Bitches will go on and on about how hot Spencer Reid is and how they want to date him and blah blah and then turn around and bully anyone who shows any sign of autism (aka acts like Reid) ....
this might be crazy, might be a mess but im sleep deprived and haven't written in so long so please bare with me, not proofread either so forgive that - warnings; sub!spencer dom!femreader, blowjobs, one mention of face slapping (light and brief), edging (m), riding, unprotected pinv (please don't do that), mommy kink, hands around necks but no choking
if i missed anything, please let me know. i'm currently taking blurb requests!
a warm, spring day. early afternoon errands while your boyfriend finished up some paperwork in his office at home. spencer had helped you pick out your skirt and shirt this morning, when you had no idea what to wear. he argued that if you continued being so indecisive you'll never get anything done, everywhere would be closed by the time you left.
he laid out on your shared bed, still in plaid pajama pants and some geeky science shirt you got him. the one that you gave him for christmas - you didn't get the reference but he just had to explain everything until his words jumbled in your ears. back to now, galavanting around the room by your mixed wardrobe in a black pair of underwear and one of his old shirts.
your bed hair sticking up everywhere, face bare and eyes still bleary with sleep. to him you looked stunning, perfect even... so much that when you'd leant over to check how you looked in the vanity by the wardrobe, he slowly pulled the covers over his lap. he prayed you wouldn't turn around, to see his pitiful attempt of hiding his erection. luckily you didn't turn, standing up straight to find an outfit. when he had finally helped you (after a painful few minutes of discussing colours and patterns) he left the room to make breakfast for the two of you. it was a ruse, of course. he didn't want you to know of the painfully hard situation your "granny panties" had given him. spencer imagined you scoffing in his face, telling him they're not the most flattering pair you own.
honest, you could be wearing a potato sack and he'd instantly fluster.
thankfully, his 'situation' had calmed down as he was too busy focusing on the pancakes slowly turning golden in the pan. you ate across the table from eachother, he complimented your outfit and you smiled wide. god he loved your smile, he felt his cock twitch again but he brushed it off as nothing.. his imagination or something. and when you stood - yes you were wearing shorts - but the curve of your ass looked amazing, he couldn't look away from it.
you grabbed your jacket, spencer walked you to the door as a goodbye. he lingered by the step after you left, fighting to push the crude thoughts from his head. he needed to work. focus. he made his way up the stairs, closing the office door behind him. he finished the first page, and then another when his brain suddenly blanked. he leant back, the image of you in that skirt came back to him. spencer groaned, coughing over the sound and tried his best to continue. he got so far in, time blurred together, he was almost done and then his brain redirected itself for the millionth time. your ass, your braless breasts that morning, nipples barely covered by the thin fabric of his shirt on your frame. the cloth stretched over your chest, free, no support from some stupid undergarment. his hands could do so much better.
the twitch under his plaid pants caught his attention again, he couldn't ignore it anymore. you were gone anyway, and he needed this.
he lifts his hips from the office chair, slipping the soft material off of his hips, boxers just below his aching length. one hand wrapped around himself, veins pulsing, other hand gripping the front of the black armrest of his office chair. it didn't take long for spencer to get close but he'd held on, gritting his teeth. he did that twice, before your soft voice called out.
"baby, are you okay?" you sounded concerned to him, you must've thought he was upset. his small whines, shoulders shaking slightly. so as you got closer, and his chair turned, you almost couldn't breathe. pajamas pushed down, flushed pink tip leaking precum, curls stuck to his face. your mouth dropped open, sighing out gently, he only ever flushed that much if you were edging him. his eyes rake over your body, hand stilling at the base as he lets out a throaty groan.
"fuck-" he clears his throat as you approach him, standing by the side of his chair your hand unsticks a few damp curls from his forehead. his soft, brown doe eyes meeting yours.
"get needy while im gone?" almost a coo, you of course have to question him, because why didn't he wait for you? his shoulders tense a slight bit, and he nods, cheeks flushing a deeper colour. spencers hand begins moving slowly, his chest stutters with a sharp intake of air, your lips curl into a smile. his voice is low as he mumbles something about missing you, your heart aches for him.
"oh, sweetheart.." he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth at your words, stomach tensing under his shirt. you don't want him to hurt himself, thumb brushing his skin gently, pulling it from between them.
"thought you forgot about me, took so long." his brows furrow, peering up at you through his lashes. he's so needy sometimes.. but you can't let him believe he's easy to forget.
