This story BELONGS to @irisinlovee, all credits to them.
I'm just writing an alternate ending teehee.
not her, just you — spencer reid
pairings: spencer reid x profiler!reader theme: hurt to comfort summary: when she sees spencer kiss lila archer (s1ep18), something in her decideds that she will never be the girl for him. content warnings: none!
She and Spencer had always worked like two halves of the same mechanism. They joined the BAU so close together that people often forgot they hadn’t come as a set. From the beginning, it was obvious they were better together.
Spencer’s mind raced ahead, leaping from data point to data point, probabilities stacking and branching like a tree growing faster than anyone could prune it. She was the one who slowed him down just enough. Who asked the right questions, who took his spiraling thoughts and lined them up neatly into timelines and action steps.
They closed cases faster when they worked side by side. Hotch noticed. Before long, they were partnered more often than not.
Outside of work, that understanding only deepened. Friday nights were sacred. Spencer’s apartment always smelled faintly of old books and tea. She knew where everything was, where he kept the extra chopsticks, which cabinet held the mugs that didn’t chip, and how to fix the loose leg on the coffee table without asking. It was as if she lived there too, and it was a kind of slow comfort they loved and shared.
Doctor Who reruns played in the background, but after a while, neither of them paid attention. Spencer would pause the episode constantly, launching into trivia about production timelines or alternate story arcs. She’d always nod, smiling and let him talk.
Sometimes her head rested against his shoulder. Sometimes his knee pressed into hers. Once, half-asleep, she’d reached for his hand without thinking, and he’d laced their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Neither of them commented on it.
They never named what they were, and maybe that’s why the Lila Archer case hurt so much.
The assignment felt wrong the moment it happened.
“Reid,” Hotch said, “you’ll be assigned protective detail.”
Spencer blinked. “Me?”
“You’re non-threatening. Observant. You’ll stay with the victim.”
She waited, heart slowing, then speeding up again, for her name.
“You’ll remain at the office,” Hotch continued, turning to her. “Coordinate from there.”
Something hollow opened in her chest.
“Understood,” she said automatically.
Spencer frowned. “She should be there. We work—”
“It’s decided,” Hotch said, final.
Spencer looked at her then. Really looked. Like he was trying to memorize her face.
“I’ll call,” he said quietly.
“You always do,” she replied, smiling like it didn’t matter. It did.
From the bullpen, she watched everything unfold through screens and updates. Lila Archer was stunning, effortlessly so. Even in stress, even under threat, she glowed. She leaned into Spencer when she spoke, touched his arm casually, and laughed at his awkward jokes. Spencer looked different around her. That realization sat heavy in her chest. She tried not to read into it.
Then Garcia gasped softly behind her.
“Oh my my my, Dr. Spencer Reid.”
She turned. The pictures were everywhere. Spencer’s hands cupping Lila’s face. Lila leaning in, kissing him, once, twice, again. Spencer froze, but did not pulling away. Not stopping it. Her vision blurred. Something inside her broke, not loudly, not dramatically, but completely. Cleanly. Like a bone snapping under pressure, you didn’t realize that it had been building for years.
So that’s what that was, she thought numbly. That’s what he looks like when he wants someone.
The next morning, the magazine hit the table. THE MYSTERY MAN IN LILA ARCHER’S LIFE
Morgan laughed. “Spencer Reid, you dog!” Clapping a hand on his back.
Elle raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you had game.”
Penelope squealed. “I knew it! Our boy’s a romantic.”
She laughed with them. Made a joke. Even nudged Spencer’s shoulder once and said, “Hollywood suits you.”
But after that, she started pulling away.
It wasn’t obvious at first. Not enough for anyone else to call it out. Just enough for Spencer to feel it in his bones.
“Hey,” he said one morning, hovering near her desk, fingers curled around a case file. “Did you finish the geographic profile? I had a thought about—”
“It’s in your inbox,” she replied without looking up. “Page three. Bullet points.”
“Oh,” he said, blinking. “Okay. Um, thank you.”
She was already standing, grabbing her jacket. “No problem, Spencer.”
He watched her walk away, confusion settling into his expression. Spencer. She had never called her that. It was always Spence or Spencey.
Later that day, he tried again. “You take cream now, right?” he asked, holding out a coffee he’d grabbed without thinking. “I remembered because you said—”
“Black is fine,” she said, taking it briefly, already distracted. “Thanks.”
She didn’t sit with him at the roundtable; he slid into the chair beside her out of habit. She moved. Not far. Just enough. Spencer frowned, glancing at the empty space she’d left behind.
When Hotch asked for pairings on the next case, Spencer spoke before he could think. “She and I can—”
“I’ll take Elle,” she said quickly.
Spencer turned to her, startled. “Oh. I thought we usually—”
“I just want to switch it up,” she said lightly, already gathering her things.
The next case was JJ. After that, Morgan. Never him.
He tried to joke about it once. He said carefully, walking beside her toward the elevators, “You and I have the highest case-closure rate as a pair.”
“That so?” she replied, eyes fixed straight ahead. “By almost thirteen percent,” he added, hopeful. “Which is… significant.”
She pressed the elevator button. “Hotch didn’t seem to mind.”
The doors opened. She stepped in without him. Spencer stood there for a second too long, watching the numbers tick upward.
By Thursday, he stopped trying, and when the next Friday came, she stayed home.
The apartment was too quiet without him. She curled up on the couch, flipping through channels, not really watching anything. Every commercial break felt like another reminder of what she was missing.
The knock at the door startled her. When she opened it and saw Spencer standing there with Chinese takeout in hand, her heart jumped straight into her throat.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You didn’t come.”
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Wasn’t feeling good.”
Concern immediately overtook him. “Are you sick? Let me in. I can help.”
She stepped aside before she could stop herself. He always got in. She sat back down where she’d been, hugging her knees to her chest. Spencer set the food down carefully, like he didn’t want to disturb her.
“I got soup dumplings,” he said, holding out the container. “You don’t say no to soup dumplings.”
“Not hungry.”
That stopped him. He sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body. She flinches. It was so familiar. “Okay. What’s going on?”
Silence stretched.
“You don’t talk to me anymore,” he continued, words spilling out faster now. “You switched partners. You didn’t come tonight. Did I do something? Please—if I did, I need to know.”
She swallowed hard. An uncomfortable silence wraps around them. For a few minutes, she thought about what to say. Spencer watched her look at the palms of her hands, rubbing them together occasionally. He knew this was her coping mechanism when she was anxious, and just as he was about to say something, she finally spoke.
“When I saw the pictures,” she whispered, eyes fixed on the TV, “something in me broke.” Spencer froze.
“And that’s crazy,” she continued, voice trembling, “because you and I are...nothing, but it made me realize that everything I thought you felt about me… I made it up.”
He turned toward her fully.
“I just needed space,” she said. “To move on. To accept that you’ll end up with Lila, or someone like her.”
She laughed softly, bitter. “But it’s hard when you’re this close to me, and all I want to do is to be close to you.”
"It's hard when I look at you all, I canonly think of how you folded and melted in her touch,"
“She kissed me,” Spencer said quickly. “I didn’t start it.”
“I know,” she replied gently. “But you held her face. You let her keep kissing you, over and over, and over. Twenty pictures, Spencer. There were twenty pictures on the whiteboard of you lost in a trance against her lips that I had to stare at to solve the crime. It didn't help that the moment Morgan arrived in the bullpen, all he could tell me was that you confessed your interest in each other after." She continued.
He didn’t deny it. He wanted nothing but to touch her, now, to hold her hand, but he felt like he was glued in place.
“So I decided to get over you,” she finished. “I still love you as a friend. I don’t want to lose you. So please, can you just give me time and I'll be back to normal, I promise.” She says, sounding defeated.
Spence looks at her, almost hopeful when he sputters, “But I don’t want you to move on.”
She finally looked at him, eyes shining with tears. “Don’t toy with me, Spencer.”
“I’m not,” he said again, more urgently now, voice cracking under the weight of it. “I swear I’m not toying with you. I just, I didn’t know what to do.”
She scoffed quietly, turning her face away. “You always know what to do, Spencer. That’s kind of your thing.”
“Not with this,” he said. “Not with… feelings. Or proximity. Or expectations. When a girl gets close to me like that, my brain just stalls. I go blank. I freeze. It’s like my body doesn’t get the memo that I’m supposed to move.”
She swallowed, fingers tightening in her lap.
“But none of it was real,” he continued, words rushing now, afraid she’d stop listening. “Not the pictures. Not what people thought they saw. Not what Morgan said, I told him, I didn’t even realize how it sounded until after.”
Her breath hitched. "But you don't freeze when it's me..." She whispers, thinking it was wrong. Spencer's mouth presses into a line, sighing. "Because with you I feel safe."
“I liked that someone thought I was… worth wanting,” he admitted quietly. “That someone looked at me and didn’t see the awkwardness first, but that’s not the same thing as wanting her.”
She turned back to him slowly. “Then why didn’t you stop it?”
“Because I was thinking about you,” he said, the words tumbling out like they’d been trapped for too long. “And that scared me more than anything else.”
Her eyes widened.
_alternate ending_
A small laugh scaped her lips.
"What?", he asked low.
"you didn't stop the kiss", she turned to look at him with a smile on her lips and a tear falling on her cheek. "Because you were thinking about me... About me?! How stupid do you think I am!", she stood up and walked left to right in front of the couch, between crying and laughing in desbelief; but Spencer didn't know what to do.
"I didn't say that! please... don't say those things", he pleaded at the names being thrown now. She got really close to his face.
"how dare you come into my house to explain that you kissed another girl because you were thinking about me! you were just thinking about yourself!", she stepped away, this time walking to the kitchen. Tears ran down her face but something made her feel like she had a lot of energy that she needed to release, so she kept walking for a little around the kitchen.
Tears ran down his face too, his hands twitching and rubbing together in anxiety.
"leave... please", she said not daring to turn to look at him
"I don't want to leave with you thinking that low of me", he did turn to look at her sad figure on the kitchen.
"you showed me how low you can go. Leave", and with that she went into her bedroom and shut the door.
At that, Spencer left the apartment. He wandered on the streets for a little before deciding to return to his apartment.
He plopped onto his bed and rubbed his face in frustration. He ruined everything, with y/n, with Lila... he didn't even care that much about that one.
"why did I kiss HER? Why? Why?", he turned on his bed.
He flipped and turned, trying a million different positions with no success. It was 3am, he had to sleep.
She wasn't sleeping either, the tears stopped and continued and so on for the rest of the night; but everytime she stopped and tried to sleep, a sad memory came to mind, starting it all over again.
"I feel so stupid", she covered her eyes with her arm as she started another round of tears.
The next morning, at the office, they both looked terrible. Red, dehydrated eyes, dehydration signs around their mouth, eye bags and constant yawning.
He immediately went to the coffee, with a bunch of sugar, of course. She wasn't going to get anywhere near him today, or so she planned.
-First person pov-
"Child kidnapping, I'll explain on the jet, wheels up in twenty", Hotch announced before going back into his office. I stood up from my desk and started to prepare myself.
At the jet, Hotch explained the case to all of us, assigning our areas.
"six year old, this seems to be a pattern, so we might have 72 hours, but let's not trust that blindly either. Morgan and Rossi, I need you to go to the morgue, JJ and Emily talk to the parents of the child, and Reid and y/l/n, you will come with me to the station"
Fuck
That was my first and only thought, I didn't even turn to look at him, just focused on my file.
When we arrived at the station, Hotch introduced us to the officers there. We shook hands and walked to where we could set our geographical profile.
Hotch left to speak with the captain while I took the pictures out of the boxes.
Spencer was putting his map up and pointing the location of the previous cases.
"where did the third kid disappear?"
Are you kidding me? This was so obvious a play dumb, he had an eiditic memory.
"check on the file"
"I thought you read it", he turned
"I know you read it too", I turned to the opposite direction, ready for that cup of coffee now.
When I returned, everything was placed on the boards, but Reid was nowhere to be seen.
Perfect.
48 hours went by, we still weren't close to anything when Hotch got a call.
"mhm, I understand. We'll be right there", he hung up and turned to look at us. "They found the body"
I turned to look at JJ.
"so this isn't the same unsub", Morgan started the debate.
"it could", I said
"he waited 72 hours with the other children", Rossi stated.
"maybe something external happened that made him change his plans", Emily added
"maybe someone almost caught him", Reid and I spitted at the same time. I got really quiet and leaned back in my chair. I didn't want to give another opinion anymore, my brain completely shut down.
"Morgan and y/n, you go to the site. Rossi, you and I will go to the morgue and the rest stay here"
I got into the car and put the seat belt on. When I turned back to the front I felt a pair of eyes on me, making me flinch.
"you scared me"
"why are you so on edge? Problems with the pretty boy?"
"I don't wanna talk about it"
"is it because of...?"
"he lied to me"
"I see. I don't like liars either", he stayed silent for a bit. "Can I ask what did he lie about?"
"you wouldn't understand"
"try me"
"you're a guy, you probably think the same way. Besides, he's your best friend, you'll obviously take his side, and I'll just be left like the crazy one"
"are you crazy?"
"I know I'm not"
"then you shouldn't be afraid of me thinking that"
"he said he kissed Lila because he was thinking about me"
His eyebrows raised in surprised and he cleared his throat.
"I thought he liked her"
"me too"
"so he lied about liking her?"
"he lied about the kiss, if he was actually thinking about me, he wouldn't have thought about kissing another girl and hurt my feelings", my eyes started to get watery again so I stopped talking, but a few years still managed to scape. "I'm just... Sad"
"that's totally understandable. You're not crazy, he tried to dance the tango with two girls, and that's never correct"
I smiled lightly. I was sad but it was nice to hear someone agreeing with me.
I didn't know, until Morgan told me later, but that night he went to Spencer's room to talk to him.
The next morning I woke up, got ready and left the room, but when I opened the door I found a bouquet of flowers on the floor with a note.
"I'm sorry. I really hope you can forgive me"
I sighed and took the flowers inside to put them in a vase. I was thinking about the thought, but I was pretty sure it was Morgan's pressure that got him to finally do something about it, so even that felt fake. I sighed again, this time more disappointed, and left the room.
That day, as any other, we were paired by Hotch.
"thanks for the flowers. It's nice to see a man keep the traditions up"
"it's nothing, I hope you liked them"
"I did, I'll thank Morgan later for HIS thought", I said leaving the room.
After that, we didn't talk unless it was about the case.
"another kid went missing, we have around 48 hours, but like I said before, we can believe that blindly, we've seen him cut the hours before", Hotch got into the conference room and gave us the details and areas to work. I was paired with JJ this time. I guess Morgan also talked to him.
This time we were sent to talk with the parents of the now missing kid.
They invite us into the house to be more comfortable. While JJ did they questions I wrote everything down.
"he was an active kid. He was always out, running, jumping, playing with other kids. You know, the usual", the parents explained.
"how far was his school?"
"like five blocks away"
"did he often go alone?"
"this is a small neighborhood, we all know each other, so the kids were always walking to school in groups"
I turned to look at the window and noticed a group of kids staring and peaking.
"are those his friends?", I asked pointing at the group outside.
"yes, yes, they were very close"
It was only the mom replying, the dad was just sitting there, quiet.
"I'll go and ask them", I said quietly to JJ and she nodded.
I walked to the group, waving and smiling.
"is Todd dead?", the oldest kid asked.
"no. We're looking for him. Can you give me anything we could use to find him?"
"like what?"
"any unusual people you've seen around? Someone staring at your group?"
"yes, Todd's dad"
"but he was probably staring to see his son's group. Any person that wasn't a relative?"
"he...", a girl started to talk but the oldest kid immediately squeezed her arm to silence her.
"we're trying to help him, we need everything we can. You're his friends, he would do the same for any of you"
They all looked down and at each other. The oldest kid nodded, letting the girl talk again.
"he came with bruises all the time, but last month he also had cuts, burns and some marks on his wrists, like he was wearing purple bracelets"
"do you know who did that to him?"
"his dad"
I turned to look at the house again, and the curtains were closed.
"listen carefully, I need you to go, always in group, to a safe neighbor's house and stay there with them, don't stay here. Do you understand? Go!"
I turned to the house, taking my phone out and calling the police and then Hotch.
I took my gun out and knocked on the door, but no answer. I broke a window and got inside. With my gun up I started to search the house. They weren't at the living room anymore.
I kept moving around the house, my gun always up. I started to go upstairs, but when I reached the top a big object was swung my way, making me drop my gun. I ducked down quickly avoiding the second hit. Grabbing the handle of the shovel, I pushed with all my strength so we weren't at the edge of the stairs anymore. That's when I noticed JJ unconscious on the bathroom floor and the old lady next to her. She seemed to be just following her husband's orders. He tried to push me but I pushed him harder and then kicked him.
-"please don't do that!", his wife shout.
He recovered quickly and punched me across the face. I stumbled back a little but when I recovered he hit me with the shovel, making me fall downstairs. Luckily for me, the stairs were padded with a thick carpet, but that still hurt. I went to stand up but a hand on my shoulder pushed me back down.
I just saw Morgan and Hotch walk by me and upstairs, and when I turned, it was Spencer's hand on my shoulder.
-"don't get up yet. Are you okay?"
-"I'm fine", I said pushing his hand off my shoulder
-"I'm just trying to help"
-"I don't want your help", I said standing up by myself. It hurt, but the pride gave me the strength to hide the pain. I walked outside and got into a car, regulating my breathing and where it hurt. My head, my lower back and my right shoulder. I swallowed and opened my eyes, and of course he was there.
-"do you need to go to the hospital?"
I didn't answer, just fixed myself on the seat.
-"I asked you something"
I went to open the door and he locked it, so I just stare up front through the windshield
-"why the fight? we're still working together"
-"and I told you once, I'm fine. I don't need to repeat myself"
-"I know I messed up, but this attitude in our jobs is dangerous"
I laughed lightly.
-"yeah, just like it is to kiss the victim you're supposed to be protecting, but I guess she was worth breaking that rule for", a single tear scaped my eye but I quickly cleaned it up and turned around.
He sighed in defeat.
-"you're right in being angry"
-"whatever. You can date, kiss, fuck whoever you want. But you lied, Spencer. You looked me in the eyes and lied. I thought you cared more about me, at least as a friend. But that... I wouldn't wish that upon my worst enemy", I stared into his eyes while I said this, tears falling from mine but I didn't care. I unlocked my door and got out.
He got frustrated and hit the steering wheel a couple of times.
A couple of months went by, the pain was almost gone. I mean, I was still grieving the lost of a friendship. And I was still struggling with the fact of not putting my feelings and my whole trust onto someone that could hurt me again like that. He kept his distance, we only talked if it was work related or absolutely necessary.
The rainy season was here and my car was at the shop.
-"Hey, P, can you give me a ride?"
-"oh, pumpkin, I wish I could but I don't have my car either, Kevin's taking me home"
I sighed dramatically and smiled.
-"ok, thanks anyway"
-"but I know a very regretful soul who possibly can"
-"Oh, I know an even better bus than him"
-"baby, it's pouring out there"
-"I know, but no one dies because of some rain"
-"statistically speaking, Nearly 5,700 people are killed and more than 544,700 people are injured in crashes on wet pavement annually, so even if rain doesn't actively kill, it can create the perfect scenario for accidents to happen", Spencer got into the conversation, making me roll my eyes. "and I could gladly take you home. We don't have to talk on the way there"
-"fine, thanks. I'll go grab my things"
We got into the car and I fasten my seatbelt. The drive was a little long so I started to get bored.
-"are you seeing anyone?", I cringed at the weird question I could firstly think of.
-"Um... no"
-"sorry. It's just really quiet"
-"it's okay. I understand you might want to know if things went through with Lila given the last thing that happened between us was related to that, and also the curiosity of the topic"
-"yeah. I mean, at the end of the day it ruined our friendship, but if you truly liked her, I'm wondering if things actually worked between you two"
-"I don't like her"
-"but you did"
-"I guess"
-"ew", I said laughing
-"why are you laughing?", he laughed too while also making a confused face
-"because of the way you are, I never thought of you doing those kind of things, even if their normally related to men"
-"I'm truly sorry about making you go through that"
-"I forgive you. I did a long time ago, I just needed time to get over it and move on from the things I was used to with you"
-"I miss that"
-"I miss it too"
-"do you want us to be friends again?"
-"I can't put myself through that again Spencer. Don't take it as a fight, I just do it for my peace"
-"I understand", he moved his hands on the steering wheel.
-"I really liked you. And I still admire you because of your intelligence"
-"thanks. I admire you too, you might say I'm intelligent but you've shown to be more mature and wise. I ruined our friendship and... I liked you too, so I ruined that too, and I don't even know why"
-"you don't know why?"
