She has a few oversized T-shirts that she could sleep in, but she normally only wears underwear with them, and she doesnât want to completely traumatize Spencer.
She finally just grabs the matching tank top and shorts along with her toiletry bag and glances up to give Spencer a small and polite smile. Heâs sitting criss-crossed on his bed with a book in his lap. Heâs already looking at her with a crease between his eyebrows, which surprises her.
âYou okay?â he asks, with a slight tilt to his head.
Sometimes she hates being surrounded by profilers all of the time. Of course, he could basically smell her internal pajama dilemma.
âNo, yeah, all good. Iâm just gonnaâŚâ She points to the bathroom and rushes inside.
She leans against the door and huffs out a breath while shaking her head. Itâs just pajamas, she thinks. He might even be asleep by the time she gets out, anyway. They had a long day and will have to wake up early tomorrow to have an even longer one.
She gets through her shower and skincare routine efficiently and mindlessly. She slips into the set and takes a deep breath before braving the room again.
She rarely even thinks about her piercings. Sheâs had them for so long that they rarely cross her mind. She does check her reflection after putting the tank on, and she canât see any sign of them through the fogged mirror.
What she doesnât think about or account for is that the warm air of the bathroom had softened her breasts, so when she enters the cool air of the room, her nipples harden, and the thin barbells are on full display through her tank top.
Spencerâs head perks up at the sound of the door opening, and his eyes widen so far that sheâs afraid theyâll swallow his eyebrows.
âOhâŚâ he breathes out.
âYeah, yeah, I know, I wasnât exactly planning on having to share a room with anyone.â She tries to wave him off. Sheâs already thinking about running to a store tomorrow to get literally anything else to sleep in.
âNoâŚum⌠I-itâs okay! YouâŚumâŚlook nice.â His awkward tone and stuttering are making her feel so guilty. She really didnât want this to be a big deal. She glances up at him to genuinely apologize and to explain herself when she sees his eyes locked on her chest.
She follows his eyeline and is greeted with the sight of her own nipple piercings poking through the tank top.
âOh fuck!â She quickly turns around and crosses her arms over her breasts.
âShit, Spencer, Iâm so sorry. Really, I didnât mean to make you uncomfortable. I can go ask JJ and Emily if I can sleep in their room. Fuck, Iâm really sorry.â
âItâs okay⌠Iâm not uncomfortable,â he whispers, and she glances over her shoulder to see him pulling at the crotch of his dress pants.
Oh, he is uncomfortable, but not in the way that she had thought. Should she ignore it for the sake of professionalism? Part of her wants to tease him about it, but she knows heâs sensitive and she doesnât want to hurt his feelings.
She sits on the edge of the bed with her back to him and tilts her head up towards the ceiling. She barely knows how to navigate normal conversations with him, let alone something like this. She feels like sheâs being punished by some higher power. For what, exactly? She has no idea.
She feels the bed shift beside her, so she peeks over to see Spencer sitting next to her, eyes focused on the floor, with a grey hoodie in his hands.
âHere, um, you can wear this⌠if you want to.â He holds it out to her.
âThanks,â she whispers and takes it from his hands. She pulls it over her head and down her body, pulling at the sleeves to cover her hands.
âHow do I look? Better?â she jokes, meeting his eyes now. Sheâs peering at him through her eyelashes, and his breath gets caught in his throat at the sight of her. Her damp hair is still tucked inside the neck of the sweater. He wants to reach over and fix it for her, but refrains. His fingers are twitching in his lap with the desire, however.
âBeautiful, you always do,â He murmurs. Pink blooms in his cheeks, spreading down to his neck. He already feels guilty for making things awkward and is internally kicking himself for making things worse by saying that.
Sheâs speechless at his admission, mouth falling open and then promptly shutting again.
He quickly rises from her bed, beelining for his pile of pajamas and toiletry bag. Of course, he has the most normal pair of pajamas on earth: flannel printed pants and a T-shirt.
âSorry, uh, I need to shower too⌠So Iâm going to do that⌠now.â He nods, his face fading from pink to red. Heâs holding his belongings in front of his crotch.
She tries to ignore the way her heart flutters at the fact that he is still so considerate of her comfort while dealing with his own issue. Not that she thought Spencer would take advantage of her, but he wouldnât have been the first man to put his own needs before hers.
She can feel the weight of her crush on him growing in her chest.
She smiles and nods at him, and he scurries into the bathroom.
As he showers, she lotions her legs and braids her hair, before settling underneath the duvet. Staring at the ceiling, she nuzzles her nose into his sweatshirt and feels pleasantly lightheaded as she inhales the sweet aroma of his cologne and detergent. She hopes he doesnât ask for it back and wonders if she could find out which cologne he uses so she can replace the scent when it starts to fade.
When he exits the bathroom, heâs quick to turn off the light so as not to bother her with the bright glare. She can smell his evergreen body wash as he crosses the room. His hair is damp, and his pajama pants are set low on his hips. As she tries to subtly scan his body, sheâs startled to meet his eyes as hers ascend.
Her cheeks feel warm as she pulls at the blanket and stutters, âUm⌠Cute pajamas.â
Spencer chuckles and ducks his head, âThanks.â
After carefully folding his worn clothes from the day, he sets them carefully on top of the dresser. He pulls back the blankets on his bed, relaxes into the sheets, then scoots closer to her to be able to reach the lamp between them. He politely asks, âIs it okay if I turn this off?âÂ
She turns on her side to face him, both hands tucked under her cheek, and nods with a small smile. âYeah. Goodnight, Spence.â
He clicks the switch off as he softly replies, âGoodnight. Sweet dreams.â
She feels a smile turn her lips upward at his sincerity and sweetness before she whispers back, âSweet dreams.â
ââşââ âžââşââ
She doesnât remember falling asleep when she wakes up overheated a few hours later. Sitting up in bed, she pulls off Spencerâs hoodie and flings her legs over the side to quickly use the bathroom.
Thatâs when she hears a quiet whimper coming from Spencer. She rubs her eyes and blinks a few times in an attempt to make them focus in the dark room, staring intensely at his bed. Heâs asleep on his stomach, emitting a few more noises as his hips adjust on the mattress. For a moment, she thinks heâs having a bad dream.
If it wasnât for the steady creaking of a spring in the mattress underneath him, and the rhythmic tapping of the headboard against the wall, that is. Her lips fall open as she realizes what heâs doing.Â
His whimpers cascade into moans, and she decides to scamper into the bathroom, hoping to give him some privacy and planning to spend enough time in there for him to⌠finish. Just before her hand touches the handle, she hears him mumble her name.
Quickly turning around, her eyes widen, thinking heâs woken up. He hasnât. Her eyes find him in the same position as before, and more moans and groans fall from his mouth. Itâs the middle of the night, and sheâs not thinking straight. Maybe she imagined it? He couldnât possibly be having a wet dream aboutâ
He moans her name again.Â
What the fuck is she supposed to do? She could wake him up, but she doesnât want to embarrass him. The longer she thinks about it, her bathroom plan is pretty shit, as well. Assuming he wakes up after he cums, heâll need to use it to clean himself up. Maybe she should just go back to bed and pretend like this never happened?
He turns over onto his back, and she can see the flushed, leaking tip of his cock peeking through the top of his waistband. Sheâs frozen in place as she watches his hips shift upward, seeking friction in the air. Unconsciously, she licks her lips at the sight of him.
She simultaneously feels bad for him and grateful that his actions have stopped.
Heâs still lightly whining and whimpering as she finally turns the handle to the bathroom door and slips inside.Â
Flicking on the light, she squints her eyes at the bright intrusion. She quickly uses the toilet and huffs at her rumpled reflection as she washes her hands. Her hair is both frizzy and flat, and her face is flushed and frantic.Â
Her mind is absolutely reeling; she feels so overwhelmed. Does Spencer not hate her? Maybe his brain just couldnât help itself after the eyeful he got earlier. Heâs just a horny man, and sheâs just a nearby woman, sheâs sure.Â
As she flicks the light back off and pulls the door open, sheâs shocked to see that the lamp has been turned back on in the room. She peeks her head through the door and finds Spencer sitting up in his bed with his head in his hands. As the door clicks shut behind her, he shifts his hands to look at her with a horrified expression. She gives him an awkward, closed-lip smile as she stands with her back to the door.Â
He mumbles, âDid I wake you up?â and avoids eye contact.
She chews on her bottom lip. âNo. Not technically⌠I woke up because I was too hotâ Overheated, I mean.âÂ
Spencer nods mindlessly. âIâm sorry.â
âFor what?â
He finally looks at her, then, with a pointed look, âYou know what.â
She exhales amusedly and nods, glancing around the room, not sure what to do. She finally steps away from the bathroom door, walking towards the gap between their beds. Pointing at the edge of his, she asks, âCan I sit?â
Nodding, he scoots over to make room for her before she perches on his mattress. Heâs fiddling with his hands and digging under his fingernails, cheeks red and hair ruffled.
âIâm not upset with you or anything.â She starts.
His eyebrows are scrunched as he questions her, âReally?â
She sets a hand on his leg, over the blanket, and his muscles tense. âYes, really. I didnât know you felt that way about me.â
His eyes widen with pure fear, âHowâd you knowââ
âYou said my name.â She informs him with an empathetic smirk.
He groans and covers his face again, sinking against the headboard. She gently squeezes his calf, âSpencer, itâs okay. I feel⌠that way⌠about you, too. I thought you hated me, or something, though.â
He sarcastically snorts, âWell, obviously notâŚâ Lowering his hands, he feebly adds, âI couldnât be around you.â She flinches. âI mean, I-I couldnât think straight with you near me. I still canâtâŚâ
She nods in understanding, pursing her lips for a moment as she thinks. Pointing to his waist, she asks, âDid youâŚ?â
His face blushes even more, red painting his cheeks and ears. âDid I what?â
With a smirk, she clarifies, âDid you cum?â He shakes his head no. âDo you want to?â
He inhales so abruptly and sharply that he chokes and coughs before apprehensively nodding. She bites her lip as she rises from his mattress, facing him as she pulls her tank top up and off her body. His eyes glue to her breasts, to the silver barbells pierced through her nipples, and he softly whines while tilting his head against the headboard. She pulls her shorts down, next â revealing her bare pussy for him.Â
His eyes dart all over her body, always returning to her breasts, as he palms himself through his pants. Kneeling on the bed, she pulls the blanket away from his body. She looks at him expectantly, and he suspends his actions. She wordlessly glances down at his crotch, and he scrambles to pull his pants and underwear down, kicking them off his ankles as his flushed cock curves up against his stomach.
With a pleased grin, she gets on the bed and settles on his thighs. Spencer is clenching the sheets, white-knuckled, tense, and is barely breathing. Wrapping a hand around his length, he squeezes his eyes closed, and his head thuds against the headboard, âFuckââ
With her other hand, she tugs on the hem of his T-shirt. Voice low, she asks, âCan you take this off, too?â
Jerkily nodding, he pulls the garment off and tosses it to the floor. Heâs flushed down to his chest as she marvels at his body, trailing a hand down his freckled torso. Leaning forward, she kisses at his neck and whispers, âYou are very pretty.â
Heâs still dreaming, right? Thereâs no way this is real. Thereâs no way sheâsâ
Her piercings glisten even in the low light that the lamp provides. The weight of her on his thighs feels real, her hand on his dick feels real, this has to be real.
His silence sends a jolt of panic through her, so she pulls back from his neck and loosens her grip around him. âIs this okay?âÂ
He nods enthusiastically, âYes. Yes. Please.â
She lightly laughs and raises both hands to his face, swiping his hair to the sides. Placing his hands on her hips, he pulls her closer until he can feel her warm slick on his cock. Slightly ducking his head, he crashes his lips to hers, his grip tightening as their tongues connect and glide together.Â
He whimpers as she rolls her hips against him. The pressure is relieving, but itâs still not enough. Their lips are shiny as they pull away from the kiss, and his eyes flicker between her breasts and where their bodies meet. She reaches for his hands and moves them up to her tits, encouraging him to touch and play with them.Â
Gently squeezing, he rubs his thumbs over her pierced nipples. âDid they hurt?â
She chuckles, âYes, but not anymore. You can do whatever you wantââ
Dipping down, he takes one in his mouth, running his tongue over the cold metal. She sighs and tilts her head back, continuing her grinding against him. He sucks and licks and runs his teeth over her nipple, revelling in the feeling of the barbell in his mouth. After leaving it sufficiently wet and shiny with his spit, he leaves a mark on the top of her breast before switching to the other one.
Shifting his hands on her body, he squeezes her hips with one and places the other on the back of her head, before swiftly flipping them so heâs hovering over her. Her legs wrap around his waist, and a small squeal escapes her as he lands on top of her.Â
Chuckling, he lowers his head to her neck and whispers, âShhh, we have to be quiet.â
As he sucks more marks along her collarbones, she tangles her fingers in the back of his hair, lowly whining and sultrily asking, âAre you gonna make me?â
He lifts his head from the junction of her neck â eyes dark with desire and pupils expanded. Crashing his lips to hers, he immediately deepens their kiss, muffling her noises. He trails a hand down her body â taking the time to squeeze and twist her nipples some more until sheâs whimpering and jutting her hips against his. As he continues his descent, his fingers skim down her side until he reaches her thigh. He holds her there as their mouths persist, grinding his dick against her. The underside of him slides against her clit with ease.
After a particularly bold contact of their centers, she whimpers, âPlease,â into his mouth.Â
He shifts his hand over to her cunt, sliding his fingers through her slick folds, and moans into her neck, âYouâre so wet.â
âI need you,â She whispers in response, making his cock twitch against her stomach. Heâs certainly the largest partner sheâs ever been with, the tip of him reaching past her belly button. She clenches around nothing and wonders dumbly how heâll even fit inside of her.
As he pushes a finger inside her entrance, they moan in tandem at the feeling. She thrusts against him, needing more, more, more. His forehead falls to her shoulder as he plunges his finger in and out of her, gently kissing her skin as he pushes a second one inside of her. The metal in her nipples grazes his chest and feels cool against his warm skin.
Sheâs whining and twisting her body under him, losing patience with each thrust and crook of his hand.
Spencer murmurs, âI know, baby. Just one more,â as he stretches her with a third finger, and her nails pierce the skin at his lower back. She appreciates his consideration and thoroughness in preparing her, but her veins are buzzing with anticipation, and she feels dizzy with it.
Removing his fingers, she whines at the loss. He promptly pops his fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back as he tastes her on them. âYou taste so good,â he tells her, and they both think about future endeavors where he can bury his head between her thighs.
Itâs then, as Spencer adjusts himself between her legs, one hand around his cock and the other on her hip, that his horny brain remembers something important. âFuckâ I donât have a condom.â
She rolls her eyes and scoffs, âOh my god, I donât care. Just get inside me.â
âBut what aboutâ I know Iâm good, butââ
âSpencer. I donât have any STDs, and Iâm on the pill. Please, fuck me.â
He nods, mutters, âRightâ Goodâ Okay,â as he lines himself up with her entrance. He slides his tip through her folds a few times, and she groans as her palms span over his ass, pulling him towards her.
âStop teasing me,â she whines.Â
He bites his lower lip. âIâm sorry. Youâre just so beautiful.â
Finally pushing inside of her, the thick stretch of his tip has her leaning her head back and moaning loudly, too loudly for the thin walls of the hotel. Spencer gently grabs her jaw and presses his lips to hers as he continues driving himself inside of her â they both moan into each other's mouths.
As his cock buries the rest of the way inside of her, their pelvisâ slotting together like puzzle pieces, nobody has ever made her feel so full or been so deep inside of her before. She whimpers at the pressure in her stomach and is certain heâs pressing on her cervix.
Pulling back from their kiss, he tenderly brushes her hair away from her face and carefully watches her face as he pulls back a few inches and slowly presses back in. Her eyes squeeze shut as her nails dig into his back, âFuck, Spence. Youâre huge.â
He winces, âI-I know, Iâm sorry.â
She laughs incredulously, and he feels it vibrate against his chest and around his dick, âDefinitely donât be sorry.â Interlocking her ankles behind his back, she shifts her hips upward, opening herself up for him even further. âCâmon, baby. Fuck me.â
Spencer nods, âYes, okay.â Tentatively thrusting in and out of her, he groans and rests his forehead against hers, murmuring, âYou feel so good.â
She matches his thrusts with upturns of her hips. They moan and whimper against each other's lips, too blissed out to kiss properly.
As he gets more confident and exact with his pace, she reaches between their bodies to touch herself, but he grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers, before using his other hand to rub steady circles over her clit. She clenches around him as their rhythm harmonizes, and he grunts in response. âI- Fuckâ Iâm getting close. Iâm sorry.â
His eyes slide down to her breasts, and heâs enamored by how they jiggle and shift with each thrust. He sees her free hand moving to her tit and emits a protesting noise as he realizes he canât reach her there without neglecting her elsewhere.
A tightness blooms in her lower belly, and her veins run cold underneath her hot skin. Deeply moaning, her legs tighten around his waist as she chases her climax. ââm close, baby,â she tells him, and he curses as he watches her â as he watches what heâs done to her.
Going rigid underneath him, her walls pulse and flutter around him, and he canât hold himself back anymore. âIâm gonnaâ Where do Iâ Can Iââ
âInside, inside, please,â she begs.
Spilling inside of her with a strangled grunt, he squeezes her hand as the aftershocks roll through him. Spencer collapses on top of her, his head settling between her breasts as he gasps for air. It doesnât take him long to realize heâs crushing her hand and her body with his weight, so he loosens his grip and goes to shift off of her, but she holds him in place with a hand on the back of his head, âNo, stay. Please.â
They lay in a comfortable silence, the only noise being their steady breathing. The more time that passes, the more she worries about whether this was a mistake. Their dynamic was already fragile; what if doing this together shattered everything?
Spencer seems to be able to hear her thinking and softly asks, âAre you okay?â
âMhm,â she hums, but it comes out cracked.
He can hear her heartbeat quicken, and he wonders if she can feel his, too. âDo you regret it?â
She shakes her head. âNo, do you?â
He shifts his head to look up at her, and her nerves soften as she looks into his sincere eyes. âNo. I would like to take you on a date, though. I shouldâve asked you a while ago.â
Smoothing his hair, she smiles. âI would love that.â
His eyes widen and brighten. âReally?â
She nods, then swallows. âSorry if Iâm being weird. I still canât believe you donât hate me.â
His shoulders drop, and he frowns. âIâm sorry I made you feel that way. I hate that I did.â
She shrugs and whispers, âItâs okay. Iâm glad that you donât.â
Chuckling and nodding, he scoots up her body and hovers his lips over hers. He whispers, âCan I kiss you?â and she giggles before leaning in and closing the gap between them.
Their dynamic has definitely changed, but hopefully for the better.Â
The next day, their eyes meet across the crowded precinct, and he doesnât immediately look away like he did before. He stands next to her, elbows brushing, as the team converses. Morgan sends them shocked and incredulous glances, but they ignore him.
old draft i found in my notes app and finished up! idk if i'm in a rut or what but i hate everything i've written lately lol pls be gentle
The smile that stayed || Spencer Reid x curvy!reader
Summary -> Thirteen years after the tragic death of Maeve, Spencer Reid has learned how to survive, but not truly how to move on. Though he has built a successful career and continued living his life, the grief of losing the woman he loved has never fully left him.
Side note -> MY LOVES! I just finished watching the ep with Maeve and my heart BROKEđ. My poor baby Spencer cannot catch a break, can he? So I thought whatâs a better way to get my juices flowing once moređ? Itâs been months since my last post and this episode gave me some motivation. So I hope you cuties enjoyđŠˇ!
Warnings -> Mentions of Maeveâs Death, read with caution. Just cuteness and fluff this time! And thatâs itâ¨.
Word count -> 1,815
Main master list
TGM master list
Sebastian Stan master list
Oscar Isaac master list
GVF master list
Dividers by: @saradika-graphics âĽď¸
The rain tapped softly against the windows of the small bookstore cafĂŠ.
It was late. The evening crowd had long since disappeared, leaving only a few scattered customers hiding between shelves and sipping coffee.
You sat behind the counter, flipping through a worn novel when the bell above the door chimed.
A man stepped inside. Tall. Thin. Dark curls dusted with silver at the temples.
A messenger bag slung across one shoulder.
He looked exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally.
Like someone who had been carrying something heavy for a very long time.
You offered him a polite smile âKitchen closes in twenty minutes, but coffee is still available.â
The stranger glanced up. Brown eyes.
Kind eyes. Sad eyes.
âCoffee sounds perfect.â Something about him felt familiar.
Not in the way that suggested you knew him.
More like heâd spent years being known by everyone else.
He ordered a black coffee before settling into a corner table with a stack of books.
You returned to your reading. Thirty minutes later, you realized he hadnât touched the coffee.
Instead, he was staring out the rain-covered window. Lost somewhere far away.
You approached carefully. âEverything okay?â The man blinked.
Almost like heâd forgotten where he was.
âOh.â His voice was soft. âSorry.â
âNo need to apologize.â A faint smile tugged at his lips.
âYouâd be surprised how often I do.â You sat across from him. Normally, you wouldnât.
But something about his loneliness practically filled the room.
âIâm Y/N.â
He hesitated, before telling you his name. âSpencer.â
You shook his hand. His grip was gentle. Careful. As though he was afraid of breaking things.
For the next hour, conversation flowed naturally. You learned he taught criminal psychology now.
He had spent years with the FBI. He loved books. Loved chess. Could quote obscure facts at alarming speeds.
And despite his intelligence, there was a quiet awkwardness about him that was oddly charming.
Eventually the topic shifted. âYou never been married?â you asked.
The question slipped out before you could stop it. Spencer froze. Not dramatically.
Just enough for you to notice. His gaze dropped to his coffee.
âNo.â The silence stretched.
âIâm sorry,â you said quickly. âYou donât have to answer.â
âItâs okay.â But it wasnât.
