summary: when an unsub is killing teenage couples, you and spencer have to go undercover to lure him out.
warnings: mentions of murder and violence, typical criminal minds case, kissing, allusions to a praise kink? (nothing freaky nasty tho), mentions of bugs and eating bugs (sorry.)
wc: 2k
a/n: criticism appreciated since im new to writing (esp x reader fics) pls be nice tho. hope you enjoy!
Spencer wasn't even sure how he got here. He tried to place it, recalling every interaction he's had with you since you joined the BAU, but he still wasn't sure when his crush had started to form.
Crush. He hated that. He hated calling it that because it made him feel like a child, but that's what it was, wasn't it? He was smitten for you.
Maybe, it wasn't one particular moment in which a switch flipped in his brain, and he decided to start imagining how his daily routine would change to include you. Maybe, when he first met you, you planted a tiny seed of curiosity in his heart that slowly grew to consume him.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of your voice, "Hey, Doc, I gotta question for you."
His lips twitched into a smile, he loved that you appreciated his endless knowledge. You didn't brush him off like most people did. You listened to his rambles, you enjoyed his fun facts, you asked for more.
"Hm, what's up?" He hummed, stirring another spill of sugar into his coffee to distract himself from your eyes.
"I saw a video the other day of a girl talking about how there's cockroaches in our ground coffee... is that true?" You asked, tilting your head, your eyes locked onto his cup.
"Yes." He answered, bringing his cup to his lips and taking a sip, causing your nose to scrunch in disgust. He let out a chuckle at your cute expression. "It's not just cockroaches either, it's mostly beetles and weevils."
Your jaw fell slack, "You know this and you drink it?"
His lips pressed into a thin line as he suppressed his amused smile, "It's not uncommon for bug particles to get into most of the food we consume, but they're ultimately undetectable and unharmful. In fact, it's an added source of fiber. In some countries such as Japan, China, Indonesia, Mexico, and more, bugs are commonly enjoyed as a delicacy and appreciated for their nutritious benefits."
You nodded slowly in response to the influx of information. Your eyes locked onto the coffee pot, internally grappling with the prospect of bugs being in the next cup of coffee that you were most definitely still going to drink.
Spencer bit back an amused smile as he watched you struggle, his gaze lingered for a moment too long, before he decided he should probably find his desk again. He settled into his chair and glanced up from his report, watching as you tentatively sipped your freshly made cup of coffee.
Naturally, Derek caught Spencer staring, and couldn't resist the urge to tease, âWhat's going on between the two of you, lover boy?â
Spencer felt the heat creep up his neck, his shoulder's tensing, âWhat? Nothing.â He cringed, knowing he was quick to answer.
Derek chuckled, âOh, really?â He challenged, âHow'd you even know who I was talking about then?â
âOoh,â Emily leaned against Spencer's desk, âAre we talking about Spencer's crush?â
If Spencer's face wasn't red before, it definitely was now. âIt's not a crush.â He said adamantly.
âDenial.â Emily hummed, earning a chuckle from Derek. She continued to tease, âYou know, JJ and I have a bet going on about this, you wanna get in on that?â
âCan everybody meet in the briefing room? We got a case.â
Spencer's shoulder slumped with relief as JJ rushed past them. It's weird to be relieved by a new case, but the teasing would come to halt, and he could focus on something other than the way your nose scrunched as you drank your coffee.
Everyone gathered around the round table, trading theories and observations as JJ presented the case.
âUnlike the previous murders, Benjamin and Gina both had ligature marks on their wrists, their bodies were also deeper in the desert than our first couple.â JJ zoomed in on the bruised wrists of the corpses displayed across the TV.
âHe's escalating,â Derek stated simply.
You nodded in agreement, âControlling two people at once isn't easy, even with the threat of a weapon. Heâs applying what he learned from the first murders.â
âPerfecting his craft.â Rossi hummed, the disgust evident in his voice.
âOne thing is for certain,â Hotch started, standing from his seat, âHis time between kills is getting shorter, which means he's probably looking for another couple now. Wheels up in 20.â
â
Even as the team ate dinner, it was shitty fast food in the police station and your noses were buried in files. Spencer still stood, staring intently at the map pinned to the board in front of him, his brows knitted tightly together.
âStaring at the board isn't going to make the answer any clearer,â you said, familiar with his expression that crossed his face, âwhat are you thinking?â
âTommy and Jane both lived in the south side of town, not far from the dumpsite, but Benjamin lived in the Northside, and Gina lived in the Northeast. Garcia couldn't find any connection between the two couplesâ different schools, different jobs, different friend groups. So⌠why these couples? Where is he finding his victims?â
You stopped in your tracks, recalling an earlier interview with the parents. His question struck a realization in you. âIf you're 18 with super religious parents, where are you going to makeout with your boyfriend?â
âA makeout spot,â Derek interjected.