He shook his head
-"that's sad, Spencer"
-"I didn't lie when I told you I was thinking about you"
-"can we please not talk about it anymore?"
-"sure, sorry"
-"turn right here"
We got to the front of my building and got out. Him first while he held the umbrella for me. He opened my door and I got out.
-"thanks"
We walked together to my entrance, but before I could enter I slipped and fell.
-"y/n!"
I laughed at first at the silly situation, because now I was getting wet, but when I tried to stand up something hurt.
-"ouch!", my hand moved quickly to my ankle
-"are you okay?", Spencer got down to my level.
-"my ankle hurts when I tried to move it"
-"did you sprain your ankle under the rain"
-"those damn statistics"
-"we need to get you to a hospital"
-"it's raining, I've sprained my ankle before, I can take care of it"
-"are you sure?"
-"yes! I just need help standing up and I can handle it from here". And with that he took my arm and helped me up. He didn't seem to struggle much given that his other arm was busy holding the umbrella. I got up and took a step but I quickly felt an arm around my waist. "I can walk from here"
-"you're going to go up 9 floors by yourself with a sprained ankle?"
-"it's still warm, as long as I keep moving it I can make it"
-"don't push it, I'm helping you up"
I rolled my eyes but I couldn't fight it much. We entered the building and he placed the umbrella in a bucket nearby.
-"please don't fight about this too", he said, but before I could process what he said he lifted me up and onto his arms, making me yelp because of the sudden movement. "I'm sorry", he said dramatically and started to walk.
There was no point in fighting so I just relaxed and placed my head on his shoulder.
-"comfortable?"
-"sure, yeah, whatever"
He laughed.
-"is that a no?"
-"it's a `can't fight cause I'm not really in a position were I can complain,because of my current state'"
-"awww, but you're always so good at that", he said making fun of me.
-"fighting or complaining"
-"both"
-"at least I'm not good at kissing a girl while liking another", I said fast so he wouldn't understand me
-"funny"
I smiled with my eyes closed.
-"we're here". He placed me down, being careful of not hurting me any further. "keys?"
I took my key out and he took it and opened the door. Still grabbing me by the waist, he helped me right into my bed.
-"thanks, Spence"
-"anytime. do you need anything else before I leave?"
-"no, don't worry, I can handle myself from here. Thanks anyway"
-"are you sure you don't need help brushing your teeth and so?"
-"I'll be fine, thanks"
-"you can be honest"
-"don't push it, Spencer"
he raised his hands in defeat and said good-bye.
_three minutes later_
-"hello?"
-"Spencer?"
-"yeah?"
-"are you still in the building?"
-"I was just getting into my car, do you need something?"
-"I... uh... I migh need some help"
-"are you okay"
-"just get here, please"
After he left I got my pajamas ready and got changed. The problem was walking to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face... I lost my balance and fell, and now I was at my bedroom floor with nothing around me to help me up.
Spencer got into the apartment, immediately searching for me, and that's when he found me on the floor.
-"you can be stubborn, huh?"
-"I'm sorry I'm having such trouble asking for help from someone who hurt me"
-"you don't have to rub it in every chance you get"
-"that's how I feel everytime I see you!"
-"I know", he got quiet as he held me up from my waist. I turned to look at him and he was already staring at me. "that's why I apologize everytime I can, and that's why I gave you the space you needed"
-"thanks for that"
We got to the bathroom and he sat me on the sink. He grabbed my toothbrush and handed it to me already with toothpaste. After I brushed my teeth I guide him to get me my things to wipe off my make up.
-"soak the cotton with the liquid and give it to me"
-"can you see what you're doing from there?"
-"no..."
he placed himself between my legs and started to move the cotton over my face. I closed my eyes and just let him. When I opened my eyes he was still there, with the cotton in hand, but staring at me.
-"you're so pretty"
I smiled
-"thanks. You're not so bad yourself"
he laughed and threw the cotton away.
-"I need to wash my face but... I need to use the toilet"
-"do you need help with that?"
-"no, I got it". He just helped me off the sink and got out, closing the door. I used the bathroom and washed my face. When I got out, Spencer was already fast asleep on the couch. I didn't want to disturb him, he seemed so peaceful. I just walked to my bedroom and fell asleep.
_the next morning_
When I woke up I could smell the bacon in the air. Spencer was making breakfast. I got up and walked my way slowly to my bedroom door. But the second I opened the door he turned around.
-"woah, what do you think you're doing?", he started to walk towards me
-"good morning to you too"
-"you know what I mean"
-"I'm not putting my weight on my foot, I hopped"
-"and you think that's better?"
-"I need to get up sometimes"
-"that's what I'm here for"
-"to brag that both your ankles are fine?"
-"ha, ha. To help you, stubborn"
-"what are you making?"
-"breakfast. a breakfast that I'll be taking to your bed, so don't worry about it"
-"I need to use the bathroom"
-"fine, come here", he immediately picked me up effortlesly again. I laughed
-"I think I'm getting used to this"
-"not surprised, let me know when you're all done, or if you need any help with anything"
-"sure", I closed the door.
We ate breakfast together and then he left to work. I called Hotch earlier to explain my situation. He said that if I needed anything I could tell them. And they'd also let me know if they needed my help in any case.
-"get well soon"
-"thanks, boss"
the apartment was quiet, so I turn the TV on.
*notification*
I grabbed my phone and checked.
Spencer: work's slow today. How are you?
I sighed and opened the chat
y/n: I'm fine, watching TV. Isn't that a good thing? that means no people getting hurt.
Spencer: I didn't mean people getting hurt or not. Morgan's at a meeting, Penelope's locked in her office with Kevin and JJ also took the day off because Henry's sick.
y/n: so no crimes right now because the geniuses aren't at the office.
Spencer: ha ha
y/n: LOL
Spencer: what's that?
y/n: LMAO
Spencer: are you insulting me?
y/n: no abuelito (grandpa)
Spencer: want me to take anything when I leave work?
y/n: you're coming back here after work?
Spencer: don't you need help?
y/n: don't worry. I can ask a girlfriend to come.
Spencer: oh, right, ok.
y/n: don't get upset, grandpa.
Spencer: ha ha
y/n: Lol
he didn't reply anything after. He texted back until he was out of work.
Spencer: did you call a friend?
y/n: if I say yes even tho I didn't will you believe me?
Spencer: not any more
y/n: no one was available.
Spencer: what kind of friends are those
y/n: you really want me to reply to that?
Spencer: save the mean comment, I already know. The offer still stands
y/n: I was craving ice cream
Spencer: (your favorite flavor of ice cream), right?
y/n: eidetic memory is cheating
Spencer: it's your favorite flavor, and you never shut up about ice cream, didn't need my eidetic memory for that.
y/n: ha ha
When he arrived he took a couple of mugs and served us some ice cream. We watched a movie but he fell asleep halfway through it. I wanted to go to my bed but I din't want to wake him up. And, honestly, my ankle was at the perfect spot there, so I just continued to watch the movie until I fell asleep.
_Spencer's pov_
I woke up from my buzzing phone. I stirred a little until I could finally open my eyes. I felt some weight on my shoulder. It was y/n's head. We fell asleep at the couch watching the movie. The TV was still on. I turned it off and checked my phone. It was my mom. I replied to her and turn my phone back off. It was Saturday, so I had the whole day free. I laid back again and close my eyes again. This felt nice. I opened my eyes again and noticed how close y/n was. She was right there, sleeping peacefully on my shoulder. She smelled like coconut oil and a sweet perfume. Her breathing was calm and her eyes moved slightly, she was probably dreaming.
When she woke up we had breakfast together again and I helped her do some chores around the house.
-"you can go now, Spence. Thanks for the help around the house"
-"it's nothing. Are you sure you don't need anything else?"
-"you've done more than enough. it's okay, Spence. This isn't your responsability, don't worry"
-"I'm not saying it is. Besides, maybe I owed it to you"
-"why?"
-"as a payment for what I did"
-"that's in the past, Spencer. Seriously, don't worry about it"
- "but you think about it, and remind me about it so much. And I'm not saying it as something bad, I just noticed how much it hurt because of it", he placed a strand of my hair behind my ear, leaving the palm of his hand against my cheek.
- "I don't want to be with you because now you have the opportunity. I want someone to be with me because they choose to be with me, from the beginning", I replied making emphasis in "choose". Placing my hand on his cheek. "You choose to kiss her, you felt things for her, and then you lied to me. You're very smart, Spencer, and that's a quality I find rather attractive. But it didn't seem to be working when you tried to tell me that you kissed her because you were thinking of me"
After that, we said our goodbyes and he left, we were just repeating ourselves, it was tiring for both. The apartment was dark and cold, I pulled my blanket up and decided it was time to sleep.
_Spencer's pov_
I bought a coffee before going to her apartment. It was around 7 am and the weather was rainy, so a hoped a nice cup of coffee would cheer her up.
I knocked and waited, not for her to open, because she couldn't, but to let her know I was about to come in with my spare key.
Suddenly the door opened.
- "hi"
- "hi, she's taking a shower right now", said a tall guy
- "oh, I'm Spencer. Her coworker, I just brought her a coffee", I introduced myself, hoping he'd do the same.
- "I'm Tom, her friend. I've heard about you, you're the genius of the bunch"
I laughed at the unexpected remark.
- "I guess. Can I enter and wait to give her the coffee?"
- "ummm. I don't think it's a good idea, she's gonna come out any moment to get dressed and all that. But I can give it to her later, if you want", he crossed his arms and lean on the door frame. That made his biceps stand out.
- "let him come in!", we both heard y/n yell from inside.
He shrugged and moved so I could come into the apartment. I sat on the counter, waiting for her to come out, he sat on the couch. He was watching a movie on the TV.
After a few minutes we both heard y/n's voice and stood up.
- "I'm all finished"
We turned to look at each other, and he grinned.
- "Tom, can you come and help me, please?"
I mean, it was kinda obvious she was gonna expect Tom to help her, she called him for that specifically.
He smiled even more and entered the bathroom. I just sat back down, staring at the coffee in front of me.
When the both got out of the bathroom, he was carrying her, already dressed. I felt like I was an extra there, so I got up but then I remembered about the coffee. I took the coffee in my hand but didn't lift it from the table.
- "hi Spencer", she turned around from the couch and smiled. Tom had kneeled in front of her to help her put her socks on, her shoe and special boot.
- "hi y/n. How are you doing?"
- "I'm better, Tom came last night after you left, and he's been helping me too. I have to thank you both"
I smiled, even tho the idea of him spending the night here made my stomach twist.
- "I brought you a coffee"
- "thanks! Can you put it in the fridge, please?"
- "sure", I placed the coffee in the fridge and now I was ready to leave. When I turned, Tom was massaging y/n's shoulders. She seemed so relaxed in his hands. I got out with my head down.
- "bye, see you another time"
I can't be jealous, I should be grateful she has a friend that's helping her. A tall, muscular and handsome friend, who spent the night right after we discussed that I kissed another girl.
I wanted to punch myself in the face for that one. I couldn't ignore the fact that it was all my fault, I was just dealing with the consequences of what I did.
I sat in the car for a while, processing everything, before heading back home.
_y/n's pov_
- "that's the guy you told me about?"
- "yes!"
- "I mean, okay girl, you straight girls have such unique taste"
- "oh, please, I've seen the guys YOU date, don't even try"
- "honey, you know the guys I sleep with, there's no more to it, okay?"
- "nasty!", I laughed
- "but you were right, he did seem jealous", he said laughing loud, making me laugh too
- "I told you, he doesn't know what he wants! Fr"
- "oh, y/n, he knows. It's written all over his face. You're the one not letting him"
- "and I won't let him, not after what he did"
He shrugged his shoulders.
- "I don't know, he doesn't seem half bad in comparison from what I've seen at the clubs"
- "you can't compare anything to the dramas that happen there", I said making us both laugh.
_a few weeks later_
Spencer didn't come back after that. He did text me, so did the rest of the team. Although, they did visit me a few times after.
Spencer even asked me if Tom was still there. He left after three days, because I could walk better by then, but I lied and told him he stayed the whole week.
Today was the day I was returning to the office. I could already walk, but I still couldn't run or do heavy work.
The whole team received me at the elevator with a hug. They told me how they were happy about me being back and asked me so many questions.
Spencer just told me he was happy I was back and after that he returned to his desk.
We left for a case. On the jet, Spencer didn't even talked to me at all, but I was okay with it. I knew exactly what he was going through.
After Hotch explained the case, I was assigned to go with him to the precinct. Since I couldn't risk anything yet, I was left doing the geographic profile and setting the board.
The case took a few days, but we were getting nowhere. Until a neighbor of one of the victims gave a hint we followed. JJ, Spencer, Morgan, Rossi and Hotch left.
I was left with Penelope.
-"The neighbor said the suspect carried a big gun, so don't go too far", Hotch announced through his earpiece.
We couldn't see anything, but we could hear what they were saying.
-"I don't feel so good about this, P"
-"I never feel good when you go to adventures like this. Now you know how I feel"
-"It's a nightmare just being able to hear but not see anything"
she nodded and gave me a "now you know" look.
I smiled faintly at her face and focused again on the team.
-"FBI! PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM", Hotch's voice
-"DROP THE GUN!", Morgan's voice
-"You don't have to do this", Spencer's voice
-"DROP THE WEAPON", JJ's voice.
Hotch and Rossi started to talk to him, about thinking what he was doing and all that.
Penelope was holding my hand and at this point I was holding her hand in fear too. Just listening to everything withouth being able the see the whole picture is scary, it leaves everything to the imagination.
BANG!
-"oh my God", Penelope tighten my hand. I froze.
-"This is agent Hotchner, from the FBI, we need a medic now, agent down, I repeat, we need a medic now, agent down!"
Penelope got the medic to the scene and we ran, as fast as I could, to the hospital.
When we arrived we had no idea who was hurt.
-"I'm here sir, what happened? who's hurt?"
Hotch opened his mouth but quickly shut it when he saw me next to Penelope. He took a big breath and opened his mouth again.
"Spencer"
I froze again. Penelope hold my hand again.
-"what?! what happened?! is he okay?", Penelope started to ask quickly, trying to push Hotch back and enter the surgery room and letting go of my hand.
-"he's fine, he's in surgery right now"
I turned around and sat on a chair.
-"y/n? are you okay?"
-"what? yeah... we have to wait, so I figured we better sit for that", I threw my head back.
-"I know you weren't in the best terms with Spencer, but how are you feeling right now?"
-"I don't know. I mean, we weren't on good terms but that doesn't mean I wished for something like this to happen. I just hope he'll be alright"
We spent the night at the hospital, waiting for the doctors to give us good news. At midnight we were told he was out of surgery, and that he was fine, that we could return in the morning. And so everyone left to be there first thing in the morning.
I arrived at 6am. I entered his room with a small teddy bear and a "get well soon" note.
I placed them on the table when I heard something move.
-"you came"
-"of course I did. You got hurt. How are you feeling?", I sat on a chair next to his bed.
-"my arm hurts"
-"it was a shoulder shot?"
he nodded
-"do you want me to call the nurse?"
-"no, it can wait. I want us to be alone right now", he sat up, grunting in pain.
-"what are you doing, stay down!", I placed my hand on his other shoulder, but he quickly removed it.
-"no, there's something I need to tell you", he stared into my eyes with those big, brown, puppy eyes of him. "I messed up, and twice, I messed up with Lila and now... I know you're with Tom, and that's fine... now I know how you felt. The jealousy, the regret, the sadness. I'm sorry, I said sorry before and I did mean it, and I mean it now too. I don't want you to think that I'm sorry until now that I feel the same. I've been sorry since the moment I kissed Lila, because it wasn't worth it, because it didn't mean anything. And I could've had everything if I would've just been wiser. I'm sorry, y/n. And I love you"
I smiled, a few tears falling.
-"I love you too, you dork"
he smiled
-"I know now we can only be friends, but I'm okay with that. Just wanted you to know that deep down, I'll always love you"
-"Spencer, I love you too, deep down and on a surface level too", I started to laugh and he gave me a confused look. "Tom's gay"
He was shocked at first, then relieved, and then he started to laugh.
-"it was your idea, right?"
-"actually, it was his. But I guess it worked"
-"can I kiss you?", it melted me how soft and sweet he asked me before doing something we both so clearly wanted.
-"can you reach?", I teased him
and with that, he placed his hand behind my head, pulling me in for a kiss. I placed my hands on his face to deepen the kiss and he placed his on mine.
-"finally!", we heard a voice say behind us and a lot of cheer.
-"I knew it, my ten bucks!", Penelope told Morgan
-"come on, all the girls in the team knew", JJ laughed.
the end
Damn, I did get a little carried away with this oneee lmao
This story BELONGS to @irisinlovee , all credits to them.
Summary: while the team's working on a case, one of the officers seems to get closer to you.
Warnings: mentions of stalking, violence and wounds.
_______________________________________
Hotch introduced us, as we entered the station.
- "these are agent y/l/n and doctor Reid"
- "I'm chief Brown. You can follow me while you're team settles over there", he started to walk guiding Hotch into his office.
Spencer and I placed the boxes on the table and started to set everything on the boards.
- "do you want some coffee?", he asked.
- "uh... No thanks"
- "you sure?"
- "not all of us have a coffee addiction, Spence"
- "that's what I get for being polite?", he put his hands on his chest dramatically, making me laugh.
I finished setting the crime pictures and walked back to see if I was missing anything.
- "hi, brought you some coffee"
I turned around and there was an officer holding two coffees.
- "oh, hi. That's so nice, thanks", I got closer to him to receive the coffee.
- "where's your partner?"
- "you just missed him, he went to grab coffee himself"
- "oh, too late now I guess. Oh! And he's probably getting some for you too, right?", he smiled awkwardly, I smiled back in courtesy.
- "actually, I didn't really want coffee, but this one smells nice", I said holding it with both hands, it was warm
"I'm James"
- "pleasure, I'm y/n"
- "what a pretty name"
- "oh, thanks. And thanks for the coffee", I took a sip of it.
- "I should get going, see you around", he said leaving the room.
- "you too", I said turning back to the board.
- "I thought you didn't want coffee", Spencer sat down, taking a sip of his coffee and furrowing his brows.
- "officer James brought us a cup for each but I told him you were already grabbing some"
- "oh, how nice of him"
- "yeah"
The day went by pretty fast. I told the girls about the coffee thing and they started to joke around about him liking me.
- "we literally just met. You can't fall in love with someone that fast", I defended.
- "man can, I don't know what you're talking about but I can tell you that much", Morgan said entering the conversation as we walked to our hotel rooms.
- "some cute officer took her a cup of coffee this morning", JJ told as she poked my shoulder.
- "I never said he's cute!", I scrunched my face
- "oh, please, polite and in a uniform", Emily said walking next to me
- "you don't need a uniform", Penelope winked at Morgan, making him laugh.
- "is that all it takes for a man to seduce you, em?", I laughed.
- "well, I've worked with less"
We all laughed and continued walking. I got a little behind while they kept talking about men and dates.
- "so, do you like him?", I jumped when I noticed Spencer walking next to me
- "you scared me", I laughed when I noticed it was him. Making him laugh too at the shock. "No! I don't like him, I don't even know him"
- "so the uniforms don't work for you too? Just Emily. Noted"
I laughed and pushed him playfully.
- "see you tomorrow, addict", I said walking the opposite direction from Spencer.
- "see you tomorrow, girl with the pretty name"
- "oh my God, you heard that?", I turned around and covered my face with embarrassment.
He laughed and we each went in our ways.
After a few days we had enough to build a profile and a plan.
- "we believe this unsub is a white male, around 25-35 years old, who lives alone or with a mostly senior adult, possibly another male, way older than him, who depends on the unsub and therefore doesn't notice his recent behavior", hotch started
- "on the contrary, he might appear to have gained control of his life back, since the crimes are where he places his anger and frustrations", Emily followed
- "he probably stalks his victims for a couple of days before finally attacking. This might explain why and how he knew his way around their schedules and places", Spencer added
- "his type of victim are woman who are (your hair color), (your skin color), and (your height and weight)", JJ said.
- "if you encounter this man, do not provoke or approach him by yourself. He has shown to be strong, tall and knows his way with fights and weapons. Instead, immediately call 9-11, thanks", Morgan finished the profile and JJ stayed with the press to answer their questions while they entered back to create our plan.
I didn't talk during the conference, I wasn't even there. I stood inside, waiting for Hotch to tell me what he wanted me to do.