"i could never, you should know that baby." you tut, frowning, eyes trailing down his covered chest to his cock. your hand comes up to his face again, this time your thumb traces his cheek, lightly. he whimpers, his hips rolling slightly to push himself through his clenched fist. he spreads his legs wider, giving you a better view. he's loving that you're watching him get himself off. you whisper instructions, telling him to keep going, hand stroking his scalp gently. his breath hitches at your touch, the demands spoken so delicately.
spencers thighs tense, your hand lingers on his chin, middle and ring finger meeting his bottom lip. he parts them obediently, taking your fingers into his mouth. he hums around them, the short puffs of breath from his nose hitting your fingers. his cheeks hollow, eyes rolling back.
"beg for me sweetie, come on.." demanding, but still caring. your hand falls back down to the side of your hip, brushing against the skirt fabric.
"mmm- please? wanna cum." his brows furrow again, up into the centre, he's close to tears. he's also beginning to rethink edging himself twice before you came home.
"y/n.." he whines, breathing heavy, face contorting with desperation. you almost feel bad, but he knows the rules.
"wrong name, honey, come on. try again, think about it." you're just prolonging it, a hint of desire sparks in his eyes when he realises this'll last longer than he expected.
"i- mommy? mommy, mommy please.. i wann' cum so bad." tears prick his waterline, lip trembling gently with the tears coming along. following with, "i'll be good, already been so good while you're gone." nothing is convincing you though. no matter how good he say's he's been.
a thought crosses your mind, you drop to your knees without hesitation. his grip loosens, and his hand goes back to his thigh, eyes widening as he stares down at you. instructing him not to cum, you take him into your hand, kitten licking his flushed tip. he gasps loudly, fingers tangling in your hair immediately. his hips buck upward, trying to gain more contact, he's shaking. he whines, incoherent, no actual words but hes close. that isn't going to happen.
not yet anyway.
"no baby- not happening.." pulling off, making direct eye contact, you swallow before leaning back down to him again. your arm rests over his pelvis to stop him from bucking up into your mouth, you guide his hand back to your hair. this time you take him deep into your throat, he cries out, no hesitation. this feels like heaven to him, trying to milk him with your mouth, your throat. when you try pull off as he bucks his hips up again, his slender fingers get caught in a knot at the end of your hair. despite it being accidental, it makes you whine out loud. you would've told him off, if it hadn't had been for that happy accident.
"gotta wait longer, until i say.." manicured fingers trace circles into his thigh below his free hand, grounding him. you clear your throat and stand, reaching under your skirt to pull down your shorts and underwear in one. you can't imagine the amount of cum pent up inside of him right now. on the centre of your panties, a damp patch of your arousal. just from watching him, having your mouth around him.
now fully exposed underneath your skirt, you straddle him gently. you're bare, wet and warm, so fucking warm. you rub up against spencer's still extremely hard cock, he's so oversensitive that it hurts.
"don't cum yet, don't wanna waste any.." you kiss his cheek, hands on his shoulders, you need him to understand. he nods frantically, eyes squeezing shut so he can concentrate on anything but your pretty face. you have to give him credit, he's trying so hard. his next whimper is a plea for you to do something, anything.
"im gonna ride you, you're gonna hold on for me, okay?" the palm, warm on his cheek moves to his hair, stroking through messy, untamed curls. your hand ends at the base of his neck, his breaths come in short gasps. cock throbbing between your legs, his head falls to your shoulder, blocking your view slightly.
you position yourself, slick dripping down his cock the way his own precum had earlier that day. pushing down, there's the familiar stretch you were waiting for, both of you almost whining in unison, loudly. the adrenaline doesn't help, you can't relax, tight around him.
he continues to fight the urge, he can't waste this, not after hes waited, its been building up.
"ah-! oh, god.." he yelps, nails digging into your hips tightly, he reaches for the bottom of your skirt. lifting the fabric, he reveals the new sight to himself, your hole dripping around him as you begin to move. spencers eyes glaze over, you frown.
"stay with me, wait for me." your words repeat in his head.
"please, relax- or i'll cum too soon.." he pleads with you, every inch of him sheathed in your familiar heat. better than your mouth, tighter, warmer, wetter. it wouldn't take you long, which is good because you knew he was in that boat too.
his body trembles, hands shaking like a broken dishwasher. his whole body tenses, head back, you think he's about to let you down.
"no, baby- wait, i'm almost there.. been so good, little bit longer." you were struggling to get the words out, when his mouth dropped open and nothing came out you knew he was doing worse. your hands gently tighten around the base of his throat, not cutting off air but trying to ground him with the touch.
