penelope approaches her neighbor with an unusual request: that she date a friend of hers, in hopes of getting him to believe in love again
A/N: this is my first series and im so excited to share it with you all! thank you so much to the wonderful @homoose for being my helpful beta reader, and to YOUfor reading it now.
category: fluff, spencer reid x fem!reader, series
warnings: none i can think of
wc: 1.7k
series masterlist | next ->
Just barely over your music, you swear you’ve heard a faint thumping sound and it bursts your bubble of focus. Removing one earbud, you pause your paint stroke in mid air to check if you’re hearing things correctly.
Or, you’re finally going crazy, alone in your apartment.
Thankfully, you’re not crazy. Yet. The noise returns, louder and more urgent this time.
That’s odd.
Nobody should be knocking on your door at this hour. Hardly anyone knocks at all, really. You’re not known for having a lot of company, much less at eleven o’clock in the evening.
Request: sub!spencer! youre on zoom with the team and cockwarming spencer and after you praise him and stuff.
A/N: Short and sweet... as he deserves 🥰 also, because it is a blurb, I made it a normal blowjob. But you could just as easily imagine Reader holding him in their mouth for much longer ❤️
Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader
Category: Smut (NSFW)
Content Warning: Oral sex (male receiving)
Word Count: 920
MASTERLIST
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Spencer’s eccentricities and idiosyncrasies were one of your favorite parts about him. They came in handy more often than one might think they would. For example, while he stammered his way through an awkward, poorly-thought-out sentence to the rest of the bored zoom call participants, no one would bat an eye. They would simply assume that something had distracted him, or perhaps that he was just naturally confusing, even at his best.
But you knew the true reason behind his stutter — because it was you, on your knees underneath his desk and between his legs. It was your mouth pressed over the bulge in his pants, puffing hot air through the fabric.
After his first yelp, you hear the loud clack of his fingers on the keyboard to alert you that his mic had been muted. You take pleasure in the sound, as well as full advantage. It isn’t until you nudge the belt buckle away and finally relieve the pressure in his pants that you hear Spencer’s nervous whimpers suddenly cut short.
“Yes, that’s correct,” he says to the others on the call in a remarkably put together tone.
You decide to change that. Without any hesitation, you pull his cock free from his pants. Goosebumps raise over your arms as you hear the clack of the keyboard, followed by a string of curses underneath his breath. You aren’t sure how he hadn’t seen it coming, but he somehow seemed surprised when your lips parted around his shaft.
You hear his steady breathing, though. You hear as it becomes threadier when your tongue traces the outline of his head. Spencer is at his wits’ end, having been deprived of your affections too often as of late. That’s why you don’t blame him when he drops a hand to your head and grabs a fistful of your hair.
You don’t blame him at all. In fact, you thank him with a long, deep moan.
“Shit!” he wails, quieter than you know him capable of. For the briefest second you wonder if he’s just given you away, but then his hand starts to loosen over your hair.
“Sorry,” he whispers, and you soak in the submission in his voice. His hands are trembling, but gentle once again as he starts to pet the top of your head. Again, you reward him for his praise, although this time it’s with a slow, consistent rhythm. The dependable sort of beat where his body starts to find a way to relax through all of the tension.
Every so often, when you’d hear the computer clicking, Spencer’s throat would clear and only slightly broken words would come out. But when he clicked it again, the true Spencer emerged. The man you loved and cherished with all of your heart would break free from the shackles of propriety and showmanship.
Through the bobbing, you open your eyes to glance up at the man now fully lost in the throes of passion. So lost, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice that you’re staring. His jaw is hung open, his eyes glazes over and his hips rocking to make up for the rhythm you’ve broken now that you’re busy watching him, instead.
Spencer bites down on his bottom lip, the peach shade now matching the rest of his skin. You realize — or at least, hope — that he’s finally broken and turned off his camera. Because his head falls back and both hands come to hold you as he mutters a string of broken, foreign curses.
“Thank you,” he pants at the end. You know that one, at least, so he says it again.