- "we'll use you as bait", Hotch said fully looking at me
- "how?", Penelope asked first
- "you're the killer's type", Spencer whispered
- "exactly, we need you as bait to attract him", Hotch added.
- "ok... Fine, but how do I do it?". Sure, I was nervous, but I honestly didn't even know how to begin this whole thing.
- "Spencer has been working on a geographic spot", Morgan walked towards the map and pointing at a bar that was in the middle.
- "all the victims went to that bar a week before their bodies were found. You will be traced at all times, we'll put microphones, cameras and agents all around you. You won't be alone", Hotch softened his face given the request he was making me.
I nodded slowly
- "I'm in"
I got to the bar wearing a short dress, a pair of high, but actually really comfortable, heels, a shiny purse and a ton of make up.
- "you look... Really different", Spencer said setting the a locator in my purse and right shoe, while Emily placed a microphone on the back of the dress.
- "I feel very different", I said laughing. "I'm nervous", I said low, only for Spencer to hear.
- "don't be, everything will be alright. Like Hotch said, you're not alone"
- "yeah, I know. I'm just wondering, what if there's even someone prettier than me and he chooses her. Then the whole plan is trash"
- "prettier than you? No way", Spencer said fast before turning around and leaving to join the group in a van they parked nearby. He didn't even give me time to process what he said.
- "ready?", Emily's voice startled me
- "uh... Yeah, I guess so. Wish me luck!"
- "break a leg!", she said patting my shoulder.
I got into the bar.
I couldn't drink any alcohol because that was going to compromise the plan, but I also couldn't dance... It didn't seem right. I didn't know what to do.
- "ask for a special Piña colada. We spoke with the bartender before, he'll understand", I hear JJ's voice in my ear.
I nodded lightly and got to the bar to ask for my special Piña colada.
I said thanks when I got it and turned my chair a little.
- "what if the bartender is the killer?", I said pretending to drink.
- "he has a solid alibi"
I turned to look at the whole bar. After the news, not a lot of girls were there. I guess that was better for the sake of the plan.
- "a coffee would've been good for this occasion", I said for Spencer to hear.
- "I feel you", I heard a man's voice from behind me and laughter. I turned around quickly.
- "oh, hi James. What are you doing here... All alone?"
- "I could ask the same to you"
- "well, the single life can get anyone. Didn't know it got you too"
He shrugged his shoulders.
- "what can I say? I actually didn't have that idea about you"
I fake laughed.
"that idea?"
- "I mean, you're too pretty to be single"
I fake laughed again. But at the sentence, I immediately thought of Spencer and the "pretty name" thing at the hotel
- "you flatter me"
- "can I buy you something?"
- "I already have a full glass, why don't you invite me to something to eat? If that's not asking for too much?"
- "not at all", he sat next to me and I did a quick search for any other suspicious guy around.
- "y/n, this is not the time to be flirting with the cute officer", JJ whispered-shout into my ear.
I smiled and took another sip from my drink.
- "before I start eating, imma go to the bathroom to refresh and wash my hands, be right back"
I got up and cringed at the fact that I said I was going to wash my hands.
I got into the bathroom and checked for it to be completely empty.
- "I have a hunch. Bully me later about the washing my hands part, but I have a crazy feeling"
- "why would it be wrong to wash your hands? You're about to eat?"
- "Spencer!", JJ interrupted. "Are you sure y/n?"
- "I can't be sure, I just have a feeling"
- "I understand, go!"
I got out of the bathroom and sat next to James. There really wasn't any other weird looking guy in the bar. Many of them seemed gay, others were already with their girlfriends and others just didn't give me the vibe James was giving me.
- "do you wanna dance?"
- "we haven't eaten"
- "we can do that later! Come on, let's dance!", I took his hand and pulled him into the dancefloor. We danced for a little as I tried to analyze every guy in the bar.
- "I'm not a good dancer"
- "how come?"
- "my mother didn't like me dancing, she was very religious and strict"
- "oh, I'm sorry", I gave him an empathetic look.
- "no! Don't be, I guess I should thank her for shaping me into the man I am today"
- "right... Yeah! Sure! Of course, I mean, we sometimes take those this for granted but they're the base of our personalities", I said moving slower. "I don't really know how to dance either... I just see people doing it all the time and, well, got curious"
He grabbed me by my hips and pulled me closer, as he tried to guide me to dance together. I gasped at first in the shock of the movement but then I adjusted myself to him.
After a while of awkward dancing and him putting his hands on places where I was uncomfortable, we finally sat back.
- "I ordered some nachos"
- "oh, I love nachos! Just let me catch my breath a little", I said taking a sip of my drink.
"you can dance!"
I smiled and kept drinking more and more.
I went to grab a nacho but then
- "oh, they have guacamole? I... Um... I'm allergic, I'm sorry!", I lied so I wouldn't eat something HE bought. I didn't want to risk it.
- "oh, look, this one doesn't have any"
- "I can't eat anything that's been that near to avocado, my throat shuts off and I can't breathe... I don't want to risk such valuable time we're having right now", I placed my hand on top of his.
- "it's okay. Um, it's getting late, so I think I'm gonna head home. See you tomorrow", he said planting a small kiss on my cheek
Was I wrong? No way, no, no, no. Did this mean I wasted the plan on a useless hunch?! How embarrassing. Now the girls really had a reason to pester me.
I said my good byes. Payed for the drinks and asked the team.
- "now what?"
- "we didn't see anyone suspicious, Penelope's going to run the faces of the guys that were at the bar tonight to check their backgrounds", JJ replied
- "I'm sorry", I ran my hands through my face
- "don't be, I understand the 'hunch' thing, but maybe it wasn't about him being bad, but about you being scared of him being good. Cause then you didn't have a nice enough reason to reject him"
I just sat there thinking about what she just said. I already had a good enough reason to reject him, I like someone else.
I checked my phone. Midnight. I was tired but I had to wait for instructions.
- "it's late, we're gonna pack our things and return tomorrow", JJ told me, I could hear them moving in the van.
- "ok", I got up and got out of the bar. I walked up to my car and sighed.
Suddenly, a hand covered my mouth while another grabbed my abdomen. He pulled me closer to him and spoke in a low scary voice.
- "shhh, it's okay. We're just gonna finish our fun night"
I didn't understand what he meant, literally, but I knew this meant that the killer saw me in the bar and waited for me to be alone. I hope Penelope got a good look of his face in the cameras.
He pulled me like that, covering my mouth, all the way to his car. I tried kicking and fighting but all I got was to leave my shoes on the floor. We bumped into something and he turned his head, it was his car, a black pick up truck.
My breathing got worse, he was about to just pick me up and that was it, I was already in his car, ready to be taken anywhere by this psycho, and the team was probably already leaving.
We got into the back seat, he shoved me in, still covering my mouth, then he climbed in, but the second he left my mouth free wasn't enough for me to yell and for someone to hear me. He quickly shut the door and I couldn't help but start crying.
- "oh, shhh, shhhh, don't worry. It's okay, we're gonna have a great time"
- "I'm sorry, I just got a little scared, I'm sorry", I know this type of killers get upset when they're plans don't go as they pictured them in their heads, so I had to be cooperative until I could find a way to break myself free, which was going to be hard.
- "oh, no, don't be. Everything's okay. Actually", he said removing his mask. "Right there in the bar, you... Put your hand on top of mine, I wasn't ready for that level of intimacy so I got scared, but I understood what you were saying"
- "J-James?"
- "yeah, I know this probably wasn't the best way to invite you to my place but... It's the only way I know. I really like you"
- "oh, I understand, this is your world. You just did it the way you already knew how"
- "exactly!", he laughed. "I've never met someone who understands me the way you do, you're special"
I fake smiled through the tears.
- "thanks. And yes, I get it, I get you"
He smiled and got closer to kiss me. The kiss was just a peck on the lips and he pulled away, smiling.
- "so, what do you say we go to my place"
- "I'd love that. But, it's a little late and we have work tomorrow, why don't we schedule it for tomorrow?"
- "don't be silly! We can always lie and say we're sick or something like that, don't worry about it", he winked. He fasten my seatbelt and got off the car, to now climb into the driver's seat.
He looked at me through the mirror and started the car. I looked through the window, the parking spot was completely empty.
We got to his house and he extended his hand to help me get out. This time he let me do it by myself. I stood there as he closed the door and locked the car, his hand still grabbing mine.
He started to walk but I stopped and turn to the car.
- "I've... Never done it in the back of a pick up truck", I said attempting to stay outside of his house.
- "don't be silly, that's not a way to treat a lady like you"
I fake laughed
- "you're right, it was an impulsive thought"
We walked into his house. Everything was spotless and organized perfectly.
I started to walk towards the living room but he pulled me to another direction. I saw the stairs to go up, where I imagined his bedroom was, but he kept walking, until we got to a door at the end of the hall. He opened it and everything was dark. When he turned the lights on, I could see it was the basement. A knot formed in my abdomen and my legs started to shake.
- "I don't wanna go down there", I said before I could think of what I was saying
- "don't worry, it's okay, you won't be alone. We're gonna have a great time!"
I could feel my hand shaking in his, but that just made him grab my whole arm as he pulled me into the basement.
We reached the bottom and he turned the lights on.
There was a bed with chains on every corner. A cage next to it with two empty plates that were probably for food and water. And on top of the bedframe there was a huge painting of him naked.
There were no windows, it wasn't hot but I started to sweat like crazy.
- "please...", I pleaded while looking into his eyes.
- "what? Don't worry! We're fine, ok? Everything's fine", he said as we stopped on the edge of the bed and he turned face to face. He cupped my face with one hand and started to kiss me. I kissed him back hesitantly, I could feel like even my lips were shaking in fear.
- "come on!", he said pulling me closer. "I know you can do better than that. Stop being a fucking cry baby"
- "I'm sorry"
He slapped me and grabbed my face.
- "we spent a great time dancing and laughing at that bar. What's wrong with you?"
- "I... Don't know, I don't know, I'm sorry"
He slapped me again, grabbing my face again.
- "stop!", his tone getting low again. "I thought you were different, but you're acting like any other bitch I've brought here"
- "y-you've brought others? I thought I was your first. No wonder you're not scared, you've done this before"
- "what?"
- "this... This is my first, that's why I'm so nervous...", I said low not daring to look at his face.
It was a lie, but it was the first thing I could think of to try and make him be... softer?.
He moved his hand, now putting his fingers through my hair.
- "right", he smiled. "How foolish of me. I need to make this extra special for you"
I blinked a few times not knowing what that meant.
He walked to a drawer and got some candles and a lighter out. He lit up a candle and handed it to me. While I hold the candle he started to undress himself, placing himself on the bed.
- "you may... Start", he said pointing at the candle in my hands.
- "where do you want me to start?"
- "right here", he said pointing at his chest.
- "when you're ready, give us the sign", I could hear JJ un my ear. That relaxed me a little.
I got close to him, still standing next to the bed, and started to pour the candle wax on his chest. His breathing got fast and I stopped.
- "no, don't stop", he said grabbing my wrist. I continued and he let go of it. I started to move a little down and sideways. While his eyes were closed I turned to look at the basement door, I don't recall him locking it. Even if he did, Morgan was probably waiting to kick it down.
- "I love this candle, is it special Piña colada scent?"
- "no, it's lavender", he said with his eyes still closed.
- "bye James", I said making him open his eyes. And when he did, I pour the wax on them and started to run. The team immediately got into the room, aiming and controlling him before he got me. I was already out of the basement, still seeing down, when I felt a tap, making me jump, but when I turned it was Spencer.
- "are you ok-?", but before he could finish I hugged him.
- "you're shaking", he said rubbing my arms.
- "I know, that was so scary"
- "shhh, it's okay. You're safe now, I'm here with you", he hugged me tighter.
- "you stupid women, always believing you're superior than me. That wasn't enough, huh? You also want to play like your smarter and better than me?" He said as the agents walked him to the patrol.
I turned and spotted Emily helping an older man come downstairs. That was probably his father, and the reason he built his torture room in the basement.
- "I thought you were different, I really thought it was different this time. I mean, it wasn't even at the bar. We met at a much better place, I was actually being polite that day, I wanted to change! But you... You ruined everything!", he said while another officer tried to push him inside the car
- "you ruined everything by yourself! You know that, or should we ask your dad to confirm?", I yelled back
He pushed the officer that was trying to get him into the car. I couldn't process fast enough, until he was already in front of me. He pushed me against the house, quickly positioning himself behind, using me as a shield from the guns. And using his cuffed hands to choke me.
I quickly put my hands around his, trying to make him stop. I tried to kick, but nothing.
Suddenly I heard a loud bang from my right. James fell but his hands around my neck just made me fall with him.
They quickly removed him.
- "y/n! Are you okay?", I heard Spencer's voice get closer. He helped me sit up and started to check me. "Are you hurt? Can you stand up?"
- "my ankle hurts, my neck hurts", I said very low, my head felt heavy.
- "it's okay", he said cupping my face to support my head. "Just stay awake, you're not alone, help's almost here"
I blinked a few times but it was hard to keep my eyes open.
- "can you stand?", JJ got next to me.
Words came to mind but I couldn't get my mouth to move. I slowly shook my head, that's all I could do, but it hurt.
I looked into Spencer's eyes and smile softly. He smiled nervously.
- "just stay with me, y/n"
That's the last thing I remember before everything went black.
I woke up later in my bed. I opened my eyes slowly as I adjusted them to the light. When I focused I noticed Penelope sitting next to my bed with a cotton on her hand.
- "hi, sleepy head, nice to have you back"
I smiled softly and turned to look at the other side. Where Spencer was sitting with a big smile on his face. That made me smile more.
- "hi guys", my voice was raspy from the stress and pressure applied on it.
- "shhh, don't talk just yet, let your throat get better. I made you some tea", Spencer said softly.
- "but first I'm gonna finish removing your make up!", Penelope intervened and continued with the cotton she had in her hand.
I closed my eyes for her to continue, and after a couple of minutes she was all done. Spencer sat me up and handed me the warm tea, it felt really nice in my throat.
- "where's the rest?", I asked quickly, trying not to speak too much.
- "they're at home or busy with papers. But all you see here", she said pointing at the flowers and stuffed animals around me. "Were gifts sent by them"
I smiled
- "I thought it was all yours", I said to Penelope joking.
- "oh how I wished everywhere I go a bunch of flowers and stuffed animals appeared, leaving a trace, but I'm not at that level... Yet", she said standing up and taking her phone. "Now, bye bye love birds, it was nice seeing you. See you at work", she gave me a kiss on the cheek and to Spencer too and left. "get well soon", she said, winking before closing the door.
- "lovebirds?", I said joking
- "she thinks we have a thing going on"
- "a thing?", I furrowed my eyebrows. "Did you tell her?"
His hand slipped over my stomach as he got closer.
- "you can't lie to a group of behavioral analysists", he said planting a kiss on my lips.
- "you're the one who can't hide it", I pointed my finger and touched his nose while scrunching mine.
- "and if I had to do everything I did for you during this case, I would've done more, cause you still got hurt, and I don't like that"
- "I'm fine, baby"
- "but now am at your full disposition, what does my baby want?"
- "cuddles please"
He laughed and got into the bed with me. Holding me close and tight.
summary: the making out session is making Spencer very nervous.
warnings: kinda suggesting at the end, make out, fluff, s rambles a bit
a/n: happy new year!!! im back, I was studying for my finals but hey, im here now
Spencer’s apartment was too quiet.
Not in a bad way—just in the way that made him painfully aware of everything. The hum of the fridge. The ticking clock. The sound of his own heartbeat doing something embarrassingly close to cardio.
And you.
You were kissing him slowly, deliberately, like you had nowhere else to be. Your hands rested at his waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of his sweater, and Spencer was doing his absolute best to stay present.
Keyword: trying.
He stiffened just a little.
“I—um—fun fact,” he blurted out.
You pulled back an inch, smiling already.
“Oh no.”
“According to multiple studies,” he continued, words tumbling out faster now, “physical intimacy can cause the amygdala to misfire, which explains why I feel like I’m about to either pass out or recite the entire periodic table.”
“That’s my fault?” you teased.
“No—well—statistically, yes. But not in a bad way. Just—” He pushed his glasses up, cheeks pink. “My brain is very loud.”
You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, then his neck. Spencer inhaled sharply.
“Spencer,” you murmured, “you don’t have to explain everything.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “I just—when things get intense, I start listing facts. It’s a coping mechanism. Did you know octopuses have three hearts?”
You laughed, forehead resting against his.
“Breathe,” you said gently.
He did. Slowly this time.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. I’m breathing. And the facts are… quieter.”
Your fingers slid up into his hair, grounding him, and this time when you kissed him, he kissed back without stopping to analyze it. His hands found your waist, tentative but certain, like he was finally letting himself believe this was real.
When you pulled away, the air between you felt charged—different.
Spencer swallowed.
“So,” he said softly, voice lower now, steadier. “Just for the record… I might get nervous again.”
You smiled, brushing your nose against his.
“That’s fine,” you replied. “We’re not in a rush.”
He nodded, eyes dark behind his lashes, fingers tightening just slightly at your hips.
“…But,” you added, leaning in closer, “we don’t have to stop either.”
Something shifted in his expression—nerves still there, but curiosity too. Want. Trust.
Spencer leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Then,” he murmured, “maybe we should… move somewhere more comfortable.”
You didn’t answer with words.
You just took his hand and stood, and Spencer followed—heart racing, facts forgotten—as the apartment fell quiet behind you.
author’s note: don’t forget to like and repost! thank you for reading 🩷
Summary: after a long case you decide to take a walk to relax a bit, Spencer's so tired he immediately goes to bed.
Warnings: mentions of a knife, mentions of a struggle and curse words.
Masterlist 💌
You took your earphones off as you reached the door to your room at the hotel the team is staying at tonight. Stretching your neck side to side as you insert the key and open. It's obviously dark inside, the cold from out is starting to enter the room so you quickly enter and close, taking your sneakers off next to the entrance and putting your earphones and phone on the nearest table.
The rooms weren't so big, intended to be for a night or two at best.
You entered the bathroom immediately, closing the door behind you and taking your sweater off. The hotel staff told us they'd make sure to bring our stuff to our rooms while we were at work.
*first person*
- "shit, I forgot my towel", I turned around and opened the door to the dark room, I don't know why I didn't think of turning the lights on yet, my mind's been that fuzzy I guess.
I walk to the light switch when a pair of hands grabbed me from behind. The person quickly pushed me against a wall and covered my mouth, that's when I felt something sharp against my throat, making me freeze automatically. My eyes were wide open in shock, but I still couldn't see. My breathing was a mess and I for sure wasn't stronger than the person since they had a good grip on me just with one arm.
- "my team is staying on the rooms next to me", how could I not recognize that voice.
I tried to talk, but his hand was covering my mouth, I got desperate, I didn't want to risk anything against the knife on my throat but I was growing impatient cause I couldn't find a way for him to recognize me without me speaking.
I tried and tried but his grip just went harder on me, pushing the knife deeper.
- "stop! Stop what you're doing!", he was starting to hurt my shoulder and chest but my complaints were silenced and all my attempts to speak were in vain.
- "I'm going to step back and turn the lights on, and you're going to stay right there, okay?"
He kept the knife on my neck while his other hand moved searching for a gun around my body, which I clearly didn't have. There I had my chance.
- "Spencer..." - I whispered, scared he wouldn't recognize my voice and just felt like I was an unsub that happened to know his name. At least I expected him to tone it down a bit by noticing I'm a girl.
- "what- y/n?", his hand with the knife twitched but didn't move.
I nodded frantically.
- "yes! Yes... Spencer, it's me" - I said a little louder and more clear.
He put the knife down on the table and went to turn the lights on.
I couldn't help it, my adrenaline was high, my hands and chest were trembling and some tears ran down my cheeks.
- "oh my god... Y/n" - he whispered now, getting closer but in a very slow and careful manner.
- "I'm sorry, what are you doing here?!" - he asked super confused. But I couldn't find the words to start my explanation. He slowly wiped the tears of my face, his face was clearly showing concern and guilt.
- "i'm sorry" - he took my hands into his and guided me to sit on the bed. - "I'm so sorry, I'm so embarrassed... But, what are you doing in my room? Did something bother you? Did something happen in your room? Are you okay?"
- "I'm... I'm fine... Spencer, and this is my room"
- "what?"
I nodded and got my key from the table to show him.
- "room 110"
- "but... I have the key for this room" - he let go of my hand and showed me his key with the same number.
I chuckled.
- "what are the odds"
- "do you really want to know?"
I chuckled again and shook my head.
- "I wanna shower and sleep"
- "what were you doing out so late?"