Spencer turned to face the team with a quizzical expression, âA makeout spot?â
âYeah, yeah,â You answered, âSometimes teenagers find secluded spots where they'll go to makeout or whatever. Then, they tell their friends, who tell their friends, so on and so forth.â
You turned to Hotch with a sense of urgency, âIs JJ still with Gina's friends?â
âI'm calling her now.â Hotch said, already holding the phone to his ear.
Derekâs eyes flickered between you and Spencer, his brow raised, âYou realize what this means, right?â
âWhat?â Spencer asked.
Everyone's attention was on the two of you, you sighed, âIt means you and I are going to have to go undercover as a couple.â
Spencerâs eyes widened, and he frantically shook his head, âWhat? Why- Why us? Why can't you two do it?â He gestured between Derek and Emily.
Emily deadpanned, though a smirk tugged at her lips.
âCome on, you really think Emily and I can pass as teenagers?â Derek asked, before adding, âI mean, I probably could, but Emily definitely can't.â
âWha- Hey!â Emily slapped his shoulder lightly.
A stern look from Hotch caused four of you to quiet down. He hung up the phone and glanced between you and Spencer, âJJ just sent me the location. Are the two of you up for this?â
âYes.â You answered quickly, your heart thumping with anticipation. This guy had killed four teenagers, you didn't even have to consider it.
Spencer swallowed, his eyes flickering over each member of the team, all focused on him. He wanted to kiss you, be close to you, but this isn't how he wanted it to go. âYes,â he sighed.
â
Spencer sat stiffly in the backseat of the beat down car. His ears were tinted pink, and he couldn't even blame it on the wind drifting through the cracked windowsâdamn, Arizona, and their warm weather.
âShould we um, should we lay down?â He asked, fidgeting with his hands.
âNo,â you answered, âwe don't want him to find us in any more of a compromising position than we'll already be in.â
Spencer swallowed, and nodded. âSo, umâŚâ
âSpencer, relax.â You coaxed, but he couldn't. He was supposed to kiss you, and touch you, and the whole team was listening, and you guys were about to get attacked by a serial killer. Ironically, that last one was the least nerve-wracking.
âJust don't think.â You guided his hands to your waist, âI will do all the kissing and touching, and I'll stay on high-alert. Just⌠try to relax, and⌠make sounds.â Even your cheeks grew warm at your last words.
He was about to ask what you meant by make sounds, but he was caught off by your lips pressing against hisâwell, sort of. You kept your thumb hidden between your mouths, so your lips never completely touched. Spencer was grateful for that, it made the scene feel less intimate.
The two of you stayed like that for a while, Hotch occasionally giving you updates through your ear piece.âWe have eyes on someone, but we can't move in until we're sure it's the unsub.â
You sighed, knowing the unsub wouldn't approach until he was sure the two of you were too caught up in each other to notice him.
You moved your head next to Spencer's ear, and his breath hitched at the sensation of your warm breath on his neck.
âThis okay?â you asked in a hushed tone.
âMhm,â He hummed, forcing his shoulders to relax, and willing his head to fall to the side. He understood what you meant by âmake soundsâ now, because the moment your lips met his neck with wet kisses, a gasp escaped his lips.
âThat's good, keep doing that.â you hummed against his neck, his grip on your waist tightened as his mind started to blur. He knew you meant the noise was good because it would convince the unsub, but the praise still caused an embarrassing amount of heat to pool in his stomach.
âSuspect is approaching.â If Aaron's voice through the earpiece wasn't enough to pull him out of the haze, the car door opening, followed by a rush of footsteps definitely was.
Emily's voice rang out, âFBI, you are under arrest for the murder of Thomas Buros, Jane Martin, Gina Amato, and Benjamin Cohen.â
You could still hear Emily reciting the Miranda rights as she pulled the unsub away from the car. Hotch poked his head in, âAre you guys okay?â
âFine,â Spencer mumbled, his heart still racing from the array of events that unfolded.
You nodded, âYeah, we're good.â
âWe're taking him back to the station. We're not anticipating for him to request a lawyer, so Rossi's going to lead the interrogation. You two are good to head to the hotel for the rest of the night.â
â
Hotch was right, he never requested a lawyer, and it didn't take long for Rossi to get him to confess. The next morning, the team was on a flight back to D.C.
Things had been awkward between you and Spencer. Well, Spencer had been awkward, and the teasing from the team was relentless.
So, you waited. You let him sit as far as possible from you on the jet and you waited until everyone had drifted off into sleep, before finding a spot next to Spencer.
You gently nudged him out of his sleep. He inhaled deeply, and rubbed his eyes as he came to, and his cheeks flushed instantly upon seeing you. He swallowed as he sat up, his pulse began to race, anticipating the conversation he was sure you were going to insist on having.
Instead, you held out a square lollipop, with a scorpion encased in the center of the transparent, red candy.
His brows furrowed, âWhat? What is that?â
âIt's candy,â You smiled, âthey had them at the corner store near the hotel, so I got it for you.â
His lips curled into a curious smile as he accepted the candy, and began inspecting it.