You could see that. Spencer looked toward the rain.
âI was engaged once.â Your heart tightened. The way he said it.
Like every word weighed a thousand pounds. âWhat happened?â He didnât answer immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. âShe died.â
The cafĂŠ suddenly felt very quiet. âOh.â
Thirteen years. Thirteen years and the pain was still there. Not fresh. Not sharp.
Just woven into him.
Part of him now.
âWhat was her name?â His expression softened. The first genuine smile youâd seen all night. âMaeve.â
The name sounded sacred. You smiled gently. âTell me about her.â
Most people would have changed the subject. Most people would have offered sympathy.
Most people wouldâve treated the memory like a wound. Instead, you asked about her.
And Spencerâs eyes filled with something he hadnât felt in years.
Relief. He told you everything. How brilliant she was. How stubborn. How kind. How beautiful. How she laughed. How she loved books. How sheâd changed his life.
You listened. Really listened. Never interrupting. Never rushing him.
By the time he finished, tears glistened in his eyes.
âThirteen years.â He laughed quietly. âThatâs a long time to miss someone.â
âNo.â You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours. âNot when you love them.â
Spencer stared at your hand. Then at you. His eyes shimmered. Because for thirteen years, everyone had told him to move on. To let go. To heal.
But nobody had ever simply acknowledged that grief and love could coexist.
That he didnât have to stop loving Maeve to keep living.
âThank you,â he whispered.
âFor what?â
âFor not acting like sheâs a burden. You squeezed his hand. âShe isnât.â
Something shifted in that moment. Not romance. Not yet. Just understanding. Two lonely people sitting in a quiet bookstore while rain fell outside.
Months passed. Then a year. Then two. Spencer became a regular. Then a friend. Then your favorite part of every day.
You learned the difference between his genuine smile and his fake one.
You learned he still visited Maeveâs grave every year.
You learned he still carried guilt.
And on the nights when grief hit unexpectedly, you sat beside him and simply existed with him.
No fixing. No forcing. Just being there.
One spring afternoon, thirteen years and eight months after Maeveâs death, Spencer sat beside you on a park bench.
The sun warmed your skin. Children laughed nearby.
Life moved around you. Spencer looked at you. Really looked at you.
The way someone does when theyâre finally ready to admit something.
âI was afraid.â You turned toward him.
âOf what?â
âMoving forward.â His fingers intertwined with yours.
âI thought it meant leaving her behind.â Your chest tightened. âAnd now?â A soft smile appeared. Now there was peace in his eyes.
Not complete. Not perfect. But real.
âNow I know loving you doesnât mean loving her less.â
Tears immediately filled your eyes. Spencer chuckled. âYou cry too easily.â
âSpencer.â He laughed. A genuine laugh. The kind that reached his eyes. The kind you wished Maeve could have seen.
Because if she had, you thought sheâd be happy.
Happy that after all those years, Spencer Reid had finally found a reason to smile again.
And this timeâ The smile stayed.
A few months later, Spencer found himself standing outside your apartment building at seven-thirty on a Saturday morning. He stared at the bouquet in his hands.
Then at the building. Then back at the bouquet. Then the building again.
A woman walking her dog gave him a concerned look. Spencer didnât notice. He was too busy having what the BAU used to call a Reid Spiralâ˘.
Technically, flowers were considered a traditional romantic gesture.
Traditional romantic gestures carried expectations.
Expectations created pressure.
Pressureâ
The apartment door suddenly opened. You stepped outside, coffee in one hand. House keys in the other.
And immediately stopped. âThere you are.â Spencer blinked. âYou knew I was coming?â
You pointed toward the large front window. âYouâve been standing there for twelve minutes.â His face reddened.
âTwelve?â
âTwelve.â
âThatâs unfortunate.â A laugh escaped you. His shoulders relaxed instantly. That was another thing youâd learned.
Spencer loved your laugh, not because it was pretty. Though it was. But because every time you laughed, he looked less afraid.
You walked down the steps toward him.âWhatâs with the flowers?â His gaze dropped to the bouquet.
âOh.â He held them out awkwardly.
âThey reminded me of you.â You accepted them carefully. âTheyâre beautiful.â
âTheyâre peonies.â You smiled. âThank you, Spencer.â
He nodded. Then immediately started rambling. âHistorically theyâve symbolized prosperity and compassion and are frequently associated with happy marriages in several cultures and I wasnât implyingââ
You leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Spencer froze.
Completely. Utterly.
The great Dr. Spencer Reid, Former FBI profiler, Genius. Speechless.
You grinned. âThank you.â His brain appeared to reboot several seconds later.
âYouâre welcome.â
The rest of the day was spent wandering through a street market.
Something Spencer normally wouldâve hated.
Too many people. Too much noise. Too much unpredictability.
Yet somehow he enjoyed every second.
Mostly because you were there. Half the time you were dragging him toward booths he had no interest in.
The other half he was sharing obscure facts that somehow made everything more interesting.
By lunchtime, you found yourselves sitting beneath a large oak tree sharing sandwiches.
Spencer sat unusually quiet.
You nudged his shoulder. âWhatâs going on in that giant brain?â
His smile faded slightly. Not completely. Just enough.
âI had a dream about her.â
You instantly knew who he meant. Maeve.
The name no longer felt like a shadow between you.
She was simply part of Spencerâs story.
And because you loved Spencer, you cared about every chapter.
âWhat happened?â
Spencer looked down at his hands.
âNothing dramatic.â His voice softened.
âWe were talking.â
You listened. âAbout what?â
âI donât remember.â A sad laugh escaped him. âThatâs the frustrating part.â
You reached for his hand. âBut?â His eyes lifted to yours.
âBut when I woke upâŚâ His throat tightened.
For a moment, he looked like the younger version of himself.
The man carrying unbearable grief.
âI wasnât sad.â
You squeezed his hand gently and Spencer swallowed.
âI think thatâs the first time thatâs happened.â The confession hung between you.
Heavy. Important.
âI used to wake up feeling like I lost her all over again.â His voice cracked slightly.
âBut this timeâŚâ A tear slipped down his cheek. âThis time it felt like saying goodbye.â
Your own eyes burned. Not because he was forgetting her. Because he wasnât.
He never would, but after thirteen years, something inside him was finally healing. You brushed the tear away gently.
âMaybe she knew you were okay. Spencer stared at you, then looked toward the sky.
Toward the clouds drifting lazily overhead.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then he whispered: âI hope so.â
⸝
That night, Spencer couldnât sleep.
Not because of nightmares.
Not because of grief.
Because he was thinking. Dangerous.
Youâd often teased him about that.
Around midnight, he grabbed his keys and drove across town.
Twenty minutes later he stood outside your apartment door.
Again.
When you opened it wearing pajamas and a confused expression, he immediately began talking.
âHi.â
You blinked. âHi?â
âI know itâs late.â
âItâs midnight.â
âTechnically twelve-oh-three.â
âSpencer.â
âRight.â
He inhaled deeply.
Then exhaled.
Then inhaled again.
You crossed your arms, tryingâand failingânot to smile.
âSpencer Reid.â
His eyes met yours.
And suddenly every ounce of nervousness became visible.
âI love you.â The words rushed out. Fast.
Like he was afraid theyâd disappear if he didnât say them immediately.
Silence.
Spencer stared at you.
Waiting.
Terrified.
You stared back, then laughed softly.
Not because it was funny.Because it was so wonderfully, perfectly Spencer.
He immediately panicked. âThat wasnât the correct response.â
You grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss.
His sentence ended in a surprised sound.
The moment lasted only seconds.
But when you pulled away, Spencer looked completely stunned.
You smiled. âI love you too.â
For once in his life, Spencer Reid had absolutely nothing to say.
His mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again. No words came out.
You laughed. âThere he is.â
âWhat?â
âThe man who knows eight languages and still gets speechless sometimes.â
A smile slowly spread across his face.
Warm.
Happy.
Real.
The kind that only appeared when he was with you. Then he wrapped his arms around you. Holding you tightly.
Like he finally believed he was allowed to be happy.
And for the first time in a very long timeâHe did.
Iâm literally in love thisđŠâĽď¸!! I missed writing for Spencer, I need to get back into it, but Iâve been taking a break because Iâve been burn out for a while..who knows maybe, Iâll post here and there, maybe I wonât I havenât decided yet.
I hope you enjoyed this cute little one shot and let me know if you guys want moređŠˇ!!
The smile that stayed || Spencer Reid x curvy!reader
Summary -> Thirteen years after the tragic death of Maeve, Spencer Reid has learned how to survive, but not truly how to move on. Though he has built a successful career and continued living his life, the grief of losing the woman he loved has never fully left him.
Side note -> MY LOVES! I just finished watching the ep with Maeve and my heart BROKEđ. My poor baby Spencer cannot catch a break, can he? So I thought whatâs a better way to get my juices flowing once moređ? Itâs been months since my last post and this episode gave me some motivation. So I hope you cuties enjoyđŠˇ!
Warnings -> Mentions of Maeveâs Death, read with caution. Just cuteness and fluff this time! And thatâs itâ¨.
Word count -> 1,815
Main master list
TGM master list
Sebastian Stan master list
Oscar Isaac master list
GVF master list
Dividers by: @saradika-graphics âĽď¸
The rain tapped softly against the windows of the small bookstore cafĂŠ.
It was late. The evening crowd had long since disappeared, leaving only a few scattered customers hiding between shelves and sipping coffee.
You sat behind the counter, flipping through a worn novel when the bell above the door chimed.
A man stepped inside. Tall. Thin. Dark curls dusted with silver at the temples.
A messenger bag slung across one shoulder.
He looked exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally.
Like someone who had been carrying something heavy for a very long time.
You offered him a polite smile âKitchen closes in twenty minutes, but coffee is still available.â
The stranger glanced up. Brown eyes.
Kind eyes. Sad eyes.
âCoffee sounds perfect.â Something about him felt familiar.
Not in the way that suggested you knew him.
More like heâd spent years being known by everyone else.
He ordered a black coffee before settling into a corner table with a stack of books.
You returned to your reading. Thirty minutes later, you realized he hadnât touched the coffee.
Instead, he was staring out the rain-covered window. Lost somewhere far away.
You approached carefully. âEverything okay?â The man blinked.
Almost like heâd forgotten where he was.
âOh.â His voice was soft. âSorry.â
âNo need to apologize.â A faint smile tugged at his lips.
âYouâd be surprised how often I do.â You sat across from him. Normally, you wouldnât.
But something about his loneliness practically filled the room.
âIâm Y/N.â
He hesitated, before telling you his name. âSpencer.â
You shook his hand. His grip was gentle. Careful. As though he was afraid of breaking things.
For the next hour, conversation flowed naturally. You learned he taught criminal psychology now.
He had spent years with the FBI. He loved books. Loved chess. Could quote obscure facts at alarming speeds.
And despite his intelligence, there was a quiet awkwardness about him that was oddly charming.
Eventually the topic shifted. âYou never been married?â you asked.
The question slipped out before you could stop it. Spencer froze. Not dramatically.
Just enough for you to notice. His gaze dropped to his coffee.
âNo.â The silence stretched.
âIâm sorry,â you said quickly. âYou donât have to answer.â
âItâs okay.â But it wasnât.
You could see that. Spencer looked toward the rain.
âI was engaged once.â Your heart tightened. The way he said it.
Like every word weighed a thousand pounds. âWhat happened?â He didnât answer immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. âShe died.â
The cafĂŠ suddenly felt very quiet. âOh.â
Thirteen years. Thirteen years and the pain was still there. Not fresh. Not sharp.
Just woven into him.
Part of him now.
âWhat was her name?â His expression softened. The first genuine smile youâd seen all night. âMaeve.â
The name sounded sacred. You smiled gently. âTell me about her.â
Most people would have changed the subject. Most people would have offered sympathy.
Most people wouldâve treated the memory like a wound. Instead, you asked about her.
And Spencerâs eyes filled with something he hadnât felt in years.
Relief. He told you everything. How brilliant she was. How stubborn. How kind. How beautiful. How she laughed. How she loved books. How sheâd changed his life.
You listened. Really listened. Never interrupting. Never rushing him.
By the time he finished, tears glistened in his eyes.
âThirteen years.â He laughed quietly. âThatâs a long time to miss someone.â
âNo.â You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours. âNot when you love them.â
Spencer stared at your hand. Then at you. His eyes shimmered. Because for thirteen years, everyone had told him to move on. To let go. To heal.
But nobody had ever simply acknowledged that grief and love could coexist.
That he didnât have to stop loving Maeve to keep living.
âThank you,â he whispered.
âFor what?â
âFor not acting like sheâs a burden. You squeezed his hand. âShe isnât.â
Something shifted in that moment. Not romance. Not yet. Just understanding. Two lonely people sitting in a quiet bookstore while rain fell outside.
Months passed. Then a year. Then two. Spencer became a regular. Then a friend. Then your favorite part of every day.
You learned the difference between his genuine smile and his fake one.
You learned he still visited Maeveâs grave every year.
You learned he still carried guilt.
And on the nights when grief hit unexpectedly, you sat beside him and simply existed with him.
No fixing. No forcing. Just being there.
One spring afternoon, thirteen years and eight months after Maeveâs death, Spencer sat beside you on a park bench.
The sun warmed your skin. Children laughed nearby.
Life moved around you. Spencer looked at you. Really looked at you.
The way someone does when theyâre finally ready to admit something.
âI was afraid.â You turned toward him.
âOf what?â
âMoving forward.â His fingers intertwined with yours.
âI thought it meant leaving her behind.â Your chest tightened. âAnd now?â A soft smile appeared. Now there was peace in his eyes.
Not complete. Not perfect. But real.
âNow I know loving you doesnât mean loving her less.â
Tears immediately filled your eyes. Spencer chuckled. âYou cry too easily.â
âSpencer.â He laughed. A genuine laugh. The kind that reached his eyes. The kind you wished Maeve could have seen.
Because if she had, you thought sheâd be happy.
Happy that after all those years, Spencer Reid had finally found a reason to smile again.
And this timeâ The smile stayed.
A few months later, Spencer found himself standing outside your apartment building at seven-thirty on a Saturday morning. He stared at the bouquet in his hands.
Then at the building. Then back at the bouquet. Then the building again.
A woman walking her dog gave him a concerned look. Spencer didnât notice. He was too busy having what the BAU used to call a Reid Spiralâ˘.
Technically, flowers were considered a traditional romantic gesture.
Traditional romantic gestures carried expectations.
Expectations created pressure.
Pressureâ
The apartment door suddenly opened. You stepped outside, coffee in one hand. House keys in the other.
And immediately stopped. âThere you are.â Spencer blinked. âYou knew I was coming?â
You pointed toward the large front window. âYouâve been standing there for twelve minutes.â His face reddened.
âTwelve?â
âTwelve.â
âThatâs unfortunate.â A laugh escaped you. His shoulders relaxed instantly. That was another thing youâd learned.
Spencer loved your laugh, not because it was pretty. Though it was. But because every time you laughed, he looked less afraid.
You walked down the steps toward him.âWhatâs with the flowers?â His gaze dropped to the bouquet.
âOh.â He held them out awkwardly.
âThey reminded me of you.â You accepted them carefully. âTheyâre beautiful.â
âTheyâre peonies.â You smiled. âThank you, Spencer.â
He nodded. Then immediately started rambling. âHistorically theyâve symbolized prosperity and compassion and are frequently associated with happy marriages in several cultures and I wasnât implyingââ
You leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Spencer froze.
Completely. Utterly.
The great Dr. Spencer Reid, Former FBI profiler, Genius. Speechless.
You grinned. âThank you.â His brain appeared to reboot several seconds later.
âYouâre welcome.â
The rest of the day was spent wandering through a street market.
Something Spencer normally wouldâve hated.
Too many people. Too much noise. Too much unpredictability.
Yet somehow he enjoyed every second.
Mostly because you were there. Half the time you were dragging him toward booths he had no interest in.
The other half he was sharing obscure facts that somehow made everything more interesting.
By lunchtime, you found yourselves sitting beneath a large oak tree sharing sandwiches.
Spencer sat unusually quiet.
You nudged his shoulder. âWhatâs going on in that giant brain?â
His smile faded slightly. Not completely. Just enough.
âI had a dream about her.â
You instantly knew who he meant. Maeve.
The name no longer felt like a shadow between you.
She was simply part of Spencerâs story.
And because you loved Spencer, you cared about every chapter.
âWhat happened?â
Spencer looked down at his hands.
âNothing dramatic.â His voice softened.
âWe were talking.â
You listened. âAbout what?â
âI donât remember.â A sad laugh escaped him. âThatâs the frustrating part.â
You reached for his hand. âBut?â His eyes lifted to yours.
âBut when I woke upâŚâ His throat tightened.
For a moment, he looked like the younger version of himself.
The man carrying unbearable grief.
âI wasnât sad.â
You squeezed his hand gently and Spencer swallowed.
âI think thatâs the first time thatâs happened.â The confession hung between you.
Heavy. Important.
âI used to wake up feeling like I lost her all over again.â His voice cracked slightly.
âBut this timeâŚâ A tear slipped down his cheek. âThis time it felt like saying goodbye.â
Your own eyes burned. Not because he was forgetting her. Because he wasnât.
He never would, but after thirteen years, something inside him was finally healing. You brushed the tear away gently.
âMaybe she knew you were okay. Spencer stared at you, then looked toward the sky.
Toward the clouds drifting lazily overhead.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then he whispered: âI hope so.â
⸝
That night, Spencer couldnât sleep.
Not because of nightmares.
Not because of grief.
Because he was thinking. Dangerous.
Youâd often teased him about that.
Around midnight, he grabbed his keys and drove across town.
Twenty minutes later he stood outside your apartment door.
Again.
When you opened it wearing pajamas and a confused expression, he immediately began talking.
âHi.â
You blinked. âHi?â
âI know itâs late.â
âItâs midnight.â
âTechnically twelve-oh-three.â
âSpencer.â
âRight.â
He inhaled deeply.
Then exhaled.
Then inhaled again.
You crossed your arms, tryingâand failingânot to smile.
âSpencer Reid.â
His eyes met yours.
And suddenly every ounce of nervousness became visible.
âI love you.â The words rushed out. Fast.
Like he was afraid theyâd disappear if he didnât say them immediately.
Silence.
Spencer stared at you.
Waiting.
Terrified.
You stared back, then laughed softly.
Not because it was funny.Because it was so wonderfully, perfectly Spencer.
He immediately panicked. âThat wasnât the correct response.â
You grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss.
His sentence ended in a surprised sound.
The moment lasted only seconds.
But when you pulled away, Spencer looked completely stunned.
You smiled. âI love you too.â
For once in his life, Spencer Reid had absolutely nothing to say.
His mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again. No words came out.
You laughed. âThere he is.â
âWhat?â
âThe man who knows eight languages and still gets speechless sometimes.â
A smile slowly spread across his face.
Warm.
Happy.
Real.
The kind that only appeared when he was with you. Then he wrapped his arms around you. Holding you tightly.
Like he finally believed he was allowed to be happy.
And for the first time in a very long timeâHe did.
Iâm literally in love thisđŠâĽď¸!! I missed writing for Spencer, I need to get back into it, but Iâve been taking a break because Iâve been burn out for a while..who knows maybe, Iâll post here and there, maybe I wonât I havenât decided yet.
I hope you enjoyed this cute little one shot and let me know if you guys want moređŠˇ!!
Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Spencer Reid x BAU!reader, Pining!Spencer, Pining!Reader, no use of Y/N, Smut (oral: f receiving, oral: m receiving, p-in-v: protected because herpes is forever)
Warnings: Sexually explicit content, brief mention of past injury, may cause diabetes
Word count:Â 8.9K
Summary: You and Spencer have to deal with the aftermath of what happened the last time you saw each other. You're obviously both handling it extremely well and no-one is being at all dramatic for no reason.
This part ended up being so long, I've cut it in three. This is the third part and the end of the whole series. Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading along, I hope you enjoyed the ride. <3
previous | next
* * *
Itâs possible you order from this particular Vietnamese place too often, you think, padding across the living room and into the hallway at the sound of the delivery guyâs familiar knock. (He doesnât wear a name tag, you donât know anything about him except that he always knocks in three sets of three and that his moped is green. He knows all your favourite meals and he likely has some opinions about the quantities of food you order. Itâs not a very balanced relationship, really. Which feels like itâs a thing for you, probably something you should work on.)
You throw the door open, cash already out to pay the guy, and then you freeze.
Because triple-knock isnât the only person standing outside your door. Next to him, wearing his work clothes and a wary expression, is Spencer. (Itâs Sunday night, does he not own casual clothes? Or has he spent his weekend off at Quantico?)
You look between the two of them, hesitating.Â
Triple-knock is either oblivious or a consummate professional, cutting through the awkward tension with an âI have food for you, alright?â and the same polite smile heâs always wearing. (You might feel like youâre living through a nightmare, but heâs probably seen a lot worse. It doesnât matter how late you order, heâs always the one making the delivery.)
âYes!â you agree, a little too loudly, too eagerly. Just, this is an exchange you can handle. This is simple. He hands over the three bags of food, naming each dish, and then he winks, somehow managing to include Spencer in the gesture. The guy is probably delighted to learn you donât eat all that food on your own. âExtra Banh Cam for you.âÂ
âThanks,â you say, a pained smile on your face. Normally you express more gratitude for the free dessert, but he doesnât seem to notice. Or maybe he doesnât care.
You turn to Spencer, who is staring at the white plastic bags of food youâre holding, then stretching his neck to try to get a look at your apartment. You realise heâs assuming youâve got company. An easy mistake to make, if youâre big on logical reasoning, what with the quantities of food youâre currently holding.
But then again, shouldnât he know you better than that?
You try to decide what would be better: You can let Spencer in, which will give triple-knock the impression that youâre not going to eat all this food alone (that would be kind of nice), or you can make Spencer leave and then you donât have to deal with anything tonight and you can just eat your food in peace (that would also be kind of nice). But then youâll be alone with your thoughts (that is no kinds of nice, youâre learning).