"you've been so patient, such a good boy.." you're hesitant to say it, the praise might just make him blow it early.
"i'll do anything, just let me cum- please mommy." he's basically crying again, your poor boy, in pain, waiting for your permission to release.
"hey-" you slap his cheek lightly, his head snaps to the side, letting out a low groan. his orgasm builds but the light sting on his cheek helps him focus, he meets your movements with his hips.
and you? you have no energy to tell him off anymore..
"spencer- sweet boy, im gonna-" you choke on the words, your knuckles brushing over the slightly reddened mark on his left cheek. he can't warn you before he lets out a loud, broken scream. he feels you clench around him, milking his orgasm. you feel it painting your walls, your own sound dragging out. he had no chance to muffle anything as you buried your head into his neck. the chair felt unsteady as he pumped into you for the last time, but his hips settled and you both stilled.
a small sob cuts the silence, you stay on top of him, but lift your head. he's practically on cloud-9 still coming down, he can't take any more, neither can you.
"did so good, such a good boy for me.." you weren't sure where he'd gained that level of self-control from, yes he was always good for you.. but that was another level. he just hummed.
"takeout tonight..?" you whisper, he lets out a breathy laugh, nodding against your neck.
spencer reid who keeps seeing dubai chocolate everywhere and doesn't understand why it's so expensive and why it's all the rage
spencer reid who walks around town holding hands with you, eyes fixed on someone's handbag, adorned with a swinging labubu chain (probably lafufu)
spencer reid who caught an earful of this "new slang" from JJs children and came home telling you that he got called a 'gigachad', and you look "so slay"
spencer reid who doesn't understand why the state of ohio suddenly became so funny
spencer reid who listens while you explain the skibidi toilet rabbit hole as if it's a true crime case
a spencer reid hurt/comfort, allusions to sex, mentions of discomfort in readers body, post-sex cuddles, based on the lizzy mcalpine song in the title, lyrics are in iralics!! not proofread, also no gender specificied
'im in bed, layin' down, naked
he's inside of me'
you're in bed, tangled in sheets that carry the weight of what you just did. spencer lies next to you, content, one hand on your hip, rubbing circles into the skin. you face the wall, not him, eyes wide open in the darkness.
'i love him, kiss his mouth'
and you do, of course you do.
but you hate the way your stomach folds when you curl up like this. you hate how quiet your thoughts get when you're intimate, but only roar back to life the second he's not looking. you tense up whenever the lights come back on, maybe he sees all your flaws.
'praying he can't see what i see'
it's not just about your body, its everything. the way you talk, the scars you don't open up about. sometimes you stare into the mirror until the reflection doesn't show the person you thought you knew.
you flinch when spencer shifts closer, like he might see too much if he looks at you. he doesn't recoil away, doesn't ask what's wrong? like everyone else does. he presses his forehead gently to your shoulder, whispers your name like it's a secret.
"hey..." he whispers, still worn out in his post orgasm haze. "you're somewhere else, huh?" you swallow at his steady voice, he's so relaxed - unlike you. you shake your head, its a lie and he knows. he's profiled you, a hundred times you without even trying. not because you're unstable and need him to work everything out, but because you matter to him. also, a lot of the time you'd prefer to push things down, ignore it until it bites you back. he knows this, and knows more about how it makes everything worse.
"you do that thing sometimes, disappear into your own head." he waits for a response. tears prick the corners of your eyes, he sees you so easily, reads you like a book. sometimes you can appreciate it, but it's like he can see into your mind.
"it's just.." your voice breaks, you feel pathetic, "sometimes i feel like if you saw me, all of me - you'd leave"
spencer doesn't move for a second. then he sits up slightly, shifting to look at you properly. you keep your eyes on the ceiling.
"well, i do see you." and that's all, for a moment. you blink, not daring to look at him.
"i see you when you laugh like you're not trying to impress someone, you make space for everyone. i know how hard it is for you to let someone in, yet you let me love all of you." he knows you're trying not to make eye contact, even in the dim light.
"i see you, and i still love you" it cuts like a knife, emotion breaks through, tears breach your waterline and trail horizontally down the bridge of your nose. you're still naked, the sheets feel so thin. they hug every curve and crevice so uncomfortably.
"what if i never stop feeling like this, spencer?" your voice is low, rolling over to face his loving eyes. all you see is admiration, spencers hand moves from your hip to your cheek. his thumb follows the salty tear streak, trying to will away the sadness.