- "it's actually early"
It was 1am
He laughed slightly.
- "you know what I mean, are you okay?" - he placed some of my hair behind my ear.
- "I... Uh..." - I sighed and turned to look elsewhere.
- "hey, it's okay, you can tell me, you know that" - he placed his hands on top of mine again.
- "I know... I trust you... It's just, well, I've been with a lot on my mind lately and I've discovered that walking helps me sleep better and feel better in the morning"
- "you know, walking or doing any form of physical activity stimulates our brain to release hormones that make us feel happier, sleep better and just balance our anxiety overall, so I understand why you feel that way... I'm sorry I ruined everything by the greeting I received you with"
I laughed and punched his shoulder slighty.
- "didn't need to add an adrenaline rush to the hormones"
He laughed back and apologized.
- "wait, so, if this is our room... What are we going to do? Do you want me to sleep on the couch?"
- "what? No! I could never make you sleep there, Spence, that thing is like cardboard"
- "the bed isn't that greater either"
I giggled.
- " it's just one night, right? We're both adults, can't we just... You know, sleep each on their side... Or do you find it uncomfortable?"
- "no, not at all, if you're okay with it, I'm down"
- "yeah, it's in a totally professional manner, so... I'll go shower right now, you can continue sleeping, just put the knife away for when I get into bed"
He laughed and got to his side of the bed, where he was before I entered the room. I laughed and got into the bathroom.
When I got out I sat on my side of the bed, Spencer was already in a deep slumber. I smiled to myself, admiring the features I could catch with the lights that slipped though the window. He was very pretty and I, well I was about to sleep next to him after having the massive crush I've had on him since the minute I heard him explaining something scientific at the office.
He laid down with his face towards the outside of the bed but I guess he moved while sleeping and now he was facing the inside, so I lied down putting us face to face. I smiled one last time and closed my eyes.
*the next morning*
I stirred a little, holding closer the pillow I slept hugging around my neck.
The weather seemed better today, it wasn't as cold as yesterday.
I stretched a little and that's when I noticed the weight on my waist, making me instantly freeze, my eyes wide open, seeing that it wasn't a pillow what I was hugging, it was Spencer's arm that came from under my neck and hold me to my shoulder. It wasn't cold cause his hold body was pressed behind me and his other hand was laying over my waist.
I immediately blushed, I felt like in heaven. I quickly closed my eyes again, pretending to be asleep still so it would take him to wake up to break the moment. Right after that his alarm went off.
I felt his body jumping at the sound. His grip a little tight but then, carefully, he removed himself from around me and got up to turn his alarm off.
I blinked a few times, trying to act like I just woke up.
I sat up and smiled.
- "good morning, Spencer"
He didn't even turn to look at me, already taking his clothes to the bathroom to get changed.
- "morning"
He got so quickly into the bathroom I didn't even get the chance to see his face.
- "well, that was embarrassing", I whispered to myself as I got up.
I made some breakfast and put a plate for him on the table. Just as I did this I heard the bathroom door opening.
- "I made you breakfast-" - I barely turned around to face him.
- "I'm not hungry" - and with that he grabbed his bag and left the room, leaving me standing there, embarrassed and with now a wasted breakfast.
I sighed and pushed the tears away. I was so embarrassed, I felt so... Stupid. I had to push my feelings away, I couldn't believe something so stupid like this got my hopes up and now... God... Now I'm left like a fucking clown.
A few involuntary tears ran down my cheeks, but I simply pushed them away and started to get ready.
*at the station*
The day went by pretty quickly, but we weren't even close to catch the killer.
- "let's get to the hotel, get some rest and come back tomorrow morning, at the same time" - Hotch announced before exiting the room.
We all closed our files and left them on the round table, before getting our stuff to head to the hotel.
Spencer hadn't talked to me all day. He only turned to look into my direction when we were discussing something about the case, other than that, it was like I wasn't even in the room, which wasn't the way he acted around me before.
I was just picking my bag up when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
- "I spoke to the manager in the hotel, they told me it was and "honest mistake", and that it happened because Hotch reserved the rooms online, but when we got here the rooms weren't enough for all of us so one had to share"
- "ohhh, ok, than it's just another night like last night"
- "don't worry, I got a room from a close by hotel. The room is all yours"
- "oh... Cool"
- "yeah..."
- "I'm sorry for last night, I guess" - I threw a fake smile and walked past him.
- "what? You don't have to apologize, it wasn't your fault, it was the hotel's fault" - he tried to grabbed my arm but the second his hand touched me he pulled away.
I just turned to look at him annoyed.
- "yeah but it made you act weird and uncomfortable so I guess I'm sorry for that, I hope you can forgive me and start acting normal again" - I turned around again and kept walking.
- "what! No! Wait!" - he sped up, standing right in front of me to avoid me from leaving - "it wasn't like that, you didn't do anything wrong, you don't have to apologize"
- "don't give me that, Spencer. You've been acting all weird, you barely talk to me, and if you do it's just about the case, you didn't even turn to look at me and the only thing you've told me today was about the room. Besides, don't act like we're not profilers, I saw that, I saw that you can't even touch my arm without physically pulling away. Look" - I lifted my hands in defeat - "it's fine, okay? It's all good, if you want to just, I don't know, stay away from me, do it, but don't be one way and then act clueless" - I tried to walk past him.
- "but it's not like that!" - he put his arm out, grabbing my waist.
I just looked up into his eyes, I was so angry.
- "then how is it, Spencer?" - I got back so he wasn't touching me.
- "now you're the one physically pulling away"
I laughed in disbelief.
- "yeah, now and then and always, just fucking lay it on me, what were you expecting, huh? That it's only when you want and I'll just fucking be there for whatever you feel like doing?!" - I couldn't believe he turned this in me. "Now you're the one that pulls away" - I whispered back and laughed, annoyed.
- "sorry, you're right"
- "forget it, Spencer, go to your room, we need to rest"
- "no! Cause I don't wanna leave like this"
- "then just say it's all my fault and leave it like that" - I tried to walk past him from the other side but he did the same.
- "I know you felt it, I know you saw it..."
I took a step back again.
He sighed.
- "I know you thought you woke up first cause I... I was already awake and I felt you moving and then I felt how stiff you got. I guessed you were uncomfortable, I made you uncomfortable, and then the alarm went off and then I was sure you were awake..." - he took my hands into his - "I'm sorry... For everything, I shouldn't have treated you differently, I should've given you the chance to talk, we could've talked over breakfast but I immediately turned you down, and I'm sorry for that too. Can you please forgive me?"
A slight smile escaped my mouth but I quickly frowned, turning to look at him with anger.
- "I saw that... I know you want to forgive me deep down, but I understand you don't really want to after everything I made you feel today, so I'm gonna make it up to you, what do you want?"
- "I want you to make me dinner"
- "tonight?"
I simply nodded and smiled wickedly, making him smile back.
- "anything you want, lead the way" - he finally moved, letting me go first but staying right beside me during the whole ride to the hotel.
*at the hotel*
We entered the room and placed our things down.
- "what do you want?" - he asked taking his coat off.
- "uh... I actually want pizza"
He laughed.
- "I'm not Rossi"
I laughed and handed him my phone.
- "order it" - as he ordered the pizza I went to the bathroom to get ready to sleep.
When I came out with my pajamas he was finishing the call while sitting on my bed.
- "all done, pizza will be here in around 12 minutes" - he moved my phone in the air and then placed it on the table.
- "great!" - I sat next to him.
- "I'm sorry for today"
- "I just... You made me feel... Stupid" - I kept my eyes and hands on my lap.
- "what? Why?"
- "you stopped talking to me completely, like I didn't even exist"
- "you're right, sorry about that, I just, I didn't know what to say after that, you know... I'm even sorry about that, I can't imagine how uncomfortable it must've been"
- "well, it wasn't"
- "what?" - he barely whispered.
- "it wasn't uncomfortable you dingus, you're my best friend, even tho it might sound childish. But if you have any doubt about anything you should know you can ask me. That isn't childish"
- "you're right, I was acting childish"
- "I know I'm right"
We laughed but then the room suddenly became quiet.
- "what... Or rather how did you feel when you woke up this morning?" - he asked very low, almost like a whisper, turning to see my face and every micro expression that might give anything away.
I turned to look at him into those beautiful, big, hazel eyes of him, smiling as the eye contact made me a little nervous.
- "would it be so wrong if I say that I liked it?"
- "I wouldn't say you're wrong... But, liked it? What do you mean?"
- "I mean" - I lowered my gaze back to my lap. "I mean... It wasn't uncomfortable like you said, quite the opposite actually, I mean... I think it was cute. But, what about you? Cause you told me you woke up first and just didn't move, why? Were you uncomfortable and didn't know what to do?" - I asked him while returning my eyes to his.
- "no, no, I actually didn't move because I guess I liked it too, but I was nervous you would... I don't know, think it was weird, because it kinda was"
- "how so?"
- "we were just staying together because of the hotel's slip up and then we wake up cuddling, you even said before that it was just two adults sleeping in the same bed and we could keep it professional and all that, and I didn't do that"
- "but neither did I, I mean, I was also part of the equation there"
He laughed.
- "I guess you're right, I didn't think about that"
*ding dong*
- "pizza's here" - he raised his eyebrows and mouth and got up to receive, and pay, the pizza.
- "what did you order?" - I stood up to take some plates and cups out.
- "pepperoni"
- "nice"
While we were eating we decided to turn the TV on just to have something to watch while we ate on the bed. The pizza had 8 slices, 4 for each. And it was completely over after a few minutes.
I couldn't even stand up, too full after that. I just leaned my head on Spencer's shoulder and he placed his head on top of mine.
- "I'm so full" - I complained
- "yeah, me too"
I giggled.
- "I guess you're leaving to your new room now?"
- "mhm" - he nodded.
*the next morning*
I woke up before my alarm went off. I just hoped I had enough time to just lay there for a bit before I had to get up to get ready. I tried to turn to my other side and that's when I felt a pair of arms holding me. I smiled to myself and hugged them back.
- "you're up already?" - he asked with the cutest morning voice I've heard.
- "mhm" - I nodded, smiling like crazy, although he couldn't see the huge smile plastered on my face.
- "are you okay? Are you comfortable?"
- "oh, I'm more than comfortable"
He laughed and planted a cheeky little kiss on the back of my head.
— ★ you get hurt on a case and it's your first time ever being injured in the field. as always, spencer is there for you. maybe in ways that feel like more than just a friend.
pairing: spencer reid x sweetheart!reader ( no use of y/n )
content warnings: blood, stitches + iv's and needles in general, also, lots of mentions of luis ( though his name isn't mentioned, just what happened to him ),
a/n: last time i'm including a case in this series, because i suck at them. the summary is sooo vague. i'm sorry :( but point is reader gets stabbed - spencer takes care of her yayyyy !!! hope you enjoy this <33 gif credits to @reidgif <33
masterlist
The moment Spencer was summoned to the briefing room, he had a bad feeling about the case. The murders were aggressive and random, and his mind was already profiling a man full of rage with nowhere to release it.
With that in mind, Spencer walked through the dark warehouse. It had only been five minutes since the unsub had vanished into this labyrinth of crates and shipping containers.
This was your first major field pursuit of an unsub, which is why Spencer was intently listening to his ear piece where you communicated with Luke. It was a good pairing. Luke guided you through the physical aspects of the job, the parts that didn't come as naturally to you as the profiling did. Spencer understood that and he appreciated Luke for it, even though a small part of him wished he was the one at your side.
Spencer moved silently, slipping behind a large storage box as the scuff of a boot echoed nearby. Then, Emily called the unsub’s name, demanding his surrender. He followed the sound, his own weapon held ready as he hurried around a corner. The unsub was cornered against a fence. Emily had him in her sights. As Spencer began to speak, attempting to calm the unsub down, his eyes betrayed him. They darted past the trembling figure, past Emily, searching the dark behind her.
Where were you? Your comms had gone silent.
The unsub, sobbing, let his knife clatter to the floor. But Spencer’s heart was still hammering against his ribs.
Meanwhile, thirty yards away, you were leaning heavily against a stack of wooden pallets, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The initial shock had been a cold numbness, but it was receding, replaced by a fire that radiated from your thigh. You stared, almost disbelieving, at the dark stain blooming through your trousers.
“Hey, look at me. Look at me,” Luke was saying, his voice was filled with concern he tried to mask. He was already ripping a strip of fabric from the hem of his own shirt. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
His words were drowned out by the roaring rush of your own blood in your ears. You could feel the warmth of it soaking the fabric of your pants.
“Wheres Spencer?” you managed to whisper. It was the only thing your mind could latch onto.
Luke didn’t look up from his task, his hands firm as he wrapped the makeshift bandage around your leg. “He’s okay. He’s fine, I promise.”
He pulled the fabric tight to stop the bleeding and a gasp was ripped from your lips. The pain was blinding and for a second the warehouse swam before your eyes.
“Where’s Spencer?” you asked again, the words tighter this time, as you bit down hard on your lower lip. A fresh wave of fire shot up your leg and you couldn't suppress the sharp jerk of your body, your head thumping back against the wood behind you. You squeezed your eyes shut, swallowing back a scream. You didn't want to seem like a baby in front of the team, but this was your first injury on the job, your first physical interaction with the violence you so often studied from a distance. The sight of your own blood was making the world tilt.
Luke, his hands still applying pressure, looked up at your pleading tone. He understood in an instant. Without a second thought, he turned his head and yelled into the empty space of the warehouse. "Reid!"
On the other side of the warehouse, Spencer had just finished helping Emily secure the unsub’s cuffs. The man was sobbing, but Spencer was still distracted and his head whipped around at the sound of his name. Emily followed his gaze and she gave him a nod. "Go. I've got it."
He didn't need to be told twice.
Spencer rushed towards the sound of his name, his long legs eating up the distance. The moment he turned the corner, his heart plummeted. There you were, slumped against the crate, paler than he'd ever seen you. Luke was kneeling, tightening a makeshift bandage around your thigh. But it was your face broke his heart. Your eyes were screwed shut, your brow furrowed in an attempt to suppress your tears and appear strong.
He hurried over, his voice breathless with fear. "What happened?"
The moment he spoke, your eyes fluttered open and a relieved expression formed on your face. "Spencer."
Spencer met your eyes immediately.
"Hi," you whispered, your voice shaky.
"Hey, honey," he spoke softly, the endearment falling from his lips as naturally as breathing. It was the one his mother had always used, whenever he scraped his knees in school or missed his father. He dropped to his knees beside Luke, his fingers moving to help apply pressure. As he tightened the fabric, his touch was as gentle as he could make it, but the movement still jostled the wound.
You let out a sound of pain. A sound that stopped Spencer's heart dead in his chest. He could see how deep the cut was, the blood was soaking through the cloth almost as fast as they could press.
Spencer’s eyes met Luke's over your head. "I barely noticed," Luke mumbled. "He must have done it in passing, just reaching for whoever was closest."
Your head lolled back against the wood again, your eyes closing as a wave of dizziness took hold.
Spencer nodded at Luke. "We need to get her to the hospital."
He could see the terror etched into every line of your body. Your knuckles were white where you gripped the rough wood of the crate and your breath hitched in tiny gasps.
His voice was soft trying to calm you. "We're going to get you help, okay?"
Your eyes snapped open, wide with dread. "Don't leave me."
"I'm not going to leave you," Spencer reassured you immediately. "I'm right here. But I'm going to have to pick you up, and it's going to hurt. I'm sorry."
His heart fractured a little more as a single tear escaped, tracing a clean path through the blood on your cheek. He reached out, his thumb brushing it away.
"Okay," you whispered, placing your trust in him completely.
Luke gave the bandage one final tug before standing back, clearing the path.
Spencer slowly slid one arm beneath your knees. "I need you to keep your eyes open for me," he instructed softly, using his other hand to gently push the hair back from your forehead. He waited until your tired eyes found his. He offered you a reassuring smile, and though it was a struggle, you managed a weak one in return.
"You're okay," he whispered, a mantra for both of you, as his other arm slid under your back.
Then he lifted you.
A sound of genuine pain left your mouth. "I know, I know. I'm so sorry," he whispered. For a horrifying split second, the warm feel of your blood against his hands catapulted him back to a prison cell. Back to his friend bleeding out in his hands. His breath hitched.
This is different, he told himself. It's just a thigh injury. She is going to be fine. He repeated it like a prayer as your head lolled weakly against his shoulder, your eyelids fluttering shut.
"Hey. Hey!" he said, his voice louder, filled with a fear he couldn't completely hide. "Eyes open. Look at me."
"Sorry," you breathed, forcing them open again. Your hand came up, fisting tightly in his vest, as you tried to keep yourself awake.
Spencer tightened his hold, cradling you and carried you out of the gloomy warehouse. Emily had the SUV right at the entrance, the engine running. She had already transferred the unsub to Tara and Rossi, her entire focus now on her injured agent.
"Reid, with me. Luke, follow us," she ordered, her gaze sweeping over you with a concerned look before she yanked the car door open for him. Emily held it wide as Spencer carefully maneuvered you inside. The movement jostled your leg and a sharp hiss of pain escaped your lips. As he tried to settle you, your hand weakly fisted in his shirt.
"Can you come with, please?" you whispered, another tear slipped down your cheek.
Spencer didn't hesitate this time. "Yeah. Of course," he whispered back.
He climbed in after you. He helped you shift, arranging you so your legs were stretched across the seat and your head was cradled in his lap. "God, it hurts," you choked out, your face pressing into the fabric of his trousers.
"I know, honey. I know," he murmured, already in motion. He wrestled his way out of his vest, minimizing the disturbance to you before letting it drop to the floorboard. Finally free of the barrier, he could give you his full attention.
His gaze fell to his hand. It was stained, your blood a dark crimson against his pale skin. The sight unlocked memories he kept chained in the deepest part of his mind. He clenched his jaw, forcing them back. This is different. You're going to be okay.
His clean hand came up to cup your face, his palm cool against your even cooler cheek. His index finger tapped your temple. "Open your eyes for me," he whispered.
You obeyed slowly, your eyelids fluttering open to reveal a pain hazed gaze. You watched him as he softly brushed his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone.
"I didn't see him," you confessed, your voice filled with shame. "It was my fault."
"He was fast," Spencer countered immediately, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It wasn't your fault." His eyes darted down to the bloody bandage on your thigh, then out the window, mentally calculating the remaining blocks to the hospital. His touch on your face remained, while his other, bloody hand remained a fist on his own thigh.
He happened to glance up and meet Emily's eyes in the rearview mirror. She held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary and he saw a dawning realisation in her eyes. Recognising something he hadn't meant to display. He looked away quickly, his focus returning solely to you.
His thumb continued its gentle path across your cheekbone. The gesture coaxed a weak smile on your lips. "Tell me something," you whispered.
Spencer leaned in closer, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Tell you what?"
"Anything," you breathed.
You couldn't articulate it, but through the haze of your own panic and pain, you could feel his. You saw the tightness around his eyes, the way he kept unconsciously opening and closing his bloodied fist. You'd even noticed a smudge of crimson on his neck but bit back the urge to tell him, not wanting to amplify the terror you saw flickering in his hazel eyes. You were trying to bring him back to you.
Spencer watched you for a second, his mind scrambling for something. "I thought about your idea... about me participating in chess tournaments," he said, a soft smile touching his lips as he brushed away a fresh tear tracking down your cheek.
"Really?" you asked, a spark of happiness cutting through the pain.
Spencer nodded. "Mhm."
"So? Are you going?" You managed to grit out, your hand lifting to grip his wrist, the one cradling your face, holding onto him tightly.
"Not sure yet," he whispered. He wanted to reach over and brush the hair from the other side of your face, to offer more comfort, but a glance at his other hand stopped him. The distance in his eyes must have been obvious.
"Tell me more," you whispered, pulling his focus back to you.
He was struggling, his thoughts a jumbled mess of fear and adrenaline. And then, in his desperation to distract you, he said something he hadn't planned to share. "I listened to all those albums you had in your car."
The confession had its intended effect. "My CDs?" you asked, surprised enough that your grip on his wrist tightened less from pain and more from shock.
"Yeah. I went to one of the music stores close to my apartment and had a listen," he admitted, a shy smile returning to his face. He could see the joy in your eyes.
"Did you like them?" you asked, the words gritted out between clenched teeth as the car hit a minor bump.
Spencer hated making you talk through the pain, but the alternative, seeing your eyes slip shut, was unthinkable. If you lost consciousness now, he would't be able to handle it. You let out a pained groan that strangely morphed into a pained giggle as you realised his answer.
"That's okay," you whispered.