In the end, Spencer forces your hand. âI guess nowâs a bad time,â he says, some weird caricature of a smile on his face as he turns to leave.
Itâs like that trick your mom taught you once, for when you couldnât choose between two things. Sheâd make the decision for you and if you were disappointed, youâd know you wanted the other thing. And then, crucially, sheâd let you have that.
Back then it was mainly about deciding between pizza or Chinese for dinner, but the same logic applies.
âNo, come on in. Thereâs plenty of food,â you tell him, holding out cash for the delivery guy, who takes the money and then takes off, absolutely zero interest in your non-food related drama. He has a green moped to get back to. Maybe five kids and a wife as well, what do you know?
You open the door and wave your hand, indicating that Spencer should come inside.
He hesitates for the longest three seconds of your life, then crosses the threshold and steps into your apartment.
âWho else is here?â His eyes are searching the hallway for any sign of things that donât belong to you and you wonder how heâd know, he hasnât been here before, you didnât even realise he knew where you live.
âUh. No-one.â You pull a face. âI did order all this food for myself, yes.â
He looks at you, this frown like he doesnât really know what youâre talking about, like the smell of spicy, Vietnamese goodness isnât wafting from the bags youâre still holding.Â
âYouâre sure?â he asks, as if whether or not you have visitors is something you could be uncertain of, like they could be here and you just havenât realised.
âYessss. Itâs just me and my demons, Spencer.â
He huffs at that, like heâd laugh but itâs not really funny, but then he looks at you, his eyes boring into yours with far too much intensity. You freeze, needing desperately to look away but completely unable to tear your gaze from his.Â
âJust you,â he says, voice low like heâs really talking to himself, and then he steps forward, right into your personal space, his hands going to your face and you KNOW whatâs about to happen.
You have plenty of time to pull away, to tell him to stop, to remove his hands. To do ANYTHING to make it clear that you donât want him to do what you know heâs about to do.
But you donât. You just stand there, continuing to look him in the eye like youâre a snake who wants to be charmed. Because you are. You WANT him to kiss you, you WANT his lips on yours, you WANT his hands on your skin.
You want it all and youâll take whatever little scraps you can get.
Spencer looks at you, not really sure why you arenât pulling away from him. Thereâs nothing he wants to do more than kiss you right now (well, there are things he wants to do IN ADDITION to kissing you, but the lip on lip contact is definitely where he wants to start) and he knows heâs going to, unless you stop him, which heâs sure you will. But you arenât doing it.
Youâre just standing there looking at him, so bewildered, but not stopping him. He waits just long enough that he can tell himself he tried, his hands on your cheeks, fingers in your hair, and then he leans in, eyes fluttering shut.
He doesnât kiss you frantically, like he did in that office a few days ago when he thought youâd leave and he felt as if it was the last chance heâd ever get to be that close to you, but slowly, carefully, like he did in that hotel room a lifetime ago. Pretending he has all the time in the world and youâre not going anywhere, ever. Maybe if he tells himself that you arenât leaving often enough, he can make it true.
Your lips part in a moan and he deepens the kiss, hands gripping you tighter and his tongue colliding with yours, his whole body melting because itâs right where it needs to be. Heâd be perfectly happy to just stand here forever, kissing you like this.
But then you stop, not all at once but like a machine powering down slowly, one function at a time, until your lips are no longer on his.
âLook,â you say, pulling his hands from your face, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. âYou have to stop doing that.â
He takes a step back, almost but not quite out of your personal space. âI know. Iâm sorry.â
âFuck your âsorryâ, Spencer. Genuinely. Stop doing things to be sorry for instead of always apologising.â
He swallows. Youâre right, of course. He does need to stop, all of this. He runs a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to clear his thoughts and formulate a response. âI justââ he starts, then stops with a sigh. âI canât really help it, and I AM sorry.â
âYou canât help it?â Youâre incredulous. âYouâre being a manipulative shit, of course you can help it.â
âIâŚâ he stutters. Of all the things you could reasonably accuse him of doing, some of them bordering on criminal, or at the very least firing offences. âWhat?â
âI know I fucked up, okay. I know this is all my fault.â Your eyes are on the ground and you donât notice when Spencer finally looks at you, completely baffled by your words. âBut stop trying to make me stay by teasing me with something thatâs never going to happen. Itâs not fair. Itâs not nice.â
Heâs shaking his head, and the movement is what finally makes you look up. âWhat? Whatâs your fault?â
You look so incredibly sad, he wants more than anything to reach out and touch you, do anything to make the sadness go away, but youâve thrown him off course so completely, he has no idea what it is you want him to do. Other than leave, which is the only thing that feels impossible.
âThis,â you say, waving a hand in the narrow space between you. âAll of this is my fault. I get that, and IâM sorry, okay. Really. But just stop now, okay. Enough.â
âI still donât understand,â he admits. âI donât understand why you think any of this is your fault. Iâm the one whoâŚâ
Youâre still looking at him, brows furrowed and lips pursed in a frown. Spencer makes himself look away from your mouth, focuses on the lines in your forehead instead. Lines he put there. âI understand that you just needed to let off some steam after⌠what happened, and I promise Iâll get past it eventually, I just need some time.â He shrugs apologetically. âI canât just switch off how much I want you, okay. But Iâll learn. I⌠I can learn anything, this is just taking a little longer. Itâs a bit more complicated than theoretical physics.â
The lines on your forehead change as your eyebrows shoot up. âYou what?â
Spencer sighs. âI have three Ph.D.âs, I can learn how not toââ
âNo,â you say, shaking your head as you cut him off, you look just a little dazed. âNot that bit.â
âThen what?â he asks, genuinely confused. He knows he sometimes says things that are completely clear to him, and then everyone else misunderstands, but what part of what he just said was even remotely ambiguous?
âYouâŚâ Your eyes are narrowed, not in anger but in thought, like youâre working out the most complicated math problem youâve ever seen. âWant me? For what?â
Spencer coughs in shock. Thereâs no way. You canât be asking him to TELL you. If he had to explain even just ONE of his fantasies to you, heâd be the one leaving. Tonight. No go-bag, no nothing, heâd just vanish. Preferably evaporate on the spot as soon as he stopped talking. Or maybe before. Maybe now? Now would be a good time. But nothing happens vapour-wise and he opens his mouth, wondering what will fall out of it. âEverything.â
âEverything?â You say it slowly, syllables drawn out past their breaking point.
Thereâs no way to define everything, so heâs not going to bother trying to do that, although itâs the truth, but he understands why you need more of an explanation this time. âI want you to stay,â he says. âI want you to talk to me again, and smile at me again, and⌠want to be near me again.â
You blink, twice.
âI hate it that you canât stand to be around me when I just want to be around you all the time andâŚâ he trails off, because the next sentence out of his mouth would have had the word âsorryâ in it.
âItâs not that I canât stand to be around you, Spencer,â you say, your voice soft and so low he finds himself bending down slightly to hear you better.
âThen why wonât you talk to me?â He knows he sounds whiny and pathetic, but thatâs how he feels, so itâs probably only fair that you should know.
âBecause itâs HARD, okay. IâŚâ You breathe in deeply and then sigh, deciding that you might as well just spell out the whole truth to him and then he can do whatever he wants with it. âI screwed up and tried to make you sleep with me when obviously youâre not interested in me in that way, and maybe itâs pathetic but itâs gonna take a bit of time to get over that rejection. Iâm trying, though. Okay? I promise.â
âWhat rejection?â Spencer is baffled.
You snort. âAre you kidding? Do you really want me to tell you what happened that night? Were you not there? Did you forget? Or did I hallucinate the whole thing?â
âIâI didnât REJECT you,â he says, a hand running through his hair, pulling at it as if that might help clear up some of the confusion heâs feeling. âYou were scared and vulnerable and I⌠took advantage of that.â
âYou left,â you say. âYou wouldnât let meââ you wave a hand in the direction of his crotch ââand then you left while I was sleeping.â
Spencerâs brain stutters to a complete halt, trying to parse the two separate conversations you're having into one. LET you? And youâre saying he left as if he didnât save you both from the embarrassment (mainly yours) and humiliation (entirely his) the next morning. Like getting out of that bed wasnât a favour he did the both of you.Â
You shake your head, huffing like his silence is exactly what you expected, and then you turn to walk away. He grabs your hand, the one still holding an insane amount of takeaway food that he still doesnât entirely believe you ordered just for yourself. He loosens your grip on the bags and sets them down on the table behind him, next to the bowl that holds your keys, wallet and phone.
Then he clears his throat. âYou wanted me to stay?âÂ
You close your eyes, grimacing like youâre in pain, and then you look at him again. âYes.â
âButâŚâ He pauses, trying to wrap his head around what you just told him, your whole conversation replaying in his head.Â
EVERYTHING replaying in his head, the entire complicated mess of your friendship, for lack of a better word. (Heâd use ârelationshipâ, but there are connotations there that he doesnât want to push on you.)
âI love you,â he says, finally. Itâs absurd, but all the data points to that being the thing he needs to say right now. Thatâs what he needs you to know. Open sesame or whatever.
âWâWhat?â
âIâm in love with you.â His voice is strangely calm, he feels just like he would if he was telling you some new fact about a case, something completely separate from the thing his heart does whenever heâs near you. Itâs funny how it can feel so complicated, but then in the end itâs really this simple.
âNo, youâre not.â Youâre shaking your head, slowly at first but then more vigorously. âYou canât be.â
âWhy not?â Heâs happy to debate you. He knows heâs right so thereâs no way heâll lose.
âBecauseâŚâ you start, but then stop, frowning. âWell, you just canât be. I barely convinced you to be friends with me.â
âThatâs not really how causality works, your deduction is false.â Spencer is amused despite himself, his heart pounding. At least you told him that he couldnât be, not that he shouldnât.Â
âHuh?â
âWell, you canât conclude that I canât be in love with you because I didn't want to be friends with you. Did it ever occur to you that I didnât want to be friends with you BECAUSE I was in love with you?â
âNo.â Your tone is flat and you still look dumbstruck. âNot ever. Not once. I thought you hated me.â
âNo. I just tried to keep my distance, because, well,â he shrugs, giving up on the last threads of his dignity. âI think the last few days prove pretty clearly why I did that. Youâve seen what happens when I donât. I mean, it was pretty clear even in North Carolina.â
You smile at that, your eyes lighting up and your lips curling slightly, not a wide grin but something deeper, something private thatâs just for him like youâre remembering a secret and he knows it too. Spencer feels it like a punch to his solar plexus. âNot to me,â you say, taking a small step forward until youâre toe to toe. âBut does that mean, if I stand hereâŚâ
Spencer blinks, his mind going over the situation like itâs a game of chess. He moves his hands back to your cheeks, because that must be what youâre expecting.
Your smile widens, your cheeks shifting under his hands, and he smiles back, relieved that he got this right, his heart fluttering at the idea that youâre even entertaining this⌠experiment. âAnd then I do this,â you continue, your arms going around his waist.
He bends down, his lips almost but not quite touching yours because he needs this to be YOUR decision.Â
âAnd then this,â you whisper, your breath warm against his face, and then you stretch up slightly, your lips connecting with his.
He kisses you, softly, just a light pressure of his lips on yours, and then he pulls back, frowning in thought. âJust how hungry are you?â
âHuh?â
âWell, you ordered enough food to feed a family of four, how hungry are you?â
âFour?!â You push him away, indignant. Itâs completely put on, heâs absolutely right.
âFour normal people, two of you.â He grins, kissing your forehead.
You pinch his side. âRude.â
âHonest,â he corrects you, kissing your lips.
âMean,â you say, tilting your head and exposing your neck to him in what he canât really interpret as anything other than an invitation.
He grins. âDirect.â He kisses your throat where it meets your shoulder, breathing in deeply through his nose, filling his nostrils with the scent of you, his lips still on your skin.
You shiver. âNot hungry.â
He kisses a path up your throat to a spot beneath your ear that he discovered the last time he got to kiss you like this; he wants to test a theory. âI am.â
âYou want to eat?â Your eyes close as you enjoy the sensation of him kissing you, a breathy sigh escaping when he reaches a spot that sends shivers of pleasure down your spine, and you feel him smile against your skin, blowing out a huff of air. If heâs hungry, obviously youâll let him eat, but you were really hoping to keep his mouth on YOU. And you know how he feels about food in bedâŚ
He scrapes his teeth over that same spot, then nibbles at it and you reconsider the whole âletting him eatâ situation. Maybe heâll just have to starve. âYes,â he says, voice barely above a whisper, his lips never quite leaving your sensitive skin.
He sucks lightly and youâre sure itâs going to leave a mark youâll struggle to hide with make-up in the morning but you donât actually care. Youâve got a turtleneck stashed away somewhere, surely. âThen youâre going to have to stop doing that,â you say, ending on a whimper.
He chuckles lightly. âNo.â He pulls gently at the loose neck of your t-shirt, exposing another bit of skin, and kisses along your collarbone.
âBut ifââ
Spencerâs hands move to your waist and under your t-shirt, his hands just a little cold against your skin and making you shiver. Then he kneels down in front of you, pushing up the t-shirt and pressing a long kiss to your skin, just above your belly button. âNo.â
Oh.
Okay.
Unable to resist the temptation, you run your fingers through his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp, and he hums against your skin, clearly enjoying it. Which, so are you, so you do it again, resisting the temptation to push his head downwards. Itâs just, your body remembers the last time he was down there and just the thought that it could happen again has you reacting to his every touch, the feeling of his warm breath on your stomach.
His hands skate along your skin until they reach the buttons of your jeans. âCan I?â he asks, pulling back just far enough that he can look up at you.
âYes!â you almost shout, and youâd blush at how eager you sound, but he probably wouldnât be able to tell, your skin already flushed with desire. âI mean, yes, of course.â
He just smiles, looking pleased rather than amused, and then leans back in to kiss you again, just above the waistline of your jeans before he quickly undoes the row of buttons. The pressure of his hands against you as he works the buttons makes you shift, your muscles tense with anticipation.
Spencer learned his lesson last time and when he pulls down your jeans he only leaves your underwear on long enough to take in the sight of your pink and yellow boyshorts with Bugs Bunny printed on them, his lips twitching in amusement, and then he shimmies them down your legs as well, bunching everything up to help you step out of both jeans and underwear at the same time.Â
You move willingly, lifting first one foot and then the other, and then he can finally throw your clothes to the side and sit back up to find you standing there exposed before him. He lets out a gust of air, not really able to believe that this is happening.Â
He came to your apartment hoping that you could have an actual conversation and best case scenario he might be able to convince you to put your plans to leave the BAU on hold, maybe youâd even agree to try not to resent him. And nowâŚ
He leans in and kisses first one thigh, and then the other. You hum, and he can see the muscles in your legs working, your abs tensing and then relaxing. When he looks up at you, he finds you staring down at him, looking just as amazed by whatâs happening as he is. He smiles and you smile back, your eyes glazed over with lust, but underneath it thereâs something else, something he wants to hold on to. When he reaches up a hand, you take it immediately, entwining your fingers with his. He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back.Â
Then he lets go, brushing both hands down your thighs, to come to rest on the backs of your knees. He licks his lips and you actually whimper at the sight. The sound sends a signal straight to his cock, already getting painfully hard in his slacks.
Very carefully, he nudges one of your knees, indicating that you should raise your leg, and when you do, he picks it up and places it over his shoulder. When your hands bury themselves in his hair again, gripping it, he smiles into the soft flesh of your thigh before kissing it. With your leg on his shoulder like this, youâre already completely exposed and when he turns his head, he barely has to move at all to be able to press a kiss against your folds, his tongue sneaking out to run over your clit. Heâs amazed by how wet you are already. For him.
You knee buckles at the contact and he finds himself holding your weight for just a second before you regain your balance. âFuck, Spencer,â you hiss. âSorry.â
You can feel his lips move into a smile against you, every touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body. And then you realise exactly what he meant when he said he was hungry, because he all but devours you. You press your back against the wall to keep yourself upright as he licks and sucks at you, your hands pulling at his hair so hard youâre worried youâre hurting him. The sounds heâs making are not the sounds of a man who wants to change anything, though, hums and moans of pleasure in response to the noises youâre making yourself, to the way your hips buck against him.
Then he runs a finger along your folds, wetting it before he slowly pushes it inside you, teasing you with something but not quite enough, then adding a second finger soon after, twisting them until he finds the right angle to make your whole body go tense, and then he starts pumping in and out, his mouth fully focused on your clit.
You moan, feeling yourself go lightheaded as you breathe too fast for oxygen to actually reach your blood. âSpence, Iâm gonnaâŚâ you trail off on another moan, and itâs as much of a warning as youâll be able to give him.
He hums, the vibrations going directly to your clit, and grips your thigh more firmly with the hand that isnât currently fucking you, to let you know that he understands.
The orgasm that washes over you is blinding, all your muscles tensing and then turning to mush as you moan his name over and over and his tongue and hand keep working you, stretching out the pleasure beyond a point where youâre even aware of whatâs happening.Â
When you come to, his head is still between your legs, your thigh over his shoulder, and you loll your head forward so you can look down at him. Heâs pulling his fingers out of you carefully, his lips moving from your clit to your thigh, pressing soft, messy kisses there, but then he feels your eyes on him and looks up at you.
He looks almost drunk, possibly even as drunk as you feel, pupils completely blown and a satisfied smile on his lips.
You want to say something, any one of a million things, but youâre still catching your breath and not really sure youâd be able to string enough words together to make a sentence, so instead you shift, trying to pull your leg off his shoulder. When he realises what youâre doing, he helps you, his hand caressing your foot as he places it back on the floor and then running up your calf and your thigh where he presses another kiss.
Then he gets to his feet, guided by your hands tugging gently on his hair, and as soon as heâs within reach, youâre kissing him, tasting yourself on him, wiping your juices from his chin with a thumb before you wrap both arms around his neck to keep him in place.
Spencer kisses you back eagerly, hands wrapping around you to pull you close, moaning into your mouth when his erection presses against your stomach. He moans again when he feels you shift your body, pulling closer to him, very obviously moving to tease his throbbing cock.
âDonât do that,â he warns you, hands on your waist to keep you in place as he pulls back his hips to create some distance between you.
You pull back, a pout on your face. He bites your bottom lip lightly.
âI just need a moment,â he says, feeling a little embarrassed but also completely sure that he will come in his pants if you touch him right now and thatâs really not where he wants this to go. The way youâre looking at him, he thinks you donât want that either.
âWere you aware that a moment is actually ninety seconds?â you ask, the picture of innocence.
âIâm going to need a few moments,â he amends, kissing your forehead and thanking his lucky star that you arenât a scientist. Imagine if you defined a moment as 13 milliseconds.
âI feel like Winnie the Pooh,â you say then, and Spencer frowns, completely thrown by the non sequitur, but then he realises what you mean.
He grins. âI can help with that,â he offers, and starts to pull your t-shirt up and over your head.Â
You raise your arms to let him, and then youâre standing there in just your bra and nothing else. He stares at the lacy fabric thatâs cupping your breasts, at your nipples peaking the fabric. Then his eyes move to your shoulder, hands moving to brush against the edge of the bandage you still have on, more out of habit than need, really. The stitches are already mostly dissolved and the soreness really only affects you if you sleep on that shoulder. âItâs fine,â you tell him, smiling slightly.
âYeah?â He looks a little worried still, and you nod reassuringly.
âThis is a little imbalanced, thoughâ you say, frowning with a playful smile, waving your hand up and down to indicate his whole body, and Spencer realises that while youâre practically naked, he hasnât actually even taken off his shoes.Â
âRight,â he says, determined, pulling off his jacket, and then starts loosening his tie, pulling it over his head as soon as the loop is big enough, dropping it on the floor before he starts unbuttoning his shirt, nimble fingers working quickly while he moves from one foot to the other, kicking off his shoes.
You grin wickedly at him and grab him by the buckle of his belt, pulling him with you as you walk backwards down the hallway to what turns out to be your bedroom. By the time you get there, he has the final button undone and you help him get the shirt off and then your hands are on his t-shirt, pulling it out of his slacks and up his torso.
He bends so you can pull it over his head, but then decides he has spent as long as can be expected without kissing you, pulling you in so he can get his lips on yours. You kiss him back eagerly, your tongue moving in his mouth in a way that feels obscene, but has you so distracted you donât notice him unhooking your bra until heâs pulling it off your shoulders, carefully avoiding the bandage.
You release your hold on him long enough for him to pull the bra straps down your arms and freeing you of the last item of clothing you were wearing, and then his hands are on your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You moan into his mouth at the sensation.
âOkay,â you say, pulling back about half an inch. âThatâs all the moments youâre going to get.â
At first, he thinks you mean âmomentsâ as in âall of thisâ and youâre going to kick him out, but then your hands go to his belt buckle and youâre undoing the belt and unbuttoning his slacks, and he realises what you meant. Heâs not entirely sure heâs had enough moments to avoid blowing his load in about five seconds once you get your hands on him, but he IS sure that short of him going into another room and thinking about cold fusion or how to unclog a drain for five minutes, things arenât really going to get any easier on that score, so he decides to just go with whatever happens, and helps you by pushing down on his jeans and boxers while youâre still undoing the zipper.
He kicks his feet to get out of his clothes, stepping on his socks to try to pull those off as well. Youâre completely naked, so it seems only fair. (Also, he read an article once that said most women think itâs a turnoff if men wear socks in bed and thatâs not something he can just unknow. Itâs DEFINITELY not something he wants to test.)
âSpencer,â you say, your voice careful. âIâm going to touch you now, okay?â
He makes a noise, not really even sure himself what he meant to say, it comes out as something between a sigh and a groan. Then he nods.
You smile, leaning in so you can kiss his chest, your lips soft as they skate along his skin. Your hands rest on his hips, and he both wants you to touch him more, and he wants you not to, because he wants this moment to last for as long as he can possibly stretch it.