He repeats it over and over, sometimes in the shape of your name (or some mangled version of it). His gratitude is displayed in bulging veins and whimpers that are steadily growing louder the faster that you move.
And then he can’t take it anymore. Your beautiful boy clutches your hair with both hands and pulls you down against him. He holds you down as you gag, and you make a mental note of doing the same to him when the tables are turned. You consider punishing him sooner, but quickly realize it would be impossible.
Because once he finishes, he gingerly pulls you up and into his lap. The long forgotten Zoom call is ended when he slams the laptop shut in favor of you. He holds your face in his now tired hands and wipes away any sign of tears from the intrusion he’d so rudely caused.
You giggle when you remember that you’re essentially upset with him for interrupting your interruption. He giggles too, but for another reason. He giggles because he is happy, satiated, and loved. Spencer nuzzles into your neck, basking in the praise of a job well done (or in the case of his work call, not done very much at all).
But you decide that he’s done enough, so you give him a kiss on his forehead and the praise that he would abandon his work for anytime at all.
“My good, pretty boy,” you whisper into his hair. “I’m so proud of you.”
Spencer has his quirks, but at the end of the day, you knew he just wanted love like everyone else. But as you shower him with praise, you see a smug little smile grace his cheeks, and you think he might just be a little too proud of himself, too.
chapter summary: reader and derek talk after his son is born.
word count: 1.5k
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader
warnings: discussion of major character death, brief mentions of food
songs: come back…be here — taylor swift, memories — shawn mendes, let it be — the beatles
a/n: and this wraps up my first ever series ahhhh! huge thank you the readers following along as i posted, your support and comments mean the absolute world to me :) i know this isn't a proper happy ending because...how would that really work lol but ! i hope i did the story justice and i hope you all loved it as much as i did!
a/n 2: this includes a minor rewrite of a certain scene in 11x18, so that’s where a few lines of derek’s dialogue comes from!
<- part IV | series masterlist
If any one group of people deserved the glow of happy, lighthearted times, it was the agents of the BAU. It had been a hard go for everyone on the team, both personally and professionally, so it was about time there was cause for a celebration. Pure, unadulterated, good news was always welcome, appreciated, and, again, deserved.
What’s better pure, unadulterated, good news than a newborn baby boy?
Derek and Savannah Morgan were the picture of glowing new parents. They both looked so positively happy it was hard not to smile just looking at them. Once Savannah was allowed visitors, everyone had come by her hospital room; passing around the newborn bundle of joy, admiring how much he looked like Derek (“He’s got Savannah’s nose, though!” Derek made sure to point out,) the room was buzzing with joy. Everyone was...happy. You were happy, too, of course; but you felt like something was missing, something unreachable, unknowable, unsolvable.
No, not something. Someone.
Spencer Reid.
Spencer’s death had taken quite the toll on everyone, and nothing had been quite the same since that fateful day all that time ago. He was such a presence in everyone’s lives that his loss was felt deeply and strongly in anyone who knew him in even the smallest personal sense. Especially everyone at the BAU. And especially you.
Despite having their own side of things to deal with, ever since Spencer’s death, each and every member of the BAU had made up a large portion of your support system, and they’d all been so incredibly willing to do whatever they can to help you in any way. Everyone had something else to offer, to try and make things easier on you however they could. JJ and Will were always warm, welcoming hosts if and when you needed somewhere to stay; even when Michael was born and things were slightly more chaotic at home, they welcomed you with open arms and invited you right into their little family. Dave was happy to distract you with a fun night with the team every once in a while, whether in the form of pasta night at his house, or a big dinner on his credit card. Derek was eager to introduce you to some new hobbies in an attempt to keep you busy and take your mind off of things; he’d started you on quite a few projects in some of the houses he’d been working on, and the two of you had fun with it. Emily, despite being overseas, always seemed to be able to cheer you up; between phone calls with stories about her new London people, or random packages showing up at your house with small gifts that made you laugh that she swears she didn’t send, you could always count on her for a smile, and that was something you valued immensely. Hotch, whenever you needed it, acted as a listening ear and offered any advice he thought might help; he had a different perspective than most people on everything that had happened, because of both his position as a unit chief, and as someone who lost their significant other to “the bad guys”. And of course, Penelope had been a literal angel, helping in any way, shape, or form; between helping with the essentials like cooking and cleaning, as well as keeping you busy with random shopping, movie nights, and extra girls’ nights, she covered every base she was able.
