NOW SHOWING: SPENCER REID
⋆˙—requests open! but I don't do smut :(
love me not — cm!spencer reid x teacher!reader
summary: spencer and you used to be best friends in college during one of his many degrees. but things ended badly when you overstepped, leading to a clean break after he graduated. years later, you catch up during one of spencer's work trips, and a few months after, you're moving to washington for a job. perhaps it's a sign to give this friendship a second chance?
set during s1-s2, mini-series with four to five parts.
1. oh, it's hard to see you
➵ spencer reid hasn't thought of his old college friend in ages, but when his coworkers' mini celebration of his birthday brings up memories of the time you spent together, and fate decides to send him on a case to your hometown, he decides it might be a sign to catch up.
2. but i wish you were right here
➵ a job opportunity (and secret family reasons) bring you to washington, dc., where your friend spencer reid very graciously offers to let you crash at his apartment till you find your own place. except, perhaps both of you are liking this arrangement a little too much. but hey, it's just because you're such good friends, right?
3. the penny incident
➵ the incident that led to a million nicknames, all related to the marvelous penny. or, the time you tried to ask out a dude from your class, got incredibly depressed when you were rejected, and spencer thought the best way to make you feel better is to do some magic tricks.
4. it's hard to leave you
➵ you finally meet spencer's coworkers. everyone thinks there's more here, except the two of you.
if you look at me with what i know is in you — dbh!connor x reader
on hiatus!
1.the colour of my mind
2.wine through water
3.dreams that have stayed
4.take care not to smile
5.i shall still continue to be
moonlit recollections — arcane!viktor x reader, college au
summary : two universes collide when spencer has to watch the team meet his workplace crush, called in from another branch for her decryption skills - and he doesn't really like sharing.
word count : 2.3k
pairings : spencer reid x FBI!reader (workplace romance)
notes : there is such thing as the intelligence branch !! spencer is very jealous and it shows, modern romance would say they're at that point in the talking stage where they still won't aknowledge eachother irl
working for the FBI had its perks.
mostly social, you had to admit. certain jobs, tough you weren't exactly sure why, carried prestige. the prestige you felt when over drinks on first dates or small talk with old friends, someone asked what you did for work.
you could've been a linguistic analyst anywhere else, the years of studies and countless research papers you'd worked on would've earned you nothing but eye rolls and judgemental stares.
curiously, with the acronym of FBI came instant gratification. federal bureau of investigation, the magic words that earned compliments and sometimes mocking gasps.
how does it feel to work for the government ?
you're part of the Intelligence Branch ? of course, you're so smart.
the best perk however, apart from the thrilling feeling pulsing through your veins that came with having a purpose, worked three floors above you at the behavioural analysis unit.
with his tall figure and soft cozy looks, spencer reid didn't look like he belonged in this world either. united by the feeling of standing out in the crowd, or rather feeling invisible between individuals with a stern appearance and a sterile heart, you two connected.
a workplace crush, that's all he was.
a really awfully good looking guy who had once blushed at your words when you rode the elevator with him and filled the silence by complimenting his thesis.
of course you knew who he was.
if he were to step a foot on in your department, you were pretty sure applause would echo off the walls. this guy had done more fore crime solving using linguistics than your entire team ever had, and his endless knowledge sort of terrified you.
and maybe since then, he'd started to use the east wing elevator abnormally often. and maybe you'd exchanged numbers. for the sole purpose of keeping eachother in the loop during important cases, of course.
and maybe you were tired today because you'd spent all night exchanging texts, and your brain was beginning to turn into mush from the hours of sleep it'd been denied in the previous weeks.
all because of the boy who stood on the other side of the room from you right now, with his arms crossed and brows knit together while he listened to something the unit chief was saying.
"the unsub we're looking for seems to be leaving hidden messages on the crime scenes," agent hotchner explains, not bothered in the least by the number of people hanging onto his every word.
then, he adds.
"the letters have been collected, and as of now they're our primary focus. we believe an in-depth analysis might help us with the profile."
all around the bullpen, the air was charged.
agents taking notes while the team just stood there, shoulders high and gazes unwavering, like a silent affirmation of their superiority.
you wouldn't have appreciated it, the condescendance lingering in the air, aiming to make you and your colleagues feel somewhat impressed.
not if it wasn't for spencer.
the boyish brunette who was leaning against a desk - his desk you presumed, based on the precise alignement of the books displayed - whose eyes on you could be felt from miles away.
prentiss spoke up next, arms crossed in authority.
"with this guy, danger is imminent. he's escalating, and that's why we called the IB. we need more experts on the case."
something the woman said didn't quite register in your mind, your attention focused on keeping your gaze away from spencer.
a blonde one you recognized as penelope led you to the conference room, and you simply followed like a stray puppy yearning to get his owner back.
no one needed to know.
not as the team gathered around the round table, specifically asking you to join the meeting in hopes of receiving your expertise. in the room of qualified profilers trained to spot miscalculated glances and fleeting touches, with eyes like lasers piercing through the illusion of lies, you had to pull yourself together.
spencer made it a difficult task.
“i was thinking i could quickly go through all the letters the unsub wrote to try to find a pattern. i'd just need access to the archive room to find old files, i've worked through a similar case before.”
quick words, evidently suggested like he’d invented the alphabet himself. you almost smiled when you remembered something he said two days ago, in that exact same nonchalant tone.
“studies prove key elements such as sharp angles, uneven pressure or stilted writing can reveal traits linked to psychopathy." he adds, apparently finding the watch around his wrist more interesting than you, sitting across from him.
hotch asserted himself once more.
"actually, the bureau wanted the input of a real language analyst for this task," he said, sharp jaw nodding in your direction. the focus in the room shifted on you as he said your name.
the smile you gave felt forced, pressured by the half a dozen pair of eyes on you. only one made your heart beat faster for all the wrong reasons, and they belonged to the one who knew you as more than a name on a badge, a piece of chess in the game.
"morgan, you'll help her with the profiling. everyone else, i need you on the field"
morgan ?
the man in question gave you a welcoming grin, and though you were hoping for someone else, you nodded in return. for some reason you swore you heard spencer swallow, adam's apple sticking out, and you felt your a slight pinch of something that almost tasted like disappointment.
you weren't a profiler.
you couldn't have known - and he was grateful for that - that the reason he kept his gaze down and hands to himself came from an irrational part of his brain he didn't know existed.
the one that was jealous.
so he gathered his files and abruptly got up, leaving you with morgan as the rest of the team headed back to work, without even looking back.
turns out the dark skinned man had more to himself than flirtarious smiles. you two worked side by side all morning and he helped you delve into the files.
and before you knew it, you'd managed to keep spencer in the back of your mind for hours.
at lunchtime, while snacking on a granola bar, you caught yourself rambling about the meaning of commas in the unsub's letters. your excitement was contagious.
"gee," derek laughed, cutting you off with a chuckle to remind you he couldn’t keep up.
"you're like a female version of reid or something."
you stopped chewing. looked up, alerted. attempted to wipe away some unwanted crumbs and dreamy grin that had appeared on your lips a little too naturally.
"i'll take that as a compliment."
"trust me, pretty girl" he said, giving you a reassuring wink that might've led you to think he knew more than he let on, "that's a compliment."
the door opened.
he stared. spencer.
files in his hands and mouth opened like he was about to say something but lost all ability to form proper words when he heard the exchange. you felt your hands tighten around the empty plastic wrapper.
morgan’s head turned towards you, then reid.
the tension was painfully obvious, he’d heard the last two sentences and that was already more than enough. a little too interested in the newbie to realise his friend was just being welcoming.
“i was just coming here to say we found a new body with another note displayed on the crime scene,” spencer spoke after what felt like ages. he still didn’t look at you.
“-but i guess you’ll do a great work without it, since you make such a great team.”
morgan whistled, attempting to ease the tension with yet another uneeded comment.
“woah, someone’s jealous.”
with a friendly pat on spencer’s very much tense arm, he left, leaving you and your male copycat in a very awkward situation.
suddenly, the conference room felt smaller.
the space, tight. tighter than the shirt sticking to your skin you suddenly felt trapped in. droplets of sweat clung to the back of your neck and you kept your chin down, eyes piercing through the documents laid out on the table.
he didn’t move, not until he cleared his throat and closed the door behind him. “i didn’t know your intention was to befriend the whole BAU," he snarked.
"i didn't know you had such a problem with me being in your life."
your sharpness made him flinch. daring words, toying with the feeling in his heart he was too much of a coward to properly name. nobody he'd ever met had acted this way towards him. with brutal honesty, confronting him with raw emotions he'd be tempted to conceal.
spencer's eyes were locked onto yours when you spoke. he looked vulnerable in this light, but the anger bubbling beneath his ribs didn't stop him from saying.
"i- that's not what i meant" he stuttered, looking both confused and indignated.
you'd pushed your chair out of the way to get up, almost reaching his height now. there was no escape from this conversation - and you'd very much rehearsed in your mind.
"i think you did,"
of course, in your head, it wouldn't have happened here. out of all places, you never liked to bring your feelings into your work… and now in the conference room was far, fat from the appropriate time.
"i think you're jealous" you affirmed with confidence, crosing your arms to prove your point, "jealous of the fact that i was assigned the task, and that derek had to supervise and not you."
gee, even hearing you call him by his first name made him boil.
"m’not jealous. i have three PhDs”
you laughed. indeed, even with academic degrees up his sleeves, he could still be very oblivious.
“not of the case, idiot.”
he knew what you meant.
and paused. swallowed again.
you bit your lip in waiting, almost facepalming yourself at the honesty of your words - you got that way when you were nervous. and you were really nervous now.
“i don’t think i’ve ever been jealous before.” he said, to himself more than you.
never had he encountered someone to be jealous of. he had the brains, the world seemed to like him. see something even he couldn’t sometimes. he was never jealous of the living because he spent most of his time in a world of his own.
and then he met you.
“there’s a first time for everything” you said with a reassuring smile, much softer now. time for trust, trusting someone and allowing them to see behind the illusion. for love, and letting someone in.
barely blinking, your mesmerising eyes are deeply focused on his now.
“i don’t think i liked it, though.”
“being jealous ?”
he nods, admitting. “you’re smart. and so good at what you do, i swear you made the room light up when you walked in.”
the distance between your bodies fades as he takes another step towards you. he nervously talks with his hands.
“and you could be a profiler !” he lets out, “i’ve never met anyone from another department who has enough talent to hypothetically join a higher rank and willingly refuses to even think about it.”
your lips part, a silent gasp.
“and it just hurts to see you here- here with everyone being so…”
the curious angle of your head makes him smile when you question. “so what ?”
“so perfect !”
it almost pains him to admit it. that the beauty you exude makes him ache, tugging at his sensitive heartstrings more often than he’d like to admit. when the elevator door close, or late at night while staring at his phone in hopes of engraving the pixels or your texts in his brain, he admires the closest to perfection the universe has ever created.
you.
"spencer," you let out in an amused giggle. "i'm not interested in your friends. or your job, for that matter."
he puffs some air into his cheeks, bashful. "i know. my brain just... likes to stop working when you're around, or something."
right, or something. with a playful nudge of the arm, you add.
"i am interested in you, though"
his eyes widen, pupils dilating. the little amount of oxygen left in the room is enough to make him slightly choke, which he covers by his hand. germ thing, sure.
"in me ?"
"yeah." someone has to say it, and you will if it means putting an end to the wrenching state of not knowing what you are. "-if you are, that is. unless i completely misunderstood the situation and you're actually jealous of my linguistics diploma-"
he calls your name, almost offended "i speak four languages !"
"i speak five. not that we're counting"
no bother mentionning you're also learning two. he's overwhelmingly close to you, and the smell of his cologne makes you melt little by little.
he utters quietly. "see ? perfect."
there's not exactly much he could do to make this conversation better. like, better than any debate you had over the phone, and yet he adds.
"i really am interested. and i'd like to see you sometimes... outside of work"
"and the elevator"
he laughs. a genuine sound you could get drunk on, and with a rush of adrenaline, reaches forwards to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
"just us. on a date. no work and no elevators involved, i promise"
jealousy looked good on him, earlier when he came in with clenched fists and a dark gaze. but nothing, no other expression could match the one he was wearing on his face. pools of hazel softened around the edges, spencer looked truly enamored.
and that ? that looked even better.
tag list, feel free to comment if you wanna be added/taken off !! @deerfawnn @xervoxs @kaz-03 @cynbx @sleepysleepnomore @emerkinsella89 @sweetheartspence @g4rvez-r3id @peanutalergy @keirareidss @eternlmoonshine @xbluereid @spencilweidblog @corollaim @mostofmeghan @siriuslyval03 @midn1ght-ra1n @rose-of-the-grave @copper-rose-strings @irisinlovee @thecrimsonfog @glossiercheek @littleredwolfnerd @babywinter @1-800-peakyblinders @reidslovegia @sreidahgirl @jjellecubed @sreidahgirl @miniswritinblog
(5 times spencer lets reader touch him, and the 1 time he touches her first)
spencer reid x f!reader
(she/her pronouns used for reader-insert)
fluff
wc: 1819
title from: lover by taylor swift
1. It’s her first day at the BAU, and Hotch is introducing her to everyone on the team. Spencer immediately thinks she’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Her smile is radiant, and her eyes seem to shimmer. He doesn’t even hear Hotch say her name.
She’s going down the row as Hotch says everyone’s name, giving each member a handshake with the loveliest smile on her face.
Spencer is rubbing his hands on his slacks to rid them of his nervous sweat. He doesn’t want to ruin his first impression with clammy hands.
When Hotch gets to Spencer, he says, “And this is Dr. Reid. He doesn’t really do-“
He’s cut off by Spencer returning her handshake. Aaron can count on one hand the number of times that he’s seen Spencer do this in all the time he’s known him.
Everyone is even more shocked when Spencer raises his other hand and encloses hers between both of his.
“It’s nice to meet you, Doctor.”
“Spencer, you can call me Spencer.”
2 She’s only been working at the BAU for a few weeks when Spencer scrambles into the bullpen 45 minutes late. He’s never late. He was awake until the early hours of the morning, too wrapped up in a new book to notice the time. When his alarm sounded at sunrise, he turned it off and accidentally fell back to sleep.
His hair is ruffled and his tie is crooked and his dress shirt isn’t all the way tucked in. Even his messenger bag is half open and on the brink of spilling papers everywhere. He feels so discombobulated, and he just knows that this is going to ruin his entire day.
She’s the first to see him. great. She’s so beautiful, and she’s seeing him as a sloppy mess.
“Hey, Spencer! You okay? We were worried about you.” He knows that she said we, and that means it wasn’t just her who was worried, but his heart feels warm at the thought of her missing him.
He nods and tells her, “Yeah, I overslept.” He’s embarrassed and shakes his head before ducking it down. He takes in his messy appearance and wishes he could start the whole day over.
She reaches out to him and carefully tightens and straightens his tie. She then reaches up to his collar and gently folds it over. He can feel himself blushing at the feeling of her fingertips brushing against his chest and then his neck.
She almost reaches down to the hem of his shirt before she whispers, “I’ll let you take care of that part,” while shyly giggling.
“Right, yes- Um… Thank you.”
“No problem, Spence.”
“Uh… does my hair look okay?” He dares to ask her, pointing up at his head.
She’s about to reach up to smooth some pieces down when Emily calls her over to speak to her.
“You look good, Spencer. You always do, don’t worry,” She smiles before she leaves him.
He’s left gazing after her as she treads towards Emily’s desk. He’s cursing Emily in his head for pulling her away from their moment together. He smooths his shirt down and tucks it in properly as he walks to his desk.
As he traverses through the bullpen, he just barely catches his name in the conversation she’s having with Emily.
“...Spencer doesn’t really like being touched. Something about the germs bothers him.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.” Her brows furrow, “Thank you for telling me,” and she sadly smiles.
He really wants to curse at Emily, now.
3 Weeks go by before she touches him again. Spencer is sorely missing the day that she fixed his tie. He’s starting to consider coming into work with it crooked again to see if that can tempt her to fix it for him, again.
Luckily, he doesn’t have to do that or anything more extreme.
They’re inspecting a scene together, and he’s crouched down over some papers scattered all over the floor. A piece of his hair keeps falling in his eyes as he reads them, but he’s wearing gloves, so he can’t push it back properly. He keeps trying to use his air to blow it out of his eyeline, but it keeps falling back down.
She comes over and crouches next to him, “Need any help?”
He looks over at her and sees that she hasn’t put both of her gloves on yet – she has one on and is about to put on the other.
“Actually, could you help me with this?” He blows air at the piece of hair again and gestures toward it. He’s so proud of himself for asking her.
“Oh, are you sure?” She says as she reaches toward him with her bare hand, freezing mid-air.
I hate you, Emily, he thinks.
He nods with a shy smile, so she completes her movement and tucks the piece of hair back for him.
They have twin blushes on their cheeks as they look away from each other and focus back on the documents in front of them.
4 They’re packed into the backseat of an SUV, Spencer, her, and JJ, in that order.
She climbed into the backseat after him and before JJ, and pressed her entire side against him – their arms and legs completely fused together.
After JJ climbs in, he looks over to see if she’s also touching JJ like this, and they must have at least 6 inches of space between them.
He’s absolutely basking in the feeling of her body pressed against his. He can barely contain his smile.
She softly nudges her leg against his at a red light, so he’s absolutely sure that it wasn’t an accident or a result of the car jostling. He gets the confidence to nudge her leg back, and she looks over at him with a smile. He blushes and ducks his head down.
5 He gets a call in the middle of the workday about his mom's health declining. The center needs his consent for a new medication.
He’s sitting and crying in a random hallway with his knees to his chest. He never sees anyone near here, so he thinks he’s safe to do so, just for a little bit.
“Spence! There you are, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
He looks up at her with red-rimmed eyes and tears streaming down his cheeks.
She crouches down in front of him and places her hands on his knees, rubbing soft circles against him.
“Spence, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” A few more of his tears fall at the endearment.
He frantically wipes his tears away. He doesn’t want her to see him like this. “I’m okay, it’s just my mom… she’s sick.”
She wordlessly moves to sit next to him, and he feels guilty that she’s settling onto the cold, hard, dirty floor.
That is, until she wraps an arm behind him and starts rubbing his back. Her hand rubbing up and down his spine is the most comforting thing he’s ever felt.
He whispers, “She has schizophrenia and lives in a treatment facility.”
She shifts her arm to wrap across his shoulder, then pulls him in closer to her. She places a hand on his head and guides it to rest on her shoulder, soothingly rubbing circles with her thumb.
♡♥♡ He finds her outside of a local precinct, sitting on a bench. As he approaches, he sees her shoulders shaking. Without even thinking, he starts unraveling his scarf to put it around her neck. He’s not sure why she’s out here at 9 pm, but he surely doesn’t want her to be cold.
He stands in front of her with the scarf draped over his hands, ready to place it around her neck, when she looks up at him, and he sees tears streaming down her cheeks.