"I liked a couple songs," he offered softly, and the admission, small as it was, made you smile again.
"I guess we have polar opposite music tastes," you said, squinting your eyes as a fresh wave of pain radiated from your leg.
Spencer gently brushed his thumb just below your eyelash, a silent plea for you to keep your eyes open. For the rest of the ride, he listed every single song he’d listened to from your collection and pinpointed the one or two he’d genuinely liked.
At one point, your hand, trembling with pain, lifted and your fingers gently touched the side of his neck. He stilled, letting you, though he wasn't sure why.
Emily pulled up to the ER entrance. She handled the forms at the front desk while Spencer carried you inside and settled you onto the white sheets of a hospital bed. Your whispered, "Please stay," was all it took. He sat in the chair beside the bed as the doctors started working. The procedure contained a deep cleaning and a series of stitches. But it was a painful one, requiring Spencer to hold your hand, which he did without hesitation, his fingers laced tightly with yours, his other hand brushing the hair back from your damp forehead. When it was over, the painkillers pulled you under and you fell into a deep sleep.
Spencer sat in the room for a long time, his gaze locked on the dried blood still on his palm and under his nails. Finally, he rose on shaky legs and retreated into the attached bathroom.
The door clicked shut. His eyes met their reflection in the mirror and he froze. In one jerky motion, he ripped his tie loose, gasping for air as if it were strangling him. He braced his hands on the edge of the sink, his head hanging low, shoulders trembling. He couldn't bear it a second longer. He twisted the faucet on, thrusting his hands under the scalding stream. He scrubbed, his breath coming in ragged pants, rubbing his skin raw with the cheap hospital soap until the water swirling down the drain ran a sickening orange.
He forced himself to look up again. Away from the blood in the sink. And then he saw it. A smeared mark on his neck, just below his jawline. A remnant of your blood.
The memory of your touch, your fingers gently brushing that exact spot in the car, flooded back.
You hadn't been seeking comfort for yourself in that moment. You had seen the blood on him. You had seen the panic he was trying so desperately to hide, and even through your own pain, you had tried to wipe it away. To comfort him.
Shame crashed over him. His own pain had so literally been written on his face, that the person bleeding out in his lap had felt compelled to offer him comfort.
The feeling was so suffocating he hooked his fingers and popped the top two buttons of his shirt. His eyes dropped back to the sink, still seeing the ghost of that orange tinged water. With a trembling hand, he cranked the faucet on full blast, the roar of the water drowning out the silence and, he hoped, the screaming in his own mind. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, only that the water had long since run clear and his hands were raw.
When he finally walked back into your room, his tie was gone, left in the bathroom. The top two buttons of his shirt remained undone.
The team had come and gone while you slept, their visits containing concerned whispers and glances directed at both you and him.
It was late, when you finally stirred. The first word from your lips was a drowsy, "Spencer?"
He didn't reply at first, slumped half asleep in the uncomfortable chair, his head resting against the wall. It was the rustle of sheets as you moved that jolted him awake. He was on his feet in an instant, leaning over the bed rail.
"Hey," he whispered.
A soft smile touched your lips. "Hi. You stayed."
"Of course I did," he whispered back.
During the evening, he coaxed you to eat a few bites of bland hospital food. Later, a nurse arrived to hang a new bag of IV fluids. The moment the medical cart rattled into the room, your eyes found Spencer's. You looked at him with a deliberate sweetness.
"Could you get me one of those really tasty strawberry tarts from the cafeteria?" your voice a little weak. "I've been craving one."
Spencer nodded immediately. "Yeah. Of course." He was just glad to be useful, to have a mission that could momentarily silence the guilt whispering that he should never have let you out of his sight in that warehouse.
He didn't know, as he hurried from the room, that your request had been a plan of yours. You remembered the files and the trauma surrounding needles. You didn't want to subject him to watching that needle go into your arm, not after everything he'd endured. You sent him on a quest for a pastry not because you wanted one, but because you wanted to protect him from seeing it.
When Spencer returned, a small paper bag containing the strawberry tart in hand, the IV was already securely taped to your arm. You’d pretended the tape was slipping, requesting a larger bandage from the nurse. Just to ensure he wouldn't have to see the needle.
Later, as the night went on and pain made your sleep restless, you tried to send him home. "Spencer, you should get some real rest," you'd insisted, but he simply shook his head. Instead of leaving, he returned with a chess set.
"It'll help keep your mind off it," he explained, setting the board carefully on your bed table before settling himself on the edge of your mattress.
And it was nice. The focus required to follow his explanations provided a welcome distraction from the throbbing in your leg. Your genuine confusion and disastrous moves made him laugh. You were scheduled to stay overnight and a part of you was deeply relieved that he hadn't left. The thought of facing the long hours alone felt daunting.
During a lull in the game, you fiddled with a bishop, your gaze fixed on the chess game instead of him. "I'm sorry if I was too much of a crybaby back there," you murmured.
Spencer's head snapped up, his eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion. He reached out, his hand covering yours that held the chess piece. Gently, he guided your move, placing the bishop on a square that put his king in checkmate.
"You weren't a crybaby," the juvenile word sounding foreign on his lips.
"I've just never gotten hurt in the field before," you offered, the words feeling more like an excuse for your own perceived vulnerability.
Spencer made his next move, deliberately placing his own piece in a position that surrendered the game. You saw it and raised a knowing eyebrow but held your tongue.
"Your reaction was perfectly okay," he said earnestly. He met your eyes, ensuring you heard every word. "And even if you had acted like 'that,' as you say, it would have been normal. There is no definitive or correct reaction to pain and fear."
A weight seemed to lift from your shoulders, just by hearing the sincerity in his words.
The next morning, Emily took the initiative to drive you home, with Spencer insisting on tagging along. Your apartment filled with well-wishers from the team, despite your reassurances that you were perfectly fine. After Emily helped you settle onto your couch, Spencer lingered by the door, his hands shoved in his pockets.
"I'll, uh... I'll check up on you soon," he promised.
You were already half-asleep and could only manage a drowsy, "Thank you," before you drifted off.
True to his word, he called you throughout the day and into the evening. You assured him you were fine each time, but he still ended every conversation with a quiet, "I'll come by soon."
He kept that promise the very next afternoon, appearing at your door with a bag of groceries and a chess set. He spent hours with you, his patience endless as he guided you through another game, all while meticulously ensuring you took your pain medication on time.
At one point, he insisted on changing your bandages. You sat on the edge of the couch while he knelt on the floor before you, a fresh roll of gauze and medical tape laid out beside him. He carefully took the end of the old bandage between his teeth to tear it, his hands gently supporting your thigh.
"Thanks for your help," you said softly, watching the concentrated furrow in his brow. "You really didn't have to come over."
Spencer shook his head, the bandage still held in his teeth as he carefully cradled the back of your knee to lift your leg. He began wrapping the clean gauze. "I don't mind," he mumbled around the fabric.
You reached out and gently took the bandage from his mouth, your fingers trembling slightly when they brushed his lips. His eyes flicked up to yours for a moment, before he quickly looked back down. "Funny how the tables have turned," you smiled.
The comment made him chuckle as he slowly lowered your leg back to the couch, though he remained kneeling on the floor. "Okay?" he asked softly, nodding toward his handiwork.
"Yeah," you said, your voice warm. "Thanks." You then reached for his hand, tugging gently to pull him up to sit on the couch beside you. He settled in, his shoulder brushing yours.
"Wanna play another round of chess?" he asked.
"No," you answered plainly, letting your head loll back against the cushions. "I keep losing. I'm sick of it."
His chuckle was a reward in itself. "You should lay down," he murmured.
"That's all I've been doing," you complained, a pout forming on your lips.
Spencer didn't reply. Instead, he shifted, his hands carefully guiding you to lie back on the pillows. Then, he gently lifted your legs, settling them across his lap. The weight of his hands on your shins were profoundly comforting and made you suppress a delighted smile.
"You'll be back on your feet soon," he said, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Literally."
You let out a sigh, one that couldn't quite suppress your smile as you settled into the pillows. It didn't take long for the cozy atmosphere to lull you to sleep. You figured you hadn't been out for long, but when you stirred, the space on the couch beside you was empty.
You sighed, pushing yourself upright.
Crap.
Of course he'd left. He'd been taking care of you all day. He had a life, a job, a world that didn't revolve around your convalescence. Another sigh escaped you as you ran a hand through your hair, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your apartment felt profoundly boring and lonely without his presence. You were just considering taking another nap when the lock clicked and the door swung open.
Spencer stepped back in, balancing a cardboard coffee carrier and a small plastic pharmacy bag.
Your face lit up, joy you didn't try to hide. "Spencer! I thought you left."
He offered a soft smile, toeing off his shoes by the door. "No, I just went to refill your prescription and get some coffee." He set the bag of medicine on the coffee table.
"You're doing way too much for me," you sighed, a mixture of gratitude and guilt in your voice.
"Not at all," he countered simply. He handed you a coffee, and you took it happily, the warmth seeping into your hands as you took a grateful sip. You let your head fall back against the couch cushions as he settled beside you, the familiar weight of him an immediate comfort.
For a little while, it was perfect. You fell into easy chitchat. Him describing the nice bakery he'd found near the pharmacy, you recounting the odd dream you'd had. You were in the middle of a sentence when the trill of his phone interrupted you.
"Sorry," Spencer murmured, already reaching for it.
You shook your head, a silent it's okay, but you watched his face closely. You saw the subtle shift, a slight tightening around his eyes as he listened. He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "Yeah. I'll be there soon."
He ended the call. The silence that followed was louder than the ringing had been.
It was a case.
You sighed, the feeling of impending loneliness a cold weight in your stomach. You knew you weren't cleared for duty and you knew what that meant. He was leaving and you were about to be alone for an indefinite amount of time.
Spencer’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly as he slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to you, his eyes already full of an apology. “It’s a case,” he said, the words heavy with a disappointment that mirrored the sudden drop in your own heart.
You tried to offer a brave smile, but it felt weak on your lips. “I guessed so.”
The cozy evening you’d envisioned, curled up on the couch with him, a movie playing in the background, evaporated into thin air.
Spencer's gaze swept over the medications on your coffee table. “Remember,” he began, his tone softening into that instructional one he used when he was worried. “Two of these white pills you have to take in exactly three hours, okay? Set an alarm.” He picked up the bottle and pointed to it, as if you could possibly forget.
His eyes then drifted to the bandage peeking out from under your fuzzy brown shorts. “And I don’t think you’ll need to change the bandae until I’m back, so please… don’t try to,” he insisted, giving you a stern look. He knew your stubborn independence.
He wasn’t done. “I stocked your fridge with groceries. Everything on the low shelf is ready to eat. If you want something hot, order in. Don’t try to cook,” he instructed, his eyebrows furrowing with concentration. “You can’t be standing for that long, it’ll cause you too much pain .” He trailed off, mumbling to himself, “I don’t think there’s anything else…”
You couldn’t help the fond grin that spread across your face. “Thank you, Spencer,” you said, your voice warm. “I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl, I promise.”
A faint blush crept up his neck at your words, as if he’d just realized how thoroughly he’d been fussing. He ducked his head for a moment before looking back at you.
“You be careful, though, okay?” you said, your tone shifting to one of soft concern. You leaned forward slightly, your fingers gently finding the fabric of his sleeve. “I don’t want you joining me on this couch as a patient.”
He nodded, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested. “I’ll try to come back as soon as I’m done with the case,” he promised quietly.
A comfortable silence settled between you. He was just watching you, his hazel eyes tracing the lines of your face as if committing them to memory. You held his gaze.
“You scared me, you know?” The confession slipped out. He seemed almost surprised to have said it aloud, as if the words had been sitting on his tongue for days, waiting for this vulnerable moment.
Your heart squeezed. “Sorry,” you whispered, though a small part of you swelled with a bittersweet happiness at the depth of his care.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he immediately countered, his brow pinching with guilt for having made you feel responsible for his fear. “I just… I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
“Trust me,” you shook your head, gesturing with a wry smile toward the small pharmacy on your coffee table. “Neither do I.”
A chuckle escaped him. It lightened the mood, pulling you both back from the edge of that heavy emotional cliff.
“Thank you, though, Spencer.” Your voice was soft, pulling his gaze back to yours. The reality of his imminent departure was a cold weight in your stomach and you found yourself already missing him.
“I mean it,” you continued. “You’ve done so much for me these past few days.” You tilted your head, curiosity stirring as you noticed his eyes, now moving deliberately, across your features as if studying you. You weren't sure he even heard you.
You held his gaze, a nervous flutter in your stomach. The old habit to bite your nails surfaced, but instead, your fingers, still tangled in his sleeve, tightened their grip. It was close to digging into his skin, though he knew you would never intentionally hurt him.
He watched, mesmerized, as the late afternoon sun streamed through the window, catching your eyes. You saw the same golden glow gilding the edges of his brown curls.
Spencer’s heartbeat was frantic. He knew this was a life changing decision. And perhaps you knew it, too. The fact that you were holding his gaze so steadily, something you so often broke out of nervousness, was all the confirmation he needed.
Your nails were just about to press into his arm when he moved.
His hands lifted, coming to frame your face. His fingers were cool against your warm skin as he leaned in, carefully closing the distance between you. When his lips finally met yours, a sigh escaped you, your shoulders slumping in pure relief. Your free hand came up to rest over his wrist, your thumb stroking the delicate skin there as you kissed him back.
His lips were incredibly soft. A giddy part of your brain chimed in. You already knew Spencer Reid was a soft man at heart, why were you surprised? Then, he let out a happy hum against your mouth, a sound of happiness that made you smile, momentarily breaking the kiss before you eagerly returned to it.
He hummed. Spencer Reid hummed during a kiss.
The realization was utterly delightful.
Spencer continued to cradle your face, his thumbs gently stroking your temples. He could taste the faint trace of the coffee he’d brought you earlier on your lips, mingled perfectly with the sweet vanilla of your lip balm.
When he pulled back, it was only far enough to search your face, his eyes wide and uncertain. But all he found was a dazed smile, your eyes fluttering open to meet his, equally full of happiness. You both smiled simultaneously.
“Wow,” you whispered. You closed your eyes again, leaning your head more fully into his palm. His thumb automatically began to stroke your cheek.
“A good ‘wow’?” he whispered.
“Definitely,” You smiled.
Spencer felt a matching grin spread across his own face. He could hardly believe what he had just done. He had kissed you.
He had kissed you, and you had kissed him back.
Not just allowed it, but actively participated, your hand on his wrist pulling him closer. And you were happy. Radiantly so.
“I finally got my birthday wish,” you whispered, the confession slipping out.
Spencer’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. One of his hands brushed back a strand of your hair. “You wished for this?” he asked, his voice full of wonder. He wasn't entirely sure what to name ‘this.’
“Well, sort of,” you giggled. “You were pouting at the birthday party the team threw for me, and for a moment, as I blew out the candle, I thought about what it would be like to kiss you.” You grinned, a little sheepish. “It wasn't a really conscious wish. But I think it counts anyway. I mean, I got it.” You were rambling now, but you found you didn’t mind, not when he was looking at you like that.
Spencer’s smile was radiant. He couldn’t quite believe he had actually done this. That you were sitting in front of him, watching him with such a delighted smile. That you had enjoyed the kiss. That you had wanted it.
That you had wanted him.
His heart felt too big for his chest, racing as he looked at you. He was about to say something. Tell you how long he’d wanted to kiss you.
( It was ever since that one time he’d seen you giggle with Tara, a random thought had struck him as you pressed a hand to your mouth to stifle a loud laugh. He had noticed then how soft your lips looked. And that small detail had haunted him ever since, because all he could do afterward was stare whenever you talked to him. )
But then, his eyes darted down to the watch on his wrist. His expression shifted in an instant. “Oh, wait, I need to—” His hand slipped from your face as he stared at the time. “Oh no.” He was late. Very, very late.
You followed his gaze to the watch. “Oops,” you grinned, utterly unrepentant as you watched him spring into action. He stood up quickly.
“Don’t forget what I told you,” Spencer said in a rush, slipping on his shoes and hoisting his satchel bag over his shoulder. His movements were frantic, but his eyes kept returning to you. As he hurriedly tied his laces, he glanced at you and halted for a second. You were on the couch and you were pretty. So pretty, sitting there with kiss swollen lips, your index finger and thumb touching your bottom lip in delight.
You were still smiling and he was completely smitten.
He was smitten with you. Delighted that he’d kissed you. He was on cloud nine, and even the rush to a crime scene couldn’t diminish the feeling. He could practically float all the way to Quantico.
"I'm so sorry. I promise I'll clean the floor when I come back," Spencer said apologetically, actually tiptoeing across your living room. "You have no idea how many pathogens are on a city sidewalk. I really am sorry," he mumbled, an endearing ramble starting as he closed the distance between you.
You just watched him, utterly charmed by the entire approach.
"But I just... I need to do this again," he whispered. His hands came up to frame your face once more as he leaned down.
This time, when his lips met yours, you couldn't contain the wide smile that broke out, making the kiss soft and a little lopsided.
"I love your smile, I really do," Spencer mumbled against your lips, pulling back just enough to speak. His breath was warm on your skin. "But I need you to stop smiling so I can kiss you properly." His voice was heavy with a breathless sort of wonder, as if the mere act of kissing you was the most exhilarating thing he'd ever done.
You quickly schooled your features, pressing your lips together to stifle the grin, though the joy still shone brightly in your eyes. "Right, sorry," you whispered, leaning in to meet him halfway. He leaned down even further, a considerate gesture so you wouldn't have to strain your injured thigh too much.
When he finally pulled away, his pretty lips were slightly parted, his breathing uneven. "Why did I do this right before work?" he groaned, the question half muffled as he gently tugged on your bottom lip with his thumb, a gesture that made you smile all over again.
"Asking myself the same question here," you whispered.
Spencer sighed and leaned his forehead against yours for one precious second. "I really am late," he mumbled, before stealing one last soft peck, making you smile immediately.
He straightened up abruptly, as if tearing himself away by force. "Okay. Don't forget your meds. And the food. I'll—I'll see you when I come back," he said, his words slightly stuttering as his eyes drank you in one last time, sitting there happily, your fingers once again touching your lips in awe.
His usually fast mind seemed to slow whenever it came to you, as if the world itself had slowed down. And somehow, he worried his eidetic memory might fail him, because he couldn’t stop staring. As if he was afraid he’d forget the sight of you sitting there so prettily.
You smiled softly up at him. "I'll see you then."
The simple promise made him pause, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot as he just stared, completely smitten. Then, with a visible effort, he quickly turned. "Okay. B-Bye-bye!" he stuttered, finally hurrying out the door.
You were left alone, a soft smile gracing your lips, while on the other side of the door, Spencer was walking down the hall with a matching smile, his mind a thousand miles away from the case that awaited him.
Heeyyy hope you’re doing good! I wanted to request a reid x reader where the reader gets jealous because some girl starts flirting with reid at a bar in Vegas or something like that
“really?”
pairing: fem!reader x reid
summary: prompt :)
warnings: established relationship, jealousy, girl flirting with reid, reader is a bit insecure???
a/n: this one is short but I hope you like it 🫶🏻
Vegas was loud in the way only Vegas could be—neon lights, slot machines screaming for attention, people who looked like they’d been awake for forty hours straight.
But after closing the case, the team had agreed on one thing:
One drink.
Just one.
You and Spencer sat together in a small booth, pressed a little too close for two “coworkers.” His hand brushed yours under the table every few seconds—quiet, secret little touches that kept your heart doing cartwheels.
The team didn’t know you were together.
Not yet.
You and Spencer had agreed to keep things private for a while.
But watching him now, laughing softly at something JJ said, you felt a wave of affection so strong you almost forgot the whole “secret” part.
Almost.
When Spencer went to the bar to grab your drinks, you watched him go with a stupid smile. His curls were a bit messy from the long day, his shoulders slouched with that soft tiredness he always got after a case.
You adored him.
But apparently… someone else did too.
A woman—not just pretty, but Vegas-pretty, all long legs, smoky eyeliner, and a glittery dress—slid right up beside him at the bar. Leaned on the counter. Smiled way too sweetly.
And then she touched his arm.
You blinked.
No.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Morgan followed your gaze and grinned.
“Oh, you’ve got that look.”
“What look?” you said, way too fast.
“That ‘I’m about to commit a misdemeanor in public’ look.”
“I don’t— I’m not—” You hissed, waving him off. “We’re literally just getting drinks.”
Morgan chuckled. “Mhm. Sure.”
Your eyes snapped back to Spencer.
He looked… confused.
Polite smile.