Despite all this, knowing how much each person would do for you, how much each person has done for you, sometimes your insecurity got the best of you and it got you thinking about how things have changed between you and...everyone else.
Yes, you met the whole team at the same time, and you’d been friends with everyone, working with them, before you and Spencer even went on one single date; but you were able to stay so close with everyone, despite no longer working at the BAU, because Spencer still had. Yes, you were close with most of the team on your own, but Spencer was your direct, near constant, connection to them. Sometimes you worried that, because that connection was severed, things started to feel different. But it was always just your insecurities getting the best of you; this lovely group of people were your family by choice, and you were theirs too. After everything with Spencer, it was easier than ever to get swept up in your own thoughts, worrying about how many things were changing around you, but all of your friends always knew what to say, whether intentional or otherwise, to quash your insecurities and worries and fears bubbling at the surface and threatening to spill over; that was all evident in how much they had been, and still are, willing to go the extra mile for you, to help however they can.
A few days after Baby Morgan was born, Penelope asked if you’d wanted to stop by the BAU, to come while Derek was cleaning out his office. He’d packed up his stuff, left the building for the last time as a federal agent, after deciding to put his family and their safety first. Everyone was sad to see him retire, but he was so content with his decision and his new family that everyone was even more eager to support him in his endeavor.
But before he left, he caught you looking at a specific picture laying at the top of one of his boxes. It was an old picture frame, with a group photo from when you were still an agent at the BAU; your eyes were only trained on one agent in specific, though.
“I miss him too, y’know,” Derek said, peering over your shoulder. “We all do.”
“I know,” you reply, looking down at Spencer’s smiling face. “It’s just…” you pause, gathering your thoughts. “It’s hard sometimes, feeling him absence so strongly. Like, he should be here, y’know? You’re all...his friends, his family, his people and—”
“And we’re your people too,” he says, looking you directly in the eyes. “I mean that. And so does everyone else. I know it’s hard— it’s been hard, weird, for all of us too— but we are your people. We love you, and we’re here for you no matter when, no matter what. Of course, me and Savannah, but I’m speaking on behalf of the whole team now.” He pauses, then looks off to the side. “It’s easy to forget sometimes, y’know? Just...because it was so long ago. You’d been with Spencer so long it— it’s strange to think about how we actually knew you as...you, before we even knew you with Spencer. Now,” he chuckles, “don’t take this the wrong way, but all of this would apply even if it wasn’t you. If, maybe, Spencer had been with someone else, when…”
“Yeah— yeah, I know.”
“But that being said, this applies especially because it’s you. You’re you. We love you. And we’re always here for you. I’m always gonna be by your side,” he says. “I’m just a phone call away.”
After a moment, he reaches around to his back pocket and holds out a piece of cardstock.
“We were gonna mail these,” he starts, “but I wanted you to have a birth announcement first.”
You take the card in your hands, and after reading just two small, printed words there are tears falling from your lash line.
“Hank is for my Pops,” Derek says. “But Spencer is for the best little brother anybody could ever ask for.”
“I— Derek, I—”
“I know, baby, I know,” and he wraps you in a tight hug, letting you cry quiet tears into his shoulder.
After a minute or two, you pull away, and he continues. You pore over the card in your hands.
Hank Spencer Morgan.
“He...he would’ve been his godfather if he was still here, right? Which would’ve made you his godmother—by association, of course, not by title because Penelope would threaten my head if—” you both laugh at that, smiling to yourselves. “But, anyway, I just felt like telling you first. Because...Spencer.”
“Yeah,” you agree. “Spencer.”