"i'm not leaving. no matter how you feel, i promise you that i'll never see you as anything but gorgeous." his lips brush your temple. still bare, skin to skin, its not about sex though. its about being seen, about being held in the rawness of that, and not having to hide. for the first time in a while, you left yourself believe and maybe he saw something in you worth loving.. unlike you did.
warnings//: fem!reader, mentions of reid's addiction, kidnapping, injury, guns, ropes, a pocket knife, hospital, implied drugging of user(?), few uses of y/n i try to keep it minimum
<this isn't proofread so if there's anything im missing please let me know>
summary (this is longer than my usual works): reader is taken by unsub bradley wells, the team comes together to get her back.
A/N: set in season ten, but emily is still at the BAU!!
you were restless. well, as restless as you could be considering you were chained to... something you can't yet identify. wherever you currently are is dark, a big contrast to the BAU lights, you were only there a few hours ago right? you couldn't decide what to try figuring out first - how you got here, or what led to this. your voice fell on deaf ears, and you heard nothing but the echo of your own pleads. the sound of your sobs bouncing off the walls made you realise you were crying, finally registering the saline pouring from your own eyes. the chill of concrete beneath you helped ground you to this current moment, you didn't want to be here but you'd have to get used to these surroundings.
with a throbbing head, you attempt to pull on the tight rope binding you to a pole, seemingly wooden. with every tug it felt as though every fiber of the rope had been permanently imprinted into your wrists. it wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm, the air litters your skin with prominent goosebumps. a small red light blinking from the corner caught your attention, you were being watched. it was creepy enough being here, everything seemed more eerie now you knew someone was peering at you - especially from somewhere that was probably much nicer.
a whisper cut through the empty darkness, a deep hollow sound. "you're awake" a dim, hanging lightbulb is flicked on, your eyes adjust to new light.
now this voice has a face. your most recent unsub, and now he has you. footsteps grow closer, his jaw is soft, eyes harsh but you can't make out a colour. his hair seems to be curly but badly maintained, eyebrows thick and a slight stubble. the cogs in your mind begin to turn-
the sound of gravel under your boots, emily's voice in your earpiece "Y/N and reid, take the back. let us know if you see anything" you both obliged.
the team had split, to cover more ground. this house wasn't a mansion, but it was big, no one wanted to leave a square ungaurded. you decided to be brave, calling to your boyfriend of a few months "i'll take the left, you go right." of course spencer hesitated, but you had been canvassing multiple properties for atleast a week. more bodies and no location, the third geoprofile led you here.
brad- bradley? he looked like a 'bradley', he also looked like a total dick. his grubby hand meets your chin, tilting your head up, the crown of your skull meets the wood behind you. "don't worry... you're safe with me, princess" his voice was anything but soothing, piercing almost. the nickname made you cringe, he had no right. as he turned away you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, you watch him leave through a door. nothing special about it, just wooden. he sure has trust in these ropes.
•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•
the briefing room seems emptier than usual without your attributions. spencers hands clench around his paper cup, so hard that it'd spill if he wasn't careful.
"she was supposed to meet me around the front" his voice shook, guilt ridden "i checked the time, my watch. i didn't hear anything, i should've known-" his breath catches, the lump in his throat slowly expanding.
jj notices the tears slowly forming at his waterline, she decides to take over. "none of this is your fault spence, you couldn't have known" a few nods around the room but no one says a word. spencer is left speechless, the whole team there... well, minus you. he won't stop blaming himself.
that's when his cup collapses in his hand. coffee leaks through his fingers and drips over the table onto the briefing room floor. it wasn't hot, but warm enough it brought him back to the present. spencer blinks down at his cup, and the mess on the table, as if it'd appeared out of nowhere.
"shit..." he'd muttered it quietly enough that no one else heard, but he shocked himself with the curse. the paper is now crumpled entirely in his fist, coffee spreading across the table and almost soaking into the case file. he shoves the file across the desk and stands, leaving the room with his destroyed cup - if you could even call it one anymore. everyone watches him leave, walking as if he had been posessed by a robot. a single wrong step and he'd fall apart, he barely blinks. he doesn't want to miss any moment if it meant getting you back.
he'd mentioned something about getting a refill, but it wasn't just that. he needed to compose himself. every muscle in his body is tense with the hope of seeing you again. spencer made it to the break room in record time, white fluorescent lights hang overhead. they hum like the flies you only notice at night, when they're buzzing in your ear as you toss and turn in bed. he moves towards the coffee machine as if it's muscle memory, discarding the almost disintegrated paper in the bin. he needs a break, yet he refuses to take one until you're in his arms. coffee slowly fills the cup under the machines nozzle, he begins to zone out, anything but pleasant memories coming back to him.