When you start kneeling in front of him, he realises the moment is going be pretty short. Possibly even shorter than the medieval definition. He remembers the hurt in your eyes when you told him earlier that he wouldnât âlet youâ the last time, and as insane as that seems to him, thereâs no possible way he can stop you now.Â
So he just looks down at you, because heâs absolutely not going to miss it, and youâre biting your lip with a hungry look that makes his cock twitch. You notice and grin, licking your lips.
Then you reach out a hand to grip him, your tongue running over the tip. It leaks precum and you kiss it off him, before running your tongue up the underside of his cock.Â
Spencer moans, his hips stuttering desperately, and he has to close his eyes for just a second before forcing them open so he doesnât miss out on seeing you wrap your lips around him and take him in.
His hands go to your hair, gathering it up loosely, brushing it out of your face, trying not to guide you, not to force you to take him in deeper than you already are.Â
Youâre enjoying the weight of him on your tongue, the taste of him as he leaks in your mouth, the way his hands dig into your hair. But most of all, youâre enjoying the sounds heâs making, deep guttural moans of pleasure that youâre bringing out of him.
As nice as this is, though, there are other things you also didnât get to do last time, that you want to do even more, and after what he told you earlier, youâre fairly sure youâll get another chance at this, when youâre maybe less desperate to have him inside you.
So you pull back, releasing him with a âpopâ and smile as his hips push forward, chasing your mouth, and then you stand up so you can kiss his lips. He bends down willingly, his tongue all but fucking your mouth, his hands on your ass pulling you close, his hips pumping and making his cock, wet with your own saliva, rub against your lower stomach, not quite where you want it.
You match his kiss, feeling as desperate as he seems to be, although you arenât far enough gone not to make a mental note of the fact that all Spencer needs is a little head and ALL his control vanishes.
And then something occurs to you, making you freeze up.
âWait,â you say, a hand on his chest pushing him back. Spencer breathes in deeply, trying to calm himself. Then you reach out to open the bedside drawer and pull out what he realises is a box of condoms, squinting a little to read the small print on the back of the box, then turning it around, clearly looking for something.
âUm,â he says, uncertain. âI can⌠I can take care of that part.â
You snort with laughter. âThatâs good to know. Iâm just looking forâŚâ You look up, triumphant. âThe expiry date. These have been in that drawer forever. But weâre good.â
Spencer, who five seconds ago hadnât thought to worry about this, feels as relieved as you look. Then he takes the box from your hand and sets it down on the bedside table, within easy reach. âGood.â
âIt really is,â you agree. âI mean, imagine the amount of excuses not to do this youâd be able to come up with on the way to buy new ones.â
He knows youâre joking, but he still shakes his head. âZero,â he says, pushing you down on the bed and crawling onto it himself, nudging your legs apart so he can kneel between them.
âWhat?â You scoot up further on the bed and he follows you.
âThe number of excuses.â He bends down to kiss you. âZero.â
âFunny, thatâs my favourite number.â Then you frown. âIs it actually a number? Or is it like how black and white arenât really colours?â
He smiles. âItâs a number. Itâs the only neutral number, all other numbers are eitherââ
âCool,â you interrupt him, wrapping your hands around his neck to keep him in place, your legs going around his thighs and pulling him closer until heâs pressed against your entrance. âMaybe you can tell me more about that later.â
âUh-huh,â he manages, struggling to control his hips as the tip of his cock rubs against your folds, getting covered in your slick. Everything about this just feels too good and his brain is in meltdown mode. âFuck.â The profanity spills out of him and he feels momentarily embarrassed, like he should have better manners than this, shouldnât be swearing right in your face, but you raise your head and kiss him and he takes that to mean that you arenât offended.
âYes, please,â you say mildly instead and he laughs, amusement that comes out more as a groan, every muscle in his body tense in an effort to stop himself from just pounding into you.
You reach up and put a hand on each of his cheeks, drawing his head up until he looks you in the eye, just enough distance between you that you can look at him without feeling like youâre going crosseyed. âSpence?â
âMhmm.â You see his eyes adjust, like youâre coming into focus slowly. âYes?â
âOkay?â Itâs a loaded question, and you should maybe expand on it a little bit, but then he smiles and nods.
âOkay,â he says, like he understands what youâre asking, even if you arenât sure that you do. He bends down and kisses your chin, shifting his weight to the side a little. âI justâŚâ
âYou need another moment?â
He huffs out a breath of air, warm against your face. âNo. Justâjust this one.â
You smile and he kisses you, messy and sweet. âItâs a good one,â you agree when he pulls away. Then you reach out to grab the box of condoms, managing to get it open and pull one out with one hand, holding it up for him to take it.
He gets up on his knees to put it on and you try not to distract him while he does, but itâs the first time since he arrived that all his focus hasnât been on you and you already miss the attention, so as soon as heâs done and looks at you again, you grab him and flip him so heâs on his back. Youâre straddling him and pinning him down before he realises whatâs happening.Â
âHow you ever made it through Quantico is beyond me,â you tease, releasing his arms.
He smiles, unbothered, reaching up to stroke your skin from your hips to your ribs before he cups your breasts, eyes focused on that instead of your face. âI got a lot of exemptions.â
You laugh, arching your back at his touch.
âAlso,â he continues, watching in fascination as he teases your nipples. âI donât remember combat training being quite like this. For one thing, there were more clothes involved.â He stretches his neck, reaching up so he can get his lips on your breast, his tongue teasing your nipple, and you sigh with pleasure.
You raise yourself up on your knees and he takes the hint immediately, one hand releasing your breast so he can line himself up at your entrance. His eyes are back on your face now, watching you intently as you slowly take him in. âAnd do you thinkââ You pause, giving your body a moment to adjust to the way heâs stretching you. ââthat youâd have done better if everyone had been naked?â
His hands move to your hips, steadying you, his thumbs stroking your skin gently. His teeth bite down on his bottom lip as he sucks in air in an effort to keep still, trying to keep his focus on the conversation. âDefinitely not.â
You take him in a little further, grinning at his conviction. âMore fun, though.â
âI donât think Iâd be able to handle the obstacle course naked,â he says, gritting his teeth halfway through when you sit down a bit more, then pull up and sit back down.Â
You laugh and he hisses when it makes your muscles clench around him. âThat does seem like there would be a lot of potential for unfortunate injuries,â you tell him, letting yourself sink the rest of the way down until you can finally relax your hips and settle. Your eyes flutter closed and you hum with pleasure at the feeling of him filling you up. When you open your eyes you find him watching you, a small smile on his face and his eyes so completely unguarded, filled with an adoration you arenât entirely sure what to do with. You want to store it away somewhere safe where youâll always be able to find it.
Since that night after⌠Well, since that night, most of your dreams (and honestly quite a lot of fully awake fantasies) have been filled with Spencer; his tongue, his hands, all the things you wanted to do to him but never got a chance to, all the things you wanted him to do to you, but they all fall short of the reality of this. Waking up in your sisterâs guestroom with a hand down your panties and the ghost of Spencerâs lips on yours; trying not to stare at his hands as his fingers tap on the steering wheel as you crawl through traffic in a silence so thick youâre sure he can smell your arousal; watching him chew on the end of a whiteboard marker through a window and feeling your thighs clench.
You canât control your dreams, fantasies are fleeting, and it was all so purely about sexual release. There was no part of your brain, conscious or subconscious, that allowed itself to stray into fantasies of Spencer actually wanting you back, of something more than just physical pleasure.
This is different. This is⌠everything, just like he said.Â
You circle your hips, raising yourself up and lowering yourself down again, watching his expression change, that adoration still there for you to take in, but that control heâs been hanging onto by a thread starting to slip again. You bend down, bracing yourself with a hand on either side of his head, kissing him.
Spencerâs hands grip your hips tighter as he tries to decide if he should let go so he can touch your face or if he needs to keep them where they are, tangible proof that this is happening, that the feeling of you surrounding him is real. Unable to make up his mind, he finds his hands skirting up and down your sides, not really settling anywhere as he kisses you back.
When you pull your face away, one hand goes to your hair immediately, trying to stop you and make you go back to kissing him. âJust in case it wasnât obvious,â you say, bending down to plant another quick kiss on his lips when he pulls you in. âI love you, too.â
It hadnât been obvious, not for a second, before tonight, and heâs not sure he let the question of whether you felt the same way, or it was something you might do sometime in the future, really form in his mind, but when you say the words, all he can do is smile and nod, his forehead bumping into yours because, actually, it IS obvious.Â
You kiss him again, more deeply now, and he opens his mouth readily, deepening the kiss as you start to move, your hips moving up and down, and he moans without breaking the kiss, his hands going to your ass to keep you in place, trying to find the right angle as you come back down to get the same reaction out of you that he did with his fingers earlier.
He bends one knee, his thigh helping to balance you and his foot on the bed giving him purchase so he can thrust up into you, matching the pace youâve set and releasing a low moan with every thrust.Â
It changes the angle of your body, which is clearly something you agree with, because it doesnât take long before you clench around him, soft sighs landing on his tongue as your kiss gets messier.
Spencer can feel himself losing control quickly, hurtling towards his own release, the way everything feels almost TOO good when all he wants is for it to last, but then you moan, your breath hitching. âSo close,â you whisper, no longer kissing him, instead just moaning into his mouth as your hips jerk, clearly searching for the right pressure in the right place.
Youâre rutting desperately against him, so close to coming, and you can feel his movements becoming more jagged as well, beads of sweat running down his forehead when you pull back to look at him.Â
âFeels too good,â he tells you, and you nod, kissing him messily before you push yourself up by your arms to change the angle of his cock as it thrusts into you, allowing him to hit a spot that draws a deep moan from you.
He shifts his hips, just the tiniest bit, so that he hits that exact same spot every time you come together, and then moves his hands from your ass, one of them going to your breast, squeezing your nipple, and the other moving to your stomach, pushing between your bodies until he can rub a finger against your clit.
The sound you make is one youâre sure youâve never made before in your life, and youâd be embarrassed by how primal it is, except the noises Spencer is making are just as desperately filthy. âDonât stop,â you manage to tell him, because if he does, you think you might die.
His head is thrown back against the pillow, his breath coming out in little whines, but he forces himself to pull his head down and look at you. âNever.â
Somehow, your eyes meeting his is what sends you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you, your eyes locked with his until you canât possibly keep them open any longer, waves of pleasure turning everything bright white and making your back arch.Â
You feel Spencer pump into you frantically as your inner walls convulse around him and then hear him moan, a high-pitched sound that ends in a whine and then he collapses under you, spent. You let yourself drop down on top of him, your arms unable to hold your own weight as your orgasm continues to roll over you.Â
Spencer slowly pulls out the hand trapped between you, sending one last spasm through your body as his finger presses against your overstimulated clit one last time, and then he wraps both arms around you, pulling you to him as you both try to slow down your breathing. When you snuggle closer, he smiles into your hair, kissing the top of your head.Â
Heâd be perfectly happy for you to stay right there forever, but all too soon you scoot off of him, taking the sting out of the action by kissing a trail along his chest as you move.Â
You move just far enough away that you can reach the box of tissues on your bedside table, a hand still on his chest as you pull out a fistful of tissues. He takes them from you immediately, shifting down the bed so he can clean you up, carefully wiping the inside of your thighs clean, his full attention on the task. Once heâs satisfied, he leans down to kiss the skin he just cleaned and as exhausted as you are, you feel your body reacting to it, but then he moves away, carefully removing the condom before he wipes himself down as well and throws it all in the wicker basket under your bedside table.
When he lies back, you curl into his side immediately, one leg thrown over his, an arm flung over his torso as he wraps an arm around you to keep you there. You smile contentedly and kiss his chest before settling with your head on his shoulder.
He looks around the room, at the dark blue curtains, the cluster of plants in the corner, the clothes draped haphazardly over a chair next to your dresser. âYâknow, your bedroom looks pretty much how I thought it would,â he says without really thinking about it, his mind on the way your body feels pressed against his.
The hand drawing an abstract pattern on your shoulder falls to his chest when you raise yourself up to look at him, curious. It hadnât really occurred to you that Spencer would have thought about your home decor for any reason. âYou thought about what my bedroom looked like?âÂ
He grimaces, embarrassed. âMaybe?â
âConfirm a theory for me,â you say, and he wonders if youâre about to ask him if he imagined the room with or without a rug when he thought about fucking you against your wardrobe. (The answer is with, but also he imagined a sturdier wardrobe.) But no: âAre your bedsheets white? And, like, Egyptian cotton or something?â
âItâs more comfortable,â he says and then the question lands. He smiles. âCarved wooden bedframe.â
You grin, clearly delighted. âI knew it.â
He pulls you back down for another kiss, his hand behind your head. Then he gently nudges you off of him, rolling over and moving to the edge of the mattress. At first you wonder if heâs trying to crawl out of bed, but then he stops, head bent down to look under your bed.
âWhat are you doing?â You put a hand on his back, partly just an excuse to touch him, partly to steady him when he raises his head to look at you from under hair that has fallen into his face. Are you about to get a lecture on how to vacuum properly?Â
âIâm looking for your box of rocks,â he says, smiling. âI want to see your collection.â
You shake your head, grinning back at him, because the man is clearly mad. âItâs gone. My mom threw it away when I was 11.â
âOh.â His smile falters. âIâm sorry.â
You nod, mock-serious. âSo was my mom after I had yelled at her for half an hour.â
He gets up on his hands and knees, spinning around so he can caress your cheek before he bends down to kiss you again. âWait right here,â he tells you, as if you were planning on going anywhere at all when youâve been making plans to never leave your bed again. Then he gets out of bed and walks naked out of the bedroom, turning on the light in the hallway, and you can hear him moving around out there, out of sight. (Itâs a surprise, Spencer just walking around like that. You half expected him to put all his clothes back on as soon as he left your bed, buttoning up his shirt, maybe even putting his tie back on before going to the bathroom. But no.)
Most of his clothes are still scattered on your bedroom floor, so you arenât REALLY worried that heâs running away, but still. âSpence?â
Heâs back in the doorway a few seconds later, flicking off the light in the hall and walking back to bed. He holds out a closed hand to you, and you put out your own, palm up, to take whatever it is heâs got.
A small stone falls into your hand, smooth and cold to the touch. Itâs red, with swirls of white and brown creating a pattern you stroke along with your thumb, smiling. âRhyolite.â
Spencerâs face lights up. âItâs Nevada Wonderstone.â He shrugs, suddenly adorably shy. âI thought you could add it to your collection, but maybe you can start a new one?â
You close your hand around the stone, feel it get warmer as your body heat is transferred to the volcanic rock before you carefully set it down on your bedside table. Then you get up on your knees and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. âMaybe we can start it together?â
He nods, kissing you again, sweet at first but then with more intent, crawling back on the bed and pushing you down until heâs on top of you, and you feel the pull in your stomach, a tingling sensation moving further down and making you clench when you feel his erection growing against your thigh. Â
You run your fingers through his hair with one hand, the other finding his and intertwining your fingers. Youâre almost shocked by how much you want him again so soon. (Then again, youâve wanted him for a while, you have a lot of catching up to do.) âDeal,â he agrees, lips trailing along your collarbone before they find your mouth again. âMaybe some granite from North Carolina?â
You grin against his lips, squirming with pleasure when his free hand finds your breast.
Summary: A case finished, a rainy trip on the road, and a secret Spencer has kept from the team.
Word Count: 3.4k
Warnings: Not really. Domestic fluff, food, wine, and coffee.
A/N: This was a request from a lovely anon. I hope you like it.
------------------
It was a local one. That would often bring comfort to Spencer because it meant that, once it was over, he would come home sooner. Come home to you.
But this time was different. The weather on the East Coast has been, for lack of a better term, messy. Days of nonstop rain have done a number on the roads and traffic. It was something Hotch had considered when the case concluded.
"We should stay until tomorrow. We're tired, and a new storm is coming," the boss pointed out.
"It would be fair, but the hotel doesn't have rooms available for us tonight. Penelope only booked for the week," JJ reminds everyone.
It was true that, due to the new FBI policy, the hotel booking could only last five nights unless there was a prior announcement of an extension. But this time the team caught the unsub right early on day six, so the extent didn't happen.
"I can drive. It's not that bad outside. We can make it before the new storm comes," Derek assured. And even though Hotch wasn't entirely convinced, they didn't have much of a choice. It was that or spend the night in the precinct.
"Okay. Let's go then."
The team climbed into the SUV and got ready to endure the trip, leaving the Jacksonville police station behind.
"Hopefully, we can make it under two hours," Morgan announces, hitting the gas to get to the main road soon.
After fifty minutes, everything seems to be going according to plan until they start bypassing Baltimore. The rain intensifies, and traffic on the highway increases.
Hotch, in the passenger seat, checks his phone, a frown deepening on his face.
"What is it?" JJ asks from the back seat. She is in the middle, Spencer on her right, and Emily on her left.
"Some reports say traffic is getting cluttered in the middle of DC after some power shuts off," Hotch recounts.
"Great," Emily grumbles.
Spencer listens silently to the exchange between Hotch, Emily, and Derek, who insists they'll be able to reach DC in a reasonable amount of time. Spencer isn't so sure anymore, so he discreetly takes out his phone and sends you a message.
'Hey, love. We're on the road, but we don't know how long it'll take to get there. If it gets too chaotic, don't worry, I can stay in Quantico until I can go home safely. Love you.'
It's not that Spencer doesn't desperately want to get home to you, but he knows you'd worry too much if he tried to navigate the streets alone in this weather. So, for your sanityâand his physical well-being, because he is certain you'd kill him if he did otherwiseâhe's choosing to be cautious.
"Everything okay, Spence?"
The geniusâs head snaps up when he hears JJ calling his name.
"Oh. Yes. Yeah. Fine," Spencer hurries to say, but in a quiet voice, so they don't alert the rest about their talking.
JJ's gaze flicks between Spencer and the phone he's quickly hiding in his jacket pocket.
"I was just checking the local news," he offers as an explanation. JJ hums in understanding.
"Something new?"
Spencer clears his throat. "Well, not much. The same Hotch said." To avoid a follow-up question, Spencer turns to the main conversation among Derek, Emily, and Hotch.
Would it have been easier to tell JJ the truth, just saying he was sending you a message?
Definitely.
It would have been the natural thing to do, but because no one on the team knows you exist, it is not so simple.
The thing is, Spencer Reid has been in a relationship with you for three years now, and no one at the BAU even suspects it. Moreover, eight months ago, you moved in together to a house in the DC suburbs, leaving behind the apartment where Spencer had lived since he joined the BAU.
With that in mind, it's fair to say that your relationship is pretty serious, and, according to the same Spencer, the best thing that has happened to him. So, why the secrecy?
At first, it was the novelty of everything. Neither you nor Spencer wanted to put additional pressure on it by introducing people to each other. As things progressed, Spencer's fear about something bad happening if you were exposed to that part of his world was enough to stop him from taking the step.
Yet as time went on, the fear subsided and was replaced by a desire for you to also be part of the family he'd been in since joining the FBI. Spencer felt ready. But now you're the one who wasn't sure about meeting the team. Knowing the stories your boyfriend has told you over the years, you're worried they won't find you to be the right fit for what they expect from a good partner to Spencer.
And although Spencer has assured you countless times that there's nothing to worry about, you were still having your misgivings.
Finally, a few weeks ago, when the topic came up again, you concluded it was time to do it, although you haven't yet worked out the logistics. So, for now, the secrecy must continue.
-
It takes a long time for the team to get to the White Oak crossing; it's not just the rain and traffic that make the trip hard. Now, road closures are being announced over the radio.
"It's been three hours. Weâll be here until Christmas,â Emily complains, making Derek roll his eyes.
"Once we cross Silver Spring, things will be better," JJ says, trying to keep a positive tone.
"Not quite," Spencer disagrees. "We can't go back to the 495, and even if we could, the 50 already has three closures before the river."
"What's your suggestion then, pretty boy?" An annoyed Morgan pipes from the driver's seat.
"Uh- I guess to continue to Forest Glen and then the 390 would be the safest option," Spencer offers.
"Reid is right. We should stick to this road until Forest Glen," Hotch agrees.
With every mile they move forward, traffic slows. The rain is relentless, so much so that even cell phone service is lost in certain areas. To top it all off, night begins to fall, making driving increasingly difficult.
They're indeed getting closer to DC, but from there to Quantico, which is on the other side of the district, seems like a Herculean task.
Morgan looks tired, as does the rest of the team, who are at a loss for how to pass the time.
"More than four hours and we're still stuck. I swear I'm so tired that, at this point, I'd stop anywhere for the night." Emily's words resonate with everyone, though no one comments on them until it is the same Morgan who breaks. "Okay, I admit I'm tired as hell."
âI can drive,â Hotch offers, although he seems equally drained as everyone else.
Spencer looks out the window, recognizing, amidst the rain and the foggy glass, Rock Creek Parkâone of his favorite places to go with you, and one of the reasons for choosing a house in the Upper Northwest neighborhood to live.
Unwittingly, and thanks to all the detours along the way, they're only a mile from Spencer's home. That's when an idea strikes him.
Spencer discreetly pulls his phone out of his pocket again, only to find it's completely dead. He'd accidentally turned on the flashlight when he quickly put it away - after being questioned by JJ - draining the battery.
âShit,â he mutters to himself. Spencer can't text you or even see if he has any messages from you. You're probably worried sick because you haven't heard from him in hours.
To keep driving through this storm will only increase his anxiety, the team's fatigue, and - most likely - your worry.
âUh, Morgan?â Spencer calls from the back seat. The man sighs as they reach another stop in the road.
âPretty boy, if you are not telling me how to make this thing fly to Quantico, I don't want to hear it, okay?â
âI support that,â Emily adds.
âWhat is it, Reid?â Hotch asks, briefly turning to look at Spencer.