He’s immediately reminded of how caring she was to him when she found him in a similar position, and hopes he can take care of her half as well as she took care of him.
As he drapes the knit around her neck, she whispers, “I don’t really want to talk about it. Is that okay?”
“No-yes, I mean, of course.” He’s disappointed that she doesn’t want to confide in him, but he would never push her to talk when she doesn’t want to, so he accepts that her wearing his scarf is enough of a win.
He turns on his heel to walk back inside when she stops him, “Wait, um, would you mind just sitting with me?”
“Of course,” He immediately replies.
He lowers himself on the bench next to her and thinks about when they sat side-by-side in the SUV. He wonders if he should press his leg against hers or if it isn’t the right time. That was more of a silly thing that they did, and he doesn’t want her to think that he’s not taking her feelings seriously.
“Thank you, I’m sorry, this is kind of embarrassing.” She feebly says.
“No, no, you’re fine, don’t worry,” He really hopes that he’s being reassuring enough for her. He knows how to calm down unsubs and victims and his mother, but this feels like entirely new territory.
As they sit in silence, he looks down and sees her wringing her hands in her lap. His own fingers twitch as he debates what to do. Normally, he’d fill the silence with questions or facts or statistics.
He tentatively reaches over and places his hand over both of hers.
They don’t talk much, as she requested, and normally that would make Spencer uncomfortable. Typically, he tries to avoid silence and fills it with his rants and ramblings. He even avoids silence in his own head by constantly having a book or headphones in his bag available.
This is different, though. Just her presence makes him feel calm and comfortable.
Eventually, she pulls one of her hands out from under his to wipe away her tears with her sleeve. His heart sinks at the thought that their moment is over.
That is, until she turns her remaining palm over and he realizes she’s trying to hold his hand properly.
She scoots closer to him and points up at the shining stars in the night sky.
“Are there any constellations we can see?” She asks.
He smiles at the opportunity to share his knowledge with her; this is something he knows that he’s good at.
He points out the various constellations above them and tells her about the ones that are present at other times of the year. He doesn’t notice that she’s shifted even closer to him on the bench until their hips touch and she’s lowering her head onto his shoulder.
“Is this okay?” she whispers
“Definitely,” He replies, and he bends his neck to place his head on top of hers, gently squeezing her hand as he does.
pretty pls comment and reblog if u liked! i love talking to u guys and seeing ur cute rambles in the reblog tags <3
Summary : You go on a (bad) date, instead of joining the rest of the team for drinks, and Spencer decides to drink his jealousy away.
Word Count : 8k
Notes/CWs : Alcohol, Spencer is drunk (not very drunk, just enough to be an idiot), idiots in love, I promise this is fluff. The guy the reader goes on a date with is kind of an incel, no use of Y/N, for all intents and purposes, this is a gn!reader - (title from Jeff Buckley's song I know it's over) Alternative title - Spencer Reid find a healthy coping mechanism challenge (IMPOSSIBLE!!!)
masterlist
the same fic on ao3
"O'Keeffe's tonight ! Non-negotiable !" Garcia declared the second the team put down their go bags, "and no boy genius, you will not get away from this one !"
"But-" the doctor tried anyway.
"No buts ! You know how I love them, but I can tell you're not saying the second 't' and so I don't want to hear it !"
You chuckled at her insistence, and at the defeated look that formed on Spencer's face.
"Pen," you started, in a voice you'd learned watching Steve Irwin approach dangerous animals on TV, "I can't join you guys. I already took a rain check on my date twice, I'm not doing it a third time."
Garcia gasped like you'd stabbed her in the back, "I can't believe you'd choose a man over me," she bemoaned, a hand to her chest.
"Well, in any other circumstances I wouldn't," you slipped your coat on, grabbing your purse, "but I promised I'd tell him as soon as I was off of work. And the first date went so well, I don't want to disappoint him again."
The colorful woman resigned with a dramatic sigh, waving you off, "Fine, fine, go get your prince charming. But you better tell me everything. And I mean everything." her tone left no place for arguing, and you nodded dutifully.
"Yes my love," you kissed your friend's cheek, as Emily and JJ echoed Penelope's wish to hear about the date.
"I have to go get ready, see you all on Monday !" you chirped as you waved goodbye to your colleagues. Morgan winked at you, Rossi nodded, and your eyes lingered on the young genius at his desk.
Spencer didn't look up. In fact, it looked as if he was attempting to make himself invisible, to disappear completely. You assumed he'd curled into himself in the hopes of being forgotten by Garcia's enthusiasm, but something in your chest told you that wasn't quite right. Trying to ignore the feeling, you ruffled his hair as you walked past him.
"Have fun doc," you smiled, "and close that godforsaken file."
Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly, and he quickly closed the folder, clearing his throat.
"You too- have fun, I mean." he replied back quietly, eyes still fixed downward.
Stepping out of his office, Garcia pounced on Hotch, stating that he wouldn't get away from her by overworking himself. Morgan and JJ wished you luck on your date, and you bid all of them goodnight.
"Drinks on Rossi !" Garcia sang as you stepped into the elevator, earning her cheers from the team, and a mumbled "When did I agree to that ?" from the man in question.
At O'Keeffe's, the team settled into their usual booth, and Spencer slid into the furthest corner of it, preparing for a night loud music and louder voices, of his friends trying to get him to dance, of Hotch and Rossi trying to hold a conversation about some mundane thing. A night of little interest for the young doctor.
But as Penelope, JJ and Emily bee lined for the bar, he found himself thinking about the person missing from this little gathering. A date. You were on a date. And not just a date, but a second one, after a seemingly successful first that he hadn't heard about.
It wasn't strange that he hadn't known about it. After all, you rarely spoke of such things with him, and he with you, though that might've been more due to a lack of things to tell on his end. For some reason though, the thought of you, dressed to the nines and laughing at some clever story that wasn't his made his stomach churn. It was stupid, he'd never done or said anything to hint at his feelings toward you, let alone ask you out. The jealousy he felt, the regret, it was all from his own indecision and cowardice. Still, the knot in his chest tightened as the girls returned, handing everyone their drinks as Emily raised her glass, cheering to your date.
Reid barely even lifted his lemonade, lazily circling the straw around the rim of the glass.
"What's up pretty boy ?" Derek smirked, "Did you finally get bored of lemonade ?"
Spencer rolled his eyes, and Emily's shoulder bumped his, "Come on genius, cheer up, we got the guy ! now's the time to celebrate, not sulk," she teased.
"Well maybe I just celebrate more quietly than you all." he simply stated, taking a sip of his drink.
"Why not just let loose a little ? You know, one or two drinks wouldn't kill you," Derek suggested, "I know you're not a fan, but it really does help with the whole anxious tension you've got going."
"Yeah ! Maybe then you'd dance with me boy wonder !" Garcia seconded with a bright grin.
"Don't listen to them Reid. You don't have to drink to enjoy yourself." Hotch chimed in, his tone low and comforting, "It helps, but it's not required."
The young man sighed, looking up as Garcia and JJ shimmied their way through the crowd. He wasn't the biggest fan of the bitter tang of alcohol. In his opinion, any drink tasted better without it, and all it did was compromise your actions and your memory. But right now, it wasn't the most prevalent thought going through his mind. Right now, Spencer was desperate for anything to pull his mind free of the traitorous thoughts of you at that dinner table, of your eyes on someone that wasn't him, of your hands in someone else's, of your lips on someone else's.
Under the surprised look of his coworkers, Reid suddenly grabbed Morgan's beer, chugging it down with his eyes shut tight, as if the lack of visual stimuli might help with the bitterness of the drink.
"Woah, slow down there cowboy," his friend chuckled incredulously as Spencer coughed, Emily patting his back.
"What was that ?" she asked, half amused half concerned.
"Nothing. You're right," he mumbled as he squeezed out of the booth, turning to Morgan "I'll get you another one."
Tonight, he would drink. Maybe alcohol would dull the grief he felt. Maybe he'd finally accept to dance with his friends. Maybe for a moment, he'd manage to forget you.
The waiter had only just brought the main course, yet you already found yourself aching to ask for the bill.
It had started off so well. You'd gotten ready just in time, clad in one of your favorite outfits, one that toed the line between formal and casual perfectly. Your hair had been cooperating, which felt like a miracle, and you'd even managed to put on that fantastic perfume that JJ had gotten you for your birthday and that you hadn't yet found a good excuse to try.
He'd knocked only two minutes after the agreed upon time, which, in your book, was almost early. As soon as you'd opened the door, you'd been met with a bouquet of lilies, the flowers glowing in their bloom, and the attention warmed your heart so thoroughly that you decided against telling him that they would probably end up somewhere where you couldn't appreciate them in order to prevent your cat from the deadly snack.
The restaurant was dim in a way that made everything look charming, and he'd pulled a chair for you, smiling as you thanked him. The discussion had flown exactly like it should have now that the awkwardness of the first date was behind you, and you'd even found yourself laughing at some of his stories.
And yet somehow, there you were. Smile pinched like you were fighting against the impending roll of your eyes, the hold on your glass just loose enough to keep it from shattering in your hand.
After apologizing for the date's delay, the topic had strayed toward your respective dating history. You'd counted, and in the last thirty minutes, the man in front of you had called three of his exes crazy, had made two comments on "females", and one about how you were supposedly "different". In just half an hour, every green flag you'd encountered up until now turned the color of the half empty wine glass in your hand, and all that was left on your mind was frustration, as well as a nagging question.
How do I get out of this ?
As you ate your dinner, absentmindedly nodding along to your date's words – not that he seemed to notice, too entertained by the sound of his own voice – you reviewed your options. Staying until the end of dinner would mean declining his attempts at driving you back to your place, or worse, to his own. Declining would most likely mean confrontation, and considering the week and a half you'd just spent, you had neither the energy nor the patience to deal with this.
Now, you could fake a case, but considering that the team was at the bar right now, you doubted they'd be in any state to help with that. Of course, Hotch would probably be close to sober, but the idea of texting your Unit chief to ask him to save you from a disastrous date seemed ridiculous.
You were lost in reflection when your phone pinged once. Twice. Three times.
From the look on his face, your date was less than happy to be interrupted in his monologue. Trying your best to appear apologetic, you grabbed your phone as it kept pinging.
"Sorry– I should check this out, I'll be right back–"
Excusing yourself, you made it to the restaurant's restrooms before opening your phone.
9:34
Boy Genius : Hi
Boy Genius : Hows' si it gonig?
Boy Genius : how is it Gong ?*
Boy Genius : Going*
Boy Genius : Sorry
Boy Genius : goof ?
Boy Genius : Can't wrte srry
Boy Genius : Mrgans being mean
Boy Genius : Mss u
You chuckled to yourself at the texts.
9:37
You : I thought you didn't drink ?
Boy Genius : Hi
You : Hi Spencer
Boy Genius : S your date ovre?
Boy Genius : over*
Boy Genius : ?
You : Not exactly
After watching the dots appear as he wrote for a few minutes, you started to worry.
9:44
You : Are you okay ?
Instead of replying, Spencer called you.
"Hey, are you alright ?"
"Couldn't write– Damn phone–" his language makes you gasp teasingly.
"Reid !"
"Sorry– 's just annoying," he mumbled. You could hear the way his words slurred even through the muffled noise of the bar around him. In the distance, you could hear the familiar pitch of Garcia's voice, the hum of Morgan's, followed by bright laughter.
"You didn't answer my question Spence," you reminded, "are you ok ?"
On the other end of the line, the young doctor made a noise akin to that of a horse huffing through closed lips, "m'fine, I'm great, whatever," he replied, deepening your confusion.
"Uh-huh, sure honey," you grinned fondly, and he squeaked, though you couldn't tell if the sound was a reaction to your words or to his surroundings, "Come on, what's up ? Why are you drinking ? I've never seen you drink alcohol before."
"Not true. I tasted Rossi's wine last time," he countered, making you roll your eyes in response.
"Sure, but that wasn't drinking, that was tasting"
To this, you heard him mumble a slurred "tomay-to tomah-to" before Derek's loud voice cut through. He must have grabbed Spencer phone, because you could hear the doctor's protests, now pushed to the background.
"Why hello beautiful," the agent purred, "how's the date going ?"
Chuckling through a sigh, you checked the time, "Could be better. I was trying to find a reason to flee, and it looks like our resident genius just gave me one."
Rendered oblivious to your discomfort by his own alcohol consumption, he exclaimed, "Oh don't worry about pretty boy ! Go and enjoy your date !"
Were you worried about Reid ? Sure, in the way one would be worried about a friend in the hospital, knowing full well that they're in good hands, surrounded by qualified people. But your date didn't need to know that. For all he knew, one of your friends was in mortal danger and their safety was your immediate responsibility.
With that in mind, you wished your friends a good evening, ignoring Spencer's distant protests to you hanging up, and you walked back to the table. Combing some mess back into your carefully arranged hair, you joined him, now wearing a meticulously crafted frown, lips tugged down by concern. The act seemed to work, because as soon as you sat back down, his expression shifted.
"What's wrong ?"
"Oh, it's–" you sighed in feigned exasperation and looked down, "I'm so sorry, I'm going to have to leave early. I need to go take care of a friend."
Disappointment flooded his face, and you almost felt bad.
"Can't someone else ?" he suggested, but you tilted your head and shook it.
"No… All of our mutual friends are drunk, but he's gone past his limit, and I can't leave him like that," you sighed again, and decided to add something to really bury the date, "And he's my roommate, so–"
His frown suggested that your plan had been successful, "You never said anything about a roommate."
Pressing a hand over your mouth, you muttered, "Oh– Sorry, I wasn't planning on– Well I usually don't tell people, because– Well, they usually think it's weird." you fake a nervous laugh as you slip on your coat, "We should do a movie night next time, the three of us,"
"Oh– Uh, maybe," you'd won, "We'll talk about it over text, yeah ?"
"Sure !" you nodded, waving a waiter over and pulling out your wallet. When he offered to pay, you accepted without much of a fight, and in an instant, you were both out of the restaurant.
"Should I drive you ?" he didn't seem too convinced with his own offer, and relief bloomed in his eyes when you shook your head.
"I'll just take a cab. Thank you."
After a rather awkward farewell, you managed to escape. In the rear view mirror, the restaurant slowly shrank until it was nothing but a dot in the distance, and only then did you let out the breath you'd been holding onto. Diving a hand into your pocket, you fished out your phone and checked the time. Barely ten pm, you were headed home, and you regretted not having taken Garcia up on her invitation.
Though you supposed you still could.
Updating the cab driver on your destination, you adjusted your coat. Once in the bar, you'd feel outrageously overdressed, but that thought was quickly swallowed by the memory of Spencer's inebriated voice on the phone. Despite what you'd told yourself earlier, you did harbor some worry for your friend. You had no doubt that the team wouldn't let anything happen to him, and still something gnawed at you – why had he been drinking in the first place ?
When you'd first joined the team, you'd asked Emily if there had been a reason to his sobriety, and she'd been the one to bring up the hypothesis that he might've feared the addictive quality of alcohol. Only about a year later did he first tell you about his traumatic history with addiction itself, and upon hearing about it, his boundary made absolute sense in your mind.
Safe to say that your worry tonight, the one that festered with every second you spent in the narrow car, wasn't born from the alcohol consumption in itself, but from the thoughts that had led him to its decision. Had something happened ? He'd seemed off when you left the bullpen, but you hadn't thought much of it. Was something wrong ? Would he tell anyone about it ? Would he tell you ?
Drowning in the sudden onslaught of questions, you barely heard as the driver announced you'd arrived at the bar. After tipping him for the change in itinerary, you stepped out of the vehicle, heels clicking against the wet pavement as you made your way toward the bustling entrance.
Inside, a myriad of scents flooded your senses, lights and loud music sending shockwaves through your nervous system as you tried to scan the crowd.
A high pitched squeal told you you'd been spotted first, and Penelope strode your way with sparkling confidence.
"What are you doing here ? Oh my lord look at you !" she gushed, hands squeezing your shoulders affectionately as her eyes trailed up and down your figure, "You, my friend, are a vision."
Smiling helplessly at the praise, you shook your head, "Thank you darling, you're glowing."
Garcia gasped in delight and gave you a turn, her colorful skirt swirling under the neon lights, "You like it ? Oh we should totally go shopping sometime !" when you chuckled and nodded, she seemed to suddenly remember why she was only greeting you now.
"Wait, weren't you supposed to be on your date with Mr. Hunk-supreme ?"
A simple shake of your head, paired with lips pulled into a thin line, told her all that she needed to know.
"Bad-bad ?" she frowned sympathetically.
"I'll tell you about it tomorrow," you promised, "right now you should go have fun. Oh, but before you go, could you tell me where Spence is ?"
Hand clasped around yours, Garcia danced her way through the crowd, and like some sort of magical and highly sequined train, dropped you off at your station with a kiss on the cheek. The booth was a locker room for the team members that took turns on the dance floor. Its current guardians, who were surely replacing a long gone Aaron Hotchner and David Rossi, were packed into a corner, seemingly deep in conversation, though not deep enough to stop the young doctor from lighting up at the sight of you.
"Well hi there silly boy," you grinned as he beamed at you. Morgan raised his glass in your direction.
"Looks like your saving grace is here kid," he gave Spencer a brotherly pat on the back, "can I leave you two there ? Some ladies have been eyeing me for about half an hour and I've got an itch to scratch."
"Ew," you joked, "yes, Don Juan, go, I've got him."
Settling in his place, you took a moment to admire the sight in front of you. Spencer Reid, usually so delicately put together, was unrecognizable. His hair was messier than usual, strands forming thin curtains over his brown eyes, themselves lined by puffy flushed skin that had seemed to suggest he'd been crying. His cheeks were a blotchy pink shade, matching the tips of his ears and the length of his neck, down to the hint of collarbone peeking from where he'd clumsily pulled his tie loose. His lips were parted like he was about to speak, but his eyes were the ones doing the talking – they hadn't left you since you'd entered his field of vision, and you could feel some part of yourself melting at the adoration they displayed. Whether a result of his drunken state of a translation of true reverence, the end result remained the same, your own expression softening into fond concern.
"Hi," he whispered, and for a moment, you forgot all about your disastrous date, instead raising a hand to his cheek, brushing curls behind his ear.
"Hi Spencer," you smiled, "so, what's gotten into you ?"
He shrugged, his shoulders lifting and dropping unevenly, and leaned his head toward your hand, "Dunno"
Narrowing your eyes in feigned disbelief, you raised a brow, "Oh really ? You don't know why you suddenly decided to drink alcohol to the point of drunkenness when you haven't finished a glass or even ordered one since I met you ? Come on."
Another shrug, and you pulled your hand away, crossing your arms over your chest, "Do you think me a fool, Spencer Reid ?"
The immediate shake of his head could've had you cooing at him like you would a puppy, had your will been any weaker than it was.
"Then why are you blatantly lying to me ?"