Doing that soft, awkward laugh he did when someone was being bold and he didn’t know how to react.
She leaned in closer.
You were up before your brain even caught up.
You marched across the bar, your steps sharp, your jaw tight. Spencer turned just as you reached him—his eyes lighting up like you hung the whole damn moon.
“There you are,” he said, relief pouring through every word.
The girl glanced at you, annoyed.
“Oh… is this your friend?”
You didn’t hesitate.
“No,” you said, sliding your arm through Spencer’s with casual confidence.
“I’m his partner.”
Spencer froze.
The girl’s face dropped.
“Partner? Like… work partner?”
“No.”
You smiled, slow and dangerous.
“Like relationship partner.”
Spencer’s cheeks went pink instantly—but he nodded, leaning into you like it was instinct.
“Yes,” he said softly.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
Your heart practically melted into the floor.
The girl blinked, awkward, stumbling over her words. “Oh—well—um—sorry, I didn’t know—”
“No worries,” you said sweetly. “You know now.”
She disappeared fast.
Spencer stared at you with the softest expression—half amused, half smitten.
“You were jealous,” he said quietly, voice warm.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I wasn’t!”
He nudged you gently, leaning down so his lips brushed your ear.
“I think it’s cute.”
You nearly combusted on the spot.
“You’re insufferable,” you whispered, cheeks burning.
He smiled, eyes shining.
“And you’re adorable when you’re protective.”
You swallowed, fighting a grin.
“Come on,” he murmured, threading his fingers through yours under the bar counter. “Let’s go back before Morgan starts taking bets on how long it takes us to make this public.”
You laughed.
“You think he knows?”
Spencer squeezed your hand.
“Oh, he definitely knows.”
And when he pressed a soft kiss to your temple—quick, hidden, just for you—you knew something else too:
You wouldn’t mind the team finding out.
Not at all.
author’s note: hiii, thank you for reading!!! don’t forget to like and repost 🤍
Marc stood on the ground fighting Harrow's soldiers while you fought above the buildings with his pets.
They were fast, agile and had some pretty good resistance. You already killed two, but the last one was being a pain in the ass.
Marc was fighting with three guys behind a building while you were fighting that monstrosity on the roof of another building.
You came down onto the roof, spreading your powers and making the monster stumble back a little, but he quickly recovered and started to run to you.
You kept him back with your powers, lifting him and the throwing him back to the next roof.
You quickly turned to look at Marc, he was fighting the last guy in that alley but there were five waiting for him outside.
- "five right outside, be careful", you warned him through your earpiece. You saw him nod.
- "got it", he kicked the guy one last time and prepared to exit the alley.
You smiled to yourself and turned around to fly to where the monster was, but he was already back.
With his huge arm he slapped you, making you fall from the building.
You tried to fly but the hit made you disoriented, making your powers barely flicker, you hit the building in front and then fell to the ground with a grunt.
You got.on your knees and hands, trying to pick yourself up but fell again.
You felt as you were lifted from the ground, your powers flickering again with fear and fear, your vision blurry and your head dizzy.
- "shhhh, y/n, baby, are you okay?", you felt as he turned you around in his arms, placing a hand under your neck and head and the other behind your back. You tried to open your eyes, your fear dissipated and you can feel the adrenaline leaving too, your body wasn't as responsive now, it all started to feel heavy and everything went black.
- "y/n?!", Marc shook your body with worry. "No, no, no, y/n! Nooo!", he pulled you against his body. Taking the mask off to let the tears flow without that restraint.
- "no...", he whispered breaking the hug, turning to see your face one last time. You had a big cut on the cheek, your lip was bleeding but the worst... Your nose was bleeding. "I couldn't... I should've...", Marc's eyes turned black immediately. He planted a last kiss on your cold lips and placed you over a little patio spot that was near. "Please take care of her...", he said in a sad manner to Konshu, you needed at least a proper burial.
And with that the suit changed as Harrow got closer to moon knight, making him laugh.
- "lost something?", he laughed and clapped in an arrogant manner.
The suit wasn't like Marc's, it was definitely not like Jake's, it was... More precise, with heavier weapons, better aerodynamic and yet... Elegant.
- "oh, poor guy, heart broken?"
_____________________________________
You woke up slowly, but when the memories came back you quickly got up.
- "Marc-", you whispered, but the pain on the back of your head quickly pulled you back onto the bed, closing your eyes, you heard a familiar voice.
- "shhhh, y/n... It's okay, we're home now, you don't have to keep fighting", you felt a cold rag on your forehead.
- "that feels nice", you relax with a smile. Opening your eyes closely to meet with your caretaker. "Thanks"
- "I'm so sorry. How are you feeling?", his dark eyes seemed so soft at the question, you can see the worry in case you said you were still in a lot of pain.
- "I'm better, just a headache, thanks", you noticed how his eyes got into thought as he froze and then quickly got up to get you medicine.
- "come on, up", he sat next to you again, pulling a spoonful of medicine before you and helping you up to take it.
- "Marc?"
- "yes, my love?"
- "can you just... Lay here with me"
- "sure! I'll just go get you some water and I'll do it, okay baby?", he planted a quick kiss on your forehead and got up, returning with a cold glass of water and laying next to you, allowing you to choose how you were the most comfortable. "Is that okay, baby?", he asked when he noticed you finally relaxed.
SHELTER FROM THE STORM ⟢ spencer reid x greenaway!reader
summary: in the cold aftermath of a fight left unresolved, you & spencer get stranded as a storm rolls in. with the roads underwater and only one vacant room at the motel, you’re left with nowhere else to run but straight into him.
genre: angst, hurt/comfort, smut tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI. reader is elle's sister, big argument, panic/anxiety, forced proximity, one bed trope, long conversation with lots of genuine apologies, reader admitting to Big Feelings, making out, and…drumroll please…SMUT! dry humping, brief nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, lil sprinkle of size kink (he’s got a big dick and reader likes that. sorry not sorry), spencer reid is Not A Virgin. pet names (sweetheart, angel girl, good girl), convo mid-sex scene about intimacy issues, no use of y/n.
a/n: request | the long awaited one-bed fic is finally here! this is a 10.7k word monster (longest fic I’ve ever written), my apologies lol — I’ve been working on it little by little since I first started greenaway!reader and had a lotttt I wanted to cover. I hope it lives up to all of your expectations 🥲 ily xo | GIF by @reidgif 🫶🏼
greenaway!reader masterlist 🥀
Rain pins the world to the windshield in sheets, wipers ticking like a metronome set a hair too fast. Two-lane blacktop. No shoulder. Pines crowd the edges and spit their needles into the air like confetti for a parade no one asked for.
You keep your hands at ten and two because it feels like control, like you can muscle the weather into behaving if you hold onto the wheel hard enough. Like you can fix more than just the weather.
Spencer’s sitting shotgun with a paper map because the GPS keeps losing its mind — “Recalculating. No satellite signal. Recalculating.” His knee isn’t bouncing in that annoying way it usually does. He’s gone eerily still. You hate that so much more than the bouncing.
“Next turn is in approximately two-point-three miles,” he says evenly.
“Got it,” you reply.
Silence hums along to the rain. Somewhere, miles back, is the easy, bright version of the two of you — the version that traded coffee sleeves and private jokes and secret kisses in parking lots. You can feel its ghost in the car, sitting in the backseat, arms crossed, refusing to look either of you in the eye.
A deer jumps out of the treeline and freezes in your lane. You brake — hard — and the car skids to a stop. The deer stares, flinches, bolts. Your heart lodges in your throat and hangs there, choking you.
In the middle of the panic, Spencer’s left hand slapped to the dash. Not to your knee to steady you. Not across your chest to hold you back. Not to you at all.
The sound of his palm hitting plastic lands louder than the storm.
“Sorry,” you say, because apologizing for a deer feels easier than touching anything else going on between you. Your voice comes out flatter than you meant it to.
“It’s not your fault,” he answers.
He means the deer. At least you think he does.
You swallow. Your throat tastes stale, like the bad coffee you didn’t finish because the mug smelled like old pennies. You ease your foot off the brake and the car crawls forward again.
—
(48 hours earlier)
You burned out of the precinct on a hunch and didn’t come back for four hours. Your phone went from one bar to no bars and stayed there. You told yourself you’d only be gone twenty minutes. You told yourself if you left a note on the whiteboard or gave the team a heads up, someone would try to talk you out of it, and then you’d have to stand there and defend yourself, and that would slow you down. You told yourself confidential informants bolt the second they smell an entourage. You told yourself, Move. Think later. That trick usually saves you. Sometimes it slices you open.
But you were right. The CI did show. He talked. He gave you something usable.
So you came back with grit on your boots and adrenaline in your chest, already halfway through composing the I told you so in your head.
Spencer was waiting where the asphalt met the chain-link, his lanky silhouette tensed, phone white-knuckle clenched in his hand.
“Where were you?” he asked, stepping out in front of you to block the path from the parking lot to the sheriff’s office.
Not how did it go? Not are you okay? Not even hi.
“Following a lead,” you said.
“The lead Hotch specifically told you was too dangerous to follow alone?” His voice was low and controlled in a way that made the air around you feel thin. “The lead you were supposed to bring me in on tomorrow, with a tactical team in place, in case things went sideways?”
You rolled your shoulders back, irritated at the tone. At the implication. At him, of all people, acting like you couldn’t be trusted with your own job. “I got something we needed,” you said. “The CI might’ve just given us a major break in this case. We don’t get that if I show up with a battalion.”
“I am not a battalion,” Spencer replied, and it came out cracked. You heard the edge of panic under the anger. Then, quieter: “You don’t always have to do everything alone.”
The sentence hit you low, right in the part of your spine that convinced itself long ago that asking for help means showing weakness.
“I can handle myself,” you said. “And I never asked you to worry about me.”
“Yeah, well, I did it anyway,” he snapped, and the snap was so un-Spencer-like that it stunned you into stillness. He let out one small, humorless breath of a laugh and dragged a shaking hand through his hair. “I called you seven times. Seven. Hotch was five minutes from sending Morgan and two sheriff’s units to sweep the city looking for you. Do you—do you understand what it felt like to look up and you were just—” His jaw worked. He swallowed hard. “Gone?”
The word hung there between you — gone.
It wasn’t theatrical, or manipulative. It was just naked.
And then he added: “In the middle of a case like this.”
You knew exactly what this meant. This meant six women in four weeks. All in their twenties and thirties, roughly your height, your build, your coloring, all physically capable of fighting back but knocked unconscious before they had the chance. All abducted and killed and horrifically mutilated in the same neighborhood as that warehouse you’d gone to.
“I thought you were hurt,” he went on, steamrolling through his own panic now that it had found a crack. “Or—or worse. We got a call about a body in an alley, in the unsub’s comfort zone, but it was too mutilated for a visual ID, and—”
“You assumed I was dead,” you said for him. “Breaking news: I’m not.”
“That isn’t the point,” he said instantly.
“The point is I did my job and it paid off.” You shifted like you were going to step around him.“If you can’t handle—”
“What I can’t handle is not knowing where you are when we’re hunting a guy who kills women who look exactly like you,” he cut in. “He’s smart, and he’s dangerous, and we don’t have him yet. And I—You’re—” He caught himself on the edge of saying something too raw and too obvious and too big. “You’re too important to me to lose,” he said instead.
It was too intimate. Way, way too intimate. Way more than you could hold in the open air like this. So you did what you always do with things that threaten to rearrange you: you knocked it out of his hands before it could stick.
“I’m not your fucking girlfriend, Spencer.”
You heard the words leave your mouth and couldn’t pull them back. You felt them hit him.
He froze. You watched it happen in real time — the way his face went from heartbreak to self-defense to anger, all in one brutal flicker.
“That’s not—” His voice cracked. He swallowed it down and tried again. “Christ,” he said, finishing the sentence with your name like an angry punctuation mark. “We’re—” He cut himself off and pressed the heel of his hand between his eyes. When he looked at you again, his tone was lower. “Don’t pretend that we’re strangers. At this point, the word girlfriend is just semantics that terrify you, and I’ve been too polite to push you on the labels thing, even though it’s starting to eat at me. Don’t act like you don’t know what you are to me. Don’t act like you don’t know what I am to you.”
Heat rose under your skin so fast it almost made you sway.
He wasn’t done.
“And don’t make it sound like I’m trying to put a leash on you, because you know I’d never want to control you,” he said, softer but somehow more intense. “I just can’t keep doing this thing where you disappear for hours in the middle of a case and I have to stand there pretending I’m fine while my chest feels like it’s being crushed in a vise. I mean, seriously, you do this constantly. Constantly! You show zero regard for your own safety and you don’t seem to care at all what that does to me. I’ve seen what happens when the line between instinct and impulse gets blurry. I watched it happen to Elle. I won’t watch it happen to you.”
You felt your face go hot. Shame and anger and something almost like guilt crackled in you, sparking in every direction at once.
The worst part was, you heard the truth in it. You heard the care, and the fear, and the feeling you won’t let either of you name.
But under all of that, you also heard one unforgivable word: Elle.
“Don’t,” you warned, and your voice didn’t even sound like yours. “You don’t get to compare me following a lead—a lead that got us what we needed, by the way—to what Elle did just because you’re pissed off and scared and your giant genius ego is bruised that I won’t stamp a label on us.”
He flinched. You hated yourself for how good that felt for half a second.
“And you sure as hell don’t get to weaponize my sister’s actions against me like that,” you went on. “You don’t get to use her name to scare me, or guilt me, or punish me.”
“I wasn’t—” He broke off. “That’s not what I was trying to do.”
“Felt like it.”
He exhaled, shaky, losing some of the fight left in him. “Next time, just loop me in,” he said quietly. “Please.”
It would’ve been so easy to say yes. It was sitting on your tongue: Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because if you’d asked me not to go I would’ve stayed. I didn’t bring you with me because I care about you too much to force you into danger you don’t have to be in. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you.
But the yes was stuck in your throat like a fish bone. You couldn’t get it out without bleeding.
“Yeah, sure. Next time,” you said instead, sarcastic and shitty on purpose, shouldering past him and through the station door before you could hear him answer.
You and Spencer barely spoke for the rest of that day. Or the next. You only talked when it was about the case, and even then it was like you had gloves on.
Then Hotch assigned the two of you to drive hours out of town to interview a key witness the following morning.
That authoritative, meddling bastard.
—
Back in the car, the road narrows around a fallen tree branch. You take it slow. Spencer checks the time, then turns to look out the window again. His profile is all clean lines and tension. You want to lick your thumb and smudge those lines, just to prove you still can.
“The bridge might be dicey,” he says. “The river last crested a few hours ago, but that was before this new storm cell moved in.”
“Mhm.”
He clears his throat. “If the bridge is under water, we’ll cut over across Route 11. Adds twenty minutes.”
“Fine,” you say.
If this were you from three days ago, you’d poke fun at him for carrying an actual paper map like it’s 1979. You’d tell him to hit you with a county road fun fact. You’d let him light up. You always liked watching that happen. You’d pocket it and carry it like a handwarmer.
But this is you today, so you keep both hands on the wheel and keep your mouth shut.
Another mile swallows itself. Pines. A billboard for a fireworks warehouse that probably violates six state laws. A dented mailbox shaped like a trout. The sun dipping below the horizon.
Spencer’s phone buzzes in the half-second when service returns—flash flood warning—then dies back to black. He sets it in the cupholder and clutches the map between his fingers again.
He used to put his hand palm-up on his knee, a quiet invitation you’d take without thinking. You used to lace your fingers with his and rest there like you’d always have this.
You want to tell him you’re sorry about the four hours you disappeared. You want to explain that you didn’t tell him because if he’d asked you not to go you would’ve stayed, and that scared you more than the CI did. You want to tell him you’re sorry for saying “I’m not your fucking girlfriend” and for pretending this thing between you is undefined when there’s barely been a single night in weeks that didn’t end with one of you asleep on the other’s shoulder.
You want to be honest and you want to be kind but you don’t know how to be both at once, so you settle for just being quiet.
Outside, the rain keeps coming. Inside the car, you’re already under water.
—
The witness’s house is the color of wet cardboard and wrapped in a porch that sags. You flash your badges and get ushered into a living room that smells like mothballs.
The job slides over both of you like a uniform you don’t have to think about. You take the chair closest to the witness, angle your body open, let your voice go warm. Spencer hangs back a foot to the left — non-threatening, softened posture, eyes careful. You ask the simple questions; he gently pulls out more details. It’s an old rhythm that fits so well it almost hurts.
Back at the car when you’re done, you barely look at each other.
“Good work,” he says, quiet.
“You too,” you mumble.
You radio the team the broad strokes. They radio back a clipped “Copy, drive safe.”
The rain gets louder as you pull back onto the road. The job is taken care of. Nothing else is.
—
The river you crossed earlier has officially eaten its bank. Two police cruisers block the bridge; a deputy in a poncho waves you down with his flashlight.
“Closed both ways,” he shouts through your cracked window. “Route 11 is washed out, too. County’ll reassess at dawn, try to get things reopened.”
“Any other routes?” Spencer asks.
“Not unless you got a boat. Best bet is to wait the storm out ‘til morning and try again at sunrise.” The deputy jerks his chin toward a side road you hadn’t even noticed through the rain. “Pioneer Motor Lodge is about a quarter mile that way.”
You nod and thank the officer. You do not look at Spencer, and he does not look at you. You just U-turn in slow motion and follow the road to the motel.
—
The Pioneer Motor Lodge looks like the set for a movie titled “Places To Go When Your Life Falls Apart.” Single-story horseshoe, doors that open to the parking lot, soda machines on one side. A clerk sits behind the counter, watching the weather try to peel the world from its edges.
“Two rooms,” you say, and it sounds brisk enough to pass as professional.
“Wish I could help ya there,” the clerk says, sympathetic. “We’ve only got one left. Storm’s filled us up with stranded travelers.”
You feel Spencer tense beside you.
“We’ll take it,” you both say in the same miserable tone. The clerk slides over a key that’s seen better decades and a blue pen. Spencer signs; you swipe your card and pretend not to feel your pulse in your ears.
The walkway is slick. Your room is last on the strip, next to the ice machine and water fountain with an “out of order” sign that looks permanent. When you walk in it’s pitch black, and all you can smell is damp carpet, lemon cleaner, and the faint linger of years-old cigarette smoke.
Spencer finds the light switch, and that’s when you see it:
Only one bed.
Fucking fantastic.
He does a much better job at pretending to be unaffected than you do — while you’re frozen in place, he’s performing a routine sweep of the room the way he does in every hotel — checks the functionality of the smoke detector, makes sure the windows are latched, scans the mattress for bedbugs. You force your feet to work and set down your go-bag, which you miraculously had the forethought to throw into the trunk.
You both go through the motions: unzipping duffels, taking out toiletry cases, finding your pajamas. It’s silent and tense and the air feels like it’s made of pea soup.
After a few minutes, Spencer points his chin at the dilapidated armchair in the corner. “I can sleep—“
“No. That’s stupid,” you cut in, too fast. You don’t know if you mean his chair offer or this whole arrangement or the way your heart is acting like it absorbed caffeine intravenously. “We’re adults. It’s a queen size. It’s fine.”
He nods once, too drained to start another argument. You watch his throat move as he swallows.
“Do you want to shower first?” he asks, neutral, an olive branch disguised as logistics.
You shake your head. “You can go ahead.”
You listen to the water beat the tile, then sputter for a moment when someone flushes a toilet in the room next door. You stand at the window and watch the rain thrash the parking lot like it has a grudge. Your phone coughs out a single bar just long enough to text the team an update before it collapses again.
Spencer emerges in the world’s most modest t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, hair damp, contact case in hand and glasses fogged. He keeps his eyes carefully on the carpet when he says, “All yours.”
You take the fastest shower of your life and still feel like you’re in borrowed skin you don’t know how to wear. When you come back out, he’s sitting on the far side of the bed on top of the covers, watching the weather report on mute.
You sit down on the mattress (as far away from him as 60 inches of width will allow), and your weight dips his side just enough that you both feel the shift. He clicks the TV off. You reach for the bedside lamp. It hums, then gives up, plunging the room into the kind of darkness that feels thick.
“Goodnight,” he says to the ceiling.
“Night,” you say to the wall.
You lie very still. The storm hammers at the windows, the heater rattles, and somewhere under all that is whatever you’re not saying. You wait to see what’ll give first — the power, the storm, or your ability to pretend you don’t want to roll over and ask him for one true thing.
—
You hold out as long as you can.
You lie on your side, facing the wall, hands shoved under the motel pillow because you don’t trust them not to reach for him in your sleep. The rain hammers the windows, steady and mean. You count the seconds between the lightning and thunder.