âUh - we can stop at my house for the night. I mean, itâs close from here,â Spencer offers, knowing that the questions will start in 3... 2... 1.
âHouse?â
âSpence, donât you live in Alexandria?â
âI thought you had an apartment?â
Morgan, JJ, and Emily say at the same time.
âYes, no, and yes,â Spencer retorts. âYes, I have a house. No, I donât live in Alexandria anymore, and yes, I used to have an apartment.â
Why did none of them know that?
Each team member looks confused, but they are so tired right now that no one is in the mood to full questioning Spencer. The prospect of getting out of the car, stepping into a dry place to shelter from the storm, and getting some sleep is enough motivation to let slide the fact that the young doctor has been living in the suburbs without any of them knowing.
âTell me you have a guest room,â Emily pleads, daydreaming of a bed to sleep in.
JJ has her own request, too. âAnd a fireplace or cozy blankets?â
âYou'd better have food too, Reid.â Now is Derekâs turn, as he listens to the grumble of his stomach.
âOkay. Morgan, in the next corner, turn to the left.â
Four and a half blocks later, they park the car in a quiet street lined with big trees, giving the neighborhood a typical suburban look. In front of them, a detached house, built in a classic Tudor-style. It has a sage-green painted wood-frame front with a covered porch. People would say itâs too family-ich for a single FBI agent to live there. And without saying it, it is exactly what Hotch, JJ, Derek, and Emily are thinking as they descend from the SUV, following Spencer to the main entrance, where two black retro wall lamps with warm light illuminate each side of the solid, deep blue door.
Each team member quickly fast walk to get under the porch, sheltering from the rain.
Spencer puts his key in the lock and opens the door.
Stepping inside, they are immediately greeted by a cozy foyer.
âSuch a nice place, Spence. When did you decide to get this house?â JJ asks, peeling her coat and scarf. Everyone does the same, and Spencer gets their garments and places them in the rack.
âA couple of months,â Spencer mumbles while his eyes quickly scan the room, checking if youâre in sight. He wants to at least give you a heads-up on whatâs going on before the imminent introduction.
âPlease, get comfortable,â he points to the living room and the large couch settled there. âIâll be back in a minute.â
Spencer is about to turn and go in your search when your voice rings in the house.
âHon? Itâs you? I didn't get any update from you, and I tried to call-â
JJ, Hotch, Emily, and Derek freeze in place as they see you appear in the room.
You donât do better than them when you see your boyfriend and four people standing there and looking at you with a mix of shock and confusion.
âSpencer?â You ask, clearly figuring out who these people are. Unlike them, you know of their existence and have seen the photos Spencer has.
âComing into the district, we got stuck in traffic, and the storm is getting worse, so I thought we could shelter everyone for the night,â Spencer explains nervously, feeling bad for not having the chance to warn you, and hoping you donât get mad at him. He would understand if you do, though.
âOh. I see,â you quietly mumble, assimilating the information as your brain goes into overdrive. You talked about this. It was a mutual agreement that it would happen. But like this?
Well, although it wasnât the plan, what the hell? It is what it is.
At this point, after bouncing their eyes between you and Spencer for the past minute, the team has a pretty good idea who you are. Not who you really are, they donât even know your name, but at least they suspect youâre Spencerâs partner.
Another thing they didn't know about their younger team member.
Morgan is the first to break the ice, giving Spencer a knowing look. âYou wonât introduce us, pretty boy?â
You canât help but chuckle. It has always amused you that Morgan calls Spencer like that, and although Spencer says it annoys him, you know it's quite the opposite.
With a pink tinting his cheek, Spencer reaches for your hand. It's something you both need right now, so you quickly rush to take his.
Once you both lace fingers, side by side, a smile creeps on both your faces. Spencer clears his throat and looks at his friends
âEh, guys? It's not how we pictured doing this, but I guess it was time,â Spencer chuckles before explaining who you are to everyone.
And while the team is still surprised by the news, they greet you warmly, happy to meet you, which is quite a relief, you think.
âIt was time? How long have you been together?â Emily asks after the introductions.
âThree years.â
After hearing that, the fourâs mouths go slack.
âWhat?!â Derek exclaims. âThree years? And we never knew?!â
âActually, it is three years, one month, two weeks, and four days,â Spencer corrects. Morgan huffs.
âIt doesn't change my question, Reid.â
âWhat a bunch of shity profilers we are,â Emily laughs. Across Hotchâs usually serious demeanor, a slight smirk appears. He knew, or at least, he suspected. And for all means, he is happy for Spencer.
âWeâre sorry for the intrusion in your home at this hour,â Hotch apologizes.
âOh, no. Please, donât. Iâm glad Spencerâs IQ paid off and offered you guys to stop here for the night,â you hurry to reply. Spencerâs head turns to you, a âwhat the hellâ expression on his face. Everyone laughs.
âI like you already,â Morgan snorts.
Seeing that they're all still standing in the living room, you invite them to make themselves comfortable.
âI assume you must be hungry. I'll go heat something.â You excuse yourself and go to the kitchen, Spencer trailing behind.
"Hey," he calls once youâre alone. You turn to look at him, cocking an eyebrow.
"Sorry for not telling you we were coming, but my phone battery died."
You nod in understanding. âThatâs why you didn't answer my texts. It makes sense. I was worried, though.â
You're not usually the type to make a fuss or overthink things when Spencer doesn't reply to your calls or texts, but you have to admit you were worried this time. The good news is Spencer is home safe and sound, and his friends are too.
âYeah, I figured. Thatâs why I invited them over. It would have taken us hours to get to Quantico.â
âGood thinking, baby.â
âAre you not mad?â Spencer asks, narrowing his eyes.
âWhy would I? We agreed this should happen eventually. Iâm glad you donât have to hide me anymore,â you shrug, now moving around the kitchen as you heat some food and make more for your guests. âSomething is bothering me, though.â The prephasing surprises Spencer, who quickly snaps his head up.
âWhat is it? Whatâs wrong?â
Breaking your serious demeanor, a chuckle leaves your lips. âYou havenât greeted me properly,â you accuse, pouting. Spencer grins, relieved that youâre messing with him and not actually upset.
âOh yeah? My bad. Iâm so sorry, love.â
Two strides and Spencer is in front of you, hands on your hips, turning you to face him. Happy with the closeness, his hands cup your cheeks, and he leans to kiss your lips.
Itâs soft, tender, yet it takes your breath away, like Spencerâs kisses always do.
âHi,â you whisper after you part from the kiss. Spencerâs grin is so broad that you canât help but mimic him.
âHi, baby. I missed you.â Spencerâs arms fly to your waist, and your arms around his neck.
âI missed you, too. Iâm happy youâre home now,â you confess, lovingly carding his hair.
Spencer sighs in contentment. âIâm glad to be home.â
The sudden laughs coming from your living room pop the bubble youâre in.
âWe have guests,â you remind your boyfriend, who doesn't bother moving his hands away from your waist.
âYeah, I know.â
You cock your head in amusement, and Spencer smiles. After pecking your lips for good measure, reluctantly, he pulls away.
After a while, you both come back again, with plates and drinks. Settling everything at the diner table, you call the team to join.
The rain keeps mercilessly falling outside, but that doesn't stop your impromptu dinner from being filled with laughter, stories, and good wine.
The crackling fire warms the room, while Emily, JJ, Morgan, and even Hotch attack you with questions to learn more about you and your life with Spencer. Your boyfriend watches, mesmerized, as you become completely at ease around the team, joking and laughing. If he ever had any doubts about how they would see this part of his life, he no longer needs to worry. And if he ever had doubts about how you would feel around them, he doesn't have to worry about that now, either.
From time to time, you and Spencer exchange knowing glances, both of you with smiles stretching on your faces. The team notices, of course, they do, and while they don't say anything about it, all four are proud to see Spencer so happy.
Once the food is gone, along with several glasses of wine and cups of coffee, everyone is feeling the fatigue from the day. It's time for bed.
Fortunately for everyone, the house has two extra rooms, furnished with beds and futons.
As good hosts, you and Spencer help your guests settle in for the night. And after tidying the kitchen and turning off the lights, you both finally head to your bedroom.
âIt's a good thing I haven't gotten rid of the futon from my old apartment yet," you comment as you put on your pajamas while Spencer finishes brushing his teeth. âGood thing I haven't filled that room with more books yet,â he points out, heading to the dresser to get his own pajamas.
âIt was only a matter of time,â you reply, sliding under the covers.
Spencer laughs softly as he changes, then turns off the lamp on his nightstand, casting the room in the dim glow of the rain-blurred streetlight through the curtains.
âYou think theyâll behave tomorrow?â you ask as he climbs into bed beside you.
âDefine behave,â Spencer mutters, pulling the blanket over himself. âBecause if your definition includes Derek not making at least three dirty jokes before breakfast, I wouldnât get your hopes up.â
You snort. âZero expectations, then.â
âSmart.â
A comfortable silence settles between you, the rain still drumming steadily against the window. Spencer shifts to his side, facing you. In the low light, you can make out the exhaustion on his face â the kind that goes beyond a long drive and a tough case â and yet, something else is there too. Something lighter.
âHey,â you say softly.
âHey,â he echoes.
âWelcome home.â
Spencer reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering at your jaw.
âIâm sorry it happened like this,â he murmurs. âWe had plans.â
âWe had vague intentions,â you correct gently. âThereâs a difference. And honestly?â You glance toward the hallway, where muffled voices â most likely Emily and JJ having one last conversation before sleep â can faintly be heard. âI think this was better. No build-up, no rehearsed introductions. Just us. The way things actually are.â
Spencerâs quiet for a moment, studying you with that particular look he has. Like heâs trying to memorize something heâs afraid to lose.
âI love you,â he says, simply, like itâs the most obvious conclusion in the world.
âI know,â you reply, and before he can protest for your anti-romantic reply, you add, âI love you too.â
Spencer smiles and pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You settle against his chest, listening to the rain and the occasional distant creak of the house.
Somewhere down the hall, a door clicks shut.
âSpencer?â
âMm?â
âIf Morgan calls you pretty boy again at my breakfast table tomorrow, Iâm never letting you live it down.â
hello! so i had this idea for a fanfic. reader is not apart of the BAU and the BAU does not know that Spencer has been in a healthy relationship with reader for over 3 years and that they live together. somehow the BAU needs to take shelter in Spencers apartment, because out of all of their homes, his is the closest. but once they get there they are suprised to see reader begin to walk to spencer but then pauses, seeing all of the unknown guest in her home. Spencer calmly walks over and exsplains the situation. when Reader leaves to go get the guest rooms ready the rest of the BAU is very suprised and even teases Spencer a little. the story ends with Spencer and reader getting ready for bed (The rest of the BAU is sleeping in their home) and spencer comforts her and appologizes for the suprise of everyone being here.
Thank you, anon, for the idea. I wrote this fic based on this request. Hope you like!
Summary: A case finished, a rainy trip on the road, and a secret Spencer has kept from the team.
Word Count: 3.4k
Warnings: Not really. Domestic fluff, food, wine, and coffee.
A/N: This was a request from a lovely anon. I hope you like it.
------------------
It was a local one. That would often bring comfort to Spencer because it meant that, once it was over, he would come home sooner. Come home to you.
But this time was different. The weather on the East Coast has been, for lack of a better term, messy. Days of nonstop rain have done a number on the roads and traffic. It was something Hotch had considered when the case concluded.
"We should stay until tomorrow. We're tired, and a new storm is coming," the boss pointed out.
"It would be fair, but the hotel doesn't have rooms available for us tonight. Penelope only booked for the week," JJ reminds everyone.
It was true that, due to the new FBI policy, the hotel booking could only last five nights unless there was a prior announcement of an extension. But this time the team caught the unsub right early on day six, so the extent didn't happen.
"I can drive. It's not that bad outside. We can make it before the new storm comes," Derek assured. And even though Hotch wasn't entirely convinced, they didn't have much of a choice. It was that or spend the night in the precinct.
"Okay. Let's go then."
The team climbed into the SUV and got ready to endure the trip, leaving the Jacksonville police station behind.
"Hopefully, we can make it under two hours," Morgan announces, hitting the gas to get to the main road soon.
After fifty minutes, everything seems to be going according to plan until they start bypassing Baltimore. The rain intensifies, and traffic on the highway increases.
Hotch, in the passenger seat, checks his phone, a frown deepening on his face.
"What is it?" JJ asks from the back seat. She is in the middle, Spencer on her right, and Emily on her left.
"Some reports say traffic is getting cluttered in the middle of DC after some power shuts off," Hotch recounts.
"Great," Emily grumbles.
Spencer listens silently to the exchange between Hotch, Emily, and Derek, who insists they'll be able to reach DC in a reasonable amount of time. Spencer isn't so sure anymore, so he discreetly takes out his phone and sends you a message.
'Hey, love. We're on the road, but we don't know how long it'll take to get there. If it gets too chaotic, don't worry, I can stay in Quantico until I can go home safely. Love you.'
It's not that Spencer doesn't desperately want to get home to you, but he knows you'd worry too much if he tried to navigate the streets alone in this weather. So, for your sanityâand his physical well-being, because he is certain you'd kill him if he did otherwiseâhe's choosing to be cautious.
"Everything okay, Spence?"
The geniusâs head snaps up when he hears JJ calling his name.
"Oh. Yes. Yeah. Fine," Spencer hurries to say, but in a quiet voice, so they don't alert the rest about their talking.
JJ's gaze flicks between Spencer and the phone he's quickly hiding in his jacket pocket.
"I was just checking the local news," he offers as an explanation. JJ hums in understanding.
"Something new?"
Spencer clears his throat. "Well, not much. The same Hotch said." To avoid a follow-up question, Spencer turns to the main conversation among Derek, Emily, and Hotch.
Would it have been easier to tell JJ the truth, just saying he was sending you a message?
Definitely.
It would have been the natural thing to do, but because no one on the team knows you exist, it is not so simple.
The thing is, Spencer Reid has been in a relationship with you for three years now, and no one at the BAU even suspects it. Moreover, eight months ago, you moved in together to a house in the DC suburbs, leaving behind the apartment where Spencer had lived since he joined the BAU.
With that in mind, it's fair to say that your relationship is pretty serious, and, according to the same Spencer, the best thing that has happened to him. So, why the secrecy?
At first, it was the novelty of everything. Neither you nor Spencer wanted to put additional pressure on it by introducing people to each other. As things progressed, Spencer's fear about something bad happening if you were exposed to that part of his world was enough to stop him from taking the step.
Yet as time went on, the fear subsided and was replaced by a desire for you to also be part of the family he'd been in since joining the FBI. Spencer felt ready. But now you're the one who wasn't sure about meeting the team. Knowing the stories your boyfriend has told you over the years, you're worried they won't find you to be the right fit for what they expect from a good partner to Spencer.
And although Spencer has assured you countless times that there's nothing to worry about, you were still having your misgivings.
Finally, a few weeks ago, when the topic came up again, you concluded it was time to do it, although you haven't yet worked out the logistics. So, for now, the secrecy must continue.
-
It takes a long time for the team to get to the White Oak crossing; it's not just the rain and traffic that make the trip hard. Now, road closures are being announced over the radio.
"It's been three hours. Weâll be here until Christmas,â Emily complains, making Derek roll his eyes.
"Once we cross Silver Spring, things will be better," JJ says, trying to keep a positive tone.
"Not quite," Spencer disagrees. "We can't go back to the 495, and even if we could, the 50 already has three closures before the river."
"What's your suggestion then, pretty boy?" An annoyed Morgan pipes from the driver's seat.
"Uh- I guess to continue to Forest Glen and then the 390 would be the safest option," Spencer offers.
"Reid is right. We should stick to this road until Forest Glen," Hotch agrees.
With every mile they move forward, traffic slows. The rain is relentless, so much so that even cell phone service is lost in certain areas. To top it all off, night begins to fall, making driving increasingly difficult.
They're indeed getting closer to DC, but from there to Quantico, which is on the other side of the district, seems like a Herculean task.
Morgan looks tired, as does the rest of the team, who are at a loss for how to pass the time.
"More than four hours and we're still stuck. I swear I'm so tired that, at this point, I'd stop anywhere for the night." Emily's words resonate with everyone, though no one comments on them until it is the same Morgan who breaks. "Okay, I admit I'm tired as hell."
âI can drive,â Hotch offers, although he seems equally drained as everyone else.
Spencer looks out the window, recognizing, amidst the rain and the foggy glass, Rock Creek Parkâone of his favorite places to go with you, and one of the reasons for choosing a house in the Upper Northwest neighborhood to live.
Unwittingly, and thanks to all the detours along the way, they're only a mile from Spencer's home. That's when an idea strikes him.
Spencer discreetly pulls his phone out of his pocket again, only to find it's completely dead. He'd accidentally turned on the flashlight when he quickly put it away - after being questioned by JJ - draining the battery.
âShit,â he mutters to himself. Spencer can't text you or even see if he has any messages from you. You're probably worried sick because you haven't heard from him in hours.
To keep driving through this storm will only increase his anxiety, the team's fatigue, and - most likely - your worry.
âUh, Morgan?â Spencer calls from the back seat. The man sighs as they reach another stop in the road.
âPretty boy, if you are not telling me how to make this thing fly to Quantico, I don't want to hear it, okay?â
âI support that,â Emily adds.
âWhat is it, Reid?â Hotch asks, briefly turning to look at Spencer.
âUh - we can stop at my house for the night. I mean, itâs close from here,â Spencer offers, knowing that the questions will start in 3... 2... 1.
âHouse?â
âSpence, donât you live in Alexandria?â
âI thought you had an apartment?â
Morgan, JJ, and Emily say at the same time.
âYes, no, and yes,â Spencer retorts. âYes, I have a house. No, I donât live in Alexandria anymore, and yes, I used to have an apartment.â
Why did none of them know that?
Each team member looks confused, but they are so tired right now that no one is in the mood to full questioning Spencer. The prospect of getting out of the car, stepping into a dry place to shelter from the storm, and getting some sleep is enough motivation to let slide the fact that the young doctor has been living in the suburbs without any of them knowing.
âTell me you have a guest room,â Emily pleads, daydreaming of a bed to sleep in.
JJ has her own request, too. âAnd a fireplace or cozy blankets?â
âYou'd better have food too, Reid.â Now is Derekâs turn, as he listens to the grumble of his stomach.
âOkay. Morgan, in the next corner, turn to the left.â
Four and a half blocks later, they park the car in a quiet street lined with big trees, giving the neighborhood a typical suburban look. In front of them, a detached house, built in a classic Tudor-style. It has a sage-green painted wood-frame front with a covered porch. People would say itâs too family-ich for a single FBI agent to live there. And without saying it, it is exactly what Hotch, JJ, Derek, and Emily are thinking as they descend from the SUV, following Spencer to the main entrance, where two black retro wall lamps with warm light illuminate each side of the solid, deep blue door.
Each team member quickly fast walk to get under the porch, sheltering from the rain.
Spencer puts his key in the lock and opens the door.
Stepping inside, they are immediately greeted by a cozy foyer.
âSuch a nice place, Spence. When did you decide to get this house?â JJ asks, peeling her coat and scarf. Everyone does the same, and Spencer gets their garments and places them in the rack.
âA couple of months,â Spencer mumbles while his eyes quickly scan the room, checking if youâre in sight. He wants to at least give you a heads-up on whatâs going on before the imminent introduction.
âPlease, get comfortable,â he points to the living room and the large couch settled there. âIâll be back in a minute.â
Spencer is about to turn and go in your search when your voice rings in the house.
âHon? Itâs you? I didn't get any update from you, and I tried to call-â
JJ, Hotch, Emily, and Derek freeze in place as they see you appear in the room.
You donât do better than them when you see your boyfriend and four people standing there and looking at you with a mix of shock and confusion.
âSpencer?â You ask, clearly figuring out who these people are. Unlike them, you know of their existence and have seen the photos Spencer has.
âComing into the district, we got stuck in traffic, and the storm is getting worse, so I thought we could shelter everyone for the night,â Spencer explains nervously, feeling bad for not having the chance to warn you, and hoping you donât get mad at him. He would understand if you do, though.
âOh. I see,â you quietly mumble, assimilating the information as your brain goes into overdrive. You talked about this. It was a mutual agreement that it would happen. But like this?
Well, although it wasnât the plan, what the hell? It is what it is.
At this point, after bouncing their eyes between you and Spencer for the past minute, the team has a pretty good idea who you are. Not who you really are, they donât even know your name, but at least they suspect youâre Spencerâs partner.
Another thing they didn't know about their younger team member.
Morgan is the first to break the ice, giving Spencer a knowing look. âYou wonât introduce us, pretty boy?â
You canât help but chuckle. It has always amused you that Morgan calls Spencer like that, and although Spencer says it annoys him, you know it's quite the opposite.
With a pink tinting his cheek, Spencer reaches for your hand. It's something you both need right now, so you quickly rush to take his.
Once you both lace fingers, side by side, a smile creeps on both your faces. Spencer clears his throat and looks at his friends
âEh, guys? It's not how we pictured doing this, but I guess it was time,â Spencer chuckles before explaining who you are to everyone.
And while the team is still surprised by the news, they greet you warmly, happy to meet you, which is quite a relief, you think.
âIt was time? How long have you been together?â Emily asks after the introductions.
âThree years.â
After hearing that, the fourâs mouths go slack.
âWhat?!â Derek exclaims. âThree years? And we never knew?!â
âActually, it is three years, one month, two weeks, and four days,â Spencer corrects. Morgan huffs.
âIt doesn't change my question, Reid.â
âWhat a bunch of shity profilers we are,â Emily laughs. Across Hotchâs usually serious demeanor, a slight smirk appears. He knew, or at least, he suspected. And for all means, he is happy for Spencer.
âWeâre sorry for the intrusion in your home at this hour,â Hotch apologizes.
âOh, no. Please, donât. Iâm glad Spencerâs IQ paid off and offered you guys to stop here for the night,â you hurry to reply. Spencerâs head turns to you, a âwhat the hellâ expression on his face. Everyone laughs.