Spencer leaned into the backrest of his seat, eyes finally leaving you and finding his own hands in his lap. Softening your tone, you leaned closer, "You can tell me if something's wrong. There's nothing you could say that could make me think any less of you. I'm just worried."
Tentatively, he glanced back up at you, before dropping his eyes again and giving you another uneven shrug. The sigh that left you was more akin to resignation than to annoyance, and your eyes scanned the crowd for a familiar face before turning back to him.
"Do you want to go home ?" you suggested quietly. Spencer gave a slight shake of his head, and you figured it had more to do with a hypothetical lack of company than with him having a great time in this very overwhelming environment. With that in mind, you worded your question differently, "Do you want to get out of here ? I can stay with you if you'd like."
His honeyed eyes found yours again, and you wished the men you dated had for you half of the devotion his drunken self seemed to hold. His chin lowered in a sheepish nod, and you left the booth to find one of your friends. Once the role of locker room guardians had been successfully delegated to JJ and Emily, leaving Garcia to dance with her personal playboy – who had apparently abandoned his conquest of the previous group of girls – you grabbed your purse and helped Spencer slip out of the booth. Waving your friends goodbye, you made your way toward the exit, a stumbling Dr. Reid a step behind.
The night air was a sweet relief compared to the packed atmosphere of the bar, and yet, Spencer recoiled as it hit him.
"Cold," he breathed through his teeth, wrapping his jacket tighter around his frame. His complaint seemed to amuse you as you hooked your arm through his.
"Come on pretty boy. Let's take a walk," you tugged him forward, and he followed with the gracelessness of a rag doll.
"A walk ?"
"Yes, a walk." you grinned, "You know, that thing where you put one foot in front of the other and move forward ?"
His scoff materialized into a small cloud at the corner of your vision, and you could almost hear the roll of his eyes, "I meant walk where ?"
With a shrug, you led him to a crosswalk, holding him back when he didn't stop.
"Being drunk doesn't suit your brain."
"That's not an answer," he mumbled, shoulder pressed against your own.
"Well I don't know Reid, do people always need to have a destination in mind when they walk ?"
"Most of the time yes, or else they'd get lost."
Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. How could this man still argue everything you said while simultaneously being unable to walk in a straight line ?
"Well then we're walking to your place." you decided as the cars stopped to let you pass.
"My place ?" Spencer's voice was weaker as he spoke, his tone akin to one of a whiny child.
"Do you have something against it ?" your brow arched as you glanced his way, eyes following the slight pout of his mouth, the downturn of his own gaze.
"No– I mean I don't– I just," he pushed his glasses further up his nose with the help of his right shoulder, visibly unwilling to pull his hands out of his pockets, "I don't want to– to…" a huff left his lips, "Never mind. It's stupid."
"Hey," you squeezed his arm, "what is it ? Is your place flooded or something ?"
His gaze was fixed on his shoes as he answered, words slurring more severely when he lowered his voice, "Just don't wan' be alone."
His mumbled sentence squeezed your heart as you looked up at him. For a moment, you just watched him. The way loose curls brushed across his brow, furrowed in stubborn reluctance. The flush that had spread up the back of his neck, settling at the tip of his nose and ears, whether from the cold or the beers. From here, he looked nothing like the careful genius you spent almost every day with. From here, he looked nothing like the professional profiler, the one whose eyes always swept across everything like every inch of a scene was a crucial element. From here, he looked like the young man you'd sometimes met, on quiet afternoons filled with paperwork, the one who performed magic tricks to make his friends smile, or rambled about the history of some topic you'd mentioned in passing, turning red anytime someone ruffled his hair.
From here, he looked like a young man you desperately wanted to ki–
The sudden pull of your arm reached your brain before his shriek did. Your feet fumbled for balance, inadvertently catching onto the protruding edge of a tile as you vainly attempted to prevent the fall. Spencer landed first, his backside landing in very conveniently placed bushes with a surprisingly loud crack. You followed suit, hands catching onto the metal fence his back was pressed against, stopping your face from hitting it full force from a few inches. Your knee was already burning up, but you found more useful to swat Spencer in the shoulder than to check for injury.
"Ow–" he yelped, sinking further into the bushes.
"You absolute–" you pushed against the railing to try to stand, only to fall back down, hand braced against his stomach, "–idiot–"
Spencer, uselessly attempting to pull his sleeve free of the branches, whined, "Don't press there– I'm gon' throw up–"
Just as his words reached you, so did the sheer absurdness of the situation, and you hid your face against the young doctor's woolen sleeve as a violent wave of laughter overtook you, shoulders hiccuping with the intensity of it. You felt the moment your amusement contaminated him through the vibrations of his chest, and the mental image of two idiots cackling while half buried into the bushes of someone's front yard only made the laughter burn brighter.
After a few minutes spent fighting for breath, you patted his arm, "Come on genius," while your free hand yanked your own coat free.
"Can't–" he looked up at you with those damned brown eyes, "'m stuck."
Rolling your eyes, you raised to your knees and grabbed the fence again, "Yes you can, come on," and with that, you got back on your feet, stepping away from the bushes before bending down to dust your knees off.
When your eyes met again, the look you found could've lit up the entire street. The brown of his irises was amber and gold from the streetlights, his hair mussed, curls framing his brow with a sweetness that your heart deemed unfair, thumping heavily against your ribs. He looked stupidly boyish in this position, settled awkwardly into the bushes, sleeves stuck to the branches, knees drawn up in a way that made it obvious that his skeleton hadn't been designed to fold this way. Still, he looked utterly entranced by whatever he saw when he looked up at you. You'd never been one for the spotlight, nor had you ever been firmly against it, but with his eyes on you, suddenly you understood both the dizzying thrill of it and the stage fright. Warmth bubbled deep within your chest and climbed its way up your throat, pushing past your lips in a nervous giggle as you glanced away, feigning interest in your scraped knee for a fleeting instant.
"Are you planning on sleeping there boy wonder ?" you look back at him, praying that your teasing tone paired with his inebriated perception can effectively disguise the distinct flutter in your stomach.
Any other day, Spencer would've looked away, red in the face as soon as he'd been caught staring. This wasn't any other day. This was the day his entire belief system had been reduced to dust particles around the halo that the light had created with your hair. This was the day Spencer Reid encountered the divine, and the scientist in him ached to gather as much information as he could before you vanished into thin air. With this in mind, he drank all of you in, his eyes greedily sweeping over everything that made you you, everything he'd always adored quietly, everything that wasn't his to keep.
"Spencer ?"
The thought dug its claws into his heart. Suddenly, he wished he was still at that table, a disgustingly bitter beer squeezed between his tense fingers. He'd never liked drinking, and yet in this moment, he felt dreadfully sober.
Your outfit was a carefully crafted one, as was the subtly elegant way your hair had been pulled back, leaving only a delicate strand, framing your artful features. What he wouldn't give to be the subject of such attentive preparation. What he wouldn't give to be the one you graced with your time.
The gentle brush of fingertips against his knuckles pulled him back to reality, only to nearly send him reeling at the mere sign of concern in your expression.
"Spence ?" your voice was quieter, softer, your own tone betraying you.
"Hm ?" he piped up, heat rising to his cheeks as your fingers slipped through his.
"Do you need help getting up ?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but every thought in his mind suddenly rushed to get out, cluttering his throat and rendering him utterly speechless. His lips clamped shut again as he gave up on speaking, instead nodding sheepishly.
Instantly, you sprang into action, the hand that wasn't holding his moving to steady him as you pulled him up. After stumbling like a newborn fawn for a moment, Spencer's feet finally found solid ground again, and you let out a small huff of breath.
"For someone so scrawny, you're surprisingly heavy," you noted, breathless amusement coloring your voice, "has anyone ever told you that ?"
"Hm," the doctor nodded, fingers still securely wrapped around yours, "Morgan. Repeatedly."
You laughed, and Spencer thought that if he could get drunk on the sound alone, he'd probably give up on sobriety altogether.
"So," you let go of his hand to dust off the back of his coat, and as his fingers pathetically tensed around thin air, he found himself already missing the contact, "you don't want to go back to your place, because you'll be on your own ?"
The sudden reminder of his impending loneliness had a melodramatic sigh escape from his lips, and he nodded slowly.
"Well, Dr.Professional-Kicked-Puppy," he tried rolling his eyes at the name, inconclusively. "I can't offer to stay at yours because I desperately need to change, but you can crash at mine if you want"
You turned your head to catch the way his eyes lit up, "Would you like that ?"
Spencer nodded quickly, before kicking his legs into action and catching up to you. After a few moments of walking side by side in silence, shoulders bumping with each of his stumbling steps, he gathered the necessary courage to utter a quiet "Thank you", to which you responded by slipping your arm through the crook of his elbow.
The chill night air, the quiet street, the soft hum of the city… Everything that should've contributed to soothing his usually relentless train of thought was only participating in his silent agony. If the young doctor was known for anything, it was surely for his inability to keep his mouth shut, especially at times when he needed to most. This was one of those times.
"So, how'd your date go ?" the words tumbled out before he could stop them, slightly blurred where alcohol lingered. As much as he'd wanted to convince himself he had sobered up, anyone with eyes and ears would've been able to tell that he very much had not. Despite this, he knew with unshakable certainty that he had absolutely no desire to hear you talk about the oh so wonderful guy whom you'd picked over Garcia's slightly threatening invitation to the bar twice now.
Still, he listened as you told him about the man, about the beautiful flowers he'd brought you, about his impeccable choice in restaurant, his fabulous storytelling… He listened, oblivious to the underlying disappointment in your words, to the lack of details in your own retelling, or even to the fact that his own jealousy and drunken mind had completely altered your tone and choice of words, making you sound, to his ears, like a besotted teenager.
By the time you reached the top of your stairs, Spencer's lungs and heart were ready to give out. You'd recounted all of the jokes your date had made – which was just three, but to his intoxicated mind, it might as well have been twenty – and he regretted ever asking. When you unlocked the door and pushed it open, kicking off your shoes with a relieved sigh, he considered fleeing. His thought process was interrupted as your voice pulled him back, making him lift his eyes to meet yours. The soft light of a lamp in the background framed your silhouette as you leaned your temple against the wooden door.
"Are you coming in ? I wouldn't recommend the doormat for sleeping."
The image of you earlier, eyes filled with concern, hair lit back by the streetlights flashed through his mind, and he was once again hit by the sheer adoration he felt for you. When his voice passed his lips, it sounded weaker than he'd expected it to.
"Do you like him ?"
Despite the backlighting casting shadows over your features, he caught the way your brows pinched together slightly. You shrugged.
"He's nice."
Spencer let out a sound that might've been an amused breath or a quiet sob.
"You went on two dates with him, and that's all you can say ?"
Your lips pursed for a moment, before relaxing into a thin smile, "Well, one and a half, since you called me in the middle of dinner."
The young doctor dragged his feet to your couch, plopping onto it and hiding his face into his hands.
"Oh god– Right–" he raked a tense hand through his messy hair, "I'm– so sorry. I just– I–"
It occurred to him, in the form of a distant echo of consciousness, that telling you that he'd called because he missed you and was sickeningly jealous of the man you were with was probably not the wisest thing to say. Thankfully, your soft laughter stopped him in his tracks.
"It's okay, doc." you settled next to him on the worn couch, far enough not to touch, but close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from your skin. Your coat had been shrugged off on a chair, and the sight of your bare shoulders made him feel like a parched Victorian man.
"You saved me, really," you huffed in amusement, settling back against the cushions. Bewilderment felt too light of a term to describe the utter confusion he was feeling.
"What– Saved you ? Was he– Were you in danger ? Oh my god why didn't you say so– We would've–"
You cut him off by flicking his forehead gently, "You would've what ? Stumbled your way over and threatened him by standing on your hind legs like a red panda ? As much as I adore you, boy genius, you're not exactly intimidating. Especially in comparison to a 6'2 man twice your width."
"I–" color rushed to his cheeks, "I can be," he mumbled, "And red pandas don't have any other way to defend themselves, as their claws are mostly used for climbing trees. They have to find other tactics. I don't, I have my brain and a gun."
"Not so sure about the brain part in your state," you hummed with a light smirk, "but in any case, I wasn't in danger. Well, unless you consider boredom and exasperation to be dangers."
"Actually," Spencer piped up, "though some studies show that boredom can lead to impulsive decision making, it's actually a necessary and very healthy way to rest the mind and to cultivate creativity–"
"Spencer"
"Sorry–"
You sighed and shook your head, an amused smile still lifting your cheeks, "Anyway. I wasn't in danger. And it went well, for the most part. But when he started referring to his exes as 'crazy', and going on about how 'women always choose to be with assholes instead of nice guys like him', I just started regretting turning Pen's offer down."
"Jesus," he huffed.
"Yeah." you chuckled, "So when you called, I was just… Relieved."
Spencer barely tried to conceal the smile that dug dimples into his cheeks.
"Glad to be of service."
You bumped his shoulder with your own, and he felt lightning at the spot of contact, "My knight in knitted sweaters" you mused.
The flush of his cheeks spread over his entire face, and he glanced down at his lap to catch his breath.
"That sounds ridiculous," he whispered.
"It sounds perfectly you."
After rummaging through your cabinets, you found some food to snack on and handed it to Spencer while announcing that you were just going to take a quick shower and change. While he grieved how beautiful you looked in your very put-together outfit, the idea of seeing you in lounge wear was making his skin buzz. Or maybe that was another side effect of his drinking. In any case, the idea that you'd cut your – albeit boring – date to come tend to him was making him dizzy again. He pushed a mouthful of biscuits past his lips and tried not to focus on the sound of water hitting the tiles.
Instead, he sank further into the couch and let his eyes close for just a second. You were always there when he did. When sleep tugged him closer, and memories and fiction melted together. Even now, in the darkness of his fogged up mind, you smiled at him, nodded along as he spoke, listened in the way only you did. The first time you'd called him by his first name, he'd froze up, and you'd worried about having crossed a line. You hadn't, of course, but there was no way to rationally explain the dizzying amount of oxytocin that had flooded his veins at the sound of your voice. So he just reassured you that it was okay, that you could call him however you preferred. You'd never used his last name again, only ever switching up with a playful "doc" or a gentle "Spence", both of which always made his knees threaten to buckle.
"Spencer ?"
He sometimes dreamt that you'd whisper his name to wake him up in the morning, fingers carding through his hair. Or that you'd smile through it at the sight of him. On lonelier nights, when he reluctantly allowed himself more depraved thoughts, he'd dream of you breathing his name out in a moan, only to wake up to an empty bed.
In his dreams, your voice heals his wounds. In his dreams, you say his name like there is a hidden meaning.
"Spence,"
He could smell your pomegranate scented shampoo, and he wondered if he could overdose of a smell. What a sweet end that would be.
"Sweetheart," you brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear, and his lashes fluttered open, "hi," you smiled softly.
"Hm," he blinked drowsily, taking in your damp hair and oversized hoodie, "hi"
"You fell asleep," you were crouched in front of him, one hand on his knee and the other still brushing against the shell of his ear, "you'd be more comfortable in bed."
It took a few long seconds for your words to reach him, but when they did, he immediately shook his head, "I'm not taking your bed," he slurred quietly, "I can sleep here, it's fine,"
"Oh it wasn't a suggestion darling," you hummed, and fireworks erupted in his chest at the term of endearment. He tried to play it cool, which, considering the blotchy red on his cheeks, he was failing at miserably.
"But I dun' wanna bother you," he managed to mutter, "I don't want you to sleep on the couch,"
You chuckled and tilted your head to the side, "Well my bed is big enough for the both of us. If you're ok with that."
Spencer nodded before he could even fully comprehend what that entailed. Still, in his state, the panic and excitement he might've felt was considerably dulled by the promise of comfort.
"Alright then. Come on," you whispered as you helped him to his feet.
You led him to your bedroom, laughing breathlessly every time his weight shifted.
"I get why you don't drink now" you huffed, "you big baby,"
He whined in response, plopping down onto the bed and lazily pushing his shoes off with his feet, and complaining under his breath when he didn't manage to. With an exasperated sigh, you crouched down again and gently untied his shoe laces before pulling them off of his feet. His mismatched socks were next, and as you carefully folded them together, the young genius laid down over the covers with the grace of a wooden plank.
"At least get under the covers," you shook your head as he groaned and clumsily slipped under them.
You rounded the bed and settled beside him, laying on your side to face him. He mirrored you, curls spreading messily over the pillow.
For a moment, you stayed like this, looking at each other in the dim light. Then, barely loud enough for you to hear, a whisper cut through the silence.
"You looked like an angel" his voice was hushed, as if this thought wasn't meant for the outside world, "earlier. Well– still."
You were grateful for the low lighting as you felt your cheeks burn up.
"You're drunk," you whispered with a smile, "I think your perception is a little affected."
He shook his head, "I don't think so. I mean, yes, but– you are. I mean, you look– you always look–" he huffed in frustration.
"Thank you, Spence," you grinned, cutting his stuttered attempt short.
After another second, he spoke again.
"Are you disappointed ?"
His question pulled your brows together, "By what ?"
Spencer's teeth pulled at some loose skin on his lip, "The date. It was the second one, so surely the first one had gone well,"
You thought for a moment.
"Well… I guess so. But not exactly surprised, just… passively disappointed." you responded honestly, "Though I didn't expect too much anyway."
Now it was his turn to frown, "So… Why'd you go on a second date with him ? Let alone a first ?"
You shrugged, "Well, I wanted to give it a try. And… He asked."
"Is that all it takes ?" he whispered, not to offend, but with genuine curiosity. And something akin to hope, "To ask ?"
"It depends, but it's always a good start." you hummed, "If no one asked, no one would go on dates."
His frown deepened, "I guess that makes sense."
Again, silence settled over the both of you, and for a moment, you thought maybe Spencer had fallen asleep. Which made it all the more surprising when he murmured your name.
"Yeah ?"
"Would you ever… Go out ? With me ?"
His question gave you pause. Not because of hesitation, but because you remembered his intoxication. As much as hearing the question from his lips warmed your chest, you couldn't imagine what you would do if he didn't remember this conversation in the morning.
"Maybe you should ask me when you're sober, Spence."
"Would you say yes ?"
"Well, you'll have to find out I guess," you teased.
"Not fair," he argued quietly, and you chuckled.
"Well the world isn't fair. Deal with it."
Even in the dark, you could see the way his eyes rolled.
For a few minutes, he seemed to be debating something. He rolled over to his back, hands laced over his stomach, eyes fixed on the glowing stars you'd stuck to the ceiling when you'd moved here years ago. You waited, wanting to see if he'd let you in on whatever was going on in that genius head of his.
He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to piece the words together without breaking. When he finally spoke, it was in the softest voice you'd ever heard from him.