a dark barn, syringes, glass vials. tobias in his head ordering him to repent.
he grips the counter hard, his jaw clenches. you were still out there, with a man they were failing to catch, and he can't do anything. he feels pathetic.
the pain, the withdrawals. he sees you, your smile. he imagines it fading, what would you think of him after he let you be taken away? he tries to picture anything else, and luckily the machine hisses with the last drops of coffee. he couldn't have been standing there for that long, but it felt long enough that something more could've happened to you in those seconds. every precious second he stood there thinking about his own trauma. god spencer, get it together.
he'd died in that barn, saw the warmth and light of what could've been there for him. he doesn't want to risk that happening to you. he can't stand around getting emotional over his own problems, they're over and done with.
his hands fumble when he reaches for the plastic lids, the same way he would tremble when he'd miss the sweet feeling of dilaudid rushing through his veins. the lids are flimsy, unstable like him.
spencer isn't weak, everyone knows that but him. he'd been through enough and survived it. that grave tobias made him dig? he could've ended up in it. sometimes spencer wishes the team had found him after he'd already been put in it, dirt packed tight.
you told him you would be fine on your own, you're strong and he believes that wholeheartedly. he should've known this would happen though, he promised himself he wouldn't let anyone he loves die - again. he doesn't know if he can face his team right now, hes ashamed, so angry with himself. he grabs his cup and takes a breath, forcing himself back into the briefing room.
the team were gathered around, putting the pieces together. spencers coffee spill was gone, as if it never happened, no one mentioned it when he returned. he slides back into his chair, taking in what his coworkers have determined. they're structuring a new profile.
"hes an opportunist, he acts as soon as there's a chance, no specifics involved." rossi's voice cuts through the tension. bradleys previous victims had no pattern except that they're all women. mostly a smaller and shorter type, looks don't matter as long as they seem to be defenseless. sadly, he was right about a lot of them, bodies were scattered around riverbanks, semi-public areas. areas that are quiet enough to not be seen dropping off bodies, but the bodies found sooner or later.
"hes disorganized, Y/N was almost a 'wrong place, wrong time' situation. there doesn't seem to be a specific desire to take a federal agent." derek leans over the table, looking up at aaron by the whiteboard as he speaks. spencers eyes fall to his lap 'wrong place, wrong time' - i sent her to the wrong place at the wrong time.
garcia chimes in from her seat "i found CCTV footage from the town closest to the house you were at when Y/N was taken... you'd think a suspect on the run wouldn't go through a town, right? i just-"
"pen, please get to the point." spencer cuts her off, he's impatient and its obvious, but he doesn't mean to be horrible.
"he was seen at a gas station, and i if i zoom-" a beep and her screen is connected to the TV hooked to the wall. the image is grainy, but she's already ran it through image enhancing enough times. everyone squints in unison to get a glimpse of the figure in the passenger seat. its you, your side profile. bradleys shadow dances along the side of the van as he fills it. this was enough for now, but garcia continued.
"and that's not all- i have satellite imaging of the area, theres a small building just two miles off.. i think its worth checking that" she gently pushes her multicoloured glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. emily turns, to spencer. his lip caught between his teeth, so hard hes about to draw blood.
he couldn't believe it, this feels so close to getting you back and it's only been a few hours. you were gone by 10PM, and now they have a new lead at four in the morning. spencers stomach turns, is this resentment? why did it take so long to find him, but barely over five hours for you? he puts the feeling down to the stress of this situation. as the team, besides garcia, begin to stand and get ready to leave, he rushes for his jacket. hes first to leave the briefing, first to storm outside, slamming the passenger door of an SUV when he's finally in. in his head he's willing whoever's going to be driving to hurry up. morgan finally slides into the driver's side, starting the engine immediately, its wheels turn, rolling on concrete as the others follow behind in other assigned vehicles.
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at this point you didn't know how long you'd been there, bradley had left the light on but there were no windows in this room. it was wood, brown all around you, but it could've been staged that way. time bled into itself, it couldn't have been long, but you'd also been unconscious so you doubted your own sense. you felt numb, your legs, hands. you'd been sat and bound for as long as you can remember. you hadn't heard anything from bradley, no sound, except for maybe the slight wind that howled around outside. if only you knew where you were.
but then the handle jiggled, your body snaps to sit upright, back popping with the sudden movement. your mouth and throat felt dry, your stomach grumbled. heavy footsteps follow the sound of the door, before you know it, bradley is infront of you again. he seems urgent, like something's wrong.