âBugs are commonly enjoyed as delicacies and appreciated for their nutritional benefits.â You echoed back to him a part of your earlier conversation, and he let out a chuckle. Now it made sense.
âWell, I think the uh, candy casing might be a little counterproductive.â He commented, his lips pursing as he suppressed his amused smile, âYou didn't get one for yourself?â
âOh, no. I will have to pass on the uh, scorpion. I prefer my bugs to be undetectable.â You said quickly, earning a laugh from Spencer. His anxiety over the impending conversation seemed to dissipate.
He unwrapped the candy and stuck it in his mouth, causing your nose to wrinkle. Suddenly, he felt like he was right back where he startedâhis stomach fluttering as you looked at him with an amused gleam in your eye, and his heart swelling as you referenced your earlier conversation. You listened, you remembered, and you thought of him enough to buy him this piece of candy (in his favorite flavor too.)
Yes, he was definitely smitten, but then again, maybe you were too.
fucking insane to me that people can be mean to kids. this thing is four to five shoe boxes tall and youre shouting at it ?? ? what is your damage the mf just got here.
PSA. When Spencer cums into you he would be loosing it. Messy thrusts, mumbling, whining, pleading. He literally would beg you to look at him, the eye contact would push him over the edge and heâd collapse into you, his hips pushing yours hard into the mattress as his arms pull you impossible closer. Panting breaths on your neck.
And the gentle but steady nudges against your soft spot would be punctured by a single hard thrust that would have you seeing stars. And his dick just throbbing in you as he spills, alongside his soft apologies into your shoulder as he bites down.
Plus when heâs done orgasming heâs holding onto your hips and pushing himself just a little deeper cause he canât help himself, you just feel so good fluttering around him as you come down from your high.
Heâd also whine when you asked him to pull out, not because he doesnât respect your boundaries and wishes, but because he loves how intensely connected you guys are, slick skin on skin, his head in between your shoulder, his breathe under your ear making you shiver.
in which fate reveals itself to you and Spencer. it's exactly as you feared, you're in love with him.
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: angst
content warnings: blowing smoke FINALE (p4), maeve, kidnapping, russian roulette, imminent death, violence, blood, nondescript case fic, no hea
word count: 1.88k
a/n: two things 1) i do have an alternate ending to this series 2) fluff this weekend i promise
Brightness seared your retinas when the blindfold finally came off, you felt the sore skin in places where the fabric was too tight over your face. An abstract of indents were left over your skin.
Dots and shadows danced in your vision while you tried to blink them away, forming the shape of someone who oddly resembled Spencer. He was hunched over in a chair in front of you, his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. Your solace was the steady rising and falling of his chest. Each time he took a breath it eased your own.
âSpence,â you called for him, your throat so swollen that it came out as a hiss. The desperate cry of a rattlesnake hindered by whoever had crushed your windpipe.
Tunnel vision blinded you to anything in the periphery, your eyes scanned Spencer while you acquainted yourself with the binds around your wrists and ankles. He seemed unharmed, save for the obvious unconsciousness. You had no idea who had taken you, but the BAU had no shortage of enemies. The two of you were, by extension, always targets.
Your ears perked up at the first sign of noise in the warehouse, hot air rose to the floor you were on, leaving you sticky and uncomfortable in the humid prison. Glancing over your shoulder, you watched a masked figure waltz through the doorway.
Clocking the gun affixed to their hip, you quickly looked over to Spencer, hoping he would wake up soon. The fabric ties around your wrists dug into your fragile skin as you looked around the room, remembering there was someone else in here with you, someone who had pulled your blindfold off.
Silently, you started putting the pieces together. âSpencer,â you whispered, having half a mind to reach your foot out and try to kick him awake. There was a reason you had been the one blindfolded. Somewhere in your subconscious, you knew where you were. It led to the horrifying realization that this was about you.
His nose wrinkled, and the first sign that he was starting to wake up was interrupted when the masked figure stood behind him, gripping him by his hair and lifting his head.
Your body instinctively tried to jump to its feet in protest, âHey!â You shouted as your chair creaked from its bolts in the ground, âLet him go.â Cringing, you watched as he dropped Spencerâs head, letting it loll to the side while he woke up.
The two UnSubs walked out of the room, leaving you and Spencer to your own devices. You shushed him slightly while he groaned, your breath hitching when your name slipped past his lips.
âItâs okay,â you told him. âIâm okay, Iâm right here,â you assured him, though you werenât entirely sure how comforting it was knowing you were both bound to chairs.
Spencer didnât respond. You twisted your wrist within your binds and winced when it pulled in precisely the wrong way. Looking around, you chewed on the inside of your lip and tried to find something to help you, but there was no next step if you couldnât get your hands free.
He groaned across from you, and you swallowed back a consolation. You studied him, his head tilted so aggressively to the side that you could see the glint of the scar on his neck. The faded mark was invisible to the naked eye, but when it caught in just the right light, you remembered the way youâd succumbed to dread in that hospital in Texas.
You shouldâve called it then. You should have thrown in the proverbial towel and committed yourself to him that very night, with that guy bleeding out on the hospital floor and Penelope shouting about her ears popping.