"I felt horrible." he whispered, "When you talked about it. Back in the bullpen. When you turned Garcia down, and the girls started gushing about that… man that you'd been on a date with." you caught the hollow in his cheek, where he was biting into the flesh, "I couldn't– I felt sad, and– and angry– which is stupid because it's not your fault, and I've just– I've never felt that before. Not the anger, but the– the ache–" one of his hands pressed against his sternum, "It was like someone had punched me in the stomach, and I couldn't think about anything except the fact that you– that you were with some– some guy, and I couldn't stop picturing you laughing, and just– smiling at him, and when Emily talked about how date number two was usually when people kissed, and I just– I wanted to throw up–"
You waited to see if he was done with his train of thought before speaking.
"Well, I didn't kiss him," you'd intended for this to be some sort of humorous remark, but it only pulled a sigh of genuine relief from Spencer.
"So… You drank because you were jealous ?" you suggested. At first, he seemed about to protest, but then his features softened and he pursed his lips.
"I guess so." he fidgeted slightly, "But mostly, I was… Frustrated. A few years after I'd started at the BAU, I'd asked Elle why I couldn't get a date. She told me the only reason was that I didn't ever ask anyone out. And– I couldn't get that out of my head. What if you'd– what if you'd met someone you really liked, and I'd missed my only chance because I'd been too busy getting stuck in my own head ? What if–"
You took his hand in his before he could damage the skin around his nails any further, effectively interrupting his spiraling.
"You didn't miss out on anything. Just… Ask me again when you're sober. Even if it's while stumbling over your own words. Even if it's written down because you couldn't make yourself say it. I don't care. Just ask again." you whispered, "Trust me."
His fingers curled around yours, and he nodded slowly.
"Now," you reached out to turn off your lamp, "You should sleep, or you'll be even worse off in the morning."
He groaned in complaint, and you chuckled at the sound, "Hey, you chose to drink. You could've just called me, sober."
"Would've lacked the dramatic effect." he joked as his eyes closed.
"Whatever you say doc," you leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before drawing back and whispering, "Good night."
"Good night," he echoed through a tight throat.
As he drifted off, cheeks still burning, Spencer pulled your hand to his lips and returned your quick kiss. He didn't know if he'd have the courage to ask you out again as soon as he sobered up, but he knew that however long he took, you'd be right there, waiting.
Finally this is done !! Idk how to feel abt it yet, so don't hesitate to lmk what you thought ! Reblogs and comments are so so appreciated, and will earn you a virtual kiss on the forehead <333
Really want to talk about Spencer Reid and his relationship with women and how it all goes back to his emotionally incestuous relationship with his mother. is anyone listening. Is tumblr ok with this.
summary: you finally meet spencer's coworkers. everyone thinks there's more here, except the two of you.
pt. 4 of a series, masterlist here
word count: 3.1k
tags/cw: fem!collegefriend!reader, yes she's supposed to be desi coded but like that doesn't matter here; drinking, but the reader doesn't drink for plot reasons that will be revealed later; set sometime after S2E1 but before S2E2, elle mentioned, some longing looks and non-romantic touch but that's about it; OH yeah mentions of past bullying on the reader's end but very vague, we'll get into it later; mentions of past arguments/angst, but it's resolved. i'll probably get into it in a later chapter.
note: let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future installments! also a huge thank you to everyone reading ts ily all sm <333
YOU WERE GOING to a bar. With Spencer’s friends. Or, well, his co-workers, who just so happened to be his only friends. Aside from you. You didn’t dwell too long on the thought.
Spencer informed you of the location and the fact that they would all be going to the bar straight from work, which gave you a good sense of the dress code: an off-shoulder top and jeans would be good enough for you. You were still over-accessorized, of course. Bracelets and bangles dangling off each wrist, a layer of necklaces falling over your collarbones and chest.
You called Spencer as you stepped out of the taxi, nerves firing far too much for what was supposed to be a casual hang-out with your friend’s friends.
“Hey, I’m outside,” You stated.
“Oh, great! Come in, we’re right by the entrance, I’ll wave you over.” You could hear the dull hum of people talking in the background, along with a very excited voice asking Spencer if that was the friend they were waiting on.
“Alright,” You smiled. “Your friend sounds excited,”
“Yeah, she’s um…just come in.” Spencer said finally, cutting the call with a breathy laugh.
True to his word, Spencer caught your eye just as you entered, an arm raised to call you over to the booth everyone was crowded into. With a few polite greetings, you slipped in beside Spencer, saying hello to Derek, who sat on the other side of him. Spencer shifted, but it was a tight fit, with you pressed against him, thighs to arms.
Spencer introduced everyone one by one, before landing on Penelope. Your eyes flashed with mischief as you glanced at Spencer, his expression faltering at the downright evil tilt to your lips.
Penelope caught onto the miniscule exchange, sitting right across from you. Her large eyes revealing a misfired worry. “Did Spencer tell you something about me? Whatever it is, I promise it’s misinformed,”
You laughed freely at her concern, shaking your head. “God, no, don’t worry. We just have a fun history with the name,”
“What, did Spencer have a secret girlfriend or something?” Jennifer, or JJ, asked.
The man in question groaned beside you, covering his flushed face as Derek laughed, leaning forward to face you. “Come on, you have to tell us now. Spencer doesn’t tell us anything interesting,”
“Hey, I say plenty of interesting things,” Spencer pulled his hand away to defend himself. “I can be plenty interesting without sharing personal details.”
“Mm, no, I don’t think so.” JJ said, taking a sip of her drink. “Now, spill.”
You leaned forward to speak, a hand splayed on the table, but before you could say a word, Spencer placed his hand over yours to stop you. You floundered, glancing at the hand before looking back up, but Spencer was already speaking.
“It was just a stupid nickname, okay? I did a coin trick once, and she just kept calling me—”
You freed your hand from his grasp, not noticing the way three pairs of eyes had thrown more than one glance at the display. “You did a coin trick while I was having a breakdown, might I add.”
“It was to make you feel better!”
“You did coin tricks to make her feel better?” JJ raised her eyebrows, biting back a laugh.
Derek shook his head, chuckling. “So he’s always been like this,”
“Okay, but why is my name involved?” Penelope asked, clutching a hand to her chest.
“If everyone could stop interrupting me,” Spencer broke into the chatter. “It’s because I used a penny. And my friend here got a little carried away,”
You counted the names off on your fingers. “It was Penny first, because obviously, then it was just Pen, then it was sixpence.”
“Sixpence?” Derek asked.
“Sixpence, Spence, Spencer—you see how I could arrive at that,”
‘Penny’ had now given up on maintaining his dignity entirely, leaning back against you and laughing freely. “Great job, they’re going to hold this against me for the next three months, at least,”
“Try a year,” JJ grinned at you. You returned the gesture, deciding that you liked her very much.
Derek called your name. “You’re not gonna get anything to drink?”
“Oh, of course. Anyone wanna come with?”
No one else was close to done with their drinks, so you got up, grabbing your wallet. As you were about to walk away, Spencer volunteered to join you.
“Aw, you’re so sweet,” You cooed mockingly, watching your friend roll his eyes.
“Just making sure you don’t get lost on your way to the bar,” He responded, sliding out awkwardly.
You ordered a mocktail, prompting Spencer to raise a brow. “Not drinking?”
You shook your head, almost apologetic. “I don’t drink much anymore, especially not around new people,”
Spencer nodded in understanding, but you could see him file away the information for later. It wasn’t unusual for you and Spencer to drink occasionally during college, just not at parties—mostly because neither of you was invited to any. Well, except for that one time.
You watched as Spencer arrived to the same memory, his lips curling into a smile. “Remember that time we went to that frat party?”
“I was just thinking about that,” You said. “Probably the most over-hyped, underwhelming experience of my life,”
“The drinks situation there was a genuine health hazard,” Spencer stated, leaning against the counter. You laughed in agreement.
The bartender slid your glass in front of you, and the two of you made your way back, Spencer close enough to you that your hand brushed against his more than once. You wrote it off, despite the strange thrill it sent all the way up to your neck—Spencer was just comfortable around you, and you weren’t going to turn that into something it wasn’t.
He was explaining the reasons for mocktails being what you called ‘overpriced’ as you made the short walk back to the table, where Penelope, JJ, and Derek seemed to all be discussing something of utmost importance. You nodded along to Spencer, but your frown was aimed at the very suspiciously gleeful expressions of those three.
The suspicion heightened when they all leaned back and very obviously changed the topic as soon as Penelope caught sight of you and Spencer, now barely two feet away from them.
“What are you guys talking about?” You asked as you slipped back into the booth, accidentally cutting of Spencer just as he was getting to the part about the process of creating non-alcoholic liquor. You were in the middle now, with Derek and Spencer on either side of you.
“How long have you and the good doctor been friends for?” Penelope asked, resting her chin on her hand.
You thought for a moment. “I guess, like, three years? Spencer graduated earlier than me, and we lost touch after that,”
“Lost touch?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “Just grew apart,”
Beside you, Spencer tensed. There was a brief lull in the conversation as everyone waited for you to explain, but you stayed quiet, searching for a way to change the topic.
“Hey, isn’t there supposed to be one more of you?” You turned to Derek. “I met her in San Diego—Elle, I think?”
There was an even stronger hush now. You giggled awkwardly, your smile more of a wince. “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”
Spencer shifted beside you, clearing his throat. “Elle, um, was shot a few weeks ago. She’s on leave,”
“Oh,” You said, horrified. “I’m very sorry about that. Is she okay?”
Derek chuckled, nursing his glass, but it was an empty sound. “Elle is resilient. She’ll make it.”
You nodded, chewing on the inside of your lip. “Is it…I mean, is stuff like this common for you guys?”
Penelope shook her head. “It’s a risk, obviously, but they’re usually safe. You don’t need to worry too much about Penny over here,”
She punctuated the end of her sentence with a sly look at Spencer and a kind smile for you. You let yourself smile back, grateful. “I never worry,”
Spencer scoffed into his glass. “Now that’s just incorrect,”
“I used to worry a normal amount,” You conceded, raising your hands in surrender.
“She was like an overzealous babysitter,” Spencer raised his brows at the rest of the group.
Now it was your turn to scoff, angling your torso towards him. “You were getting bullied the day I met you—guys, come on, don’t tell me he doesn’t give off those kicked puppy vibes,”
The table erupted in laughter at that, a chorus of lighthearted agreement that validated you enough that you didn’t notice Spencer’s smile stiffen, nor did you notice the way he hid it behind the rim of his glass.
Eventually, the conversation shifted as you asked more about the job and the group took turns interrogating you about your work. You were bashful in informing them of how mundane your day usually looks, the most stressful events being having to break up fights in the hallway or finals season. It was effortless, speaking to them. Incredibly effortless to not notice the ever so slight tension in Spencer’s shoulder, still pressed against you, sharing a comfortable warmth in between.
IT STARTED as soon as you got up to use the bathroom. He’d had to stand up and move first, but both of you misjudged positioning so that you ended up stumbling into one another, almost chest-to-chest, for a heartbeat. Your palms found purchase on his biceps as you forced him to stay still instead of stumbling around more, trying to get out of your way, and you laughed at him in that airy way that made it clear just how silly you thought he was. He’d swallowed once, blinking down at you as the warmth of the alcohol in his veins made the sound of your laughter stick to him like glue, even after you walked off and he sat down, watching your form disappear around a corner.
“So, Spencer,” Derek said, catching his attention. Spencer turned his face towards his friend. Derek simply tilted his head in the direction you’d gone in with a strange smile playing on his lips, eyes alight with a glow that Spencer associated with trouble. “Your friend’s pretty neat,”
“Morgan,” JJ warned him, prompting Spencer’s frown to grow deeper.
“What?”
Penelope leaned forward. “She’s also just pretty,”
“And funny,” JJ added.
Spencer looked around the table incredulously. “So?”
“So, she seems good for you,” Derek’s insinuations would’ve made Spencer blush if his skin wasn’t already so flushed. Instead, he rolled his eyes, polishing off the last of the liquid in his glass. He winced as it went down.
“I’d hope so, we’ve been friends for a while.”
“Don’t play dumb, kid.” Derek said.
“I’m not,” He responded. “You guys are just speaking in riddles,”
“You did grab her hand there,” JJ tilted her head, the smallest tilt to her lips revealing that she was enjoying this. Spencer glared at her.
“We’re friends,”
“You don’t even shake hands with me,” Derek exclaimed, leaning back as if his point was proven.
Spencer scrambled for an explanation that would save him. “Listen, we’ve been friends for a while, okay? I trust her hygiene habits!”
“Oh, so you don’t trust mine?” Derek argued. “Last I checked, Reid, we’ve known each other for years,”
Spencer looked at him sideways. “Are you jealous of her or something?”
“No, I just want you to admit you’re not just friends,”
Spencer balked. “I do not think of her like that, okay? That’s just—” He struggled to find the right word, ears burning. “—disrespectful.”
“Disrespectful?” JJ raised a brow.
“What’s disrespectful?”
Spencer almost jumped out of his seat as your voice reached him, heart hammering in his chest. He brought a hand to his chest as he looked up at your concerned face.
“Everything good?” You watched as Spencer rushed to make space for you, his cheeks still flushed.
“Everything’s just fine,” Derek responded, clapping his shoulder with much more force than necessary. You continued frowning at Spencer, looking away only after he did.
Spencer tried to keep his attention on the group, trying to laugh at the right times and add details to the embarrassing stories JJ and Derek kept sharing despite his protests, but throughout it all, the idea Derek had planted in his mind took root like a virus. It didn’t help that he kept drinking, hoping it would take his mind off the warmth of you against him or the sweet, complex smell of your products every time he turned his head. It didn’t, though. If anything, he found himself unable to focus on anything but you.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before, of course. There were times, back in college, when the sun hit you just right and made you glow, or when your voice, rugged from exhaustion, would sound to his ears like notes from Erato’s lyre. For a scant few weeks, he had even hoped that there was something there, until that fight brought to light exactly what you thought of him.
“Hey, you good?” You’d turned your head to murmur in Spencer’s ear, breath ghosting over the skin right below. Your voice, soft against all the noise, brought him back to the present gently. A slight tremor shook his body, raising the hair on the back of his neck.
“Um, yeah, I’m good—just a little tired, I think,” The words were thick and almost sludgy in his mouth, and he frowned, lips forming a pout as he leaned his head back.
You giggled, and Spencer thought of Erato again. “A little drunk, too.”
Was he drunk? Spencer noted the pleasant fuzziness in his mind, the warmth of his body, the way words seemed to be more difficult to pronounce. His frown deepened. “Perhaps a little,”
He watched as you shifted your attention to his friends, making some joke about having to babysit him.
“Alright, let’s get you home,” You sighed, gathering your things.
Once again, you were taking care of him. He had to stop putting himself in this position, he thought. But for now, it felt really good to have someone to get him home. Someone who would still be there in the morning, with a glass of water and an aspirin.
TO YOUR RELIEF, a cool breeze washed over you as soon as you stepped through the bar’s doors, one arm still protectively hovering over Spencer in case he tripped. He followed closely, hands stuffed in the pockets of his blazer.
“Did you drive here?” You asked distractedly, eyes scanning the road for a taxi.
“Nope,” Spencer responded. “Got a ride with Penelope,”
You let out a small laugh. “Penny,”
“I can’t believe you told them that,” Spencer groaned.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you have a coworker named Penelope,” You scolded him lightly, before shifting your focus to getting a taxi.
Once in the car, you settled into a comfortable silence, nodding your head along to the radio playing at a low volume.
“You like this song?” Spencer asked after a while.
“Hm?” You dragged your gaze away from the window. “Mr. Brightside? It’s good,”
It was a strange question, oddly like small-talk, but you just shrugged and turned your attention back to the window. Speaking to new people tended to exhaust you, and right now you wanted to be quiet.
Spencer, apparently, did not.
“I met this girl a few months ago,” He began. “Lila. For a case, in LA.”
There was a beat of silence, in which you turned your head to look at him. His gaze was trained on his window, fingers worrying at the hem of his blazer.
Your brows knit together when he didn’t continue. “Okay?”
Spencer exhaled. “She kissed me,”
You ignored the ever-familiar annoyance and continued watching him.
“She kissed me, and all I could think about afterwards was how you wouldn’t have believed that it was genuine,”
“Spence—”
“She was an actress, so she was, y’know, she was pretty hot,” Spencer started to ramble, now. Though you couldn’t see his embarrassment in the dark, you could hear it in the higher pitch of his voice. “And I wrote it off as a psychological thing, since I was looking after her while she was being stalked, for God’s sake, so I knew it wasn’t—she wasn’t in her right mind—”
“Spencer,” You tried again, guilt gnawing at your throat.
“…and it made me so angry to think that maybe you were right—”
“Holy shit, Reid,” You raised your voice to cut him off, glancing at the rearview mirror to find the driver’s concerned eyes on you. Swearing under your breath, you moved closer to your friend.
“Listen, I was wrong, all right?” You grabbed his hand to force him to look at you. Those goddamn pathetic eyes combined with the memories of that fight making you want to throw up. Or run away. Preferably both. “I was immature and stupid, and I made you feel like you were, I don’t know, fucking unlovable when I was just trying to look out for you.”
You breathed a sigh of frustration. “And you know what? I was pissed. And jealous.”
Something sparked in Spencer’s eyes, and they locked onto yours with a frightening sobriety. “Jealous?”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “I never brought it up before, but, um, that girl—Amy—she used to bully the shit out of me. I was just jealous that I had to face that, and you got to go on a date with her.”
“Oh,” Spencer seemed to deflate, the tension in his jaw relaxing. He looked away. “Well, I didn’t end up going, anyway.”
“What?” You frowned. He told you he’d go.
“I mean, I just...I realized I just liked the idea of someone being into me, not specifically her,” He shrugged, settling more comfortably against the leather. “Didn’t feel fair to go out with someone if I didn’t actually like them,”
“But it helps to know that she was a terrible person,” He admitted, shooting you a smile. He slid his arm until his hand was in yours, and gave you a small squeeze before letting go. You missed the warmth of his palm immediately. “You washed your hands, right?”
You scoffed. “Fuck you, man,”
Spencer grinned lazily, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
“I don’t know, you might have to make a few more dinners to make it up to me,” He said, shrugging.
You shook your head with a laugh. “Unbelievable,”
Then, because your curiosity got the better of you: “So, what happened with Lila?”
Spencer made a sound somewhere between embarrassment and disappointment. “I don’t know, I never got back in touch. I don’t think we have a lot in common,”
“Fair enough,”
The answer pleased you. A concerning amount, actually. You pushed it out of your head. Besides, Spencer drunk was a fun sight. You had to make full use of it while it lasted.
we have to thank our brave soldiers in fandom who write gen fics. we have to thank our brave soldiers in fandom who write character studies and stories with no focus on romance or sex. we have to get on our knees and thank the brave soldiers in fandom who write about minor characters and friendship and family with no focus on romance or sex. i know it’s hard to care about characters in a world that seems to only revolve around ships but i see you. and i love you
summary: Spencer Reid spends six months flirting. You spend six months not realizing he's flirting. The BAU spends six months losing money in Rossi's betting pool.
word count: ~2.5k
authors note: should I be sleeping? yes. will i be late for work tomorrow? yes. do I care? Not really.
just light rom com spencer x reader. not proof read.
masterlist
~♡~
The thing about Spencer Reid was that he was terrible at being subtle, at least according to everyone else.