"what?" your voice is weak, you swallow. he didn't respond, moving behind you, the rope shifted and it seemed he was untying you. to your disappointment, he's able to pull you up from the pole with your hands still bound, they were two separate knots. your head spins as you're forced to your feet. your knees buckle and you fall onto them, hissing at the slight pain of the wood under you, they'll probably end up bruised. his sweaty fingers grasp your hair, pulling you back up to him. bradley pauses. the rumbling of engines in the distance is what had brought this on. this panic. you hadn't noticed it at first, that must be why he's trying to get you out of here. he seemed so calm before, his facade is breaking.
"you did this-" his words made no sense, how could you have done anything? you had no contact with the BAU, no way of telling them you were here. bradleys jumbled words just made it even clearer, he's petrified. he soon wills himself to move, its too late.
a door is kicked down, not the one that leads to where you are, you're assuming it was the entrance to this place.
"bradley wells, FBI!" the weak door is pushed open, derek appears first in the doorway, aaron behind him. relief flushes through your body, before your ropes are pulled on, hard. your skin burns. with no warning you're stumbling into bradley, back to his chest, you feel cold steel at your throat. fuck.
"put the knife down." aarons voice is sharp, eyeing the pocket knife that's a slither away from cutting into your skin. bradleys heart beats against your back, erratic, despite this show hes playing, you feel his nerves. derek steps further into the room, aaron next, in the doorway you meet emilys eyes. shes relieved to see you in one piece. your chest heaves, watching their expressions change as they take in bradleys grip on you. its nauseating. they can all see the lack of colour in your face, your eyes red-rimmed.
aaron continues to negotiate, "you don't want to do this. you're not leaving, we have this place surrounded. this is the end."
"no, it ends with this one-" he jostles you in his grip, lightly catching your neck with the blade "-dead. your agent here, is supposed to be dead. you interrupted it, i can't leave until blood is spilt" he words it almost like an attempt at poetry, it ends up sounding stupid.
emily fires her gun, it's non-lethal. when bradley had moved you, his shoulder became clear, clear to shoot. you hadn't expected it, your eyes were locked on derek, you hadn't seen emily lifting her gun. the second bradley is down, and his grip on you is gone, derek rushes forward.
his voice repeats on your tongue, pleading him to get you out of here. he works on undoing the last knot of rope, as soon as your arms are free your wrap them around him tight. aaron had gone over to bradley, checking on his condition as a few paramedics rush inside.
you don't remember the exact motion of events from there, but you were now sitting on the cabin steps. dereks fbi jacket is draped over your shoulders, your arms trembling. spencer runs up the trail, he sees you and pauses. his feet carry him toward you, its almost an instinct to be close to you. he reaches the cabin entrance and falls to his knees, just by your feet.
"you're- are you hurt?" his breathing becomes slightly more uneven. soft hands cup your cheeks, unlike the previous dirty one that'd gripped your chin.
"i'm okay, im fine." you nod, trying your best to reassure him, when really you were the one who needed it. spencer pulls you into his arms, holding you as if you'd disappear again.
"oh, my baby..angel girl, i thought i lost you forever" his lips meet your head, lingering there. he didn't care about anything else but keeping you right at his side, he wanted bradley dead. spencers hands rub against your arms, trying to use friction through the jacket to warm you.
"come on, lets get you checked out" pulling you up from the step, he leads you to the ambulance where emily and rossi are standing. jj is there too, leaning on the open door. their eyes meet you and spencer as you walk over. his hand stays on your back, guiding you into the vehicle. two female paramedics greet you from the inside with warm smiles, you try to force one back and fail, they don't mention it. you lay down on the bed, letting them strap you in, you'd seen victims in this state. you never imagined you'd be in this position.
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the lights are too bright, the walls a painfully blank white colour, your eyes strain. you had a tiny cut from the pocket knife he'd wielded to you, the hospital had bandaged it a lot more than needed. it wasn't that deep, they were being dramatic, but atleast they were taking care of you here. you'd prefer here than that cabin. jj said it looked worse than it was, emily promised she's seen worse. penelope came with balloons, flowers, gifts and a small cake. the whole team had been in and out all morning.
spencer is the only one who didn't leave your side, his long legs awkwardly folded beneath him in the hospital chair. he'd even moved the chair closer to your bed, dark circles under his eyes, hair messy and unkept. there are creases in his cardigan, he's clearly exhausted.
"you should sleep." your voice is small, you don't want to see him fight to stay awake. you can only imagine how many hours of sleep he missed while you were gone.
"im fine." hes clearly not, his voice says it all.