But youâd heard the gunshot, and youâd seen the fear on his face, and at that moment, the only thing you could remember was trying to pick him up from the floor when he tried to crawl over to Maeveâs lifeless body. You remembered the way he cried when the team tried to give him space and you watched him push Dianeâs body over so he could finally get a look at his dearly departed.
Even before she became the most beautiful girl in the world, you never trusted yourself with him. Your lack of faith in him pressed upon your shoulders like the weight of the sky. The pendant he had gifted you seared your chest like a brand. The Tree of Life weighed heavy over your heart.
Your romance with Spencer was like a car crash you couldnât take your eyes off of. He relentlessly rammed his shoulder into the wall youâd constructed between you while you were on the other side reinforcing the bricks. His soft skin had been marred with bruises, and debris was littered across your body.
You shouldâve called it then, but besides your sinking feeling that youâd never step up to the pedestal he had placed Maeve on, you knew youâd only have him temporarily. Life was excruciatingly short, and no amount of time would suffice when it came to him
The wall remained standing in the same way that Maeveâs had, refusing to let Spencer in, refusing to let Spencer help. âSpence,â you whispered. âAre you alright?â
Slowly, his eyes lifted to look at you, and you imagined he was witnessing his worst nightmare. Maybe heâd convince himself he was dreaming, damning you to the fate of telling him this was really happening. âYouâre bleeding,â he said, voice gruff from lack of use. His brown eyes flashed with fear when they met yours, but it was no longer residual fear from Maeveâs deathâit was fear for you. Had it always been fear for you? Was it possible that the terrorized look in his eye that pushed you away from him had always stemmed from his fear of losing you?
Wrinkling your nose, you finally felt it on your upper lip; blood had trickled from your nose down your face. You shook your head once and said, "Itâs just my nose.â You watched his face contort as he tried to free himself from his binds.
Birds chirped outside of the windows; the setting sun invaded the blinds that shadowed the otherwise dark room. Lines of tangerine light lit his face while he ascertained your well-being for himself. There was no point in asking if you knew what had happened, and Spencer wasnât in the habit of wasting time.
You tried using your thumbnail to cut through the twine around your wrists, the broken piece of keratin on your hand was, so far, the best option youâd had. âDid you see anything?â You asked him, trying to use conversation as a distraction from your current predicament.
He only said your name in response, wide eyes looking past you and watching as the man in the ski mask walked back into the room. The revolver that had previously been holstered on his hip was now in his hands. He spun the cylinder as he approached you, and your heart dropped when he raised the gun, pointing it at Spencer.
âNo,â your voice was no more than a whisper while Spencer looked up at your abductor. He met his gaze and refused to flinch, even when he pulled the trigger. Someone who had never met Spencer would think he was entirely stone-faced in the face of a weapon, but you watched the light in his eyes shift and his Adamâs apple bob.
When he pulled the trigger and nothing happened, your chest tightened, but everything about Spencerâs demeanor changed when the gun was turned on you. The barrel pressed to your temple, you shook your head when the shouting started, âStop!â You closed your eyes, two silent tears streaking your face as the cold metal pressed against your skin. âLet her go,â Spencer urged. âYou donât need both of us.â
The bargaining started, and memories flashed behind your eyelids. Her for me. Let me take her place.
Spencer called your name when the trigger was pulled again, and the weapon clicked without expelling a bullet.
âWhere is she?â Your abductor asked, his voice ringing out in an unfamiliar accent, referring to a mystery woman.
You shook your head once when the weapon was removed from your temple, âI donât know what youâre talking about.â Part of you wished you were just egging on a suspect, but you felt entirely powerless while you looked at Spencer, confused.
His clenched fist made contact with your cheek, eliciting a shout from Spencer while your head twisted to the side. âDonât lie to me! I know she called you.â
The gun rose again, âPlease,â you cried as the barrel met Spencerâs forehead. âWe can help you if you tell us whatâs going on,â you assured the unnamed man.
Flinching, you watched the revolver click again, now halfway through the six cartridges. You were left with three more chances and, presumably, one bullet. âKilling one of us isnât going to get us to help you,â Spencer tried to reason with him, but if there was one thing you knew, itâs that you canât change a mind thatâs been made up.
He scoffed, lifting the gun to your head, and you felt the blood drain from your face in anticipation. Every part of you ran cold as the gun met your temple, âSpencer, close your eyes.â
You continued digging at your restraints, jumping slightly when the gun clicked again. The mechanical sound of the trigger rang in your ears, echoing endlessly when you looked back at Spencer. You swallowed back an I love you, not wanting to succumb to the clichĂŠ while you met Spencerâs eyes again. A piece of you hoped the look in your eyes said everything you needed, noises came from elsewhere in the building, and you wished it was a savior.
With the revolver up at his temple, he nodded reassuringly at you, âI know.â
âPlease let him go,â you begged, your voice catching over your tears. âIf this is about me, you have to let him go,â you promised.