âI like you already,â Morgan snorts.
Seeing that they're all still standing in the living room, you invite them to make themselves comfortable.
âI assume you must be hungry. I'll go heat something.â You excuse yourself and go to the kitchen, Spencer trailing behind.
"Hey," he calls once youâre alone. You turn to look at him, cocking an eyebrow.
"Sorry for not telling you we were coming, but my phone battery died."
You nod in understanding. âThatâs why you didn't answer my texts. It makes sense. I was worried, though.â
You're not usually the type to make a fuss or overthink things when Spencer doesn't reply to your calls or texts, but you have to admit you were worried this time. The good news is Spencer is home safe and sound, and his friends are too.
âYeah, I figured. Thatâs why I invited them over. It would have taken us hours to get to Quantico.â
âGood thinking, baby.â
âAre you not mad?â Spencer asks, narrowing his eyes.
âWhy would I? We agreed this should happen eventually. Iâm glad you donât have to hide me anymore,â you shrug, now moving around the kitchen as you heat some food and make more for your guests. âSomething is bothering me, though.â The prephasing surprises Spencer, who quickly snaps his head up.
âWhat is it? Whatâs wrong?â
Breaking your serious demeanor, a chuckle leaves your lips. âYou havenât greeted me properly,â you accuse, pouting. Spencer grins, relieved that youâre messing with him and not actually upset.
âOh yeah? My bad. Iâm so sorry, love.â
Two strides and Spencer is in front of you, hands on your hips, turning you to face him. Happy with the closeness, his hands cup your cheeks, and he leans to kiss your lips.
Itâs soft, tender, yet it takes your breath away, like Spencerâs kisses always do.
âHi,â you whisper after you part from the kiss. Spencerâs grin is so broad that you canât help but mimic him.
âHi, baby. I missed you.â Spencerâs arms fly to your waist, and your arms around his neck.
âI missed you, too. Iâm happy youâre home now,â you confess, lovingly carding his hair.
Spencer sighs in contentment. âIâm glad to be home.â
The sudden laughs coming from your living room pop the bubble youâre in.
âWe have guests,â you remind your boyfriend, who doesn't bother moving his hands away from your waist.
âYeah, I know.â
You cock your head in amusement, and Spencer smiles. After pecking your lips for good measure, reluctantly, he pulls away.
After a while, you both come back again, with plates and drinks. Settling everything at the diner table, you call the team to join.
The rain keeps mercilessly falling outside, but that doesn't stop your impromptu dinner from being filled with laughter, stories, and good wine.
The crackling fire warms the room, while Emily, JJ, Morgan, and even Hotch attack you with questions to learn more about you and your life with Spencer. Your boyfriend watches, mesmerized, as you become completely at ease around the team, joking and laughing. If he ever had any doubts about how they would see this part of his life, he no longer needs to worry. And if he ever had doubts about how you would feel around them, he doesn't have to worry about that now, either.
From time to time, you and Spencer exchange knowing glances, both of you with smiles stretching on your faces. The team notices, of course, they do, and while they don't say anything about it, all four are proud to see Spencer so happy.
Once the food is gone, along with several glasses of wine and cups of coffee, everyone is feeling the fatigue from the day. It's time for bed.
Fortunately for everyone, the house has two extra rooms, furnished with beds and futons.
As good hosts, you and Spencer help your guests settle in for the night. And after tidying the kitchen and turning off the lights, you both finally head to your bedroom.
âIt's a good thing I haven't gotten rid of the futon from my old apartment yet," you comment as you put on your pajamas while Spencer finishes brushing his teeth. âGood thing I haven't filled that room with more books yet,â he points out, heading to the dresser to get his own pajamas.
âIt was only a matter of time,â you reply, sliding under the covers.
Spencer laughs softly as he changes, then turns off the lamp on his nightstand, casting the room in the dim glow of the rain-blurred streetlight through the curtains.
âYou think theyâll behave tomorrow?â you ask as he climbs into bed beside you.
âDefine behave,â Spencer mutters, pulling the blanket over himself. âBecause if your definition includes Derek not making at least three dirty jokes before breakfast, I wouldnât get your hopes up.â
You snort. âZero expectations, then.â
âSmart.â
A comfortable silence settles between you, the rain still drumming steadily against the window. Spencer shifts to his side, facing you. In the low light, you can make out the exhaustion on his face â the kind that goes beyond a long drive and a tough case â and yet, something else is there too. Something lighter.
âHey,â you say softly.
âHey,â he echoes.
âWelcome home.â
Spencer reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering at your jaw.
âIâm sorry it happened like this,â he murmurs. âWe had plans.â
âWe had vague intentions,â you correct gently. âThereâs a difference. And honestly?â You glance toward the hallway, where muffled voices â most likely Emily and JJ having one last conversation before sleep â can faintly be heard. âI think this was better. No build-up, no rehearsed introductions. Just us. The way things actually are.â
Spencerâs quiet for a moment, studying you with that particular look he has. Like heâs trying to memorize something heâs afraid to lose.
âI love you,â he says, simply, like itâs the most obvious conclusion in the world.
âI know,â you reply, and before he can protest for your anti-romantic reply, you add, âI love you too.â
Spencer smiles and pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You settle against his chest, listening to the rain and the occasional distant creak of the house.
Somewhere down the hall, a door clicks shut.
âSpencer?â
âMm?â
âIf Morgan calls you pretty boy again at my breakfast table tomorrow, Iâm never letting you live it down.â
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader. no use of y/n.
summary: The cute guy you read with at the open-late coffee shop just showed up at your door step. Bonding over a book series together, you've been developing your crush on him for quite some time. When he shows up unannounced after leaving the airport, his first time in your apartment is nothing like what you had imagined.
word count: 4.3k
cw/tags: fluff, smut, meet-cute, coffee shop, nervous and shy spencer, nervous and shy reader
ive been writing fics for many, many years, but i am finally posting! hope you enjoy!
You had pictured what the first time seeing Spencer Reid standing in your apartment would look like on many occasions. Those imaginations had looked drastically different to the situation currently playing out.
In your fantasies about the cute boy you'd sit and read with at the coffee shop, you were dolled up, confident and glowing.
Instead of that lacy black dress you had always wanted him to see you in, you were wearing your well loved, over-sized band shirt. The one with the collar so stretched out it hung lazily off your shoulder.Â
Instead of the heels you practiced walking in around your apartment, slouched mismatched fuzzy socks. You found yourself repeatedly tugging at the hems of your shorts, hot pink with sleeping sloths printed on them. Caught between trying to cover yourself up from their less-than-modest fit, and trying not to let him see the years old pjs, you resorted to pulling your t-shirt over your knees when you sat onto the rug.
Your lack of preparedness was due to Spencer deciding a sudden intrusion was necessary, as your favorite author had leaked an early preview to the next novel in her series.Â
That was the topic that took up the majority of the conversations between you two. At least, it was always the jumping off point.Â
The only local cafe that stayed open overnight had been a place for you two to cross paths on occasion. Though you couldnât understand why the business made the decision to stay open- it surely couldnât make much of a profit when you two were often the only ones in the cafe- you were grateful. It was a place of solace for you on the late nights you couldnât get your eyes to shut. A place to get out of the house without the overwhelm and anxiety that came with the public.Â
You had retreated there one night with a sole goal in your mind, diving into your book. A week of overwhelm had left your thoughts spinning, and you needed to disappear.Â
The few patrons stopping in to grab a cup of coffee did little to distract you. Night shift workers you assumed, came in a wave to pick up but never sat down. An hour later, the door stopped chiming, your only company the rustling of the barista working in the backroom.Â
So when you heard the door chime again, after being alone in the cafe for quite some time, you had a good idea of who had entered before you even looked up.Â
The young man with fluffy brown hair and soft purple rings permanently laid under his eyes. His cardigan and tie perfectly adjusted, always made you question your own choice of baggy sweats.Â
Youâd shared glances and tight lipped smiles many times. Warm recognition had settled between you two, a mutual understanding of why someone would be at a place like this while the rest of the city slept.Â
He met your eyes and gave you a nod, which you returned. He approached the counter, the barista coming out from the backroom to greet him and take his order. You let your gaze linger on him as he fumbled through his satchel to retrieve his wallet, making sure to reabsorb yourself into your book before he caught you staring.
You re-read the same page over and over again, trying to will away the blush creeping onto your cheeks over the embarrassment of this cute stranger causing you such distraction. Finally, you fall back into rhythm, drifting away into your story.
It wasnât long until that rhythm was broken.
Startled by the sound of steps approaching, you snapped your head up from your book. You met his gaze- or rather found his eyes as they flickered from you, to your book, to the ground and back again.
âYour bookâ, he started, a slight tremble in his voice, âit's the third in the series, yes?â
âUm yes, it is. Have you read it?â
He smiled and looked down to the floor, âYes actually, the fourth one is my favorite. So you have that to look forward to.â
You stammered, trying to think of a response. As often as you hoped to make the cute strangerâs acquaintance, you didn't believe it would ever actually happen.Â
So you said the first thing you could think of. You asked him his name.
~
Since officially meeting Spencer, you had caught up to the newest novel of the book series, as well as having saved his number to your phone, and meeting at the cafe when your busy lives permitted. You would sit and read together, enjoying each otherâs easy company. He would bring a satchel full of books, flying through them at a much faster rate than you were able, but still made sure to discuss with you everything you were reading. What had started as dissecting novels, turned into long late night conversations, which somewhere along the way formed into a close friendship. Spencer was a kind, thoughtful listener of course, but your favorite moments spent together were when you got to return the favor. Hearing about what he had been doing at work, his commentary on the books and other art, learning more each time he spoke about the way his mind worked, it was the thing you looked forward to the most.Â
You were shocked, that as intelligent as he was, he still made it abundantly clear that he valued your input. When dissecting a novel, he challenged you, but he always took the opportunity to let you challenge him back. Luckily, it was rare that others sat in the cafe, lest they be privy to your heated discussions.
Which is what had led him to your doorstep. Many times he had walked you home from the cafe, stating his reasoning for doing so that it was his duty to see you home safe in the dark of night. But of course, you had never been brave enough to invite him in.Â
So instead of the night you had been imagining, a night where you would get prettied up and finally work up the courage to invite him in for coffee, Spencer was now standing at your door asking to come in.Â
You were shocked to see him. You were shocked to hear a knock on the door at all actually, not expecting a visitor so late.
âSpence! What are you doing here?â
Before properly responding, he looked up and down the length of your body. It was quick, but you caught it. He met your eyes again as you prayed he wouldnât notice the blush already taking over your face.
âA preview to the next novel was leaked, I saw it posted when we landed at the airport. I wanted to come over right away, so I could show you. Can I come in?â
âOf course!â you chided, mentally scolding yourself for the state of your apartment.Â
Spencer sat his laptop down onto the coffee table in your living room, sitting on the rug to open up the preview. You joined next to him, your shoulders bumping as you leaned over to see the screen.
Typically at the cafe, you sat across from each other. Sitting this close, with this proximity, his scent was intoxicating. You scooted away an inch in fear of coming off as a creep.
You could see him take in a deep breath, gearing up for all the information he was excited to tell you. You chimed in before he could start.Â
âSpencer, Iâm very excited to read this, but can I ask, why didnât you just text it to me? Or ask to meet at the cafe?â
You giggled lightly at the absurdity of him showing up entirely unannounced.Â
His excited face dropped. He seemed to be also realizing the absurdity of this situation just now.Â
âOh, I am so sorry. I shouldnât have just shown up like this. Do you want me to leave?â
âNo, no!â you protested, afraid you had made him seem unwelcome. âI am happy to see you. I was just shocked, that's all.â
âI guess it is just that- well when I saw the notification I thought of you, and wanted to talk to you about it as soon as possible. I mean, I owe it to you for getting me into the series.â
You nodded, before slightly cocking your head in confusion.
âWait Spence, what do you mean? I thought you read the series before me. Thatâs why you talked through it with me.â
His eyes widened slightly, before shutting tightly and hanging his head down. He rubbed the back of his neck and started to chuckle.
âUm, actually, I finished the series before you. You had started reading it before I did.â
The puzzled look on your face only remained. âBut, how do you know that? And how does that mean I got you into it?â
He rubbed his hands over his face before turning to you. âI had seen you while you were reading the first book of the series in the cafe. So⌠I went home and read the entire series myself.â
âOhâ, was all you could think to respond. Why would he do that? Did he really want a reason to talk to you? Had he noticed you in the same way you had noticed him?
Your silence had clearly sent him into an overdrive of worry. His apologies started spilling out, âI am sorry, that probably sounds so weird. Iâve probably totally just freaked you out. I just wanted a reason to talk to you- well not just a reason to talk to you, I genuinely enjoy the series. Thatâs a plus of this, the series, you, and talking to you about the series-â
âSpence, it's okayâ, you cut him off, pausing his spiral. âThatâs actually really sweet. Iâm just glad you actually approached me. I had wanted to talk to you for a long time tooâŚâ
Now, he was the silent one. He stared at your face, studying. Normally, his eyes darted every which way as he spoke, but right now they were completely focused.Â
Your face started to burn under his gaze. He was looking at you so intensely, sitting so close. You let out a nervous giggle.
âGod Spence, now you're making me feel like the creep.â You looked down at your lap and fidgeted with your fingers.
He rested his hand over yours to still your movement. You looked up at him through your lashes, the intensity of his stare still strong.Â
âNo, sorry, it is just that- well I didnât know that. That⌠feels good to know that you thought that too.â
Your swirling mixture of excitement and nervousness was unbearable, vibrating in your chest. You were using every ounce of willpower to stop yourself from pouncing straight into his lap. In an attempt to diffuse, you took a big inhale and straightened up, focusing yourself on the screen in front of you.
âStop making me wait!â you teased, gently slapping his knee. âI canât wait any longer. I have to read this now.â
~
He sure was making it difficult to read.
You could feel him watching you. When you had turned to the screen, his observation of you never ceased. You could feel him drinking in every detail about you, and it was driving you crazy.Â
You scanned the text in front of you, taking in little to none of the meaning. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Spencerâs leg begin to shake, nervously bouncing his knee.
You turned to look at him. He quickly looked down towards his lap, realizing heâd been caught staring.
âSorry, Iâm distracting you aren't I? Here, I can go fix us some coffee to give you some room.â
He began to stand up, but you gently caught hold of his wrist. He was towering above you. Looking down at you, he became incredibly still.
âSpence⌠donât go. It's nice having you here.â
Slowly, he lowered back down to the ground. He sat closer than before, his crossed leg pressed up against yours.
You didnât bother attempting to look back at the screen. You just let your hand rest, palm facing upwards, his wrist still resting on yours.Â
You couldnât bear to break the contact.
You wanted more.
You feared he was able to read your mind, that the desire was so evident it was dripping off of you. You knew now, you could no longer resist.Â
And just before you caved, Spencer acted first. He reached up to place his hand on the back of your neck. He held your eye contact intently, searching your eyes for approval.
You felt as though the electricity of his touch against you might burn a hole through your skin.
When he confirmed the plea in your eyes, his fingers slid up your neck and tangled into your hair, pulling you closer to him. With a sharp courage inducing inhale, he leaned in, crashing his lips into yours.
The taste of him made you dizzy. Frantically, your body craving the connection, you reached your hands onto any part of him you could find. You started at his shoulders, feeling your way down his arms before holding onto his wrist, stabilizing yourself and eliciting a strengthening of his grasp onto you.Â
Much to your dismay, he pulled away, though he didn't go far.Â
Still holding on tight, he breathed, âIâve wanted this for so long.â
A smile took over your face. âMe too.â
He smiled back, leaning back in for more. You cupped your hands around his face and felt the warmth from the blush on his cheeks.
Then, as though he was trying to torture you, you felt his hand hold onto your knee.
With the rhythm of your kisses, of your bodies inching closer, his hand found his way farther up onto your thigh.Â
His fingertips sunk into the thickness, holding on, kneading them with desperation.
He moved the other hand out of your hair, grabbing onto your other thigh. This filled you with dangerous levels of desire, want, no- need.
You disconnected from the kiss, resting your forehead onto his.
In between heavy breaths, âSpenceâŚâ
âI- Iâm sorry, I got carried away. Is this too much-â, he started to pull his hands away.
You brought your hands quickly down to his, moving them back up onto your thighs.
âNoâ, you insisted, âstay.â
You didnât have to tell him twice.
He kneaded his fingers back into the soft spots of your flesh, wrapping them around to catch the back of your thighs, guiding up to your hips and waist. He made sure to squeeze and hold onto every soft part of you, grasping onto you with desperation.
Then he completely disconnected. He raised to stand over you. An embarrassing whine left your lips, something that didnât go unnoticed by him, according to the small smirk on his face as he peered down at you.
His neck craned down to look at you beneath him on the floor, your eyes looking up at him through hooded, dazy lids.
Slowly, he rested a hand onto your head, caressing you and petting your hair.
His voice barely above a whisper, âYou donât know how often Iâve thought about this since I met you.â
If it was any fraction of how often you had thought of him, it was plenty.
âShow me.â
He grabbed under your chin, pulling you up slightly toward him. You scrambled up onto your knees.Â
He walked, nudging your legs with his shoes, guiding you to scoot back. You did until your back rested against the couch, and he walked in closer.
Your eyes, you couldnât help yourself, you had to look down. As much as it pained you to break his eye contact, you had to scan down his body to lay your eyes on what was in front of you.
Tortuously close to your face, the imprint of him pressed against his pants. The strain against his trousers hypnotizing you. You were afraid you would begin to drool.
After letting you stare, he tapped your chin back upwards.
âDo you⌠do you want me?â he asked.
Eagerly, you nodded your head.
You reached up, embarrassment for your need no longer a consideration of yours. You placed your hands on his belt, tugging. You stuck your lower lip out slightly, pouting for him to give you what you wanted.
Frantically, he started to undo his belt, his shaking hands struggling with the task.Â
Yanking it out from the loops, he dropped it to the floor. As his hands began work on the buttons of his shirt, you knew you couldnât wait any longer.
You palmed his bulge on your way to undoing his button and zipper. You saw the shudder it sent through his body, the stutter in the movement of his hands. As you peeled the zipper down, he discarded his shirt, heat radiating off of him.
Grabbing onto the sides of his pants you pulled down, exposing his underwear and relieving some of the constriction. He kicked his pants away, and held your face in his hands.
He cupped your cheeks, causing your face to slightly squish and your mouth to pout.Â
Licking your lips, you grabbed onto his underwear, pulling them down. The elastic pulled his erection down, before his cock finally sprung free, slapping against his stomach.Â
You looked in awe. The thickness of his cock was incomprehensible for his slender frame. Veins ran up his length, his tip swaying when his dick twitched.
Taking as long as you were to admire him, he asked,
âAre you alright?â
âI- yes. I am very alright. I justâŚâ your voice trailed off.
âWhat is it?â he asked, a slight shake in his tone.
Eyes still transfixed, you bluntly stated, âI am so excited.â
He chuckled in relief at your response. Not being able to hold out for any longer, you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, causing him to take in a sharp inhale.
âOh my goodnessâŚâ, he muttered.
You licked a stripe up his cock, pausing to give him a sweet kiss on his tip. He twitched in your hand, and intensified his grip onto your face, smushing your cheeks and pulling you forward.
You took him into your mouth, your moan muffled as you relished in the taste of him. Desperate for as much contact as possible, you went down until he hit the back of your throat, causing your eyes to water.
He looked down at you, mouth agape, grunts of pleasure escaping his lips.
As you licked, kissed, and devoured his length, your lashes fluttered. Desire built in the pit of your stomach. A clawing inside of you begged for more.
He threw his head back and held your face down onto his length, stilling your movement. For a moment, he soaked in the warmth of your mouth.
Unable to properly inhale, you grew dizzy held so far onto his cock. Finally relenting, he pulled away.
Spencer turned to sit on the couch and grabbed your arms to guide you up to him. You swung your legs to straddle yourself onto his lap, a thin layer of fabric the only thing separating the two of you.
You threw your arms around his neck. Involuntarily, your hips grinded down into his lap, your dire need for contact pushing you down.Â
Pausing you, he gripped your hips and raised you slightly, before reaching down to move your shorts aside.
You werenât wearing underwear. His fingers found contact with you, and began delicately tracing, collecting the wetness that had been building.Â
Your mouth fell open, the touch euphoric.
âSpencerâŚâ you breathed, your mind full of only him.
He caught his name on your mouth in a kiss, pushing a finger inside of you. You moaned into his mouth, and he reciprocated.
While rubbing you, he sighed, âYou feel so good.â
Slowly pulling his hand away, he held onto your elbows, beckoning you to lift your arms.
âCan you please stand for me?â
Agonizingly you pulled yourself off of his lap, standing in front of him with your arms still raised in the air.
He met you standing, running his hands up your sides and arms as he peered down at you. Leaning down to reach your shorts, he tugged them down, causing them to fall to your ankles. He then grabbed the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head and tossing it to the side.
You lowered your arms. He stepped back slightly, studying every inch of you now fully unclothed.Â
âYou⌠you are so beautiful.â
You smiled sheepishly at the compliment. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shy under his gaze.
All you could muster was a quiet âThank youâ, your excitement and nervousness palpable. Being watched by him made every part of you buzz with anticipation.
He stepped closer, grabbing ahold of your wrist and wrapping your arms around him, leaning into your embrace. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he rested his chin on top of your head, you nuzzling your face into his chest.
âIâm serious. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.â
You craned your head up toward him, your heart swelling with emotion. All words seemingly failing you, you raised onto your tiptoes to meet him again in a kiss.Â
Feverishly, his hands searched all over you as you two kissed, determined to reach every part of you he could possibly grasp. You began to step backwards, stumbling to the door of your bedroom, never letting go of your hold onto him.Â
He wrapped his arm around the small of your back and gently laid you down onto the bed, your legs dangling off the edge. He stood, running his hands down your body in adoration.Â
âYou are so soft.â He noted, eliciting another smile from you.