You, unfortunately, were completely immune to recognizing romantic interest when it was directed at you.
Which was why, six months after joining the BAU, you still hadn't figured out that Spencer was hopelessly, ridiculously in love with you.
The betting pool started because of a Tuesday.
Not a dramatic or life-changing Tuesday.
Just an ordinary Tuesday when you mentioned, in passing, that you hadn't slept well.
That was it. One sentence.
The next morning there was coffee waiting on your desk.
The morning after that there was coffee again.
And the morning after that.
Three weeks later Spencer was still showing up with coffee, exactly how you liked it.
No one mentioned it. At least not to either of you.
But Rossi quietly slid twenty dollars toward Emily. Emily accepted it without question. Across the room Luke raised an eyebrow. Garcia looked delighted.
Spencer remained completely unaware. You remained completely unaware. Everyone else was suffering.
The thing about Spencer was that he remembered everything. Most people found that impressive, however you found it comforting. You could mention something once and Spencer would remember it months later.
A favorite author.
A movie you loved as a kid.
A food allergy.
A random story from college.
It all stayed somewhere inside his mind. One afternoon you were searching your desk.
Spencer looked up from a file.
"What are you looking for?"
"My charger."
"It's in conference room B."
You blinked.
"What?"
"You left it there after the briefing."
"How do you know that?"
"You forgot it."
"As opposed to?"
"You forgetting it somewhere else."
You laughed, what made Spencer smile. The room collectively watched. Then looked away before either of you noticed.
A month later the team was flying home from a case. You fell asleep halfway through the flight. Nothing unusual.
The unusual part happened afterward, when the jet landed. You woke up covered with Spencer's suit jacket. Garcia nearly bit through her lip trying not to smile. Luke immediately looked toward Rossi. Rossi silently updated the betting pool.
You simply handed the jacket back.
"Thanks."
Spencer looked almost embarrassed.
"Of course."
Like covering you with his jacket was the most natural thing in the world. Which, to him, it was.
The problem wasn't that Spencer was subtle.
The problem was that he treated you differently in a hundred tiny ways, that only became obvious when people paid attention.
He always sat beside you during briefings, partnered with you when possible, saved you a seat on the jet, noticed when you were tired or stressed, or hungry, or upset.
The rest of the team noticed.
You didn't.
One afternoon Emily walked into the bullpen and stopped. Spencer was talking and you were laughing. Neither of you seemed aware that everyone else had stopped working. Your eyes blurry with tears, Spencer vividly gesticulating as he was telling you an old story about prank war he had with Derek, years ago.
Luke slowly slid into the chair beside Emily.
"How long do you think?"
Emily sighed.
"At this rate?"
"Yeah."
"Six months."
Luke nodded thoughtfully.
"Optimistic."
Across the room Garcia was already adding notes to the betting spreadsheet.
The funniest part was that Spencer thought he was hiding it.
Everyone knew. Everyone. Including suspects, witnesses, local police.
Once, during a case, a detective looked between you and Spencer and casually asked how long you'd been together.
You nearly choked. Spencer looked like he forgot how talking worked.
The detective immediately apologized.
The team spent three days making fun of him. Spencer never recovered.
The jealousy started by accident.
At least that's what Spencer told himself.
The team was interviewing witnesses at a local bar. You were speaking with one of them. A very attractive witness. A witness who was clearly more interested in you than helping with the case.
Spencer was trying not to stare.
He failed. Spectacularly.
The witness leaned closer, what made Spencer hate him immediately.
The witness said something and your smile vanished.
"Oh no," Luke muttered beside Spencer.
"What?"
"The poor idiot crossed a line."
Sure enough, you folded your arms.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
The witness smirked. Spencer couldn't hear his response. Whatever it was, he didn't need to.
Your eyebrow lifted.
Three minutes later the witness looked like he'd lost an argument with a lawyer, a professor, and a disappointed mother all at once.
He practically fled.
You walked back toward the team.
"What happened?" JJ asked.
"He told me I'd be prettier if I smiled more."
Emily winced.
"Oof."
"He also suggested women usually aren't greatat this job."
Luke barked out a laugh.
"Well, he deserved whatever you said."
You shrugged.
"I simply informed him his confidence was unsupported by evidence. And that if he thinks me smiling more would help finding the killer, I'm glad his job is cleaning tables."
Rossi laughed into his coffee.
Spencer tried to hide his grin and failed. You caught it immediately.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You look pleased."
Spencer shrugged.
"I enjoy watching arrogant people get embarrassed."
Your smile widened and Spencer forgot how breathing worked.
The breaking point came another two months later. The team was flying home after a case. Everyone was exhausted. Luke was asleep with his head tilted back. Garcia was scrolling through her phone. Emily and JJ were discussing paperwork. Rossi had somehow fallen asleep the second the jet left the ground.
You sat across from Reid.
He sat with a book open in his lap. Supposedly reading. You knew he was reading because he always read.
What you didn't know was that he'd been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes. Because you were sitting directly across from him. And because he was trying very hard not to think about how good you looked. He was failing miserably at that.
You sighed and stretched.
"Can I ask you something?"
Spencer glanced up.
"Of course."
"Why don't you date?"
A few seats away, Emily immediately looked interested. Luke cracked one eye open.
Spencer tried to focus back on the book.
"That's a broad question."
"I mean, you're smart."
He turned a page. The wrong page.
"Kind."
Another page. Still not reading.
"Funny."
The book lowered slightly.
"And ridiculously attractive."
Reid nearly dropped it.
Across the aisle, Luke looked ready to choke.
You continued obliviously.
"Anyone would be happy to be with you."
Spencer stared at the page, not reading a single word. Then he said, almost casually:
"Well, you don't seem interested."
You blinked.
"What?"
The words came out before he could stop them. His eyes widened slightly. The entire jet suddenly felt very quiet.
You stared.
Spencer stared at his book, very intensely.
Like maybe if he focused hard enough he could disappear into it.
"What do you mean?"
He swallowed, slowly lowered the book and looked at you.
"I mean..." He hesitated.
For once, Spencer Reid seemed completely unsure of himself. Then he gave a tiny shrug.
"You don't seem interested in dating me."
The silence was immediate. Absolute.
Across the jet, Luke's eyes snapped fully open. Garcia looked up from her phone. Emily stopped pretending not to listen. JJ pressed her lips together. Rossi looked awake all of a sudden.
You simply stared. Because surely you hadn't heard that correctly.
Spencer realized exactly what he'd just admitted. A faint blush spread across his face.
"Oh."
He looked away.
"That wasn't how I intended to say that."
You were still staring. Because suddenly everything made sense.
The coffee.
The jacket.
The attention to detail.
The jealousy.
The way he always found you first.
"Oh my God."
Spencer let out a quiet laugh.
"Yeah."
"Oh my God."
"I know."
You pointed at him. Completely horrified.
"You're flirting with me?"
Luke physically buried his face in his hands. Garcia made a noise somewhere between a scream and a laugh.
Spencer finally smiled.
Warm.
Fond.
A little smug.
He tilted his head.
"For like... two months now, thank you for noticing."
"Two months?"
Emily snorted.
"Try six."
Spencer groaned.
"Emily."
"What? She deserve the truth.
You looked confused.
"You knew about it?" You looked at everyone, trying to figure out what exactly is happening.
"Technically Rossi had the betting pool."
"I financed the betting pool," Rossi corrected.
You looked back at Spencer, furrowed brows, thinking. Analysing.
"You really like me?"
Spencer's expression softened immediately. Like the answer was obvious.
"Considering I haven't stopped thinking about you for almost a year?"
Your heart completely stopped.
"A year?"
Spencer closed his eyes.
"Please stop repeating that."
"A year?"
Luke laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat.
Garcia was openly crying.
And Spencer looked like he wanted the jet door to open so he could jump out.
"Yea" he admitted quietly. You smiled, not taking his eyes off of him.
"That's good" you said eventually and that made him curiously look at you.
"Good?"
"Yea. Because I like you too. For quite some time" you admitted, smiling fully now.
"You do?"
"Yes. Thank you for noticing" you couldn't help but mock him, as you intertwined your fingers on the small table inbetween you.
Garcia already started planning your wedding. JJ and Emily exchanged looks, knowing smirks. Luke just silently handed Rossi fifty bucks, mutting something that sounded like "one week too soon".
spencer reid x reader
description: you believed love could heal the broken parts
wc: 964
You and Spencer are giggling about the small silly things that had happened at work today.
"Did you hear Derek tripped over nothing?! He almost bumped into Penelope while she was holding her coffee and she went on a whole tangent on how if he did bump into her, he would have payed for her entire outfit!" You laugh into your hands as you recalled what happened early this morning. Spencer didn't get to see that since you two took separate rides.
Spencer was shaking his head, but he was also smiling as his hands went into your hair. "No way, she would never." He said as you were laying your head on his chest as the two of you were just talking stories to one another.
"I'm serious, she started naming brands." That only made Spencer laugh more. The sound vibrated through his chest beneath your cheek. Between the two of you, you shared stories from work. The meaningless things that people forget by the next morning.
Somehow, they were your favorite conversations because no matter how small something could be, it was also someone's favorite part of their day.
It feels normal and safe for them to be themselves. When Spencer laughs, the construction in your head quiets down just a little for you to enjoy a bit of peace from the ruckus. His fingers glided through your hair and you closed your eyes, enjoying the moment.
"We should order takeout. Do you want pork sisig and a mango shake? I'll order an extra of that so you can eat it for tomorrow." He says softly, kissing your forehead.
You let yourself imagine that this was what healing was. It was simple like finding someone who could make you forget the grief and the pieces inside yourself that shattered.
You never said it out loud because it sounded unfair and selfish to use someone's love as a healing process. You believed if someone loved you hard enough, they could fix you. Vice versa you thought.
There were days you tallied up the girls he talked to. Most of them were the epitome of the brains and beauty. Even if he called you 'the most beautiful girl', it wasn't the antidote to your worries and you know he tries to remind you of that.
Nothing else had to exist as long as you stayed there. Like it didn't require effort to be gentle. Maybe if you were close enough to him, he could smooth out every tangled knots in your heartstrings. The silence that followed wasn't empty but it was full of things you couldn't say.
The grief you kept folded was neatly done, it didn't spill. Spencer exhaled slowly, and for the first time in a while, his hands left your hair. The absence was immediate. "We keep doing this," he said, quieter now. You swallowed but it felt suffocating. "Doing what?" Your voice small with hesitance.
"This," he answered, and there was something careful in his voice now, like he was stepping around something fragile that might break with the slightest touch. "You come here, you laugh, then you shut everything out and disappear. It's.. confusing, you know."
You sigh and the visible tiredness on your face was showing. "It's been a long day, Spencer." You always say that he thought. It was like a script that you keep repeating. Spencer exhaled through his nose, and for the first time there was no humor in it at all.
"That's not what this is," he said quietly. Silence dropped between you, but it wasn't silent, really. It was heavy and unavoidable tension in the air. You sat up from your position on his chest and the warmth of you was gone.
He was looking at you like he was deciding how long he could recognize you before you were someone else. "I don't think you're here when you're with me," he said. The words settled in layers, like they were landing one by one, just to see how much it can weigh you down before you can't bear to carry it all.
"That's not fair, Spence," you said faltering. You didn't even know if you meant it. Spencer shook his head slightly. "I don't think it's fair. I think it's true." Your hands curled in your lap without meaning to because you didn't have anything else to hold. "I try," you said, softer now. "I do try."
"I know," he said. That was the problem. He wasn't angry or confused. He was just worried but with a look of certainty that whatever was going on between the two of you wasn't going to last.
The silence stretched again and neither of you decided to fill it. The takeout idea was still in the air, but it belonged to another version of the room where understanding was accepted. Spencer stood up first.
"I think you should go home," he said. No sudden outbursts from him because he couldn't bring himself to throw everything at you. You got up from the couch but it felt like confirming something you weren't ready to name.
You approach his door, standing there. Remembering the times when it was easy to be with someone, but sometimes it wasn't. Reaching for the handle, you turn the knob, opening the door, and walk out of his apartment. You closed the door in silence because it was the right thing to do.
Love isn't something that stays long enough to be used, but it was something that will forever be cherished as a memory. It teaches the importance of walking away when we need to but to remember that love isn't a waste. It was evidence of humanity and taking a chance with someone even when it's uncertain.
(5 times Spencer accidentally touches reader, and the 1 time he does it on purpose)
spencer reid x fem!reader
(she/her pronouns used for reader)
fluff
wc: 1764
1: He’s fallen asleep while sitting next to her on the jet. His head is tilted back against the headrest, his book is open and face down in his lap, and his lips are slightly parted.
When Emily and Derek’s voices grew louder, she gestured toward his sleeping form, silently urging them to keep it down.
The plane jerks with slight turbulence, and she’s worried it’ll wake him up. She watches as his body shakes, and as his neck falls to the side, landing on her shoulder.
She can feel his hair tickling her neck and can hear the soft sound of him breathing. The quietest whimper escaped his lips as the plane shook.
She thinks that he always looks endearing and sweet, but the sight of him like this makes her heart skip a beat. His body is void of the usual stress and tension he usually carries under his skin.
She keeps as still as possible as to not disturb him and waves off the incredulous glances from the rest of their team members. Derek teasingly wiggles his eyebrows at her, and even Hotch’s eyes widen (ever so slightly) at the sight of them.
Once the plane begins its descent, he stirs awake. He shoots upward like he’s been shocked, immediately blushing a tomato red.
“I’m so sorry!” He squeaks out while scrambling to smooth his hair.
“It’s okay,” she reaffirms with a soft smile.
He ducks his head and hurriedly packs his belongings into his satchel.
Once the plane lands, he’s the first one to place his feet on the tarmac.
2: The whole team is eating at a restaurant that Rossi dragged them to, insisting they served the best Italian food on the West Coast.
Spencer is sitting across from her, and she can’t help but admire how the candlelight creates soft, flickering shadows on his face.
As they’re all eating their meals, she feels a soft pressure on the front of her shoe. She glances under the table and sees a sliver of a bright colored sock. Her eyes flicker back to him, and he’s invested in a conversation with Hotch about their recent case. She chooses not to say anything and continues indulging in her food – it is the best pasta she’s ever had.
Eventually, her foot involuntarily twitches while she’s laughing with Emily. Spencer looks under the table and sees what he’s done.
He jerks his foot backward before tucking his crossed ankles under his chair.
With flushed cheeks and wide eyes. “I’m so sorry, I thought I was touching the table.”
She’s just started chewing a bite of food and gestures that she needs a moment before she can reply.
“...With my shoe. I thought I had rested it on the table leg. I’m sorry.”
“Oh! No, you’re fine.” She replies sweetly.
He’s relatively quiet for the rest of the meal, only speaking when he’s directly addressed.
She misses the light weight of him against her; it felt strangely intimate.
3: He’s in an elevator with her and Derek – each of them are on either side of him. The elevator is rickety, decrepit, and antiquated. He would’ve just taken the stairs if the apartment they’re visiting wasn’t on the 14th floor.
After Derek pressed the button, they were lurched so violently that Spencer white-knuckled the handrail behind him.
His breathing is erratic with each floor they pass, his eyes glued to the display screen.
Derek laughs, “Remember that time we got stuck in that elevator?”
Spencer whines, “Don’t mention that right now.”
She giggles, “Wait, what?”
Derek continues, “One time, Pretty Boy and I got stuck in an elevator – it was a lot like this one, actually – and he squealed like a little girl-”
Spencer exclaims, “You were scared too!”
“Not as scared as-”
The elevator suddenly plunges, affecting everyone’s balance. She and Derek stagger into the side walls. Spencer stumbles into her side, hand lifting to support himself on the wall above her head.
His other hand lands on her waist.
For a moment, she’s cornered by his body. His warmth radiates through him, and onto her skin; she’s sure that’s why her face feels so hot.
Their faces are only a few inches apart. If she were a braver woman, (and if Derek wasn’t standing three feet away,) she’d lean in and kiss him.
His eyes are squeezed shut, and his minty breath fans over her face.
Derek whistles, “Damn, no concern for my safety?”
Spencer’s eyes blink open, and he jumps back from her like she burned him.
“Oh! Oh my- I’m so sorry.”
The elevator continues its ascent, and they all wait silently with their backs against the wall. Spencer purposefully avoids Derek’s pointed gaze.
4: Spencer enters the break room to make his umpteenth cup of coffee for the day. He finds her standing at the counter, stirring her cream and sugar into her own cup.
She looks up as he walks in, “Hey, I just brewed a fresh pot.”
He softly smiles, “Oh! Great, thank you.”
As he reaches up to the mug cabinet, she shifts to move slightly behind him to toss her coffee stirrer into the trash. Thinking she’s walked away, he steps to the side to grab his favorite mug that he keeps hidden on the top shelf.
His step brings him directly to her side, bumping their hips together. Her stance falters into a wobble. His hand instinctively reaches behind her to grab her elbow, steadying her.
“Whoa– Sorry!”
“Oh– You’re fine!”
Her body feels so warm and supple against his. She fits into his side like a puzzle piece. His hand remains on her arm for just a second too long, savoring the way she feels tucked against him.
He pulls his hand off of her and takes a small step away from her. After clearing his throat, he stutters, “I-I’m so sorry, I thought you had walked away.”
“No, it’s okay!” she replies quickly. “Thanks for not letting me fall.” She giggles and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, exposing her rosy cheeks.
“Of course, I’m sorry, though… again.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, it’s all good, Spence.” She’s looking at him with such intense sincerity that his breath falters.
He nods sharply, “Right! Okay! Good!”
There’s a moment of silence as she picks up her mug and walks toward the door. He turns around to face her.
“Sorr–” He blushes and looks down at his feet. “I mean, thanks for making the coffee.”
She amusedly breathes out and gives him a knowing smile, “No problem.”
5: The whole team has gathered around a conference room of a small-town precinct. Their only printer is down, so there’s a limited amount of files. Everyone is shoulder-to-shoulder, leaning over the documents. Everyone except her and Spencer. She doesn’t want to crowd him and make him uncomfortable, so she asks if she could see the report he’s holding after he’s done with it.
He begins to pass it over without hesitation; he already has the contents memorized, anyway. He looks away as he hands it over, sharing a niche statistic that's relevant to the case with the room.
Someone in the far corner has called her name, so she turns away from Spencer and toward the voice. Her hand is open, ready to take the file from him.
Then, the side of his hand, the one holding the papers, lands directly in the palm of hers.
He doesn’t jerk back immediately. Her palm is so soft and tepid that it brings him a moment of comfort. For once, he’s not thinking about the millions of bacteria that live on human hands.
Their eyelines meet at their (sort of) joined hands. Her fingers have reflexively curved to brush the back of his hand, expecting her grip to find papers.