When the trigger was pulled again with no consequences, your heart dropped. The blood-pumping organ fell through your entire body, and you looked up at Spencer, unable to hide the terror in your eyes.
You shook your head as the gun was pressed against your temple, âSpencer, donât watch.â You faced down your own death, trying to ignore the way your hands trembled as you tugged at your binds in a last-minute escape attempt. âYou donât need to see this,â you didnât add again, but the thought crossed your mind while you thought of the necklace that sat over your heart.
âI have to see you through,â Spencer insisted, silver lining his eyes while he furiously pulled at his own restraints.
Your chest rose and fell in desperate, shaking breaths. You couldnât do it; you couldnât meet his eyes with a revolver pressed to your skull. You shouldâve done it. You shouldâve called it then, but that was how life worked. Things were already clearest when they were in the rearview window. There was nothing for you to do.
All Spencer could do was watch as he pulled the trigger, and the cycle repeated.
"History repeats itself, but in such cunning disguise that we never detect the resemblance until the damage is done." - Sydney J. Harris
i might not have been able to have spencer reid for valentines day, but the boy ive been talking to was rambling about the history of valentines day to me which i think is close enough âĄ
in which a mutual friendship leads to a run-in with your ex, and it's halloween, which means you can be anything. even normal with him right?
pairing:Â ex!spencer reid x fem!reader
genre:Â smut (18+ mdni)
tags: garcia party in rossi HOUSE đ. alcohol consumption. reader's dressed as a swan (stunning gorgeous amazing). pre established friends with benefits (don't fuck your exes). s10 bau team is there in spirit i think. crazy spare bedroom hookup. brief nipple play. oral (f receiving). fingering. p in v. he dresses you afterwards. porn with plot. oral fixation. soft dom!spencer.Â
word count:Â 3.8k
a/n: ex spencer reid makes a comeback. this is separate from bad idea right? but same pairing same sitch kind of same everything. LOL. thanks for giving me costume ideas guys. parfaitblogs revival!!! happy birthday spencer reid!!! happy halloween criminal minds tumblr!!!
"Penelope, what the fuck are you wearing?"
It was a very loud exclamation, over the sound of party music that certainly didn't match the overall theme of Halloween. It was only nine o'clock but the fox eared blonde in front of you had lip liner painting her chin, a pink flush on her cheeks barely hidden beneath a layer of makeup, and two cans of some multicoloured premixed vodka drink you weren't sure about trying (despite her holding one out to you).Â
"Fox costume. I'm Agnes! From Fantastic Mr. Fox!" Penelope says, cheerfully, urging you to take the drink she had in her hand, not relenting until you did.
"We agreed on swans," you huff, feeling awfully stupid now, in your all white costume, a pair of fluffy wings settled on your back.Â
Penelope looked genuinely apologetic for changing her costume idea on you with no warning, and so as she rambled about how she got excited after seeing fox makeup on her phone, you decided it wasn't actually that big of a deal. She finished her spiel with a comment about still technically matching because you're both animals, and it was enough for you to accept.Â
She led you further into the house. House, because she had convinced one of her coworkers to let her host a Halloween party at his, claiming her apartment was far too small for such a thing. Apparently he was very easy to convince.Â
It was a quick tour of where all the most basic of amenities on the first floor were, before she was shoving a shot glass of vodka into your hand, and encouraging you to take it.Â
So you did.Â
Perhaps it was a loosening up technique she was using in an attempt to keep you from ripping her head off when she began another conversation with you with the words,
"So, I need to preface before you get too drunkâ" a sentence you really had never hoped to hear in your life "âthat Spencer's here."
You're not too sure why your world begins to crumble around you at that fact. You figured he would be. In fact, when you were choosing the articles of clothing for your costume a week ago, you had the idea of Spencer Reid seeing you in mind. You had mentally prepared for seeing him. And yet; panic.Â
However, instead of making a scene about how anxious that thought made you, you force a small smile onto your face and murmur out, "That's fine."
"Are you sure?" Penelope presses. "You can hover around me the entire night to avoid him, if you want. I'll stay away from him. I'm really sorry for inviting him."
You didn't like that. "No. Pen, it's okay. He's your friend."
"So are you."
Your heart stuttered in your chest at her words, a warm feeling spreading throughout it. But, ultimately, you were not the person who wants perfectly good friendships ruined because you're too scared to hold a relationship together.Â
"I'll get drunk enough and start talking to him anyways. It's fine," you reassure her.Â
And get drunk enough you did.Â
You had bumped into him a few times already, making awkward eye contact when you passed him on your way to the kitchen for another drink, or to the bathroom to fix your corset that felt like it was getting tighter every breath you took.Â
Yet here you were, stuck between the fridge and him, a collection of things you wanted to both beg him for, and cuss him out because of, sitting delicately on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the right trigger word from him.
Unsuccessfully, for he was rocking back on his heels, clasping his hands around the glass of water he was nurturing, keeping the peace between you two and staying silent.Â
And you couldn't have that.Â
"Hi. How are you?" you chirp after closing the fridge, a can you were getting for Penelope and not yourself now settled between your hands.