âAnd you are so handsome.â
His blush intensified. âYou really mean that?â
You really meant it. In awe of getting to share this moment with him, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
âYes. I really do. You are so handsome, Spencer.â
With that, he firmed his hold onto your thighs, and lowered his knees to the ground. All while holding the contact of your stare, he peppered kisses across your legs, reaching up to cup handfuls of your ass, worshipping your body laid before him.
He kissed your inner thighs, making his way to where you needed his touch most. Flicking out his tongue, he moaned into you, satiating his hunger.Â
The intensity of your pleasure was unbearable. You laid your head back, covering your mouth with your hands and screwing your eyes shut. As he took his time devouring you, your whines came out muffled through your fingers, unable to stop the noises he was drawing out of you.
He raised to lean back over you, hands finding your waist. He delicately grabbed your hands, pulling them away from your face.
âPleaseâ, he asked, âI really want to hear you.â
You nodded your head in agreement, mind swimming with bliss.
He leaned in to you to kiss your neck, his cock making contact with you. Bucking your hips up toward him, you whined with need.
âSpencerâŚâ
He lifted his head to meet your eyes.
âYes?â
âPlease. I need you.â
âI need you too.â
He held onto your hip with one hand, and grasped his cock in the other, lining himself up with your entrance before pushing inside of you.
Being filled with him sent your brain spinning, your eyes falling closed as your body gave into your moans. Before sliding fully in, he cupped a hand around your face.
âPlease, open your eyes. I want to look at you.â
You obliged, forcing your eyes open and looking into his. His lips found yours again, and you held onto each other tight as he thrusted into you.
You wrapped your legs around him, desperate to have him as close to you as possible. His lips parted, moans escaping his lips as your bodies melted together.
In perfect rhythm you breathed, absorbing each other in embrace. The pleasure built and grew so intensely, you couldnât hold on much longer.
You tried so hard to speak, stuttering, forgetting how to form words as the sensation took over your mind.
You whined his name, as it was all you could manage. Repeating it like a mantra, you moaned, âSpencer, Spencer I-â
âMe tooâ, he breathed, understanding your pleas.Â
You grabbed onto his face, needing to look into his eyes as it happened.Â
You began to unravel, reaching the height of your bliss, and just then you felt him come undone, before pulling out and shooting ropes onto your stomach.
You both panted, catching your breath. He fell down onto the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling your face into his chest.
You both laid there quietly, listening to the steadying of your breath, feeling the slowing thump of his heartbeat.
Finally, you managed to open your eyes, and turned to look up toward him. You found him already looking down at you, watching you as he absentmindedly twirled a piece of your hair.
âHiâ, you said to him with a shy smile, the realization of what just happened filling you with a giddy satisfaction.
âHiâ, he responded, a smirk creeping onto his lips.
As he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, you took a deep, content breath, and realized this night was so much better than anything you couldâve imagined.
There was a first time for everything. Now that you had gotten to experience this time with Spencer, you pictured what more was to come.
Summary: The BAU is called to solve a case in New York. When you go to get a much-needed coffee with your boyfriend Spencer, you run into someone unexpected, sparking a conflict you never knew was possible.
Word count: 6.5k
Warnings: Angst with a semi-open ending. Reference to violence, kidnapping, killings, Maeveâs case, and CM stuff. Let me know if I forgot something.
A/N: What if Maeve made it alive and got to be Spencer's girlfriend?
---------------
New York at this time of year wouldn't seem so terrible if it weren't for the case the BAU is currently working on.
After all this time on the team, you can say you've seen a lot of awful things, and just when you think nothing can surprise you anymore, another psychopath shows up to prove you wrong.
This is one of those cases.
But despite the brutal setting, you trust your team and your shared commitment to working hard to catch the bad guys and make the world a little safer.
In that same spirit, you find yourself in the meeting room the NYPD set up for you two hours ago when you arrived at the precinct.
âOkay, so what do we know so far?â Emily, your unit chief asks, her eyes fixed on the board with photographs of the victims and the locations where their bodies were dumped.
âSix murders in less than two weeks,â says JJ, reading one of the files in her hands.
âThe victimology isn't clear,â Spencer interjects, âthere's no clear pattern of age, ethnicity, or social background.â
âFinances?â Rossi prompts, and that's when Luke pipes up.
âNothing that places them in the same location or links them to a particular person.â
Everything seems too random, but if there's one thing you've learned after 5 years in this line of work, it's that randomness rarely prevails in these cases: there's always a connection, it's just sometimes hard to uncover.
"What about the abduction days?" you ask, having a hunch about some kind of unseen patterns.
âMonday, Wednesday, and Friday," Tara replies after checking another file open on the room table.
âWhat are you thinking?" Emily turns to look at you and listens to one of your possible theories.Â
"Nothing conclusive, but if the victimology doesn't fit, then there's something about his routine that could be interpreted as opportunity."Â
Spencer hums in agreement. "But even if there is an opportunity, something makes him choose them beyond being at some specific time and place."
âThatâs exactly my point, Dr. Reid,â you smile at him, acknowledging the implicit sync Spencer tends to have with your train of thought.
Spencer smiles back, cheeks a bit pinker from your words.
Luke groans. âOh, come on. If the lovebirds want to bounce theories to flirt with each other, get a room.â
JJ and Tara giggle, while Rossi looks more amused than pissed off. Emily glares at Luke with a clear message: donât go there and focus on the case.
Hiding your smirk behind the rim of your coffee cup, you subtly wink at Spencer, who has to do everything in his power not to burst into laughter.
You and Spencer have been used to this dynamic for a while now. It wasn't long after you started at the BAU before you connected with the resident genius and became inseparable. First as colleagues, then as friends, and now as a couple.
Spencer has been your boyfriend for a year now. It was something the team said was 'meant to happen,' but neither of you was willing to admit it until denying it became ridiculous and futile.
And you couldn't have wanted it any other way. Spencer is the most attentive, loving, and caring boyfriend you've ever had. And, according to Spencer himself, you are all that and so much more to him.
One of the things you decided when you opened up about your feelings was to take things slowly, without pressure or rushing to take the next step. That's why, although you've talked about it, you haven't moved in together yet. Similarly, you both agreed not to mix your personal and professional lives. While you allow jokes and comments about yourselves from the team, personal problems and displays of affection stay outside the workplace.
And this case isnât the exception. As soon as Emily assigns tasks to everyone, you focus on doing what you were asked to do.
Everyone was working against the clock, but the hours were passing without any clear leads. Without realizing it, youâve been working nonstop for over a day, and although Emily had tried to ensure everyone got some rest from time to time, the exhaustion was starting to show.
-
An hour earlier, you were sent with JJ to interview witnesses at the last dumping site, but it didn't go as you'd hoped.
When you return to the station, Emily, Rossi, and Spencer are in the briefing room discussing the geographic profile.
Seeing you enter, Spencer immediately gives you a tired smile, indicating that there hasn't been much progress on this front either.
"We couldn't get much," JJ says.
"The geographic profile is also too vague," Rossi adds.Â
"Okay, but we can't stop there," Emily points out. "Lieutenant Ryan is already nervous about this, and the press will leak in any minute."
Emily now assigns JJ to help Tara with the medical examiner, while she and Rossi go to get more information from the victims' families. She leaves you with Spencer to continue reviewing the geographic profile.
Once youâre alone in the room, you point out the obvious. âEmily looks more frustrated than usual.â Spencer nods in agreement.
âWell, Lieutenant Ryan wasnât much help when he came and questioned Emily for the lack of progress.â
âAsshole,â you mumbled under your breath. Spencer chuckles, knowing thatâs exactly what you would say at that.
Spencer shrugs. âHe is frustrated. Everyone is at this point.â
You hum in agreement, glancing at the whiteboard where the photos of the new victims are displayed. Spencer knows you're trying to focus, even though you look just as exhausted as he does.Â
"Hey," he calls your name. "How about a coffee and some fresh air before we continue?"
You turn to him, and your face lights up. That's exactly what you need before you keep going.
"I knew you were more than just a pretty face," you joke, and Spencer grins.
"Good thing weâre clear on that now. Let's go to the coffee shop on the corner; I donât think I can stand another one from the vending machine here."
The trip is quick but lets you get some fresh air. Spencer, being the attentive boyfriend he always is, knows exactly which coffee you need. Meanwhile, you complain about the weather and how cold the police station is.
As you wait for your order, Spencer explains how old the buildings in downtown New York are and how their insulation systems work.
âUpgrading the system with the appropriate materials would take a long time and be quite expensive. And well, given the NYPD's infrastructure budget, it's not feasible in the short- or medium-term,â Spencer says.
âOr at all. And I get it. I don't want to be flippant and say it's a priority compared to other things, but I think about all the people working there all day, and, yeah, I feel like the damn privileged federal agent that I actually am. No wonder why they look at us with disdain,â you point out, grabbing the two coffees from the counter and handing one to Spencer.
âThey donât look at us that way,â he starts to argue, taking a sip of his beverage. âI mean, they sure are equally frustrated as we are due to this case.â
And probably heâs right, but you know the glances the local forces tend to give you everywhere you go across the country. The feds arenât welcomed in most places, and you understand why.
âWell, more reason why we need to catch this bastard soon,â you add as you both walk out of the coffee shop. Spencer nods in agreement, following you on the sidewalk.
âAnd we will. We just need to refocus and-â
âSpencer? Is it you?â
His speech is suddenly interrupted by a voice calling his name from behind.
âWhoâs-â Spencer begins to ask, but he stops himself once he turns and realizes who is the person calling his name. You do the same, only to find a smiling woman approaching. You donât think you know her, but apparently, she knows Spencer, and judging by the way Spencerâs eyes widen, he knows her.
âMaeve? Wow.â
Two things immediately catch your attention. The first is that you're sure you've heard that name before. The second is that since you met Spencer Reid, you can count on one hand the number of times you've seen him speechless. This is one of those times.
âWhat a coincidence to find you here!â the brunette chirps. She looks very pleased with this encounter. And Spencer looks... starstruck?
Thatâs when it hits you. No. It canât be, you think at first. But you canât be mistaken, she is Maeve Donovan, Spencerâs ex.
âYeah. I - Iâm working on a case here in New York,â Spencer clarifies, fumbling with his coffee cup, and taking a step forward so he can talk easily to the woman. You stay frozen in place, watching as the interaction unfolds.
âOf course, I should have imagined something like that,â the woman chuckles. âItâs been a while, uh?â
âSix years, three months, and four days.â
Are-You-Fucking-Kidding-Me? Youâre sure your brain short-circuits when you hear Spencer. Of course, everyone keeps track of how long it's been since they last saw their exes. You begin to feel discomfort in your stomach. You rationalize the fact that Spencer has an eidetic memory, but that's not enough to justify why the count came from his mouth.
âIâm not one bit surprised you know that,â Maeve concedes. âHow have you been?â
Even though you never met Maeve, you do know the story. Spencer himself told you this even before you two started dating. And to say it left you speechless and incredibly frustrated by how badly Spencer got hurt is an understatement.
Spencer told you how he started suffering from severe migraines and how that led him to consult a prominent geneticist, Maeve Donovan. You also know how their conversations became increasingly frequent, leading to a relationship even though they had never met face-to-face.
You remember how he recounted that Maeve had a stalker and refused the BAU's help. Until it was too late, and she was kidnapped. Spencer's heart nearly broke at the thought that he would never be able to see her in person.
The BAU worked tirelessly until they located her. But upon entering the abandoned garage, they found Maeve being held at gunpoint. And if it weren't for Spencer, she would have died along with her stalker, who ultimately took her own life.
It was obvious that after that experience, Maeve and Spencer would take their relationship to the next level. And they did. Spencer accompanied every detail of Maeve's healing process after her near-death experience. And for her part, Maeve gave Spencer the love he so desperately craved.
Everything seemed to be going well between themâa happy couple after such adverse circumstances. But as the months passed, Maeve began to resent Spencer's constant work trips and questioned his devotion to the BAU, arguing that he could do better in academia.
Spencer wasn't sure if Maeve ever cheated on him while they were together, but the emotional and physical distance between them became increasingly evident. One day, after returning from a case, Spencer arrived at their shared apartment to find Maeve waiting with her suitcase already packed. Saying she couldn't take it anymore, she broke up with him and left without further explanation. And two weeks later, Spencer finds out she started a relationship with her ex-fiancĂŠ, Bobby.
It took Spencer months to recover from that. While he didn't give you details about that period, you know from JJ and Penelope that Spencer suffered from a major depression, which almost led him back to the addiction he had overcome years before.
When you joined the team, all of that was supposedly behind him, but it wasn't unusual for you to see Spencer be more withdrawn at times. After learning his story, you understood why he acted that way back then.
Thatâs something youâll never forgive Maeve for. And it's itching your skin to see how polite Spencer is behaving with her right now.
âGood. Pretty good, actually. I didn't know you left DC?â
In addition to the grudge you held towards Maeve for what she did to Spencer, you now have the feeling of being totally forgotten by your boyfriend. Well, you suppose once the pleasantries end, he will introduce you as he should.
âRemember when I told you I wanted to apply for funding to do a neuroscience lab? Well, I got it two years ago and moved to New York. Now I have a whole team working with me.â
âWow! Thatâs great. Really, really great.â
As the seconds and minutes tick by, you grow more impatient. Their conversation continues, and neither of them seems to notice you're there. Maeve is all smiles, and you're almost certain Spencer is blushing, his voice betraying his obvious nervousness.
Should you say something to stop her blatant flirting? It's completely inappropriate, considering the place and the situation. Sure, maybe if she knew who you were, she'd be less obvious. But your boyfriend is doing little to nothing to let her know.
You've never considered yourself a jealous woman. In your past relationships, you've always built them on trust. And with Spencer, it's been no exception. But right now? You're not sure you're immune to that feeling.
Perhaps you should make your presence known by introducing yourself. But two reasons hold you back: first, that would be unprofessional, and second, it's not your job to do so.
âYeah. It is. And we've made some really significant progress in research, with several articles published. I'm sure you'd be interested in reading them.â
Rolling your eyes, you think the only thing missing is for her to tell Spencer she's already won the Nobel Prize in neuroscience.
âOh, I definitely would.â
Whatâs wrong with Spencer? Is he feigning interest in the conversation, or is he genuinely absorbed in what she has to say? Either way, it feels bizarre to have to witness this rom-com-like reunion where your character seems to be nonexistent.
âAnd how has your life been these past few years? For what you said, I assume you're still working with the BAU.â
Okay, now's the time, you think. Come on, Spencer, tell her you've gotten over all the bad things she did to you, how much you've grown, and how your life is better than the one she gave you.
âGood. You know, work. Catching serial killers hasnât changed much.â
You can't believe that's all he's going to say. It's practically saying that everything's the same, that his life isn't any different than it was when he was with her. You wonder if he really feels that way, and if he does, it makes you feel insignificant.
âSo, isn't there a Ms. Reid waiting at home?â
At the question, your heart starts to beat faster. It's direct, and although inappropriate for a casual conversation between exes, it's the ultimate test of whether Spencer considers his relationship with you worth exposing.
âIf Iâm married? No, Iâm not. Are you?â
You don't think you've felt such a profound disappointment in years. And while it's true you two aren't married, it was time to acknowledge that you, at least, existed. Now it's clear you don't even meet the âMaeve standard' to be shown off.
Maeve smiles flirtatiously. âNo, I'm not married. Don't you think that's a nice coincidence?â
That's enough. You can't stay and listen to another word. You're not going to be the one crying in this sidewalk because your boyfriend doesn't even acknowledge you. You're better than that.
âI'll leave you two to catch up. I'm heading back to the station; Emily is asking where we are. See you there, Reid.â
Reid. For Spencer, itâs like a switch is flipped, and some kind of revelation hits him. For the first time since the whole encounter, he turns to look at you. To really look at you. You donât ever call him Reid, and the tone? Thatâs enough to pop any bubble he was in.
You canât tell if his eyes scream guilt, regret, confusion, fear, or all of them. But youâre enough pissed off to stay there to find out. Thatâs why, before he can open his mouth, you walk away, fishing your phone to text Emily youâre on your way. You donât even dare to look back, walking as faster as you can.
You hear Spencer calling your name, asking you to wait for him, but you let it fade into the sound of New York traffic.
---------
When you enter the station, your chest feels tight. You don't know if it's partly from walking fast, from the cold burning your lungs, from the disappointment in your heart, or from the anger coursing through your veins. Whatever it is, you have neither the time nor the space to worry about it.
You head straight to the briefing room, where you see the whole team has already returned from their respective assignments.
Rossi frowns when he sees you. "Everything alright, bella?" You swallow hard to regain your composure.
"Yeah, just cold outside."
"And Spence?" JJ asks. And you act as if nothing that happened minutes ago actually happened. "He should be here any minute, I assume."
Emily frowns, but instead of saying something to you, she talks to all. âOkay, letâs get started. We have news.â
Five minutes later, Spencer rushes into the room, only to find the whole team - you included - listening to Emily talking, who stops when she sees him.
Great, heâs the last one arriving, and everybody notices.
âAh, Reid. Good thing youâre here. We have enough for the profile now.â
Thanks to Luke and JJ's last findings and the new information Rossi got from the families, the pieces are finally falling into place. Emily continues her briefing, pointing out the key information they have and how it builds on what they had before. Once sheâs done, the instructions come: "Okay, let's get everyone to deliver the profile.â The team already knows what to do.
Spencer's gaze travels directly to you, exiled in a corner, folder in hand, with an expression impossible to read.
As people are vacating the room, Spencer cautiously walks toward you. Youâre organizing folders from the table and preparing to leave as well.
He clears his throat before speaking softly. âCan we talk about what happened?âÂ
You donât even look at him, like he didnât say anything at all. At the lack of response, he calls your name.
Youâre still focused on the files. âWe have nothing to talk about.â Your tone is flat, trying to sound detached, but youâre burning inside. Spencer purses his lips. He knows what you are doing.
âPlease, donât do this.â
What the hell? You're literally trying to avoid a conflict in the middle of a police station, during an active case, and Spencer wants to chastise you for it?Â
âExcuse me? Donât do what? Behaving professionally at work?â
Spencer sighs. Youâre right, you shouldnât be talking about this in the middle of the case, but he needs to say something. Anything. He canât pretend to not acknowledge what he did, even if he doesn't know why or how to address it, for that matter.
Although starting with an âIâm sorryâ would have been an honest go, his mouth betrays him. âYou know what I mean.â Itâs a meek approach, Spencer knows it, but he canât get the words out when heâs still assimilating the last hour.
Whatever the case may be, youâre not in the mood to make his life easier. âActually, I donât. And you know what? I donât want to understand. You can go back and catch up with Maeve. Iâll keep doing my job.â
Before Spencer can even think of replying, you're already in the corridor, catching up with Luke to warn the rest of the police station about what's coming.
To say the next few hours are tense would be an understatement. You don't even bother to look at Spencer, while he looks like a kicked puppy. Of course, the team notices. Emily, at least, has had the decency not to put you two together on tasks.
You don't know if that makes things better or worse. Not talking to him has only made your insecurities fester. You don't understand if there's any logical explanation for what happened outside the coffee shop. Surely there is, but just because it makes sense doesn't mean it's good for your relationship. Maybe the idea that Spencer is over Maeve isn't true; maybe he's never stopped loving her, and that makes you feel like a replacement. And a bad one, at that.Â
How could you compete with someone as brilliant as her? With her beauty and the confidence of a woman who knows what she wants and who was such an important part of Spencer's life. No, you don't measure up to that.
---------
The case hasn't given you a moment's rest. So much so that you've barely had time to go to the bathroom. Just as you manage to slip away for that, you see JJ waiting for you on the way out. Her face is the one you know so well: maternal, worried, and conciliatory.
You frown. âWhat? Did something happen with the case?â
She shakes her head. "Not yet, but I wanted to ask you something."
You pinch the bridge of your nose, knowing exactly where the question is headed.
"JJ, I don't think this is the time or the place," you say, gesturing to the bathroom door. JJ nods.
"That's why I wanted to suggest we go outside for a bit. And I agree that maybe talking about this isn't exactly workplace stuff, but I think it would do you good, at least, to vent a little."
Perhaps it's not a bad idea after all because you've felt choked up for all these hours. So you accept JJ's offer. You both walk toward an indoor parking lot at the precinct, where there are a few cars and very few people. It seems to be the most private place available for now.
"What happened between you and Spencer?" JJ asks immediately. Okay, straight to the point, you think. Scratching the base of your neck, you make a face.
"We went to the coffee shop around the corner, and when we came out, a woman called Spencerâs name. And guess who it was? Maeve Donovan."
JJ listens intently, though she already thinks she understands the gravity of the situation.
You let out a humorless laugh. "It was like I didn't exist. They were talking like it was the nicest thing in the world, like she'd never hurt him. He knewâand saidâexactly how long it had been since they'd last seen each other! And she was blatantly flirting with him. It wasn't until I opened my mouth to say I was going back to the station that he realized I was there."
"And has he tried to talk to you about this?" JJ asks.
"Yes, when we were about to present the profile, but I can't listen to him, JJ; I'm terrified of what he's going to say," you confess, voice small and frighten.
"Why? I bet he wants to explain why he was such an idiot and apologize."
"And is it worth it? What I saw there has made me think that Spencer hasn't gotten over Maeve, and maybe he never will. That means I'm not good enough for him, and I don't want to compete for the heart of someone who will never be completely mine."