Her expression falls a little as he pulls his hand away from hers. Although the movement is less abrupt than she thought it might be. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
He hands the file to her properly, before crossing his hands in front of his body. Pink blooms on his cheeks as he turned his head away from her, seeking a distraction.
*** The team is in New York City investigating a scene in the middle of Times Square. The NYPD has blocked off the area, but there are hordes of people gathering at the edge of the tape lines.
The BAU parked their SUVs as close as they could and are walking the rest of the way to the scene, squeezing through groups of people and dodging elbows and rowdiness.
She’s walking next to him and keeps getting jostled into his side. As they approach a tighter gap between clusters of onlookers, Spencer places a hand on the small of her back to help guide her through.
He does it without even thinking.
He looks down at her to gauge her reaction to his touch, hoping he doesn’t see discomfort painted in her eyes. She looks up at him with a thankful smile, and they both blush before returning their gazes forward.
He keeps his hand on her for as long as he can. He rationalizes that he’s just being a helpful friend, but he can’t deny his enjoyment of the contact and her proximity.
The crowd gets thicker the closer they get to the scene. She instinctively shifts closer to his side, and he’s mentally reciting the periodic table in an effort to keep his heart rate under control. He presses his hand firmer against her back as they wave through the sea of people.
He’s disappointed to see the yellow crime scene tape getting closer and closer. Part of him has forgotten that they’re there for work. For a second, he could imagine that just the two of them were on a trip to the city together.
She looks up at him and thanks him just before they have to duck under the tape.
“Of course, it’s really crowded.” He nods affirmatively.
The small of her back feels cold after the removal of his hand. His hand feels empty as it now dangles at his side.
Once they’ve passed the tape and are talking to the NYPD about the case, they’re standing side-by-side as they listen to the details. She presses her shoulder against his, making him lose his train of thought. He has to force himself to focus on the men in front of him.
They separate as the team traverses the scene, but they glance at each other sporadically, hiding small smiles.
All the Spencer writers r feeding me too well I keep liking stuff to read later but life is so busy that every time I start reading a fic I fall asleep by the third sentence…same with writing…lovemenot next chapter when…I do not know…
i DO believe that a good writer can make mischaracterization work. oh there's a character who doesn't normally cry? figure it out!! dissect the character. make the situation cryable for them. make that character cry ugly tears even if it goes against their very nature. YOU CAN MAKE IT WORK!!!
(5 times spencer reid wants fem!reader to touch him, and the 1 time she does)
spencer reid x fem!reader
(she/her pronouns used)
yearning fluff
wc: <800
title from: the only reason by 5sos
1. He sees her arm in arm with Penelope. They’re laughing, and she leans her head against Penelope’s shoulder like her laughter is too strong to keep her upright. He wonders how her arm would feel tucked into his and how his shoulder could be the perfect home for her head. He wonders if he’d be able to smell her shampoo.
2. Derek’s being Derek and is flexing his arm for her and Penelope, and telling them that it was arm day. Spencer is barely holding back an eye roll.
Penelope does it. She wraps her hand around his bicep and coos praises at him.
“C’mon, pretty girl, don’t leave me hanging,” he says to her, and Spencer is internally panicking. He’s mentally begging her not to do it. She’ll never get close to his scrawny arms if she does.
She rolls her eyes at him and crosses her arms across her chest. Spencer is so relieved.
Penelope then encourages her to do it. “Do it! He’s so strong, it’s so impressive!”
She teasingly just pokes at his bicep instead of wrapping her hand around it like Derek and Penelope want her to. Spencer internally cheers, but then wonders how her fingers would feel wrapped around him.
He fantasizes about walking down the street with her by his side, with her hand curled around the inside of his upper arm. He’s seen couples do that in movies. He’s seen JJ hold Will’s arm like that. He’s sure that it would feel so nice.
3. He sees her ruffle Henry’s hair. Being jealous of a child is a new low for him. He can’t help but wonder how her fingers would feel as they carded through his strands. How they would feel against his scalp, if she’d gently scratch his head like he’s also seen in the movies and like his mom used to do for him.
He’s then even more embarrassed and humiliated that his main experience with comforting touches is with his mother.
4. Spencer stumbles over the leg of a chair, and her arms reach out to steady him, but she pulls away just before she can grasp him. She knows he’s uncomfortable about being touched and doesn’t want to unsettle him. He’s so sad that he missed the opportunity to have her hands on him.
He wonders how her hands would feel on his waist; the thought of it alone is making him feel light-headed. He doesn’t dare to think about how her fingertips would feel brushing against the bare skin there.
5: She’s rubbing JJ’s shoulders for her in the middle of the bullpen. JJ is extremely pregnant and has been rolling her shoulders back, wincing. She’s so kind and caring and nurturing – of course, she offered to help JJ.
Spencer watches this occur from across the room with envy. JJ deserves this. She could give birth any day now and he knows how hard pregnancy is on the body and he absolutely should not be so jealous right now.
But would she rub his shoulders for him after a long day of work, too? He’d return the favor!
*** When she does finally touch him, he wishes it could have been under better circumstances.
They’re walking down the street in a major city, cars flying past them as they leave a storefront after questioning an employee.
He’s talking to her animatedly about what he thinks about the store owner when he trips on a crack in the sidewalk. The toe of his shoe gets stuck, and he staggers sideways. He nearly falls into the steady traffic.
She gasps and reaches out to grab his hand, yanking him towards her.
They’re both too shocked for words.
He stumbles forward against her, and they’re chest to chest.
He’s breathless because he could’ve just died, definitely not because her fingers are in his palm and their torsos are pressed together.
“I think you just saved my life.” He feebly says.
“I definitely did.” She cracks an uneasy smile and squeezes his hand. “Gotta be more careful, Spence. I can’t lose you.”
He’s blushing from his ears to his chest, where he’s still leaning against hers.
“I’m sorry.” He weakly replies.
He spent months wondering what her skin would feel like against his. Her fingers are warm, smooth, and so soft. Her grip is firm, and he wonders if she would grip him like that in other-
Context shows that she was just being a good friend, a good person, really. But he hopes this isn’t the last time that she touches him. Maybe he’ll be brave and reach for her sometime.
this has been sitting in my drafts for like a month and idk if i'll ever be completely happy with it so here it is!
i have 2 other similar drafts: "5 times spencer lets her touch him, and the 1 time he touches her first" and "5 times spencer accidentally touches her, and the 1 time he does it on purpose"
synopsis: when you find yourself curious about kissing, spencer suggests learning by example.
pairing: s2 glasses! spencer x reader
genre: kinda flirty fluff
wc: 980ish
notes/tags: established relationship, my sleep deprived delusions got the best of me sorry, spencer infodumps about love chemicals, they just wanna kiss so bad
masterlist // if you enjoy pls reblog it helps promote the fic so much !!
————————————🎬———————————
The light from the TV flickered in the reflection of Spencer’s glasses as you stared up at him, the distorted picture of the couple in the cheesy romcom playing nothing more than a flimsy blob of colours. It hadn’t been that long since you two had begun dating and although you’d spent a lot of nights cuddled up watching a movie on his sofa it still gave you a funny, fluttering feeling in your chest to see him this close. It felt like the glass case had been removed from a work of art, and somehow you had been given the privilege of examining this masterpiece up close. The slight shadow on his upper lip, so faint you never really notice it outside of moments like this, the stray eyelash on his cheek begging for you to pluck up the courage to reach over and gently brush it away- all of it had your heart in your throat.
Tearing your gaze away, you turned back to the screen. You hadn’t really been following even though you picked the movie, too distracted by the way his thumb rubbed circles into your calf absentmindedly, intimidatingly natural for the man who swore he had no romantic instincts. The couple were standing close, staring at one another longingly, before leaning in. Narrowing your eyes, you watched as their lips met and curiosity took ahold of you.
“Why do people kiss?” You mumbled, tilting your head.
“Hm?” Spencer shifted his attention to you, turning his head to look at you through warm eyes.
“Why do people kiss?” You repeated. “It’s kind of weird when you think about it.”
“You don’t like it?” He asked hesitantly, his motions on your calf slowing as he tilted his head back at you.
“No, no! No, I do.” You panicked, watching his tense shoulders relax. “But why? It’s just pressing your mouths together.”
Spencer chuckled, a slight flush on his cheeks as he pondered your question. He cleared his throat before speaking, preparing his voice for that teacher-y cadence you adored so much. The one that gave you butterflies right in the centre of your stomach. “Kissing causes a chemical reaction in our brains that releases the typical ‘happy’ hormones- oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin.”
You tracked his hand as it waved through the air to the rhythm of his words like a hypnotist’s act, brows furrowing and un-furrowing as he went. His voice grew low and slightly raspy as he talked, like his thoughts were moving too fast for his breath to keep up with. All of it sent a shiver down your spine.
“In fact oxytocin is often known as the ‘love hormone’- when it releases it forms a sort of bond between two people, creating feelings of affection and trust.”
You hummed as you considered his words. “I get that. But like, why? What is it about kissing specifically that makes you all hormonal?” It wasn’t that you didn’t understand. You did. So much. Especially when his soft, pink lips were doing so much moving right now. If you were just a little bit bolder, perhaps, you could imagine yourself reaching over, confidently pulling him in by his tie and testing out his theory until his lips were red and swollen- but you would never do yourself the disservice of cutting his rambling so short.
“The skin on our lips is highly sensitive,” Spencer’s gaze nervously darted down to your own, before darting back up to meet your eyes, “there’s a higher amount of nerves that make our brain send out those signals. And dopamine is what makes kissing feel,” he paused, trying to disguise a shy gulp as his focus fell back to your lips, “addictive. It’s what makes us want to keep on kissing.”
Tilting your head coyly, you let out a sigh of mock frustration, shamelessly begging him to take the bait.
“You know, uh-“ he started, voice wobbling as he angled his body clumsily towards you, “- some people learn better with a hands on approach.”
In an instant the movie was gone, completely forgotten as you saw yourself take its place in the reflection of his glasses, wide eyed and blinking up at him. His fingers twitched restlessly against your calf as if he were resisting reaching out just as much as you were. He looked painfully adorable.
“I think that might help.”
Spencer released a shaky breath, something between relief and disbelief as a shy smile flashed across his face. For a second, his nose scrunched before an equally shaky hand reached out, cupping your jaw with a gentleness that had your stomach doing flips. You felt your eyes fluttering shut, shuddering breaths counting the seconds before you finally felt what you’d been chasing after.
Soft lips met yours, moving slow and tender and careful and you felt your whole body crumble. A sigh tumbled out of you, your mouth falling open as the kiss deepened. An almost desperate hum left Spencer’s lips as his hand slipped from your jaw to the nape of your neck, sliding into your hair and pulling you closer with a gentle urgency like he couldn’t bare to have even a millimetre of distance between you. Like a man starved, you thought. You felt time disappear as you tasted the coffee on his tongue, as your hand drifted up to curl around his wrist, to keep him close as his mouth continued moving against you in a way that made you absolutely dizzy.
You don’t know how long it was before you pulled away, but when you did the TV screen was black. Spencer pressed his forehead to yours with a nervous giggle.
“Think you get it now?” He managed eventually.
“I think so.” You smiled, cupping his face with both hands. His cheeks were warm. “But just in case I think you’d better show me again.”
summary: you and Spencer meet for your first date after meeting on a dating app
includes: first date, nerves, fluff, post-prison Spencer Reid, age gap, dating app meet cute, awkward flirting, insecurities, shy adorable idiots
based on this request 💖
Spencer arrives twenty-three minutes early.
Not because he means to, or because he's particularly eager, or because he spent the entire drive second-guessing whether the navy tie looked better than the burgundy one.
Twenty-three minutes early is simply what happens when Spencer Reid is nervous.
The restaurant isn't busy yet. Early evening sunlight spills through the front windows, painting everything gold and warm. The hostess smiles when he gives his name, leading him to a small table near the window.
"Your date isn't here yet," she says.
The words make his stomach immediately perform a complicated gymnastic routine.
Your date. Right.
He thanks her, sits down, and immediately regrets sitting down.
His tie feels crooked. He adjusts it. Then adjusts it again. Then once more for good measure.
It's probably fine. It was fine the first time.
Spencer knows repeatedly adjusting it only increases the likelihood of making it worse.
That doesn't stop him.
The waiter brings water. Spencer thanks him.
He checks his watch. It's only been three minutes.
Wonderful. At this rate he'll experience approximately six hundred years before you arrive.
He takes a sip of water. Checks the door. Looks away. Checks the door again.
This is ridiculous.
He's thirty-eight years old. He's negotiated with serial killers. He's stared down armed suspects. He's survived situations that should have terrified him far more than a first date.
And yet somehow the prospect of meeting one woman from a dating app has him feeling sixteen.
His fingers tap against the table in an attempt to burn off some nervous energy.
The problem is, he already really likes you.
If he'd only exchanged a few messages with you, maybe this would be easier.
Instead, the two of you have spent weeks talking.
Weeks.
It started innocently enough. A few messages. A conversation about books. A debate about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. A discussion about terrible movie adaptations.
Then suddenly it was two in the morning and he was smiling at his phone like an idiot.
Now he knows your favorite color. Your favorite coffee order. The name of the stuffed animal you had as a child. The fact that you always cry during animal rescue videos but refuse to cry during actual sad movies.
He knows dozens of tiny things. Enough to feel attached. Not enough to know whether you'll look at him and immediately realize he's awkward. Or too old. Or strange. Or all of the above.
His gaze drifts toward the window.
He doesn't want to, but he thinks about the absolute disaster that had been getting ready for tonight.
Spencer has never considered himself particularly fashionable.
He owns clothes. The clothes fit. Most of them are clean. Historically, that's been enough. Apparently not anymore.
His bedroom had looked like a crime scene by the time he'd left.
One involving button-down shirts.
The blue one had been too formal. The green one had felt too casual. The gray one had somehow made him look older, which had immediately been discarded for reasons he absolutely did not want to examine too closely.
Then there had been the sweater debate.
The sweater had lasted nearly twenty minutes. Because sweaters are approachable. But maybe too approachable.
Maybe they made him look like a professor. Which he technically was.
But he didn't want to look like your professor. That thought alone had nearly sent him spiraling.
Perhaps for the first time in his life, Spencer found himself acutely aware of every year he'd lived.
Every line at the corners of his eyes. Every indication that he'd spent decades working impossible hours and carrying impossible things.
He'd stood in front of the mirror staring at himself longer than he cared to admit.
Trying to see what you would see. Trying and failing.
The problem with being a profiler is that he's exceptionally good at analyzing other people.
Himself?
Not so much.
He'd almost texted you.
I don't know what people wear on first dates anymore.
Then he'd spent several minutes staring at the message before deleting it. Because somehow admitting he could discuss quantum mechanics but couldn't choose a shirt felt too embarrassing.
In the end, he'd settled on the navy tie. The white button-down. The charcoal jacket.
Simple. Safe. Reasonable.
Which meant he'd spent the entire drive wondering if he'd made the wrong choice.
And now, sitting at the table, he resists the urge to adjust his tie again. Mostly because he's fairly certain he'll accidentally strangle himself if he keeps touching it.
The restaurant door opens. His eyes lift automatically. His heart skips.
Not you. A middle-aged couple.
Spencer immediately looks away. Then silently wonders if you're doing the same thing.
If you're checking your reflection in the mirror one last time. If you're second-guessing your outfit. If you're nervous too.
The thought settles something warm in his chest.
Because maybe he's not the only one hoping reality lives up to weeks of late-night conversations. Maybe you're just as scared of being disappointed. Maybe you're just as excited. Maybe you're sitting in your car right now trying to gather the courage to walk inside.
That possibility makes him smile.
The restaurant door opens again. Spencer glances up automatically.
And this time, it's you.
For a moment, his brain simply stops working. Because somehow, impossibly, you look even prettier than your pictures.
Your photos had been beautiful. He'd stared at them often enough to know that.
The picture of you holding an iced coffee and squinting into the sun. The one with a dog you'd met at a park. The blurry selfie you'd sent after accidentally staying awake until three in the morning talking to him.
He knows those pictures. But they hadn't prepared him for this.
For the way you move. For your smile. For the warmth in your eyes when they find him across the restaurant.
For the fact that you're real.
Not a collection of messages on a screen. Not a voice note. Not a photograph.
You.
Actually here.
His heart immediately forgets how it's supposed to function.
You spot him and smile. And Spencer is on his feet before he even realizes he's moving. The chair scrapes softly against the floor.
Too fast. Definitely too fast.
Normal people don't stand up that quickly. Do they?
His hands immediately become a problem.
Should he wave? Put them in his pockets? No, that's weird.
Cross his arms? That's weirder.
Shake your hand? Absolutely not. Who shakes hands on a date?
For a horrifying second he becomes intensely aware of the existence of his hands.
They're just there. Attached to him. Doing nothing useful.
You reach the table before he figures out a solution.
"Hi." Your smile widens. The sound of your voice in person nearly knocks the air from his lungs.
It's familiar. And completely different. Warmer. Softer. Real.
"Hi." The word comes out slightly strangled.
Fantastic. Great start.
You don't seem to notice. Or if you do, you're kind enough not to mention it.
Spencer swallows. His brain desperately searches for something intelligent to say.
Something charming. Something worthy of the countless conversations you've already shared. Instead, what comes out is:
"You look really pretty."
The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to die. Not because they're untrue. Because they're painfully, embarrassingly inadequate.
Pretty?
Pretty?
That's the best his vocabulary can do?
He knows over a hundred thousand words. And somehow his brain picked pretty.
But then you smile. A little surprised. A little shy.
And suddenly he doesn't care.
"Thank you," you say softly. "You look handsome."
Handsome.
The word lands somewhere directly in his chest.
Spencer is fairly certain nobody has ever called him handsome and survived the resulting internal catastrophe.
His face grows warm. Very warm. Dangerously warm.
You laugh quietly, the sound laced wtih fondness.
And somehow that's even worse. Or better. Possibly both.
"Can I tell you something?" you ask.
He nods immediately. "Of course."
"I was really nervous."
The confession catches him off guard. "You were?"
"Extremely." You glance down briefly before looking back up at him. "I sat in my car for like ten minutes."
Spencer stares.
Then, despite himself, laughs—bright and startled, relief flooding through him all at once.
"Really?"
"Really." You point at him. "And don't look so smug. You were probably nervous too."
Spencer presses his lips together. "I got here twenty-three minutes early."
The silence lasts approximately one second.
Then you're laughing again.
The sound fills the space between you. Easy. Comfortable. Familiar.
Like the two of you have been having this conversation for years instead of thirty seconds.
And just like that, some of the tension melts away.
Not all of it. His pulse is still racing. His palms are still slightly sweaty.
You're still so beautiful it's actively distracting.
But for the first time since arriving, Spencer feels something stronger than nerves.
Hope.