"Hi. I'm good," he says, sending you an all too familiar tight lipped smile. One he always did when he was feeling awkward. "How are you?"
"This is really formal," you say, tilting your head to the side. "I'm good."
He nods his head in agreement, and you find every curse word you had ready to yell at him dissipate in an instant. "I like your costume. Swan?"
"Yes," you nod your own head, forcing the flutter of your heart to stop.
You weren't sure what he was when you had first arrived to the party, but a few short exchanged words between the two of you revealed the fake teeth he had settled in his mouth, confirming Penelope's earlier guess that he was a vampire.Â
Fitting, you had almost said then.Â
"I like yours too," you say after a few beats of awkward silence and you realising you hadn't said much after his compliment.Â
"Thank you."
It was an awkward song and dance around the elephant in the room (your relationship, or lack thereof). An even more awkward interaction of him reaching behind you into the fridge to get out a drink for Morgan, and then a breathless apology when he had gotten a bit too close and you hadn't had a conscious enough mind to step back.
"I don't like this," you blurt out.
"What?"
"This. Us," you clarify. "Being awkward. Not talking. We talk fine when we hook up."
Because yes, there's that secret you were keeping hidden away from Penelope.Â
"We're preoccupied during that."
"I'd argue seeing each other naked once a week is much more awkward than bumping into each other drunk, at a party."
"I'm not drunk."
Right. You knew that. Spencer Reid didn't drink. It was why the cup in his hand was only water, and the alcoholic beverage in his other wasn't for him.Â
If you were any less buzzed you probably wouldn't say the unfortunately very embarrassing sentence you let leave your lips, that sounded a little foreign even to you.Â
"Then do we need to see each other naked tonight to make this not awkward?"
His lips parted and he froze, rightfully so. You weren't sure how you'd react to somebody asking you that either. It seemed awfully blunt for even you, and if you were any sane person, you'd probably be backtracking to take it back. Instead, you were just as frozen as him, fearful for how he would respond.Â
"No," he says, but there was a strain in his voice that told you otherwise. Thankfully, you had enough self restraint to not call him out on that.Â
"No?" you tilt your head to the side.
"No, we don't need to. Do you want to?"
Does it make you a horrible person to say yes? To take advantage of one of the many rooms littering the Rossi house, and use a situational run-in to have sex with your ex-boyfriend?
Probably.
"Yes. Do you?"
"I like how you look tonight."
Your heart rate speeds up. "That isn't an answer."
"Yes," he says. "I do."
The kitchen was left empty with a glass of water and two unopened cans on the countertop, that Derek Morgan was no doubt bound to discover when Spencer never returns. Followed closely by â probably â Penelope discovering the same about you. Which would probably lead to the discovery of the friends (were you friends?) with benefits situation the two of you had.Â
You've barely stepped into the spare room he had located before he's kissing you. Feverishly, devouring you whole, as your back is pressed up against the door. Your wings dug into your shoulder blades, the feathers tickling your arms, and yet you couldn't find it in you to care.Â
"Spencer."
His response to your plea of his name is to kiss you harder, fingers entangling in your hair, and you think if he pushes against you any more, you'll meld to the atoms of the door.Â
"You taste like alcohol," he mutters against your lips.Â
"Funny that."
"Are you drunk?"
"I'll remember this all in five minutes, if that's what you mean."
"Sort of."
His mouth detaches from yours, and there's a desperation in the way he kisses down your neck you don't think you'll ever get used to, no matter how many times he does it.Â
It was a heartbreaking reality of the difference between how he would have sex with you then, and now.Â
It's his grumbling that forces you to focus on him again, and not the comparative thoughts you have whirring in your brain. His fingers are fumbling with the lacing on your back, as he says, irritation you find almost hilarious in his tone, "I hate corsets."
"You said you liked it earlier."
"I liked it when I wasn't trying to take it off of you."
You smile. "I'll wear something more convenient for you next time."
"Yes. Thank you," he nods, successfully loosening the lacing enough so he could take the corset off of your body. "T-shirts are good."
"Duly noted."Â
"Or nothing. Nothing's better," he adds, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands dropping to your chest â completely bare, considering you couldn't justify the wearing of a bra beneath the corset.Â
"I'll ask the board."
You feel him smile against your lips, his hands cupping your chest, thumbs delicately running over your nipples to elicit a breathless whine from you. Ever so careful, he uses his thumbs to circle them, amused with just how easy it was to fluster you.
His lips trail down from your lips again, his hands dropping to your waist, using his hips to nudge you towards the bed.
The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you wince, although any pain dissipates as he murmurs a gentle apology and lowers the two of you to the bed.Â
It's quite amusing; the articles of clothing you're removing from your bodies. You didn't think feathered wings and a Dracula-esque cape piling together on the floor would be a sight you ever saw in this context, and yet.Â
"What do you want, honey?" he asks you, though your brain is a little preoccupied with his pulling of your skirt down your legs, fingers brushing against your skin. He forces your focus back onto him again with the calling of your name, and a kiss to your inner thigh.Â
"What're you willing to give me?"Â
"You know I'd do anything."