It doesn’t work. Your thoughts keep circling the same place.
Meanwhile, Spencer is glued to his half of the bed like someone drew a chalk line down the middle of the mattress and ordered him to respect the boundary. His back is to yours, one arm folded under his head. You can hear him not sleeping. His breaths are too measured. You know he only breathes like that when he’s trying not to unravel.
“Spencer?” you whisper.
“Yeah?” he answers, quiet and wrecked and awake. The reply was immediate, like he was just waiting for you to speak first.
Your chest does a dumb little stutter at that.
You’re still staring at the wall when you say, “I can’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” he admits.
Another few beats go by. You realize you’re holding your breath and let it out slowly.
“Can you—” You stop. The words feel huge, like lifting something heavy. “Can you look at me?”
There’s a pause, and then he rolls.
You feel the mattress move under you, the dip of his weight pulling you a fraction closer. You roll to face him, and now there’s maybe eight inches between you. It feels like standing at the edge of a cliff.
His glasses are off. His hair is still a little damp and curling at the ends. The light from the parking lot sneaks in through the curtains and cuts a faint line across his cheekbone. His expression is sad in a way that says I’m barely keeping it together.
“Hey,” he whispers.
You swallow. “Hey.”
You sit in that for a second, just looking at each other in the dark.
Then you say, because if you don’t say it now you’re going to choke on it, “I hurt you.”
He exhales slowly. “Yeah.”
“You hurt me too.”
His eyes flicker. “I know.”
Your pulse is in your throat. You pull in a breath. “You compared me to Elle.”
He flinches; it’s tiny, but you feel it because you’re close enough to, and something bittersweet twists under your ribs at the proof that he still cares what you think of him.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says.
“I know you didn’t mean it like that,” you say. Your voice comes out tight, too sharp. “But you still said it. I’ve told you so many times how much I hate being compared to her. I trusted you enough to tell you that, and you still did it. I can’t—” Your throat closes, just for a heartbeat. You push through it. “You don’t get to hold her over my head like a threat. You don’t get to take one of the worst days of her life and aim it at me because you’re scared.”
He’s very still. You can hear his breathing. You can hear your own.
Then he says, quiet: “You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought her into it. That was wrong.”
You were braced for him to explain himself, defend himself, anything. The simple that was wrong disorients you.
“It wasn’t fair,” he continues quietly. “What happened with Elle was not the same thing as you going after a lead. I wasn’t—” He breaks off, swallows. His voice goes softer. “I wasn’t trying to say you’re like her.”
You breathe out slowly. “Then what were you trying to say?”
“Knowing that you’re walking toward something dangerous and not being allowed to go with you makes me feel like I’m going to throw up,” he says. “And that’s not… rational. I know that. I know what our job is, and I’d never want us to get in the way of it. But it’s like—” He winces at himself. “It feels like the universe has its hands wrapped around my throat and they’re just… holding. Not squeezing yet. Just taunting me, letting me know they could.”
The picture hits you so hard you actually feel it, phantom fingers pressing up under your jaw.
“And I hate it. I hate not being in control of it, and I hate that I’m putting it on you. You’re not responsible for what my nervous system does when I worry about you. That’s on me. But I—” He swallows hard. “When you were gone, I was standing in a parking lot thinking, ‘She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone,’ and then you walked up all smug, and my brain just—” He makes a helpless little motion with his hand. “I said something unfair, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt you intentionally. I was just terrified.”
You stare at him in the dark and your chest aches in a tight, unhelpful way. You hate how much you needed to hear that.
“I know you were,” you say quietly.
“Do you?” His voice frays a little. “Because I don’t think you do. I honestly don’t think you can understand how it felt. You were just doing what you always do — you had a lead, you trusted your instincts, you thought you’d be fine. And, to your credit, you were. You weren’t wrong about that.” He takes a breath. “But for four hours, twenty-one minutes, and thirty-seven seconds, I thought you could be dead. I was genuinely terrified that they were going to tell me the mutilated body in the alley was yours.”
“Oh,” you whisper.
He laughs, broken and humorless. “Yeah. Oh.”
You’re quiet for a full, solid beat, letting that sink under your skin and settle.
“I should’ve told you where I was going,” you say finally. The words scrape on the way out, but you say them. “I just—I knew if I told you, you’d ask me not to go, and if you’d asked me not to go, I wouldn’t have gone.” You pause, then add: “No one else holds that power over me.”
Something shifts under his expression, fast and deep and not at all subtle.
“But we needed that CI. I thought putting the case first was… I don’t know. Noble, or something. Professional.” You shake your head against the pillow. “But it wasn’t only that. It was me trying to prove to myself that how much I care about you doesn't have to mess with the job. And I thought if I didn’t tell you, then you couldn’t interfere with me being ‘objective.’”
Spencer swallows. “And how’d that work out for you?”
You let out a weak little breath that’s almost a laugh. “Well, you spent four hours thinking I was dead, so… not great.”
He exhales through his nose.
“And for the record,” you say, quieter, “I know I scare you. I know I run too hot. I know I move first and think later, and that I act like I’m never afraid.” You swallow. “I am afraid. I just… I don’t know how to show it without feeling weak. And I hate feeling weak in front of anyone.”
He nods, eyes locked on you. “I’m not just anyone.”
“No,” you whisper. “You’re not.”
“I know you thought I was mad at you for doing your job, but I wasn’t,” he says. “I just can’t keep being put in situations where I have to pretend I’m fine while I’m picturing you covered in blood on a metal slab. I need you to try to be a little less reckless on the job. I’m not asking you to not be you, but you can’t keep operating like you’re indestructible, or like no one would miss you if you were gone.” His breath catches. “And I know I didn’t say it right. I know I made it sound like I was trying to control you, but I swear, that’s not what I meant. I just— I can’t lose you. I can’t. Not before I’ve even told you—”
He cuts himself off.
Your pulse trips. You nod, steady. “I know, Spencer. I know.”
He shifts a little closer. It’s barely anything — just an inch, maybe two — but it might as well be an earthquake.
“I shouldn’t have said I’m not your girlfriend,” you force out. “That was mean. I knew it would hurt you and I said it anyway because I panicked and needed to get the attention off the fact that you—” Care about me. Like me. Maybe even…more than like me. You swallow the words and change course. “—the fact that you said I’m important to you.”
Spencer’s eyes go very shiny for a second, and you have to look down at the cheap motel duvet to keep talking.
“And you’re right,” you add, barely above a whisper. “We’re not strangers. We haven’t been strangers for a long time. I know what we are to each other. But I keep thinking if I just don’t call it anything, I can’t break it. Which is… stupid. I know it’s stupid.”
“I didn’t like hearing it,” he admits, voice small and honest.
“Yeah,” you say. “I know.”
He bites his lip. “I—I know you’re not mine in the way I want you to be. I’ve gotten used to that, mostly. But… I’m yours.” His voice wavers, then steadies. “You may not realize it, or want to hear it, but I am. I don’t know how to be okay pretending I’m not yours when I am. When that's all I want to be.”
Oh.
Something inside you — some stubborn barricade you’ve had up for years — gives a little under that.
“Spencer,” you whisper, and your hand moves before you can second-guess it. You slide your palm over the mattress, find his wrist in the dark. “I know you are.”
He closes his eyes like relief is physically painful.
“And I’m—” You breathe. Swallow. You owe him this much. “I’m yours, too. I just don’t know how to do it out loud yet.”
His eyes snap open. He looks wrecked and stupidly happy and still terrified all at once.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Your thumb presses gently where you’re holding him, like you’re warning him and soothing him at the same time. “But you can’t expect me to know when you want something without saying it. I’m a good profiler, but I’m not a mind reader. I didn’t know the title thing was eating at you. We could’ve talked about it earlier.”
“Is it really all that surprising?”
You sigh softly. “No,” you admit. “But I’m already so far out of my depth here. So unless you say otherwise, I’m going to assume everything’s fine, because I need it to be fine. I don’t let myself think about the alternative, because then I’ll have to deal with the fact I can’t give you what you deserve—yet. I’m working on it, I promise, but… I’m not there yet.”
He nods. “I know. I should’ve said something. But—for the record, I’m not trying to push you into something you aren’t ready for. I’m just…hoping you will be ready for it, one day. On your own time. But I do want that. I want to call you my girlfriend. I want you, and I can’t pretend I don’t. I can’t be casual about you.”
The word — girlfriend — pops and fizzles beneath your skin.
“I’m glad you still want that,” you whisper honestly. “I kind of spent the last two days thinking you were done with me.”
His eyebrows pull in, and he reaches out to brush his thumb along your cheekbone. “I could never be done with you, sweetheart.”
God.
You feel it hit low, dizzying. Under any other circumstances you’d chastise him for the pet name, but not now, not when he said it like that.
“Okay,” you breathe. “Okay. Good.”
For a second you both just lie there, staring at each other, breathing the same air. The hurt is still there, but under it, something else finally breaks through the surface — relief, hot and bright and shaking.
His voice drops, barely audible over the rain. “Can I—”
“Please,” you whisper, already moving, already finding his lips with yours.
The first kiss isn’t hungry — it’s overwhelmingly tender. It’s you’re here pressed mouth to mouth. It’s I’m sorry / I’m sorry too / Don’t ever do that to me again / I promise I won’t / I forgive you / I missed you so much I thought I’d crawl out of my skin / I missed you more / Impossible.
The second pass of his mouth over yours goes deeper without either of you meaning to. The sound you make is embarrassingly needy; the sound he answers with is worse. Your hand slips from his wrist to his jaw, then to the back of his neck. He inches closer across the sheets until his chest is pressed to yours, warm through cotton.
You break just long enough to breathe, foreheads touching. You’re both shaking.
“Spence,” you whisper.
He exhales like he’s been waiting days to hear you say his name like that. He whispers yours back.
There’s a beat where you could stop. You both know it’s there — you feel it hover between you like a hand on the brake.
Neither of you takes it.
Instead, your noses brush. His thumb is on your jaw. Your knee slides forward under the sheets and bumps his thigh.
When you kiss him again, it’s with intent, with gravity, with every hour of silence and every unsent apology and every inch of want you’ve been starving out of yourselves.
The night tilts.
—
You keep kissing because relief tastes like oxygen and you’ve both been underwater for two days. You kiss because you can. You kiss because stopping would feel like cutting off circulation.
You edge closer, and he meets you halfway like gravity. The mattress dips, and your knee slips between his thighs, and all at once you’re half over his hips, half draped across his chest, not even pretending to be polite about it.
“Need you closer,” you breathe.
He makes a noise that sounds torn out of him and moves under you — a slow roll of his hips up into yours that drags his cock against the heat between your legs through all the thin, flimsy layers in the way. The friction is instant and indecent. Your mouth stutters open on a gasp, and for a moment, you’re suspended like that.
“Hi,” Spencer whispers against your lips, bringing you back into yourself, voice so stupidly tender you could break.
You answer by kissing him messier. Less careful. You fist both hands in his t-shirt, straddle him completely, and roll your own hips this time.
He slides one palm down, grips the back of your thigh and starts to rock you, slow and filthy, helping you grind against the hard line of him. You whine into his mouth and feel him swallow it like it’s holy.
The rain outside is hammering so loud you couldn’t hear the voice in the back of your head if you tried. You give up on keeping quiet and let out desperate little breaths every time the pressure hits just right; he falls apart in soft curses that sound new in his mouth. He’s warm and solid under you and you can feel his pulse everywhere you’re touching him.
He pulls away just enough to breathe. “Can I—” His fingers hover at the hem of your top. “Do you want me to… Can I take this off?”
Everything in you goes still. You’re bare under the shirt, and you know — bone-deep know — that if you say yes, you’re not coming back from it. This is you stepping across the line and letting him see all the parts of you no one else gets to see without armor.
You hear yourself say, very small and very sure, “Please.”
He slides his hands under the fabric, palms warm against your ribs, like he’s telling your body what’s about to happen. Then he eases the cotton up, slow, reverent, knuckles ghosting over your stomach, the undersides of your breasts. You sit back on his hips to help him, arms raised, and he pulls the shirt off over your head and drops it somewhere you’ll worry about later.
Cold air hits your skin. You feel it pebble over you, and then you feel him looking at you.
Spencer goes silent in that awed, scientific way of his, like he’s staring at a comet that only passes by once a century. “I am trying very hard not to ruin the moment by telling you the precise number of milliseconds I’ve spent thinking about seeing you like this,” he admits. Then, simpler: “You’re so beautiful.”
Something warm blooms in your chest. You want to deflect the compliment — you’re wired to deflect — but the earnest look on his face won’t let you. It would feel cruel not to accept it.
“Spence,” you whisper. “Touch me.”
He makes a sound you feel in your spine as his hands come up to cup you with both palms, thumbs brushing over you in slow, reverent circles. You arch into him without a second thought.
“God,” he murmurs. He leans up to kiss your throat, the thin skin where your pulse beats high, then lower, his mouth tracing the line of your collarbone, the soft slope of your breast. He mouths at you like he’s grateful, like he’s starving.
“I need this off,” you whisper, shoving at his shirt like it offended you by existing.
He sits up on instinct, letting you push it up over his head. Underneath he’s all long lines and unfair softness — collarbone and sternum and that ridiculous waist you’ve thought about way too many times. You smooth your hands over him, just to feel. His chest jumps under your palms and he sucks in a breath through his teeth.
“This okay?” you murmur, tracing down, following the thin trail of hair below his navel, familiarizing yourself with skin you’ve only ever stolen touches of through clothes.
His eyes flutter. “Yeah,” he whispers, a little ragged. “Yes. Anything you want.”
Your heart does something dangerous at that.
You lean back in to kiss him and lose time for a while. Everything turns slow and greedy, unhurried but inevitable. Your nipples drag against his chest in a way that makes him groan into your mouth and makes you chase more just to hear it again. He sucks gently at your lower lip, and you answer by rolling your hips in a way that makes the both of you gasp into each other’s mouths.
Then his hands move, one at your waist and one at the back of your neck. You feel a shift in him — something steadier, more intentional settling in his shoulders.
“Lie back for me?” he asks, almost nervous, voice rough.
You let him roll you underneath him, your spine meeting the mattress. He hovers over you on his forearms, and you’re already breathing too hard, already slick, already trembling a little with adrenaline and want.
His mouth is on you again immediately, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, along your collarbone, down to your breasts. His tongue drags slow over your nipple and you arch clean off the bed, fingers diving into his hair. He groans against you like your reaction hit him straight in the spine.
“Spence,” you gasp.
His hands slip lower, following the curve of your waist, the flex of your stomach, reverent and a little shaky. He pauses at the waistband of your pajama shorts. Looks up. Waits.
You nod so fast you’re almost embarrassed.
He slides his fingers under the elastic, drags them down, and it’s so careful you could cry. There’s no hurry in it. No desperate ripping. Just his hands easing your shorts and underwear down your thighs, over your knees, past your calves. He discards them somewhere, and then he’s just looking at you.
You know that should make you feel vulnerable enough to crawl out of your own skin, but instead, you feel… wanted. Worshipped. Safe.
He touches you, finally. Long fingers tracing the outside of your thigh, then up, higher, higher, until he’s cupping the heat of you, feeling the way you’re already so, so wet for him.
“Oh,” he whispers, like you’ve just answered a question he’s been too polite to ask. “Here?” he murmurs, thumb circling your clit, featherlight at first, letting your reactions guide him. His middle and ring finger slip through your slick and gather you, just testing, just mapping.
“Spencer,” you say, needy and unpretty and not ashamed, and that’s his answer. He slides one long finger into you, slow.
Your hips chase it immediately, your body taking him deeper. He curves his knuckles and you gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and he makes a soft, reverent sound that should not be as filthy as it is.
“Like that?” he breathes.
“Yes—oh—yes.”
He doesn’t talk a lot after that — he just listens.
Every time your breath catches or your thighs tense, he adjusts. He slides a second finger into you when he feels you stretch for him, and the fullness makes your mouth fall open, your back bow off the mattress. His thumb finds your clit in these slow, tight circles that turn into perfect pressure when you whimper please, please, please without even realizing you’re saying it.
“That’s it,” he whispers, quiet encouragement that goes straight to your center, and for a moment you think any ounce of praise from him could probably make you come on the spot.
Your heel drags up the back of his calf, trying to get him even closer, pulling him into you. Your hand is in his hair because you need to hold on to something, need to ground yourself in him.
He starts kissing his way down your body while he works you. First the soft space between your breasts, then the underside of your ribs, then lower, down your stomach, slow enough to make you dizzy, giving you a hundred and one chances to tell him to stop.
You’re not going to tell him to stop.
By the time he settles between your thighs and looks up at you — curls mussed, pupils blown — you’re wrecked.
He waits, and you nod.
His mouth closes over your clit and you swear you see actual stars behind your eyes. His fingers keep fucking into you, curling up, finding that sensitive spot he located unbelievably quick (such an overachiever, as always). You’re babbling again without meaning to — yes, right there, fuck, don’t stop please don’t stop — and he just groans against you and does exactly what you ask like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do.
You feel it build: warmth into need, need into pressure, pressure into please.
The coil in your stomach tightens, tightens, tightens—oh.
You come hard around his fingers, his mouth still on you through it, and you say his name the way you never say anything, like it’s the only word you know. Your whole body goes white-hot, shaking, and he holds you through it, stays with you, working you gently through the aftershocks until you’re trembling and over-sensitive.
He doesn’t stop until you ask him to. He withdraws slow, presses one more kiss to your inner thigh, and moves back up your body.
It hits you then, square between the ribs, just how stupidly beautiful Spencer is. It’s catastrophic.
The plush of his mouth, still a little swollen. The uneven stubble along his jaw that rasped against the inside of your thigh a minute ago. The long lines and soft edges of him — chest and shoulders and that ridiculous waist. The little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The single freckle over the arch of his brow. All of him, right here above you, chin and fingers still slick with you, looking at you like you’re the best thing he’ll ever look at in this life.
You’ve always thought he was handsome. Even on day one, when he couldn’t hold eye contact with you for longer than three seconds, your stomach still did that humiliating, dizzying little swoop. But this is different. This is not just attraction. It’s not just god, you’re hot. This is… too much to process. This is no one has ever looked at me like this before but you’re somehow doing it like it’s the most natural instinct in the world.
You’re peeled open in a way you don’t normally let happen. Not with anyone. Not ever. But here you are: naked, breath uneven, nerves still buzzing where his mouth had you, and he’s above you, steady, eyes blown and soft and full. He’s bare for you, too — not just his skin, but all the careful, controlled parts of him, wide open and offered.
And then there’s the way he’s looking at you.
If you could bottle that look and take a swig anytime you needed it, you could fix yourself forever. Your worst days, the spiral ones where you’re convinced you’re hard to love / too much / too sharp / a liability — one taste of the way he’s looking at you right now and poof. Gone. It’s ridiculous and infuriating and dizzying all at once. It lights up under your breastbone like someone struck a match in all the places you thought were doomed to stay damp and dark forever.
It’s too much. You have to look away.
You turn your head into the pillow, gaze skittering to the wall, his shoulder, the wrinkle in the motel sheet by your hip — anywhere but his eyes, because if you keep feeling that much tenderness you’re going to do something irreversible like cry or tell him every secret you’ve ever had.
“Hey,” he whispers, tenderly nosing at your cheekbone and pulling you back into your body. “Where’d you go?”
You blink. Then blink again, and again, until you can force your eyes back to his. “‘M here,” you whisper, voice embarrassingly thin. You reach for him to ground yourself, fingers curling around his forearm.
He kisses your cheek before lifting his head to look at you again. “Physically, maybe. But your mind went somewhere else just now.” He studies you, concern knitting his brows together. “Was that… not okay?”
You snap back to him so fast your neck almost twinges. “What? God, no. Wait, I mean — yes, of course it was okay.” You groan, covering your face with your hand for half a second. “I’m screwing this up. Sorry. Let me try again.”
His mouth curves, worried and amused all at once. “Take your time.”
“It was more than okay,” you tell him. That part comes out clean. “Spencer, that was—you were unbelievable. Like, so good it’s insulting. I didn’t ‘go somewhere else.’ I just…” you trail off, searching for the right word and not finding one big enough. “I think I’m feeling more feelings than I’m used to feeling in…this particular situation, and my mind doesn’t quite know what to do with all of them.”
Smooooth. How many times can you possibly use the word “feeling” in one sentence? New record!
His eyes search yours for a few quiet moments before he speaks, confusion washing through his features. “Feelings like…?”