"spencer.." he sighs when you say his name so gently, he knows he'll have to give in. you watch him get lost in his own thoughts, his eyes showing hes clearly somewhere else.
"you're thinking too much again." he looks back up at you, tears brimming his eyes.
"i could've lost you, and I'm not going to say i understand exactly what happened- but I've been there. but it was a barn, with hankel. i thought no one was ever going to come for me, i didn't want you to think we weren't working to get you back" he didn't want to imagine how you could've felt, the isolation. despite how much he hated it, he couldn't stop thinking. his stupid brain wouldn't shut up.
"there wasn't a second where i doubted you were coming" you place a hand over his, thumb gliding over the back of his palm. a soft knock at the door interrupts the moment, but he doesn't take his eyes off of you. rossi comes in holding a bag, the smell of something that actually has seasoning filling the room. you'd been getting used to plain chicken and instant mashed potatoes, an occasional cup of orange juice on the side.
"the nurse said you're allowed something new, kid." rossi gently places the bag on your overbed table, two empty jello cups on the edge.
"you've got a line of visitors down the hall, derek was trying to bribe the receptionist for an extra chair" rossi's voice is full of amusement, you smile. they all came, to see you.
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the wheelchair squeaks faintly against linoleum halls, it smells of bleach. the wind outside isn't too strong, brushing against your face but it wasn't uncomfortable. your arms bring spencers cardigan tighter around you.
"i could've walked, you know" you'd told him this multiple times, he wouldn't let you.
hes walking beside your wheelchair, one of your assigned nurses pushing it through the parking lotj. aaron had driven up spencers car to the hospital, it helped you feel more comfortable like they hoped. spencer opens the passenger door for you, gently guiding you inside. he begins the drive to his apartment, it's quiet, no questions. he occasionally glances over when he thinks you're not looking, just to make sure you're okay. when you reach his apartment, you hesitate at the door. but, you take another look at him as he begins undoing the laces to his converse, you step inside and begin to slip off your own shoes. you both slowly settle in after a few minutes of sitting on the couch together.
spencer turns to you at the sound of your whisper, "please don't leave me alone tonight." of course he refused to let that happen. even if it meant damging his back eternally, sleeping on the floor by the bedside.
"i wouldn't let that happen, angel girl." his hand is soft as he brings yours up to his lips, he gently kisses the supple skin.
"can i ask you something?" you're met with silence, but a visual response in a gentle nod, a curl falling slightly further down his face.
"after tobias.." you begin, unsure of continuing, this is a sensitive topic. he'd opened up about it before, but it seems more relevant now. spencer senses your hesitation, gently squeezing your hand in his. it urges you to continue.
"how long did it take for things to feel normal again? I know my experience might not be as bad, but i... i just want to know when i'll feel genuinely safe again, especially on cases. it's difficult already with knowing the dangers, now i've been in that situation - i dont know if things will feel how they used to." he's patient as you piece your thoughts together. he didn't answer immediately, letting the question linger.
"don't start comparing it, angel. just because you 'weren't there for long', doesn't mean it wont effect you.. and i'll be here for when things make sense, and when they don't.' his eyes are full of sincerity, no sense of empty promise behind his brown irises.
you sit there, in the low lamplight of his apartment, together. the city rush muted by thick curtains and pulled blinds. no howling wind, no creaking wood. no beeping heart monitors and definitely no more bland hospital food. just you and spencer, two people who had seen too much, yet were stil standing.
i don't know how to explain what this is?! no gender specifics besides the hozier lyrics, mention of male masturbation, fade to black smut?!? maybe there will be a part two but my account is basically dead sooo here's something to drag along until i get my motivation back.
it wouldn't stop. the lines repeated in his head, over and over, 24/7. hozier isn't a new artist, but his music is new to spencer. the first song you showed him, he fell in love immediately, the imagery and vocabulary. it seemed refreshing to him, someone who doesn't dumb down their lyrics, trusting their audience to interpret it how they fit.
a little death- a metaphor, associated with the french phrase "la petite mort" refers to the temporary state of unconsciousness or loss of self due to an orgasm. when spencer heard the track 'angel of small death and the codeine scene' it reminded him of the metaphor, but also you. you were his angel, his sweet lover who he'd dreamt of his whole life. he'd always called you angel, it came naturally, to him it seemed you were sent from heaven. the first time you two had done anything, he finished in his boxers at the sight of you writhing under his tongue. in that moment he hadn't cared about his own pleasure, only yours. yes he got something out of it, but you hadn't touched him, the day you did his imagination was put to shame.
spencer thought you would be good, despite the lack of experience you both had, if you weren't he wouldn't mind. after all you're both learning, learning eachother, learning what sex is like. he mostly expected it to be perfect because he hadn't felt the touch of someone else like that before, he wouldn't let that happen, and he assumed no one would ever want to.
based on what he'd read over the years, biology, human anatomy, he thought he would have a good enough grasp on orgasms. he's a genius, right? the second he felt his first from you, his mind went clear. all of that knowledge swept, you tightened around him so deliciously, your mouth on his would be the only point of grounding. otherwise? he might just be up on cloud nine.