Your heart soars. Yes, you do know that. He loves to prove that feat to you.Â
"I don't know," you shake your head. "Whatever you want. You choose. My gift to you this Halloween."
It was a tradition you had started with him three years ago, on your first Halloween together. You knew how important the holiday was to him, and so you had bought him a plethora of decor for his apartment (on top of what he already had). You had helped him set it up, and later that week he had gifted you a charm bracelet with a pumpkin clasp. Every Halloween since, you bought him more decor, and he bought you a Halloween inspired charm for the bracelet.Â
This was your first Halloween where you weren't together.Â
"I didn't get you a charm."
"That's okay," you reply, earnestly.Â
"You're so wet," is voice is breathless, changing the topic of conversation awfully quickly. For his eyes had dropped to the only item of clothing you still had on, and his fingers had trailed far enough up your thighs to brush over it.Â
"Do something about it then," you retort, bluntly, and he smiles amusedly.Â
He probably murmurs something about you being a brat, but his hands were pulling your underwear down your legs, and you should not be expected to focus on two maddening things at once.Â
Thankfully, he does do something about it. And quite quickly, too. Wasting no time teasing like he usually does, instead attaching his lips to your core, tugging a moan from your lips.Â
His tongue licks a stripe up the centre of your folds, circling your clit, expertly so.Â
"Oh God," you whine out, breathlessly, head falling backwards and digging into the mattress beneath. Sinful as it was, Spencer's tongue on you did feel like the closest thing you'd ever have to a religious experience, a thought that had crossed your mind the many times he's done this before.Â
Once he's sure his tongue flicking over your clit had worked you up enough, you're forced into shock as you feel one of his fingers at your entrance. Lack of hand-eye coordination aside, he's well versed in the art of using two different body parts at once to make you come, and yet you're still writhing beneath him like it's the first time.
Sometimes it felt like it was.Â
"Spencer," you nearly cry out, if not for your hand flying to your mouth to muffle how loud you had anticipated you'd be.Â
He pulls his lips away at that, instead lifting his head to hover over yours, as he pushes a single finger inside you. Even when your eyes flutter closed and your head tilts back further, you can still feel his gaze on you, as if in awe of the way you looked.Â
"That was so easy," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "You really did want me to do this tonight, hm?"
Too wrapped up in the feeling of being touched by him again, all you can do is nod your head, and you feel him smile against your cheek.Â
"Yeah, I know, sweet girl."
He captures your lips again, swallowing a string of moans that leave your lips when he begins to move his finger in and out. Finger that becomes fingers, for he's pushing another one in, and you're arching your back up as you attempt to accomodate to the stretch.Â
"I know, I know," he repeats when your head jerks back as your lips part in another, this time silent, moan. "I shouldn't have missed last week, hey? I'm sorry I was out of state."
You want to tell him it's okay. That you didn't really mind being celibate for an extra seven days on top of the six the two of you leave between your nights together. Unfortunately, growing accustomed to a once a week cycle meant the interruption of it left you overwhelmingly easy to shatter with the simplest of touches. You did mind, so you kept your thoughts to yourself.Â
"Please," you ask him, almost pathetically, when he curls his fingers and your entire brain goes fuzzy.
"Please what, honey?"
You're not sure what. More of his fingers? His tongue back on you? You want it all. Yet, time was unfortunately of the essence, and you were acutely aware of the ticking alarm clock in view on the bedside table. You did not have the minutes to receive absolutely everything you wanted from him.
"Want you to fuck me," you murmur.Â
He breathes out a laugh. "I know. I'm going to, I promise. I just need to get you ready first, okay? How're you feeling?"
"Ready." Your voice is an impatient grumble, one that amuses him greatly, which frustrates you even more.Â
"I don't think so," he shakes his head, pushing his fingers back inside of you to elicit a sharp whine from your lips. "I want to do this a little longer, anyways."
"Spencer."
Your protest and attempt to bribe him with a kiss is hopeless, for he is continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you, using your arguably selfish kiss to quiet every single sound you make.Â
It isn't until you're quite literally writhing beneath him and begging him with an incessant repeat of his name, does he pull his fingers out of you. Tapping your lower lip with them, you take his fingers into your mouth, despite your panting and attempts at catching your breath.Â
You want to close your eyes, but the way he's looking at you as you suck on his fingers is borderline ridiculous, and you should probably be locked up for just how attracted to it you are.Â
He trails his fingers out of your mouth after a few moments, but any desire to protest that is lost on you when your eyes catch his removal of his boxers.Â
He disappears from above you for only a minute, though he knows you too well and says, "I'm getting a condom," before you have a chance to start complaining about it. By the time he's returned, he's kissing you again, and you've forgotten all about your irritation.