You blow out a slow, shaky breath. You hate this part. You hate saying the quiet thing. But you do it anyway, because it’s Spencer, and this is, apparently, what he’s turned you into: mush. Emotional, honest, vulnerable mush.
“I can’t remember the last time something like that felt so… intimate,” you admit. You feel the word catch in your throat on the way out. “I mean, I know the act itself is intimate, obviously. I’m not a robot. But I mean… you. You, doing that. Looking at me like that while you’re doing it. I haven’t— I don’t…” you swallow. “That was the first time in a long time I’ve done anything like that with someone I actually care about. And I’ve never done that with someone I care about the way I care about you.”
Spencer’s breath hitches so sharply you can feel it against your ribs. He looks as if all the oxygen in his body has been knocked out of him, and his face does that thing that half looks like he wants to laugh and cry and thank you and swear and maybe throw a parade, and half like he’s still terrified he messed something up.
“Is that a bad thing?” he manages.
“Of course it’s not,” you say immediately, a little too fast. “No. Just different. It’s a good thing, at least it’s supposed to be.” Your laugh scrapes out, self-conscious and breathless. “It’s just new for me, letting my feelings touch the rest of me. I usually put them in a box, shove the box into a dark corner and pretend that corner doesn’t exist. I’m very high-functioning that way, in case you haven’t noticed.”
He huffs a little, fond, because yes, he has noticed.
You don’t look away from him this time when you go on. “But I can’t do that with you. I’ve tried. Like, my god, I have tried.” Your voice drops. “But I can’t compartmentalize the way you make me feel. Especially not with this,” you say, gesturing weakly between your bodies. “You don’t belong in a box. You never have. I can’t get you to stay put.”
You watch him process that, calculus and probabilities firing behind his eyes. He swallows, nods, and when he speaks next, his voice is softer than you’ve maybe ever heard it. “Do you want to stop? I know it’s a lot for you right now. We don’t have to keep going.”
Another realization hits you at that moment: no, god no, you don’t want to stop. It’s not just that you’re turned on and want to keep going — it’s that the idea of going back to before makes something inside you bare its teeth. You have this sudden, terrifying clarity that you never, ever want to go back to starving yourself of him on purpose. You don’t want to go back to wearing a straitjacket you strapped on yourself. All the months of careful waiting, of kissing on couches but stopping when it got too real, of touching yourself after he’s gone just to try (unsuccessfully) to soothe the ache the restraint left behind — all of it has led here, to this.
You reach for him, both arms looping around his neck to pull him back down over you.
“No,” you breathe. “No. I don’t want to stop. I really don’t want to stop.”
You find his mouth in the dim — soft, grateful, a little ruined — and kiss him in hopes you can give him that answer in a language you’re actually fluent in.
When you finally part for air, you hold his face there, inches from yours. “I want you,” you whisper. “All of you. If you’ll have me.”
Spencer makes a sound that is not polished, not composed, not anything but yours. You feel his forehead settle against you like he had to bow just to keep from coming apart. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll have you.”
Thank the fucking universe.
You push his pants eagerly down his hips and they catch at his ankles, sending you into a fit of giggles. He laughs with you until he finds the strength to kick them all the way off, and for a second he’s just there, gorgeous and flushed and shaking over you.
His boxers are still on, tented and marked by a small damp spot where the tip of his cock rests. You gently palm him through the cotton because you need to feel him, need to know him in your hand. His forehead drops to your shoulder with a strangled “oh,” but you’re the one who goes a little dizzy.
He’s big. Much bigger than you’d expected.
“Oh my god,” you blurt, and he makes a mortified noise before starting to apologize. You cut that off immediately with a kiss, your hand stroking firmer, letting your thumb trace the shape of him through the fabric. “Don’t you dare be sorry,” you say against his lips. “You’re perfect.”
You feel him shudder. Then you feel him believe you.
He fumbles one hand blindly toward the nightstand, still kissing you, and comes back with his wallet. He fishes out a foil packet with shaking fingers.
You blink at him, breathless and fond. “You would keep a condom in there. Did Derek teach you that?”
His cheeks flush. “Preparedness is—”
“Sexy,” you finish.
He huffs out a broken laugh and pushes his boxers down. You help, because you want to, because you need his skin on your skin. The fabric slides away and then he’s bared to you for the first time and god, you’re overwhelmed.
He’s thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, and the sight hits you so hard you actually whimper. You wrap your fingers around him and he groans like you shorted out all of his higher brain functions on contact. You stroke him once, slow, and watch his mouth fall open, feel the way his hips twitch. You grin, high on the power of it, and help him roll on the condom. He’s concentrating so hard on not embarrassing himself that you could die from how much you adore him.
When he’s ready, he looks back up at you. He swallows. “Still okay?”
“Yes,” you promise, plain and sure. Your hands frame his face like you’re swearing on it.
He settles between your legs, one hand braced by your head, the other smoothing down your thigh, guiding your knee up around his hip. The first press of him against you is all heat and anticipation and stretch.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice right there with you, low and steady. “Look at me.”
You open your eyes back to his. You didn’t even realize you’d squeezed them shut.
And then finally, finally, he starts to push in.
It’s a slow, claiming slide that makes your lungs forget how to function. Your nails bite into his shoulders, not to stop him, just to hold on. You feel every inch, feel your body make room for him, feel yourself give.
“Spence,” you gasp, half laugh, half prayer.
“I know,” he gets out, equally wrecked. “I know. You feel—” He loses the end of the sentence like his entire vocabulary disappeared and just kisses you instead, as if that’s the only method of communication left.
He bottoms out with a low groan, hips flush to you, and just stays there. He’s shaking. You’re shaking. You can feel his pulse inside you, and it’s obscene how good it feels. It’s obscene how right it feels.
“You okay?” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours.
You nod, desperate. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Please move.”
Something like relief punches out of him. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”
He doesn’t start pounding. Of course he doesn’t — you knew he wouldn’t. He rocks into you slow, controlled, deep, like he’s memorizing the way you take him. It’s the kind of steady, dragging rhythm that makes you feel every inch of him, every withdrawal and push, sparks jumping low in your belly.
Your hand finds his forearm and holds, like you need him right there. His thumb strokes your cheekbone, so gentle you could almost sob.
You can hear yourself. You’re not quiet. You’ve admittedly never really been quiet in bed, but this is different. You’re making all these desperate, needy little sounds into his mouth every time he hits that spot, and you don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care. You feel wild with it — not just the physical, but the fact that it’s him, that this is you and him, and no one else has ever had exactly this.
He’s not quiet either. You catch the soft curses he usually seldom uses, the reverent little oh my god, the way he whispers your name like it’s gospel. Every time you roll your hips up to meet him, he chokes on air.
“Just like that,” he pants into your mouth when you catch a rhythm that makes both of you see stars. “Yeah, just like that, that’s perfect, you’re— God, you’re so perfect.”
You clench around him and he nearly collapses.
“Jesus,” he gasps, burying his face in your neck for a second like he needs a safe place to fall apart. He rasps a strained “good girl,” but it isn’t filthy like that phrase normally would be. It’s just praise, pure and wonderful, straight from his heart.
After a few slow, rolling minutes like that — sweat sticking your chest to his, his hair damp at the nape, your legs wrapped high around his waist — something hungry wakes up in you.
“Spencer,” you whisper, smiling against his mouth, sweet and breathless. “Switch with me.”
His eyes go dark at that. He moves willingly, immediately, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him, hands steadying you at your hips like he’s afraid you’ll float away. You sink down onto him and both of you make a sound you’re pretty sure would get you evicted if anyone could hear you over the storm.
“Oh, fuck,” he blurts out, head tipping back, eyes squeezed shut. His hands flex hard at your waist, like he has to physically restrain himself from gripping you hard enough to leave marks.
You plant your palms on his chest and start to move.
It’s slow at first, exploratory. He’s flushed, mouth open, eyes glassy and desperate every time he blinks up at you. One of his hands slides up, cups your breast, thumb circling your nipple, and you whine, moving faster, chasing more.
“Yeah,” he pants, encouraging, voice so raw it barely holds shape. “Like that. You look—” He swallows hard. “You look unreal. You’re so beautiful.”
You find a rhythm that grinds you down where you need it and pleasure spikes, white and hot. Your head tips back. A sound falls out of you, loud and unpretty and honest.
He groans like you just took him apart molecule by molecule. “Angel girl. That’s it, just like that.”
Angel girl hits you like a train. You practically sob from how good it feels in your ears.
Your thighs start to tremble. He feels it instantly, hands slowing your hips to steady you. He sits up, chest to chest with you for a heartbeat, kissing you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth from the inside.
Then, with a gentleness that guts you, he murmurs, “Let me take care of you,” and flips you once more.
It happens so fluidly it doesn’t even register. One second you’re on top; the next you’re on your back again and he’s above you, braced, eyes blown, hair a total disaster, looking exactly like every dream of this moment you’ve ever had but better. So much better.
You wrap one leg around his waist. He pushes your other knee gently up toward your chest, opening you, and then thrusts in deep.
You see stars.
Your breath leaves on a noise that’s half moan, half plea. “Spence—please—”
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, and you believe him down to the bone. He slides one of your hands up over your head and laces your fingers with his, pinning it there against the pillow, holding you down in the sweetest way possible, owning you but only because you offered.
His other hand slips between your bodies, finding your clit without fumbling, circling with the exact pressure he’s already learned you like. It’s devastating. It’s perfect. It’s him, focused and shaking and so, so determined to make you fall apart again.
“That’s it,” he says, voice low and steady even though you can feel how close he is, how much he’s holding in. “That’s it. Let go.”
Your body answers before your mouth can. Your climax slams into you, a bright, overwhelming crest that arches you up against him, clenching tight around his cock. The moan that rips out of you is helpless and raw, and you barely even register you’re saying his name like a prayer until he groans at the sound of it.
He doesn’t stop. He works you through it, through every shaking aftershock, whispering it’s okay, I’ve got you, god you’re so pretty when you come, that’s it until the pleasure rolls and ebbs, leaving you ruined and open and panting.
You’re dimly aware that he’s falling apart above you. His rhythm goes ragged, hips stuttering like he’s right at the edge and trying to hold himself back just to be sure you’re all the way there.
“I’m—” he chokes, voice breaking. He’s so close he can barely talk.
You pull him down into a kiss and roll your hips up to meet him, giving him everything you have. “Please,” you whisper against his mouth, dizzy and wrecked and happy. “Come for me, Spence.”
He does.
His whole body locks, then shudders, and he lets out this strangled, gorgeous noise you feel all the way in your cells. He buries his face in your neck and gives himself to you, hips pressing deep as he spills into the condom. You hold him there, arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers in his hair, murmuring his name while the last pulses work through him.
He goes heavy in a good way, boneless and trembling and laughing into your skin like he can’t believe any of this is allowed.
Then he remembers himself. Of course he does. He’s careful the second his brain comes back online.
“Hold on,” he murmurs, sweet and apologetic, easing out of you slow, like he’s afraid to hurt you now that the edge is gone. You hiss at the sensitivity and he winces in sympathy, kissing your cheek like sorry, sorry, sorry, and you cut it off with a lazy kiss because stop apologizing for my favorite thing that’s ever happened. He gets out of bed—much to your chagrin—and slips off the condom, tying it with the same precision he applies to solving homicides. You might laugh at that if you weren’t still actively floating.
He’s back almost immediately with a warm, damp washcloth from the bathroom. He cleans you up with this soft, focused tenderness that makes your eyes sting, checking in with a quiet “okay?” every time you twitch.
His boxers go back on. Your t-shirt comes back over your head. He helps you into it, like he can’t stop taking care of you now that you’ve finally let him.
And then you’re back under the covers, both of you loose-limbed and wrecked and stupidly gentle. You end up half on top of him without discussing it — your thigh slung over his hips and head against his chest, his palm splayed across the small of your back and nose tucked into your hair like he’s decided that’s just where it goes now.
He tries three times to speak before anything comes out. “I—” He laughs softly at himself, breath still uneven. “Are you okay?”
You tip your face up and kiss along his jaw, lazy, affectionate. “So okay,” you murmur, voice hoarse and happy. “You?”
“Same,” he says, and the word comes out so full you feel it in your chest. He nudges his nose against your temple. “You were—” He shakes his head, abandons it, finds something braver. “Thank you. For trusting me.”
Something warm and liquid rolls through you at that. “Thank you for making it worth the wait,” you whisper.
He makes a helpless sound that’s half laugh, half groan, and tightens his arm around you.
You lie there, too giddy to sleep and too wrung out to have another Serious Talk, so you don’t. You talk about stupid, safe things instead. How the rain sounds like a thousand people sprinting on a high school gym floor. How this motel has the worst wall art you’ve ever seen. How one day you’re absolutely going to make him tell you the number of milliseconds he spent thinking about seeing your boobs.
You admit, smug and sleepy, that you’re going to remember the way he called you angel girl for a month and use it against him whenever you want something. He blushes in the dark, the heat of it against you.
He asks if you’re warm enough. You are, because you’re basically plastered to him like a second skin, but he still hauls the thin motel quilt higher around your shoulders and tucks it in like a cocoon.
You make a lazy promise to act totally normal at work once you make it back to town. He makes a lazier promise to try not to stare at you like everyone should know you’re his. That makes your stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the part of you that’s finally, finally letting itself be his.
Eventually your bodies go heavy in the right way. You’re still tangled — his hand at your waist, your fingers laced in his hair like you plan to keep him — both of you buzzing with the good kind of ruin.
You fall asleep mid-smile in a room that feels like it belongs to both of you.
Outside, the flood keeps the world shut. Inside, you’re his and he’s yours and there’s nothing between you but heat and breath and the slow, steady fact of tomorrow.
ᝰ.ᐟ
this fic is part of the greenaway!reader universe/series! you can read more about this pairing here ♥️
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Hiii, I've been asking for this fic around accounts lol, but can you write anything related to reader who can't swim and Spencer saving her, really open idea for you to do anything with it, thanks 🤭
Hi! ofc I can! 😌
Thanks for the request, I hope you like the fic! 😊🤍☝
@deceasedream69
"ON WHAT?"
The team was on a new mission that day, this time a joint operation with the DEA, as they were searching for a psychopath who had impersonated one of the world's most notorious drug lords, and thanks to this, was acquiring an enormous amount of drugs.
Of course, not all of these drugs had been sold to the unsub "legally," so to speak; most of it had been obtained by brutally murdering the previous owners.
The DEA itself had contacted the BAU to ask for their help in finding the unsub, and that's how Spencer ended up in the middle of a college party.
After developing the profile, you deduced that the unsub was a twenty-year-old man, dark-haired with blue eyes and short hair.
He had several tattoos on his arms, but the most distinctive of them all was a chain tattooed around his neck.
So there was Reid, accompanied by Morgan and JJ, dressed casually so they could blend in.
Spencer hadn't been to too many college parties, but he was 100% sure that the people there were there to have a good time.
That wasn't the case for you.
Reid quickly fixed his gaze on you.
You were sitting next to a group of girls you spoke to occasionally, but with whom you didn't seem to want to have a long conversation.
The genius watched as the party atmosphere suddenly became tense, and that's when the three of them saw him.
The unsub entered the party with a determined stride, as if the world were his and everyone in it had to kiss the ground he walked on.
Spencer pressed his lips tightly together, seething with rage.
THAT was exactly the profile of the kids who had bullied him back in school.
Their air of superiority, that pervasive aura that poisoned the atmosphere and anyone unfortunate enough to be in it, brought back some pretty unpleasant memories—memories he couldn't afford to dwell on right then.
He needed to focus on the mission, so he pushed those thoughts aside, clearing his mind to get down to business.
"JJ, the unsub just came in. Do you have visuals?" he asked discreetly through the earpiece in his ear.
"Yes, I have visuals," she replied, gesturing from her position by the double doors of the house. "Morgan?"
“I see him too, hold your positions,” he said. JJ and Reid nodded.
Spencer saw the exact moment you inadvertently bumped into him, too engrossed in your phone.
You slowly looked up, and when you saw the chain tattoo around his neck, you knew you were in trouble.
“Tony! Hi, I…” you gestured behind you. “If you’re looking for Tatiana, I just saw her taking some pictures back there, you know…”
“You bumped into me,” he interrupted. You stared at him.
“So?” you asked, making Spencer feel a sudden surge of pride. Despite not knowing you at all, he was proud of you for standing up to him.
“What do you mean, ‘so’?” “Apologize, now” he mocked.
“Excuse me, you don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do,” you retorted. “Besides, we bumped into each other,” you added. “Maybe if you weren’t in such a hurry to meet your dealer, you might have been more aware of…”
Then, without warning, he grabbed your shoulders tightly and pushed you into the pool.
The girls who were swimming thought it was some kind of joke and laughed.
But the laughter stopped when everyone realized you weren’t surfacing.
“She can't swim” Spencer said through the earpiece. “I’m going to get her.”
He didn’t hear what JJ and Morgan said, because the next thing he knew, he had jumped into the water to pull you out of the pool.
He wrapped his arms around your waist and gently pulled you up.
You gasped and coughed water until you could breathe again.
Then you turned to face him, and a shy smile appeared on your lips.
"Thanks for pulling me out," you murmured heavily. "You saved my life."
"You're welcome," he smiled. "That guy's an idiot," he added, completely abandoning his usual way of speaking to briefly try out the language used by teenagers (spoiler: he didn't like it at all; in fact, he considered it an insult to the language as it was known).
"He is," you murmured. You allowed yourself to observe him for a few moments. His dark hair had been swept back by the pool water. His brown eyes shone softly in the lights at the bottom. His lips were slightly parted and flushed, because of…
You shook your head and forced yourself to look up into his eyes again.
"Are you new to the university? I've never seen you around here before," you asked. He shook his head.
"I study on the other side of the state," he replied. "A friend invited me to the party."
"Oh, that's… very nice," you smiled. He mirrored your gesture as you delicately extended your hand. "I'm Y/N."
"Spencer," he introduced himself, and that was one of the few times he accepted a handshake.
"I know it's a little rushed," you began, "but do you plan on coming to more parties like this?"
"I don't know," he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "What about you?"
"It depends."
"On what?"
"You know what I mean, brainiac," you said, making him laugh.
"Okay, I-I…" He tilted his head towards JJ and Morgan, both with amused smiles on their faces. "I have to go. I'm glad I met you."
"Likewise" you replied, getting out of the pool as you watched him leave.
-" Okay, love, good-bye", he says planting a kiss on your forehead.
-"good-bye to you, handsome", you reply as you both hold each other's faces, pulling into a soft kiss.
He stumbles back, reaching the door, stoping when he gets there to take one last look at you before he leaves.
-"don't go...", you say low.
-"awww, my baby, I'm sorry. But I promise I'll come back as soon as possible", he said with a pout.
-"you always say that... I'm not nagging about your job, I just really miss you, and you're just... right here, don't go", you said pulling him closer and bringing him into a hug, a long deep hug, rubbing his back as he completely covers your body with his.
He places a kiss on your head before breaking the hug, keeping his hands on your cheeks for a last kiss on the lips, to then kiss your cheeks, nose and forehead, he takes a step back withouth letting go of your hands and planting a last kiss on the back and front of each, making you blush with such romantic way of saying good-bye.
-"be careful, text me when you get there, I love you"
-"you know I will, take care, I love you too", he said finally letting go and turning around.
-"but I love you more!", I said before closing the door.
-"impossible!", he says waving his hand and turning for a last glance. I threw a kiss at him and finally closed the door.
This are going to be some loooong days, can't wait for him to come back.
-" Okay, love, good-bye", he says planting a kiss on your forehead.
-"good-bye to you, handsome", you reply as you both hold each other's faces, pulling into a soft kiss.
He stumbles back, reaching the door, stoping when he gets there to take one last look at you before he leaves.
-"don't go...", you say low.
-"awww, my baby, I'm sorry. But I promise I'll come back as soon as possible", he said with a pout.
-"you always say that... I'm not nagging about your job, I just really miss you, and you're just... right here, don't go", you said pulling him closer and bringing him into a hug, a long deep hug, rubbing his back as he completely covers your body with his.
He places a kiss on your head before breaking the hug, keeping his hands on your cheeks for a last kiss on the lips, to then kiss your cheeks, nose and forehead, he takes a step back withouth letting go of your hands and planting a last kiss on the back and front of each, making you blush with such romantic way of saying good-bye.
-"be careful, text me when you get there, I love you"
-"you know I will, take care, I love you too", he said finally letting go and turning around.
-"but I love you more!", I said before closing the door.
-"impossible!", he says waving his hand and turning for a last glance. I threw a kiss at him and finally closed the door.
This are going to be some loooong days, can't wait for him to come back.