"with her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean. she's the angel of small death and the codeine scene"
it was perfect, described you all in one. a lot of his songs reminded him of you, 'work song' or 'wasteland baby' and he'd even go on to say 'NFWMB'. he could chose a lyric from any song that would express the way he appreciates you, for being there, existing. it's always late at night on cases however, he'll suddenly be reminded of his own angel (of small death).
one particular night though, he couldn't ignore it. the stress was too much.
long, slender fingers trailed down his body, positioned uncomfortably on a shitty hotel bed. it creaked and rattled if he even breathed wrong, it didn't stop him though.
"heat of her breath in my mouth, im alive"
his eidetic memory couldn't let him forget, ever. your body trembling in his arms, legs shaking on his shoulders, your release on his tongue. imagining your taste is what took brought him to his own release, it felt dirty. dirty in the best way and only wrong because you weren't there to swallow it down. when he returned from the case that week he could heard a familiar song, muffled by the walls coming from your shared room.
"in leash-less confusion, I'll wander the concrete
wonder if better now having survived
jarring of judgement and reasons defeat the sweet-"
and your voice, cutting in before it can step into the chorus "heat of her breath in my mouth, im alive" and he can't wait anymore.
But we look back everyday- rechecking emails, making sure a friend is still behind you, checking to see if you remebered to pick up your keys. It's second nature, a habit of care.
It was second nature for him too. He looked back, not out of weakness, but love. For what is love, if not to look back?
title says it all, reader has hair, no length described/only described as tangled, NOOO GENDER SPECIFIED!!
"bed rotting: bed rotting is a phrase from social media wherein a person stays in bed for an entire day without engaging in daily activities and chores."
that's what you'd been doing, for what felt like a whole week. spencer had been gone, your friends ignoring you, no calls, or texts. except for spencers frequent messages. he checked on you every day, asking how you are, what you'd been doing. truth is, you'd been in and out of bed, only to collect snacks, hydrate and use the bathroom. you'd showered only once that week, hair matted, shared room a mess.
your body lay still, even as keys turn in the lock. when he said he was coming back, you'd wanted to clean, wash up. it felt like it was too late.
the bedside table is crowded with empty plastic bottles, yet at least half of every food wrapper is still full. you hear his converse hit the ground, heart feeling just as heavy as it did all week. ten thousand and eighty minutes (give or take), blankets pulled to your chin. your thoughts broken by steps, climbing up the stairs. the click of the door handle breaks you from the daze you're in. you almost feel paralyzed.
his voice cracks through the silence, the silence that'd dragged on for days. its a foreign sound, you hate admitting you forgot what he sounds like.
"angel?" spencers tone sounds pleading, begging for a response. he'd seen you like this before, almost catatonic. his heart clenches, he should've been there but he wasn't. instead of being home with his perfect, sweet lover. he had to chase a scumbag around a whole other state. if he knew you were like this, he'd have walked the miles back to you.
a gentle, larger hand finds your hair. Its tangled, slightly greasy from the lack of washing. spencer wasn't going to shame you for that though, at all. he'd definitely seen worse - he always told you that, you always told yourself that too. your eyes met and you felt tears gathering in your own, with a small movement he pulls your head into his lap.
it wasn't long before he'd encouraged you to open up, to finally get out of bed. sharing a shower never felt better, running conditioner through small knots before they come undone. his hands so gentle, the gentleness you could never give to yourself, he longed to make sure you felt it somehow. when your shower was over, spencer left the bathroom in a towel. he'd stepped out to do a quick sweep of the room, clearing up enough that the sight wouldn't stress you out.
when you finally come back into the room he embraces you softly. your damp hair tickles his chin as he plants a lingering kiss on your head, he had also changed the sheets. the others discarded in the washing pile, haphazardly because all he wanted now was to look after you, give you what you need.
that night you drifted off in his arms, finally feeling safe, like you were worth something. it all came down to him.
theartofmadeline
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vaporwave
snowghoul
yousharknotpass
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