Because you're smiling at him the same way you smiled through your pictures. The same way you smiled through video calls. The same way you smiled whenever his messages made you laugh.
And as he pulls out your chair for you, he can't stop thinking one thing.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Spencer Reid x femBAU!reader
Category: smut 18+ MDNI, angst
Summary: Attending Rossi's wedding while nursing the betrayal of your boyfriend, you find solace (and revenge) in the arms of Dr. Spencer Reid.
Content: 7.7k porn with a plot. Mentions of smoking and drinking, reader wears a dress, heels, and make up, and cheats on her shitty bf, semi-public sex, oral (m and f receiving), softdom!Spencer, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, reader is called naughty girl and good girl, very slight degradation, lots of praise, big dick!Spencer, size kink, unprotected p in v, creampie, rumination and references to sin and Eve and religion in general, probably blasphemous, Jeid mention, unhealthy coping mechanisms, this is kinda toxic but it's sexy I swear (I HOPE; yell at me nicely if i missed anything)
A/N: this fic had been MARINATING for more than a month. Probably overwritten and self-indulgent, years of Catholic trauma rlly just spilled onto my docs ya know. Tried very very hard to make the smut worth it because there's so much build up and I'd hate for the smut to be meh. Lost the plot multiple times. Reached the point of i’m sick of this fic pls let it end but ultimately it's a piece that I’m actually proud of. Dedicated to user @notlongtolove for the yap fest and brainstorming, iykyk!!! Pls enjoy while I rejoice; this mammoth is finally over. Special request to leave a comment so I feel accomplished, pretty please tyyyy.
Rossi's wedding had been your opportunity to introduce your new boyfriend to the team. You've taken great pains to keep your relationship private, a feat that makes you proud because the amount of things that gets past Penelope Garcia is next to nothing. But somehow, in the past four months, you've managed. You've passed the threshold, the personal rule of three months of privacy, of keeping things on the down low, and you had been excited to stroll up to Rossi's fourth wedding in the arms of Cameron, your boyfriend of nearly five months.
Unfortunately, you'd caught another woman's underwear in his car nearly a week before the day of the wedding. He still hasn't admitted to his betrayal, no matter how many times you've pleaded and talked to him. You already know, anyway. It's easy enough to tell from his body language. The twitch of his lips he does whenever he's nervous, the way he overuses the phrase come on, every single one of his tells point to his infidelity. You've used every trick in the profiler handbook— interrogation, an attempt to seduce, anger— none has worked.
Your pathetic boyfriend would only repeat that he loves you so much, why are you acting like this?
So you're a depressing cloud on Rossi's big day. You hide it behind a big smile, which would normally be unconvincing, but everyone is too wrapped up in the festivities to look too closely at your hastily erected facade.
And it’s worked, for the most part. You know it’s not because of your acting skills, but more because there’s too much going on to pay attention to you. And disappearing as part of the crowd allows you to observe and stew in your betrayal, fingertips tingling with the desire to get even somehow.
You wish you could say he’d tempted you. Pursued you with gentle brushes of his hands on the exposed skin of your back, bewitched you with his dimpled smile, so inhumanly beautiful you just couldn’t say no. How could you resist temptation when it is being presented to you by someone who looks like he’s been carved by the hands of God himself?
Because Spencer Reid has always been something akin to divinity, at least to you. As the BAU's newest recruit— appointed and transferred by the infamous Linda Barnes herself—you've had to fight tooth and nail to earn the team's trust.
Now, Linda Barnes is gone, you have a spot on the team, and Spencer Reid remains elusive.
His reputation preceded him, of course, one of the smartest active agents, incarcerated for something he didn't do. He's kind in the moments you've spent with him, with a bumbling earnestness that you've found endearing.
He's also incredibly beautiful.
So who could blame you if you did give in to his advances? People stronger than you have succumbed, after all, and you, in your vulnerable, lovelorn glory, would not have been responsible if you decided to take a bite from the forbidden apple, right? Giving in to temptation is the lesser sin, more forgivable, would absolve you of guilt especially after the betrayal you've gone through.
Except Spencer Reid hadn’t pursued you. The meeting had been accidental, at least that’s what you tell yourself. You’d seen him leave towards the end of the ceremony. Of course you did, you had been watching him all night. Sometime towards the end of the ceremony, while the minister was talking about the importance of second chances, he’d slipped away.
You had been the one to go after him. In your defense, you’ve been itching to get your hands on a cigarette since you got here. Weddings have always made you giddy, excited. It’s a celebration of love, after all, a declaration of two people’s commitment to each other. In sickness and health. But Cameron's infidelity weighs heavily upon your shoulders, and though you've borne more than this—you're a BAU agent, after all, you face horrors on a daily basis—it's still difficult to set aside the burn when you're surrounded by happy couples.
So you’d put your focus on Dr. Reid: handsome in his suit, but something about him seemed distracted. Perhaps he'd been banking upon the wedding as a distraction, just like you had been. Everyone is too busy with the happy couple to pay attention to two lonely souls.
But he's wrong. You've got your eye on him, and you see something in his amber irises that reflect your own.
Loneliness.
Why is Spencer Reid lonely?
It’s the intrigue that ultimately leads you out into the hallways. And when you stumble upon his brooding form, your excuse is truthful, “I'm trying to find the bathroom.”
He kindly escorts you to the correct wing, making small talk. Something about wedding dresses not being white historically. You smile and nod, thanking him graciously as you slip into the ladies room. When you leave the bathroom after basically inhaling a stick of cigarette, he’s still lingering outside. Waiting by the wall, smiling upon your return.
“Oh,” you return his smile, “You’re still here.”
“Figured we could walk back together.” his nose wrinkled a little as you stepped closer, the smell of your cigarette apparently not sufficiently disguised.
You're smile becomes sheepish, shaking your head, “I thought I was being slick by spraying perfume, but apparently not.”
He laughs. It reminds you of the church bells that rang for the wedding. Rich and lilting.
“Not to judge, but why the need for a smoke break?”
“Why should there be a reason?”
“You've told me you only smoke when you're stressed out.” Fuck. “Why are you stressed out?”
“Just having a bad day.”
It's the wrong answer, because his gaze zeroes in on you, oozing with an intense curiosity. “On Rossi's wedding?”
“Not because of it,” You laugh airily, but in the quiet of the hallway, it's much more difficult to pretend that everything is okay. Two can play at this game though. “Why are you out here?”
He averts his gaze to his shoes, brows furrowing in a way that makes you blood spike. He’s hiding something.
“I just needed some fresh air.” he pushes his hands deep into his pockets, lifting his gaze from the floor and dragging it through your form, taking in your appearance in the cocktail dress you’ve donned for the wedding. His voice is strangled when he speaks again,, “You look lovely. I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you yet.”
“Thank you. You look very dashing too.” A pause stretches between you. In that quiet moment, it seems like the universe has presented the perfect way of retaliation for you. The nicotine had made you bold, audacious. And if you’d read him correctly, then he’s in need of relief as much as you are, the kind of relief a simple cigarette wouldn’t fix. You step closer, looking straight into his eyes, “Truth be told, I’m not in any hurry to go back.”
You see his jaw clench, the beautiful brain of his going a thousand miles per minute, likely computing every possible meaning of your words. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you decide to help him out, taking another step forward and tilting your head up.
When you kissed him, he didn’t even hesitate to kiss you back. Mouth parting, fingers tightly clenched at your waist, pulling you closer and closer until space felt like a foreign concept altogether. He is an insistent kisser, leaning his whole weight into you as his lips opened and sucked at yours.
The dark corner isn’t ideal, but it was the closest space at your disposal. Neither of you are willing to spend more time looking for somewhere to hide, not when you could spend that time running your hands and lips in places undiscovered. Your lips across the strong angle of his jaw, his stubble tickling your skin. Spencer tonguing the space beneath your ear, fragrant with traces of your perfume. Your hand massaging him into an erection through the fabric of his pants.
He lets out the prettiest moan when you drop to your knees in front of him.
You don’t miss the irony of it as you tugged and undid his belt and zipper, fully conscious of the act you’re about to commit. Kneeling in a chapel, for all the wrong reasons.
“Are you sure?” the words spill from his lips so sweetly, as if he isn't standing before you with his erection only inches from your face. Long and thick and already leaking precum at the tip.
You take him into your mouth as an answer, condemning yourself to your fate. Spencer is beautiful like the devil, and you’re Eve succumbing to the first sin.
Two wrongs do not make a right. You know this. Everyone does. A lesson as old as time itself, written in languages you can’t comprehend. Even mathematics dictates that adding two negative integers does not cancel them out—the negative value merely increases. You should not retaliate on your boyfriend by committing the very sin that hurt you in the first place. By all accounts, nothing good should come from it.
Yet here you are, on your knees for a man as pretty as the devil himself. A man very much not your boyfriend.
Even fucking worse, your coworker.
Tucked in some dark corner—not even given the dignity of a dusty closet. That at least would have given you complete privacy. No, you’re on your knees in some seemingly abandoned hallway, half hidden by a combination of the dim lights, and ostentatious pillars, and him. His lean body shields you from general view as your lips stretched around his throbbing length.
You learn that he is a contradiction. A large hand gathers your perfectly styled curls, holding them at the crown of your head. Gentle, careful. The other rests just beneath your jaw, holding your head still as he slowly pushes his hips forward. Your nails grip his pants as your mouth stretches around his girth. The fabric wrinkles under your clutches as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, then begins to push beyond it.
Only half of his length in and you're already choking.
Wide, panicked eyes dart up to meet his deceptively honeyed ones. You consider pulling back, just to catch your breath but you can’t; his hands are holding you steady. Oddly enough, the look in his eyes helps you relax. There’s something inherently trustworthy about those ochre irises, despite the fact that his pupils have blown up so much and nearly eclipsed them. Maybe you’re too used to indifference from Cameron, too used to sex being so clinical and borderline perfunctory, that the unbridled lust in his gaze excites you instead of scare you away.
Still, it doesn’t help the little choking issue you’re currently having.
“Breathe through your nose,” he murmurs. You blink back the tears that have gathered at your lashes, still maintaining eye contact with him. Spencer sighs, pulls his cock out. Mercy. It's not something you deserve, but you take advantage of the moment wisely, following his instructions and breathing through your nose.
The stench of sin is musky and stale. You fill your lungs with it all the same, just as he rams his cock back down your throat and fills your mouth. He hisses when you gag around him lightly, but doesn’t stop. You realize that you’d probably chase after him if he does anyway.
His thumb caresses your cheek, “That’s it, good girl. You can take it.”
Well fuck.
It’s a little too much, balancing on your knees like this while he uses your mouth and throat, but you push through because he says you can. You fancied yourself the seductress, but somehow, the tides have turned and you’re little more than putty in his hands.
His cock glides in and out of your mouth with ease, painting chapped red marks from your lipstick along the veined length with every push of his hips. Finding your balance, you wrap a hand around the base of his cock, stroking up what you can't fit into your mouth. After a few clumsy attempts, you manage to match the rhythm of his hips.
What a pretty figure you make, on your knees, looking up at him with fluttering lashes. You moan around his length, sending vibrations up his spine, and are rewarded by his mouth falling open, a wordless expression of pleasure. He continues to fuck your mouth, never breaking eye contact as he eases his cock deeper with each thrust. Tears gather at your lash line every time he goes down your throat.
You’re sure your throat is distending in order to accommodate his girth, and it makes your own pussy clench at the idea. What would it be like to have such a large cock inside your walls, filling you? It makes you moan again, and Spencer’s hand tightens at your hair. His pace quickens, and you hollow your cheeks, urging him to continue.
You hear his undoing before you feel it, strained groans tumbling from trembling lips, before his hips thrust forward and suddenly your nose is pressed to his crotch, and there’s an explosion at the back of your throat. He holds you there, eyes watering, drool spilling from the corners of your ruined mouth as he blows his load deep in your throat.
Yeah, he definitely needed that.
You swallow what you can, but that’s difficult when there’s a huge cock obstructing your throat.
It ends up being a mess, combination of your saliva and his cum dripping out of your mouth and onto the floor. How fitting. In the back of your mind, you’re just happy that only a few drops landed on your dress. Easy enough to clean. Miraculously. Your conscience, however, is an entirely different story.
Still, some part of you can’t even begin to feel bad. Cameron had cheated first, he’d broken the bounds of your relationship first.
Sure, this is still wrong. You have no moral ascendency to stand on, but who cares about any of that when Spencer Reid is kneeling before you with gentle hands and even gentler eyes?
“Are you all right?” he murmurs, his voice slow and sensual like dripping honey.
Somehow, your voice does not betray you, coming out clear and far more confident than you’re actually feeling. “Yeah, I’m good.”
He smiles, thumbs wiping away some of the residue off your lips, “Are you sure? You look a little dazed.”
You laugh, “I mean, yeah, but I just need to catch my breath.”
He takes your hand, helps you stand back up. “I think another trip to the bathroom is in order.” he says as he guides you to the bathroom again.
When you get there, you are a wreck of the highest order, curls dishevelled despite his attempts to be careful, lipstick smudged around your mouth. Your chin is still a little moist from the drool and cum that had dripped down. Tear tracks drag down your cheeks, but thankfully your eye makeup and foundation are only a little smudged. Nothing a little dab of a napkin won’t fix.
You fix what you can—quick spray of perfume, reapplication of lipstick. Hands steady as you work. You aren't sure if this is a sign of guilt, or lack of it. You don't really care. He's gone when you leave the bathroom now, and the soft, treacherous side of your heart fills with disappointment. You remind yourself that it's better this way, less conspicuous, if he returns to the wedding before you.
Still, swallowing his load with an obstructed throat somehow had been easier than swallowing the bitter disappointment that builds in the back of your tongue.
The ceremony is just about to end when you return to the makeshift chapel, people standing and clapping as David and Krystall Rossi share the sweetest kisses. A celebration of love and second chances. After what you've done with Spencer, you know this is out of your cards now. You've fallen far beyond redemption, shot the remnants of your relationship with Cameron after kneeling in service of another man.
You catch sight of Spencer, standing in the midst of other agents. Clapping like everyone else, but his eyes are trained upon something else. Curiosity gets the best of you and you follow his gaze, trying to approximate what he's looking at.
Or rather— whom.
If you're correct, then he's looking at someone.
Oh.
Blonde hair, a slim frame in a beautiful red dress that perfectly accentuates the long, muscled lines of her arms and legs. Beside her, a man with salt and pepper hair and kind blue eyes. His arm at her waist. Your coworker and her husband. JJ and Will.
Oh.
Your gaze returns to Spencer, and despite your attempts not to dig deep, not to learn why he's looking so forlorn, it’s easy to put the pieces together. Whether or not this is a full blown affair isn’t important; all you know is he wants her, and she's married to another man.
Is this connected to the previous case? You recall the last case, the hostage situation in LA. He and JJ had been in there for a long time, but neither really shared what exactly happened. Nobody knows except for the two of them, the unsub, and the victims. You aren’t about to pull rank and ask traumatized people about the drama between your coworkers. You’re better than that.
Are you?
Yes. You don’t hold much sacred, but your job is important. It is above you. You aren’t about to jeopardize it over some workplace drama.
But still, the curiosity gnaws at you no matter how much you attempt to tamp it down. Does he have feelings for JJ? Does she, for him? She couldn’t possibly; she has a husband, two beautiful kids. Easy enough to deduce that it’s probably Spencer, then, who is pining after her.
As though he feels your stare, Spencer looks over at you. Hurriedly, you avert your eyes, heart pounding faster than you would like it to.
Was he thinking about JJ while he used your mouth?
The thought knocks the wind out of your lungs, and you banish it to the deepest crevices of your mind. It shouldn't matter.
It doesn't. It doesn't.
You don’t have any room to judge, anyway. You’ve dragged Spencer into your own messy relationship by sucking him off in the middle of the wedding. A relationship he doesn’t even know about. So, with a smile, you clap for the new couple, and follow the crowd to the reception.
Joy and excitement are nearly palpable in the room. A small, intimate crowd of smiling faces surrounded by the tastefully extravagant decor, obviously paid for by the wealthy groom. The air is filled with that soft, electric energy that often occurs when people are happy and sufficiently buzzed with some drinks.
The only thing on your mind is him.
How can it not be, when you can still remember the little tryst you'd had prior. The weight of him in your mouth, the fetid mess of skin and cum and the lingering nicotine.
It passes by in a blur. The food is delicious, you gush to Portia, you look so beautiful; congratulations, to the new couple. None of it is fake, but you are possessed by a single, irrevocable urge to watch Spencer. That glance at JJ has intrigued you more than you should be. What sort of web had you stumbled upon? And instead of trying to get out, you're eager to spin more.
Bringing the champagne flute to your lips, you pretend to sip, allowing the glass to obscure some parts of your face while you continue to watch them. They’ve met up at the bar now, deep in conversation, hands clasped together in a way that’s far too intimate to be just friends. You can't tear your eyes away as JJ leaves, returning to the embrace of her husband, and you watch with an almost sick sense of fascination as Spencer lingers by the bar. Longing, pure and unmistakable, is etched upon every line on his face.
Before you can stop yourself, your feet are moving, gliding across the floor until you're beside him. He startles, brows lifting as he gazes at you. Your name slips through his lips with an exhale.
“You don't have to act like I'm a ghost, Spencer.” your lips quirk up in a teasing grin as the bartender refills your glass of champagne.
He looks chagrined, the implications of your words hitting him like a brick. “I’m not, you just seemed like you were having fun with Garcia.” he says, leaning on the counter. His eyes travel down the length of you again.
“You’re right, but you were looking a little lonely,” you take a sip from your champagne, letting the bubbly drink fizzle in your mouth and wash away the taste of him. “So, what was that with JJ?”
He sputters, eyes wide as his gaze darts back to your blonde coworker—now currently wrapped up in her husband’s arms.
“Nothing!”
“Holding hands when you’re a known germaphobe doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“I’m not that bad,” he protests, shaking his head, “I’d hold your hand too, but that’s besides the point.”
“It is,” you agree, tilting your head innocently, as your voice lowers, “Just wanted to know who you were imaging in place of me.”
He looks horrified to be reminded of your little quickie from before, “No one. It’s not—I wasn’t using you to—god, it’s not like that.”
“I’m not judging you if it was,” It’s true. It’s exactly what you’re doing with him, using him to forget about Cameron, to get back at him. Poor Spencer just doesn’t know about your secrets. Your amused look only makes him fluster even more.
“It isn’t,” he insists, “I just –”
“Listen, it’s okay,” you interrupt gently, fighting the urge to rest a reassuring hand on his forearm. The words are true anyway; you don’t wish to unearth whatever secrets he wants to keep buried. You have your own, anyway; it’s only fair he’s allowed his secrecy. Your reasons for approaching him are entirely different, and perhaps a little self serving. But you’ve already condemned yourself to being the bearer of temptation, you might as well take full advantage of it.
“Don’t look so ashamed,” you grin as you lift the recently refilled glass to your lips, “You know I have a room for the night… in case you want to blow off more steam.”