JJ shakes her head. âDonât say that. Spencer loves you. We can all see it. I've never seen him happier in his life, not even when he was with Maeve. And yes, I understand that what he did was stupid, whatever his reason may be, but just as you need to hear his explanation, he also needs to hear how much this is affecting you. Spencer Reid may be a certified genius, but let's face it, he's a man, and he's no better than the rest of his gender exponents at reading the room.â
You let out a deep sigh. âIt's hard when I can't get that image of the two of them grinning like idiots on the sidewalk out of my head. And I also don't want to make a big deal out of it when we have a serial killer to catch. It's not the professionalism we promised Emily.â
âI understand,â JJ agrees. âBut if not now, you have to talk about it later. Don't let your thoughts consume you without telling him directly. He needs to know and do something about it.â
From your conversation with JJ, you can take a few things: first, it helped you vent, and second, even though JJ has been friends with Spencer since before you met him, she was honest and didn't invalidate your feelings.
When you both return to the main area of ââthe station, you can see there's a lot of activity. Police officers are moving around, while Emily calls the team to give instructions.
"Okay, we have an identity and a location. Get ready for the take-down. Rossi, youâre with Tara, Matt, and Reid. The rest are with me. Come on, letâs go.â
Everyone rushes to put on their bulletproof vests and check that their weapons are ready in case they need to be used. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Spencer doing the same, but he doesn't take his eyes off you. And although nothing between you has been discussed, much less resolved, knowing that a risky situation is devolving and that something bad could happen to one of you makes you see things from a different perspective.
Trying to keep your anger in check, you approach Spencer, who looks at you in surprise.
Cautiously but steady, your hands take one of the straps of his Kevlar, pull it taut, and secure it to his side. Spencer looks at you with rapt attention as you murmur, "Please, don't do anything stupid. I need you back, in one piece."
Spencer swallows hard and, with the same thoroughness, repeats your action, securing your Kevlar to your body. "I won't. Please, stay safe too. I promise I'll fix this."
You nod, taking in his words, before turning around and leaving with the group you were assigned to.
---------
Fortunately, the unsubâs arrest, Edgar Toller, was swift and without casualties. His latest victim was rescued with only minor injuries, which paramedics immediately treated.
Lieutenant Ryan was satisfied, and despite all the unpleasant things he'd said to Emily in past days, he thanked her profusely for the teamâs help. Prentiss, ever the politically correct person, thanked the NYPD for their assistance, and Ryan left happy.
Since it was past midnight when everything was resolved, Emily decided it wasn't worth returning to Quantico and that it was better to go to the hotel and rest. You would leave New York the following morning.
Exhausted, no one wanted to argue, so you got into the SUVs and returned to the hotel.
You were the last to get out of the car, and before entering the lobby, you realize that Spencer is at the entrance, hands in his pockets, with a sheepish expression on his face, waiting for you.
When you frown at him, he hastens to speak. âI know you are tired, and maybe you only want to go upstairs to sleep, but I would really like to talk to you. But if you donât want to, I understand. Iâll wait all the time you need.â
Spencer's voice is quiet but steady. He maintains eye contact throughout, trying to gauge your discomfort. It's clear he doesn't want to cross any boundaries you're not willing to go beyond today.
You could just skip it again and leave this conversation for when you get back to DC, because it's absolutely true that you're exhausted, but mostly scared about how it's going to turn out.
But prolonging the agony seems unnecessary, and it's not your style either. If the band-aid has to be ripped off, then it's better sooner rather than later.
You bite your lower lip in contemplation. Then decide to stop running from this. âWalk with me?â You ask. And Spencer nods immediately. He doesn't question why you don't go up to one of your rooms instead of staying out in the New York cold in the middle of the night.
This will be on your terms.
You walk for a couple of blocks in silence until you reach the entrance to a small park, where a mobile coffee stand with a couple of tables and chairs is set up. You order two hot chocolates and, once you have them in hand, you sit down at one of the tables, putting one cup in front of you and the other on the opposite side. Spencer takes his and sits in the chair in front of you.
âOkay, Iâm ready to hear you,â you prompt, sipping your chocolate. Spencer nods, hands warming around the cup.
âI'd like to start by saying I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for how I behaved; I never meant to hurt you, and even though it might sound hollow now, if I could go back in time and do things differently, I would do it without a second thought.â
You can see the regret in his eyes, as if remembering what happened physically hurts him. And perhaps that's true, but it's not enough to understand, and not enough to know how to go from here.
âBut why, Spencer? What was in your head at that moment?â
Spencer shrugs. âAt first, I donât know. It was kind of surreal. I never thought I would be facing Maeve after all these years.â
Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean back in the chair. âNever? I mean, never crossed your mind knowing you used to live in the same city?â
You have a point, Spencer thinks. But for him, it wasnât a concern until today. âI know, the possibility was always there, but I always assumed that if it happened, we'd both ignore each other, play dumb, avoid the awkwardness. At least that's what I thought. But hearing her call my name, actively seeking my attention? That threw me off.â
âI can understand that, but why were you so thorough with her? After all she did? Spencer, you said the amount of time since you last saw her. It's like you were keeping count of your miserable life without her!â
Spencer sighs in defeat. He knows that specific slip hit you hard, and he canât even phantom the extent of how deep it got you.
âI have an eidetic memory. I canât help having a count of things. I know saying it aloud is a lot different, and this time came out wrong. Iâm sorry, it wasnât what I wanted. I was nervous, and nervous me uses my brain cabinets to fill the gaps.â
âWell, if you were nervous and didn't know what to do, why didn't you lean on me? I was right there, Spencer. Ready to jump at her throat if you wanted me to. I would have stood for you.â
Spencer nods in understanding. âI know you would have. And I will never forgive myself for not acknowledging you by my side at that moment. In my brain, I only wanted it to be over, and not give more importance to the encounter.â
You want to believe it's true, but if that were the case, why didn't he just turn around and leave? Why keep talking to her?
âDismissing what you have accomplished, and letting her think you havenât changed at all? I bet she thought you were still wretched without her. And honestly, I thought it too.â
Spencer's eyes widen in shock. This is not at all what he was trying to project. In an attempt to downplay the situation, he just wanted to be vague in his explanations, or at least that's what he tried to do, but it clearly wasn't understood that way. You didn't understand it that way either.
âWhat? No! Thatâs not true. Iâm far from miserable without her. Come on, I have you, Iâm happy with you. Thatâs enough to feel like I won the lottery.â Spencer's eyes soften, but he never breaks eye contact with you. If there's one thing he can't afford right now, it's for there to be any doubt that what he's saying is the whole truth, and for you not to see it.
You scoff. âIs it? I donât know. I mean, sheâs Maeve Donovan, a beautiful woman, prolific scientist, destined for a Nobel Prize. We can agree on the lottery being more close to her than me.â
You don't like that your words sound like you're pitying yourself for not being like Maeve, but it's clear that you're both different, and if Spencer had the choice, it seems more obvious to you that he'd choose her over you. And it bothers you to think that this situation is undermining your self-confidence.
Spencer leans forward to find your gaze, which instinctively shifts to the chocolate cup. âNo, the way I see it is not like that. Why do you think I would ever consider that Maeve can be in my life again?â
Biting your lower lip, you huff. âYou havenât thought about the possibility? Not just once? Donât lie to me, Spencer.â
The response comes as fast as the question is out. âNever since I met you. Not once since then. And - yeah, after today, you may not believe me. I know I froze and didnât do what I should. There were options, and I took the worst. Iâm sorry.â
You let out a deep sigh as you contemplate your next words. âI can understand that she was an important person in your life, Spencer. I'm not naive. I know the story; you told it to me yourself. And I know that kind of love doesn't just disappear. It leaves scars, and I know you have yours. And even though she made your life a living hell at the end of your relationship, you always loved her, despite that. And it's normal that you feel a second chance is possible. I don'tââ
âNo. Donât. Stop right there,â Spencer cuts you off, bringing his chair closer to your side. One of his arms goes to rest on the back of your chair, and the other reaches out to place his hand on one of yours that is on the table. âHey, look at me, please.â
You do as he says, and his gaze almost takes your breath away. It's intense, direct, pleading.
âI don't want a second chance with Maeve. I don't want anything to do with her, really. I don't need a successful scientist who broke my heart once. Not for affection, not for intellectual stimulation, not to relive past loves, not for anything. And you know why?â
You timidly shake your head. A fog drifts over your senses, and the only thing you can focus on is those hazel eyes that gaze intently at you.
âBecause you're the one I want. You're the one who keeps me awake when I'm not by your side and brings me back to sleep when you're with me in my bed. You're the one who has made my heart beat with happiness again. You're the reason things make sense in this world full of senselessness. It's your love, your concern; it's the way you show that you care. It's the way you laugh when I tell a joke and the way you let me hold you when you're sad. It's the way you kiss me, taking my breath away every time.â
âSpencerââ you want to interrupt him. Not sure why, but the words are getting to you, and you donât know what to do with them.
âPlease, let me say it,â Spencer breaths. And despite the cold, your body feels warm after every word that comes out of Spencer's mouth.
âDespite the emotional barrier I tried to maintain with you when you joined the team, you managed to break it down. Not suddenly, nor with fanfare, but with time, patience, support, and love. And that love? It's something I cherish with all my heart, and I've tried to show you how much I love you, even if words fail me, even if my social awkwardness gets in the way. And I'm sorry if I've failed. I failed today, I know. But never because I don't love you. Because I doubt that will ever happen, even if I tried. I'm not asking you to forgive me right now, or tomorrow, or the day after. But I swear I'll wait patiently until you're ready. And if you're not, that won't stop me from loving you.â
You don't know when the tears started rolling down your cheek, but by the time Spencer finishes speaking, your vision blurs.
You stay quiet for a moment, fingers wrapped tight around the cup.
"Spencer." Your voice comes out steadier than you expected. "I need you to understand something. This was never just about Maeve."
He holds your gaze, listening.
"I know you didn't mean to hurt me. And I believe you when you say you don't want her back. But what broke me out there wasn't jealousy â it was that you looked right through me. I was standing beside you, and I didn't exist. And that's the part that's going to take me longer to shake off. To come back at feeling me like your person, the one you can lean on when you need it.â
Spencer exhales slowly, something in his expression shifting â not defensiveness, but recognition. The real kind. Itâs about your feelings, about something he knows he canât fix in one night.
"You're right," he says. Just that. No qualifier, no explanation. Just the weight of it.
You nod. You pick up your cup, and so does he, and for a while you just sit with that truth between you, letting the hot chocolate cool a little in your hands, recognizing that talking things through is an important starting point, but not the whole road.
When you finally stand to leave, Spencer reaches over and turns up the collar of your coat before you can do it yourself â a small, quiet thing, almost automatic. Like he's been doing it for years. Like he wants to do it for all the years to come.
You don't comment on it. You just start walking back to the hotel.
Spencer falls into step beside you, and somewhere in the second block, your hands find each other in the cold. You instinctively squeeze his, and he does the same with yours, acknowledging a silent agreement. A promise.
You don't say anything else. Neither does he.
Some things take longer than one night in New York.
spencer reid x super mega sweetheart reader who wouldnât hurt a fly. but she meets one of spencerâs highschool bullyâs (they can be on a case or just like out on a date, you pick!) and she just goes absolutely off on the bully that spencer has to literally hold her back
I love sweetheart reader x Spencer so much.
âââââ
Sweet girls bite
|| sweetheart reader protecting Spencer against one of his high school bullies.
ŕźŕźŕźŕź
w.c 2k
Warnings: none
~~~~~
The first time Spencer Reid met you, he thought you were too soft for the BAU. Not weak. Never weak.
You smiled at everyone. You remembered Garciaâs complicated coffee order after hearing it once. You brought JJâs boys little dinosaur stickers from airport gift shops. You cried over injured children in case files and apologized to bugs before scooping them into cups and releasing them outside Quantico.
Morgan once watched you spend 25 minutes trying to save a bunny trapped in a fence on a case.
And Spencer
Spencer had fallen in love with you so quietly he almost didnât notice it himself.
It was in the small things.
The way youâd sit beside him during flights because you knew he hated turbulence more than he admitted. The way you listened when he rambled. Really listened. Not politely or patiently. Enthusiastically. Like every fact coming out of his mouth mattered.
You touched him carefully, too.
Never suddenly. Never in ways that made him tense. A hand on his sleeve. Fingers brushing his wrist. Your shoulder against his during late nights in the bullpen.
The team called you their sunshine.
Spencer privately thought that was inaccurate.
Sunshine could burn people.
You never did.
Until Cincinnati.
The case itself was awful enough already- a series of murders tied to a private high school where students were being targeted one by one. The unsub had a fixation on âpunishing cruelty,â according to the profile.
Which was how they ended up interviewing the teachers of the victims.
Including Todd Mercer.
The moment the man walked into the police station conference room, Spencer went still beside you. Not visibly, maybe. Nobody else noticed.
But you did.
You always did.
His shoulders locked.
His breathing changed.
And when Todd laid his eyes on him, he grinned. Actually grinned.
Spencer looked down at the table like he was 15 again instead of a twenty something FBI agent with three PhDs.
Todd Mercer was broad-shouldered and expensive-looking in the sleazy way certain men were. Perfect teeth. Overwhelming cologne. The kind of guy who peaked at 17 and built an entire personality around it.
âWell, what do we have here,â Todd said, staring at Spencer. âReid?â
Spencer adjusted his glasses. âMr. Mercer.â
Todd barked out a laugh. âStill talking like a robot, huh?â
Morganâs eyes narrowed instantly.
You looked between them carefully.
Todd leaned back in the chair officers had set up for him. âDamn. Havenât seen you since high school. You lookâŚâ He paused dramatically. âLess pitiful.â Like it was a compliment.
Spencer smiled tightly.
The kind of smile that wasnât a smile at all.
âWeâre here to discuss the case.â
âRight, right.â Todd snorted. âYou were always such a freakinâ narc.â
Heat prickled up your neck.
You glanced at Hotch, expecting him to intervene, but he was watching Spencer carefully- gauging whether Spencer wanted help or not.
Spencer kept his voice even. âDid you know the victims well?â
Todd shrugged. âSome of them.â Then he smirked again. âFunny though, itâs crazy seeing you act confident after spending four years terrified of eye contact.â
âOkay that's enough.â You cut him off âYouâre here for a case, so please Mr Mercer, be focusedâ
Todd looked at you then.
His eyes lingered.
âOh,â he said knowingly. âNo way.â
You raised a brow.
He pointed between you and Spencer. âYou two together?â
âOh my God,â he wheezed. âReid pulled a girl like that? Jesus Christ, miracles are real.â
Morgan physically shifted forward.
Emily muttered, âwhat a dick.â
But Todd wasnât done.
He looked directly at you.
âYou know this guy used to get shoved into lockers almost daily?â
Spencer went rigid beside you.
âTodd,â he warned quietly.
âNo, seriously,â Todd continued. âKid was weird as hell. Used to cry when people touched his books.â He laughed again. âStill does, donât you Einstein?â
Your chest tightened painfully.
Spencer stared at the table.
Not speaking. Not even defending himself.
And something inside you cracked.
Because Spencer Reid- the kindest man you had ever known, the gentlest, brightest person in every room- was sitting there letting this man reduce him to a frightened teenager again.
Todd shook his head. âCanât believe you bagged such a gorgeous girl. Whatâd you do, read her a dictionary?â
The room went silent.
Spencer inhaled softly beside you. Like he was preparing himself to endure this.
Endure.
Not fight back.
âOh, shut the hell up.â
Everyone froze.
Including Spencer.
Todd blinked at you. âExcuse me?â
âNo, actually, Iâm serious,â you snapped. âShut. Up.â
Morganâs eyebrows shot up so fast they practically disappeared into his hairline.
Emily looked delighted.
Todd gave an incredulous laugh. âWhoa. Claws out.â
âYou think tormenting a teenager makes you impressive?â you shot back. âYouâre a grown man bragging about bullying someone in high school like itâs an achievement.â
Toddâs smile faltered slightly.
You stepped forward.
Spencer immediately grabbed your wrist gently.
âHey,â he murmured. âItâs okay.â
âNo, itâs not okay.â
Your voice shook with anger.
Not fear.
Pure fury.
âYou made his life miserable for fun.â
Todd scoffed. âOh my God, it was high schoolââ
âAnd?â you cut him off sharply. âDo you think that magically erases it?â
Spencer moved with you, trying to calm you. âHoney- â
âNo, Spencer, absolutely not.â
The entire team stared.
Because you didnât get angry.
Ever.
Todd leaned back with a smug expression that made you want to throw the table at him.
âHe survived, didnât he?â
You lunged forward before you even realized you were moving.
âYOU- â
Strong arms wrapped around your waist instantly. Spencer physically hauled you backward against his chest.
âCome on sweetheart-â Spencer mumbled as he tried to calm you. You on the other hand were struggling against his grasp.
Not really trying to get free- just furious enough that your whole body vibrated.
âYou think this is funny?â you snapped, struggling against Spencerâs grip as he held you against his chest. âYou think treating people like garbage makes you important?â
Todd opened his mouth, but you didnât let him speak.
âNo, because let me tell you something.â Your voice shook now- not with fear, but fury so deep it hurt. âYou donât get to stand there and laugh about making someoneâs life miserable like it was some stupid joke.â
Spencerâs arms slowly eased around you seeing you talk more calmly.
âHoneyâ
âYou donât get to act like it didnât matter,â you continued, eyes locked on Toddâs. âBecause maybe for you it was just high school. Maybe for you it was funny. But for him?â Your voice cracked slightly. âYou made his life miserable just because you were an insecure little asshole.â
The room had gone completely silent.
Toddâs smug smile started slipping.
Good.
âYou mocked him for being smart. For being quiet. For not fitting into whatever pathetic little box you thought people should fit into.â You took a sharp breath. âAnd now he spends every single day saving people who are terrified and grieving and broken, while youâre still acting like a 17 year old who thinks cruelty is a personality trait.â
âDramatic?â you repeated incredulously. Your voice raising and stepping closer to him made Spencers arm back on your waist, pulling you backwards.
âYou humiliated a kid for years and youâre calling me dramatic?â
Spencer looked genuinely alarmed now because your voice kept getting louder.
âYou know what the worst part is?â you said. âHeâs still polite to you. He still sat there and treated you with respect after everything you did to him, because thatâs the kind of person he is.â
Todd looked away first.
âCowardâ you muttered under your breath
âAnd you know what kind of person you are?â you whispered harshly. âThe kind that only feels big when somebody else feels small.â
You lurched forward again before you could stop yourself.
Spencer physically hauled you backward this time, one arm locked around your waist.
âHoney,â he said weakly, somewhere between horrified and stunned, âplease do not commit felony assault in front of the local police department.â
âHe deserves it!â
âYou are threatening a civilian.â
âHe spent years taunting you!â
The words ripped out of you so fast your own eyes stung afterward.
Because that was the real issue.
Not the insults now.
The fact that Spencer had looked down at the table the second Todd walked in.
Like some part of him was still that lonely 16 year old boy expecting people to laugh at him.
Todd looked unsettled now. Actually unsettled.
Possibly because the sweetest person any of them had ever met looked genuinely ready to claw his eyes out for Spencer Reid
âYou know what?â you snapped at Todd. âI hope every time you try to sleep at night you remember exactly the kind of person you were. A fucking scumbag.â
The room fell silent.
Todd looked away first.
Hotch finally stepped in smoothly. âI think this interview is over.â
Todd muttered something under his breath and stood quickly, escorted out by a uniformed officer.
The second the door shut behind him, the room exploded.
Morgan doubled over laughing.
JJ looked stunned. âI have never seen you yell before.â
âI didnât know she could yell,â Rossi admitted.
You were still breathing hard, face burning with leftover anger while Spencer slowly loosened his grip around you.
Then realization hit.
Oh shit.
You had just nearly attacked someone in an interrogation room.
In front of your boss.
You turned toward Spencer immediately, horrified. âIâm so sorry.â
And somehow that made him look even more shocked.
âWhat?â
âI shouldnât have- I just- he was awful to you and I- â
Before you could finish, Spencer kissed you. The entire room went dead silent again.
Spencer Reid was not usually a public affection kind of man. But he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you like he couldnât help himself.
Like heâd been wanting to do it since the moment you stood up for him.
The rest of the team slowly left the room to Continue asking Todd the questions, leaving you and Spencer alone.
When he pulled back, his cheeks were pink.
âYou were going to attack him for me,â he said softly.
You frowned immediately. âOf course I was.â
Like it was obvious.
Because to you, it was.
Spencer stared at you for a long second with this unbearably tender expression.
âYouâre insane,â he whispered.
âHe was being a dick, I wasnât just gonna stand there and let himâ you said, still upset about it.
You looked appropriately ashamed for approximately three seconds.
Then you muttered, âHe deserved worse.â
Spencer made a startled choking noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Later, after the case wrapped and they finally made it back to the hotel, Spencer found you sitting cross-legged on the bed still stewing quietly.
The second he walked in, you said, âI hate him.â
Spencer shut the door behind him carefully.
âI gathered.â
âHe hurt you.â
The softness in your voice now nearly undid him more than the yelling had.
Spencer sat beside you slowly.
âIâm okay.â
âBut you shouldnât have had to be.â
God.
You looked genuinely heartbroken over something that had happened to him years ago.
Spencer touched your hand carefully. âYou know, statistically speaking, most people wouldnât threaten bodily harm over high school bullying.â
You glared at him instantly. âDonât use statistics right now.â
He smiled.
A real one this time.
âIâve spent most of my life being the person people protect last,â he admitted quietly.
Your expression softened immediately.
âAnd then thereâs you.â
You leaned into him without hesitation, arms wrapping carefully around his waist.
âAlways,â you mumbled against his chest.
Spencer closed his eyes.
He thought about high school him.
Awkward. isolated. hurting.
If someone had told that boy one day a girl this kind would love him so fiercely sheâd nearly throw hands in an interrogation room for his sake?
He never wouldâve believed it.
Spencer pressed a kiss into your hair.
âYou know,â he murmured, âfor someone who âwouldnât hurt a fly,â youâre terrifying when motivated.â
You pulled back just enough to look offended.
âI still wouldnât hurt a fly.â
A pause.
âTodd Mercer, however-â
Spencer laughed so hard he had to hide his face in your shoulder.