The head of his cock pushes at your entrance, and you're already a mess. He's slow as he eases into you, and you're eternally grateful for it, because your entire body tenses up, and he's forced to pause, and ease your muscles with his hands kneading your thighs.Â
"I'm sorry," he says, genuinely, when your eyes squeeze shut, and you're back to remembering why you're not happy about the dreadful thirteen day celibacy he forced upon you. But he's so nice, and so apologetic, that as he bottoms out, your hands are wrapping around his neck to provide him with silent forgiveness.Â
He stays still for a few more moments, his lips tickling your jawline. His breath fans your skin, warm, and just as desperate as your own, which is comforting.Â
"Tell me when you're okay," he says, quietly, breathing out a moan when your walls flutter around him.Â
After a beat, you murmur, "I'm okay," and he pulls his hips back, before rolling them back into you, slowly.Â
You're a puddle of content and pleasure and love as he repeats the gentle motions of fucking you, moaning and squirming beneath him, despite his hands on your hips in an attempt to keep you still.Â
"Doing so well for me, honey," he tells you after a few minutes, and heat warms your cheeks at the compliment. He laughs at your bashful smile. "You feel so good."
He moves his hips a little faster, and you're moaning again, hands dropping from his neck to the mattress. At that, he picks up his ministrations once again. All up until all the tender, slow motions are gone, and he's listening to your throat produce broken whines and pleas, his own presenting breathless groans.
"Spencer," you gasp out at one particular thrust, and he's instantly repeating that same deep movement. "Oh fuck."
"Like that?" he asks you, tenderly, and you're frantically nodding your head. "God, look at you. You're so pretty when I do this to you, you know?"
Vulgarity â in any form â coming from Spencer Reid's mouth should sound foreign, and yet it doesn't. Though, perhaps you're too lost in the pleasure of just how good he feels to believe he's anything but perfect.
"I want to come," you tell him, a disguised plea.
"Okay. I can make that happen."
You know he can. He's proven it a thousand times, you're sure.Â
One of his hands drops to your cunt, fingers finding your clit and timing the circles onto it with his thrusts, until you're pretty sure there is no longer a coherent thought in your brain that isn't simply him.
If his aim was to turn you into a mess with very little time, he was excelling above average. Your hands had grabbed fistfuls of the duvet cover atop of the bed, your mouth producing nothing but a constant repeat of, "Please," and "Spencer," one after the other.Â
He wasn't surviving very well, either, you found. His breathing heavy and his thrusts growing sloppier by the second, until he was feeling your own walls clench around him with your stomach tying itself into a knot.Â
He forced his hips to keep moving, albeit much more messy now, as he moaned against your skin, his own orgasm wracking through his body, while still attempting to chase your own.Â
It didn't take much more than that, to be honest, and your entire body went boneless and shattered beneath him as you came too.
Jelly seemed like an apt description for what you felt as you relaxed in the bed and your nerves began to calm down, Spencer breathing heavily above you. Up until he was sliding out of you, and standing up on legs you could see shaking, perhaps just as much as your own.Â
He's disposing of his condom as you lay there, attempting to regain your breath, eyes fixated on the ceiling above you. He's shuffling around more than you'd expect for a simple trash trip, but then you feel hands on your ankles, and your head snaps down to find him kneeling at the foot of the bed, gently tugging your underwear back up your legs.Â
"I know it's not ideal," he says, when your face scrunches up as the piece of fabric lands back on your hips. "But I also know your skirt is too short to not wear these."
"I'll get over it," you reply, letting him redress you with delicate fingers that leave your entire body hot, with goosebumps rising on the skin.
"Yeah," he agrees, though half-heartedly, expert fingers clasping your bra back onto your body.Â
Once your skirt is back on, he helps you up into a seated position, helping to reapply the feathered head piece you had on.Â
It's oddly intimate, way he's kneeling in front of you, breath warm against your face as he clips the feathers into your hair. Your breathing hitches as his hands drop back to your thighs upon finishing, and you swallow the lump in your throat.Â
"Everybody's gonna know what we did," you say, quietly, for it was true. You two had been gone for too long of a time for people to not draw correct conclusions.Â
"They already know we do."Â Hook up.
"What? How?"
"You need to stop telling Garcia things."
Your face falls, and he smiles, sympathetically, thumbs drawing gentle circles on the skin of your thighs.Â
"At least you don't work with them."
"I guess there's that," you confirm with a small nod.
He's silent for a few more moments, simply staring at you and studying your face, before he sighs, and goes to pick up your corset.Â
"You need to go to the bathroom after this," he instructs you, though gently, motioning for you to stand up and turn around so he could do up the dreaded lacing.Â
"I know. Don't worry."
"Good," he replies, your skin tingling with every extra bit of pressure he put on your back as he laced up your corset. "You feel okay?"
"Yes," you nod your head. "Do you?"
"I do," he confirms for you, tying off the lacing and tapping your hip so you could turn back around.Â
You do, and your eyes flicker up to his face. "Do you also promise not to make me wait two weeks again?"
"I'll talk to the board."
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