The invitation makes his eyes darken in a way that’s becoming increasingly familiar. “You’re—we shouldn’t.”
“Who would know?” you quirk a brow in response, “Besides, it’s pretty much tradition for people to hook up at a wedding. Why shouldn’t it be us?” Please, say yes.
“We’re coworkers.”
“We’re adults.” you deliberately don’t say single adults, “It’s fine. Listen, I booked a room because I didn’t want to deal with the traffic, so if you want, it’s 309B. Completely up to you.” with a smile, you leave him at the bar and Spencer Reid is forced to watch a woman walk away from him for the second time.
That night, there's knocking at your hotel door—three sharp, no nonsense knocks that seem to mean business—echoes in your room minutes before midnight. You don’t bother looking through the peephole to confirm who’s on the other side. The moment you open the door, there’s not a lot of build up.
He’s shed his suit jacket; wearing only the white button down, slightly rumpled from the day’s events. His crown of light brown curls, carefully pushed back earlier, had fallen all over his forehead, messy tendrils tumbling across his face.
He takes one look at you—still in your lavender dress, but devoid of makeup and no more heels to add inches to your height. In the dimness of the room, you are diminutive, stripped of the ethereal mystique you bore from earlier. Human.
God, he wants you.
Not even as someone to help him forget about JJ. No, he wants you in your entirety, to possess you even for one night.
He kisses you again, but there’s no rush to his movements now. The previous rendezvous had been hasty in every sense of the word, made within minutes in an attempt to alleviate the desperate need all while staying safely hidden and inconspicuous.
Now, you have the entire night. He intends to make full use of it. He kicks the door closed behind him, one hand reaching back to lock it as the other tilts your face up so he can kiss you deeper. Your own arms snake around his neck, hands burying into those messy curls. There’s no more public reception to worry about; you can tug and twist and mess with it as much as you want.
Spencer groans into your mouth, hands tight at your hips, before pulling back slightly, “Jump.” he mumbles against your lips.
Your body reacts as if it’s wired to obey him, launching off the balls of your feet. His hands help to hoist you up, and you wrap your legs around his hips.
“You smell so good,” He whispers as he noses through your neck, before his teeth close around your earlobe. You giggle, urging him on by craning your neck to the side. His teeth tug on your earlobe playfully as he crosses the room to your bed. He toes off his shoes and lays you down carefully, his body hovering above yours while his kisses travel down your neck. Soft and sloppy and wet, they mark you like a brand.
Long, eager fingers hike your dress up, bunching it up your thighs, past your hips, and you hear him groan when your bare pussy is exposed to his darkened gaze.
“No panties?” he runs a finger up your folds, gathering your slick, “Don’t tell me you’re been going around like this all day?”
“Maybe I have,” you grin, legs parting even more to accommodate him. You haven’t—you’d just been touching yourself to the thought of him as you waited, but you’re not about to tell him that.
“Naughty girl,” he mumbles, one long finger pushing past your entrance and curling into you, “And so wet, too. You get off on being this dirty, or am I just lucky?”
A breathy laugh escapes your lips, “Which one would you prefer?” you ask, because tonight, you’re not yourself. Not really. You’re whoever he needs to be, the same way he’s exactly what you need right now. A body to which you can lose yourself.
“I’d like to think this is all just for me,” he adds another finger, the pace languorous and teasing.
“It is,” you gasp as he curls his fingers, then withdraws. Torturously slow, he fucks you with two lengthy fingers, hitting the spot inside you with ease. Your toes curl into the bed, sinking into the soft mattress, “Faster.”
“So needy,” he murmurs, shaking his head as he takes you in. There’s something addictive in the way you look in this moment, spread out beneath him like something unreal and sublime.
Your hips buck up. Something volatile simmers beneath your skin, desperate for more, “Please.”
Spencer chuckles as he watches you, fingers stilling inside your fluttering walls. Hovering above you with soft brown curls framing his face, he looks every bit an angel come to life. The laughter continues, his lips twisting into a sneer as you push your hips up desperately.
“So, so needy.” he repeats, but he acquiesces to your plea. More than that, he sinks a third finger inside you and speeds up. A cry of surprise and pleasure falls from your lips, head thrown back as he works his fingers inside you, “Oh, you’re taking it so well.”
Shame unfurls in your chest. What are you doing? Begging another man to fuck you with his fingers? Enjoying it? Is this truly what you’ve come to?
It’s not something you can dwell on, as Spencer begins to curl his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit. It circles the nub slowly, adding a layer of stimulation that has your thighs trembling. With a squeal, you writhe, moving to close your legs as the sensations become red-hot, building up closer and closer to a crescendo.
Spencer tuts teasingly, one leg pressing down on your thighs, and his other hand coming to grip your hip and hold you in place. “No, no, darling, I want to see you coming undone on my fingers.” he says, continuing to make come hither motions inside you.
“God—oh, I’m so—ah!” words trip over one another as you approach your climax, the world coming down into one point of focus. “Spencer!”
“That’s it, good girl,” he murmurs, laying his body over you as his fingers help you through your orgasm, “There you go.”
You’re thankful for the weight of him; it is a grounding presence in the midst of all the flurry. You’ve come undone at the hands of another man—literally. Never mind that Cameron had betrayed your trust first; you are no better than him.
But if sin felt as good as Spencer Reid’s kisses, then you have no qualms indulging.
His lips are upon you again, traveling down your collarbone and nipping at the skin there. You whine and wrap your legs around his waist, sensitive but still eager for more. He laughs against your skin with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.
“Are you always this needy?”
“No,” you’ve had a taste of the forbidden fruit earlier. Thrown out of Eden, you’re already past the point of no return. Might as well succumb and have one hell of a time. “Only for you.”
He hums, pushing your dress up again. It gets caught somewhere around your chest and there’s a brief moment of awkward laughter as he tries to tug at it, force it up and off you.
“Zipper,” you gasp when your brain finally works. Lifting yourself up on your elbows allows him to slide his hands to your back, find the dangling piece of metal and ease it down. The dress loosens across your shoulders and chest, and he’s finally able to pull it off altogether.
“Beautiful,” he sighs, descending upon you once again, “So beautiful.”
His words have you preening, and you wonder how something so insignificant as the word beautiful could make you feel so heavy. You used to associate delight with weightlessness, floating and light, but everything about Spencer is lumbering and grounded especially after he came back from prison.
You feel his lips and tongue making their way down, kissing every inch of your body. He tugs your bra down, not even bothering to take it off completely, your breast spilling forth and free for his touch. He takes one nipple and sucks, while his thumb circles and gently tugs the other. Every single act has you gasping, and you wonder when and where the hell did Spencer Reid ever learn how to do this? You shouldn’t question it though.
When his mouth lands upon your hips, you jerk. “Spencer,” you gasp, looking down on him, but there’s no more teasing from him now, no hesitation. Before you can even formulate what to say next—you don’t have to, I’ve already cum, I’m still so sensitive—his mouth is at your core, tongue lapping up what remains of your previous orgasm and all evidence of your arousal.
“Fuck!” you are not responsible for your actions anymore, not responsible for the way your fingers find his russet curls and tug hard, the way your thighs try to clamp shut around his head. He chuckles against you, the sound sending tingling vibrations that travel from your pussy to the tips of your toes and fingers.
“Settle down,” laughter drips from his gentle admonishment, “Or I’ll stop.”
“Please don’t.” you’re past the point of shame and guilt, eager to beg and obey as much as he wants. The positions have turned since the tryst in the hallway. No longer are you on your knees for him, no longer the one servicing him and choking around his length, yet somehow you’re still at his mercy. “Don’t stop, please, so good.”
He laughs, and you feel something sliding past your entrance. You clench around it involuntarily, as if you can tell what it is from the mere feeling, but then his mouth wraps around your clit and you’re reeling into oblivion once again.
“Spencer!” you thrash against the pillows, overwhelmed and sensitive but still eager to take more, “Spencer, oh my god, Spencer!” you lose count of how many times you’ve uttered his name from your lips. It has simultaneously lost every meaning, yet retained all of it. An invocation of fervent desire from a lowly, undeserving sinner. Thankfully, your god is merciful and giving, because Spencer wraps his arms around your thighs to hold you down, sucks at your clit harshly and thrusts into you again—fingers, you now realize, all three spreading you open and curling deep inside you.
With everything going on, your climax comes as no surprise. You and Spencer are both expecting it, you’re so worked up after all. What makes you both pause is the fact that something gushes out of you as you arch off the bed and cry out his name.
His movement stills for a split second, before he continues and helps you through your orgasm, tongue lapping at the mess between your legs as your body is wracked with the aftershocks, trembling beneath him. After a few moments, he stops, resting his head at your hip.
Looking at him feels like a risk. Fear keeps your eyes squeezed shut, afraid of what you’ll find. More teasing? Disgust? Doesn’t seem like it, from the way his fingertips are trailing over your thighs. You lift your lids again, eyes meeting his own hazy ones. They are nearly black, but what pulls your attention are his lips and chin. Glistening with slickness.
Your slick.
“Oh god,” your words are half groan, half laugh when the reality hits you, “Did I really?”
He laughs again, light and tender. “I believe you did.”
“I’m sorry.” you mutter, feeling utterly mortified that you just squirted all over your coworker’s face.
Spencer’s expression is one of mischief, but his eyes gleam with something darker. “What for?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
Another laugh, “But I wanna hear it,” he coos, pressing his lips to your hip bone, “Come on, darling, what are you sorry for?”
When you don’t answer, he nips at your skin playfully, slowly moving back to your center. Your pussy throbs both in anticipation and overstimulation.
“Spencer.”
“Mhm?”
“Too sensitive.” you try to squirm out of his grip. It only tightens, presses you deeper into the mattress.
A lick, teasing and light. “Tell me why you’re sorry.”
“Spencer!”
“Come on,” He's grinning, the bastard, “Why are you sorry?”
“Because I squirted in your face.”
He bites your inner thigh with more force than usual, “You shouldn't be.”
“Hm?”
“I loved it,” He murmurs, soothing the bite with a flick of his tongue, “Wanna see you do it again.”
You shudder, though you’re unsure whether it’s from his moistened tongue, or his words. “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” he drags himself up, kissing along your body as he does so, “Think you can be a good girl and do it again for me?”
“I think that’s entirely dependent on how well you do.”
Soft, dewy lips curl into a smirk at your challenge, and suddenly he’s sin incarnate, a devil about to pounce. Once again, how are you to deny this man of anything? How could you resist temptation when someone who looks like he’s been carved by the hands of God himself is looking at you as though you were the masterpiece? Liquid gold irises take you in, inspecting every inch of your body with unabashed want, and you’re reminded of the fact that he’s fully clothed, cock straining through his pants, and you’re in nothing but your flimsy bra that’s been pulled down your chest it’s not even covering anything anymore.
You fight the urge to squirm under his gaze, but then his hands come up your sides, ghost over your ribs and your back until he finds the hook of your bra.
“Not really fair,” you say as the last strip of your clothing falls away, your chest heaving from the sheer weight of his gaze, “I want to see you too.” with that, you reach for him, deft fingers quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt.
He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t help, only continues to regard you with quiet intensity.
Once his clothes are off, he meets your lips again. His kisses are slower this time, an almost dreamy tangle of tongue and teeth, but his body is hot and slick with sweat even as he holds himself on his elbows above you. His cock rests upon your lower abdomen, its heft reminding you of how much your mouth had to stretch to accommodate him earlier. How the length and girth had all but blocked your airways as he thrusted into your throat.
You clench around nothing at the idea of that same cock filling your pussy.
His kisses move down your jaw, down the column of your throat, being careful not to suck too hard on the skin and leave marks. You never know when you might be called in for a case, and he doesn’t want any trouble.
“Last chance to back out,” he murmurs, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, positioning the tip at your entrance.
You grin and shake your head, “No, I want to see if you can make me squirt again, or if that last one was just beginner’s luck.”
Laughter. You’re beginning to find sex with Spencer enjoyable on more than just the physical aspect. He drags the tip of his cock over your folds, combining his precum and your arousal into a heady, natural lubrication. He’s big, you already know that, but right now, you’re so pleasure drunk that you have no problem opening up to him.
You can tell he’s being careful, pushing his tip in slowly, and your entrance flutters, stretches around him. There’s a slight burn, but it’s accompanied by awe, overtaken by pleasure. You marvel at how his cock sinks into your slick, velvety heat, the way every slight thrust makes your body conform to his own as he carves out a space for himself.
As if he belongs there.
As if you’re his.
Every single memory about your cheating boyfriend is expelled from your mind with every thrust of his hips. You moan and clench around him at the thought.
“Fuck,” he groans, hips stilling. His cock is only halfway through, and you already look so fucked out, “Careful with that, darling, or this is gonna end sooner than we’d like.”
Your lower lip trembles, but you nod, spreading your thighs apart even further. “Sorry.”
He kisses that expression away, “Don’t be sorry,” two large hands hold your thighs in place, keeping you spread for him as he sinks in another inch. And then another. You’re so wet, and he’s done such a great job stretching you out that your walls engulf him easily.
“Oh god!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut as he fills you. You hear a chuckle, before he retreats, pulls out almost all the way, and once again you’re clenching around his length as though you’re trying to convince him to stay buried inside you.
“Stop clenching.”
“Can’t help it!”
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” With a soft hiss, he thrusts back inside, still slow and steady. The curse makes you gasp; you’ve never heard him curse before, somehow it’s even more jarring than when he’s murmuring filth into your ears. When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you, unblinking and focused, watching your every reaction. “You okay?”
“Fuck yes,” you gasp as his thrusts grow steady. The world seems to disappear around you, the only point of importance is where your bodies are coming together repeatedly. You reach up, hands seeking for something to ground you, and finding purchase at his tangled curls, “Oh god, yes!”
It’s funny, crying out for a god you don’t really believe in. Crying out for a god when you’re in the midst of sin, carnal pleasure and infidelity and who knows what else, you were never religious to begin with. You wonder if this is what religion is, this free fall, the blind surrender. But faith as you know it believes in something unseen, the conviction to the intangible and unexplained.
Spencer is very much here, and you can feel him between your thighs, his very existence present in the stretch of your walls around his cock, the soft curls you’ve woven around your fingers. He keeps his thrusts slow but deep, letting your walls feel every single vein and ridge on his cock.
“Spencer,” you moan, one hand falling to his face, soft palm on the stubble at his jaw, “Feels so good.”
“You too,” he turns his face, pressing his lips to the warmth of your hand. He’s very tender, his movements measured to ensure your comfort, “God, you’re taking me so well.”
Your walls tighten around him in response.
Something seems to ignite in his brain, his hand catching your wrist, pulling it from his face and pinning it to the bed. “You like that, my pretty girl? Like knowing you’re doing a good job for me?”
Fuck. The same rush of heat from when he’d had you on your knees fills your stomach. The heat that compels you to do whatever he wants, take whatever he’ll give in order to hear more of his praise. Like a devoted servant, at the service of a benevolent god.
“Yes,” you gasp, hooking one leg around his hips, while the other is bent at an angle, foot pressed to the mattress in order to allow you some leverage to meet his thrusts. It’s sloppy at first, your body not entirely in your control right now.
“That’s it, my darling, you can do it.” he mutters encouragingly, pausing to allow you to join in this tangled, exhilarating dance. When you’ve gotten steadier, he resumes his thrusts, and you’re finally able to buck your hips up to meet them.
The action sends his entire length buried deep inside you, something he’s been very careful to avoid in fear of hurting you. But instead, you let out a cry of pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “Yes!”
“Right there?” he grunts. You’ve never heard him before, voice low and strained as he slams his hips into yours, again and again. The mattress begins to creak from the force of his actions.
“Mhm hmm!” You meet him thrust for thrust, the impact hitting spots deep inside you that you’ve never felt before. Toes curling in on themselves, one hand buried in his hair, the other pinned by his strong grip, “Oh, god, Spencer, yes!”
He loosens his grip on your wrist, intertwines your fingers together, “Good girl. Look at you, so pretty while you take me.”
No words come from your mouth, only his name, repeated over and over that it begins to sound made up, unreal. Perhaps he is divine. Nothing human can make you feel this way, surely.
He shifts, his free arm wrapping around your hips to elevate you slightly, and the new angle has you keening, every single muscle in your body tightly wound and white-hot as he pounds into you. It’s obscene how easily your body accepts every single inch of him, the way your pussy flutters and yields to the throbbing length of his cock.
“My god, you feel like heaven,” he groans, and that’s it, those words have you screaming so loud he starts to laugh and kiss you just to swallow the sound. You’re shuddering beneath him, crying, the pleasure coiling and building until it bursts and snaps, cascading over you with such fervor he has to wrap both his arms around your limp body to help you calm down.
Somehow, your hazy mind registers the wetness between your thighs, the loud, nearly pornographic squelching of his body plunging into yours. He’d done his goal; he’s made you squirt again. You are boneless in his arms as he fucks you through your orgasm, and chases his own. You only regain agency when he tenses, groaning into your ear.
“Gonna cum,” he says, moving his hips to drag his length out. He’s so long you’re able to wrap your legs around his waist before he’s pulled his cock out all the way.
“No, please, do it inside.”
His body stutters, head falling to the crook of your neck as he ruts his hips into you, not even bothering to argue or ask you if you’re sure. He thrusts into your sensitive pussy erratically, mouth open and groaning into your neck, “Oh my god, oh my — ah!”
Spencer holds onto you, breathing heavily into your ear as you both come down from your high. You feel simultaneously weightless and heavy, melting into your mattress with sweet, glassy eyes.
“That was incredible,” you whisper against his hair. He’s already half asleep on top of you, mumbling incoherently against your shoulder. You don’t bother to move, letting his still hard cock stay buried inside your pussy as you both drift off into dreamland.
Morning comes with a delicious ache in your lower belly. Spencer has you tucked to his chest, his arm around your waist. The air is heavy with the lingering smell of sweat and sex, but also oddly light with the knowledge of a new day. You shift in his arms, yawning as you will your body to wake up and shake off the sluggish feeling clinging to your bones.
He wakes slowly, groaning into your hair, “Morning.” he mumbles.
“Morning,” you reply, but before either of you can say any more, your phone rings. Mindlessly, you reach for it, not even bothering to hide the screen from Spencer, who’s nosing at your temple sweetly.
Cameron ❤️
Your heart sinks. Before you can hit the ignore button, Spencer turns his head, still half asleep as he catches sight of your screen. The name, the heart emoji, the multiple missed calls shakes off every single sleepy cell in his body.
“Who’s Cameron?”
more size kink fics in the BUD Chronicles.
Forehead smooches to the many people who witnessed the conception of this fic and patiently listened and helped me as I crashed out and went screaming crying throwing up, hey nachos, @mggslover (who also proofread ty) @beenreidingaboutyou @reidingandallthat @burymagdalene and @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat good god there's so many, my need for reassurance is actually extremely bothersome and embarrassing but ily guys.