“No one quite like our Pretty Boy, eh?”
He’s right; there’s no one quite like Spencer Reid, and there never would be.
That was something that took you quite a bit of time to process and really understand. At first, it was almost hard to see that that wasn’t inherently a bad thing; you were simultaneously worried about accidentally replacing Spencer in some capacity, and not being able to replace Spencer ever. But with time, you realized that moving forward, you wouldn’t be replacing Spencer, there was no replacing him. There isn’t anyone quite like him, and that’s not a bad thing; he’s one-of-a-kind, and he’d always have a place in your heart, but your heart has room for lots of things. You’d learn how to make room for other things that are, and will be, important to you, and have everything coexist peacefully.
'dancing through our house / with the ghost of you'
chapter summary: reader does some cleaning around the apartment, and is struck by memories with her time with spencer.
word count: 2.4k
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader
warnings: discussion of major character death, general themes of mourning, brief mentions of food and eating, slight panic/crying (again, nothing excessive, reader is just...sad)
songs: a thousand years — christina perri, lover — taylor swift, perfect — ed sheeran, saturn — sleeping at last
a/n: and just like that we’re almost at the end :) i … don’t know how i feel about this chapter and. the way it’s like ? formatted? but please feel free to let me know what you think! the song a thousand years plays a pretty solid part in this chapter so listening to it while reading may ~enhance~ your reading experience 😌 enjoy this one and gear up for the epilogue! love y’all
<- part III | series masterlist | epilogue ->
It had been a few weeks since you took the time to clean up the apartment on your own. Your friends, Spencer’s old teammates, had been really great following his funeral; each of them took the time to stop by the apartment and check on you personally, trying to help however they could. Penelope was especially great, bringing you freshly made food and coming to eat dinner with you, then insisting on cleaning up afterwards. You were incredibly grateful for her help; after Spencer died, even the smallest things felt like monumental tasks, and it got difficult for you to remember to take care of even the smallest chores around your apartment - you were too focused on trying to take care of yourself. Penelope knew this, and so she made sure to lend a hand whenever she had time; she mostly helped you clean up your apartment when you couldn’t, but whenever she knew she would be busy for a few days, like when the BAU had a big case come up, she would come over and leave a checklist tacked to your fridge, then text you to remind you to go through the checklist for that day.
It had been some time since you felt like cleaning up the apartment, all on your own volition. But today, for some reason, this was the only thing your mind could focus on. You decided not to question it, but instead to lean into it, because you knew you would probably feel better, more productive, knowing you’d cleaned up a little bit.
You started in the kitchen, rinsing out any dishes that were left in the sink, then popping some in the dishwasher to be cleaned. You put away food that was left out on the counter, opening and closing cabinets and drawers where everything had a home. Once the countertops were cleared, you sprayed them down with a cleaning solution and wiped them dry with a rag.
You then moved on to your dining room; you didn’t spend much time in there, especially because now, it was just you at home, but there was plenty of junk that accumulated on the table that you’d all but forgotten about. You went through everything you found, making piles of what you were keeping and what you’d throw away. Once the table was clear too, you wiped it down with the same rag as earlier, watching streaks appear and disappear with your careful movements.
Then you started to tidy up the living room. You spent a lot of time here, curled up on the couch, so the area surrounding it had become very messy. You didn’t always realize how messy things got because you rarely left the couch, and you had gotten used to things being scattered on the floor around you; Penelope always spent time cleaning this up when she was here, because she wanted you to get what she called a “change of scenery”. She didn’t want you to spend any more time in this room, on this couch, than you already were, so she made it her business to get you out for at least a little bit while she was visiting. So although you spent a lot of time in this room, you had all but limited yourself to the couch, and hadn’t cleaned the room personally since before Spencer died. Today, you made sure to take your time combing through the room; you picked up wrappers and plastic cups from the floor, you folded extra throw blankets and laid them over the back of the couch, you straightened the books on the shelves, and you made your way through every nook and cranny.
You were almost finished, when you stumbled upon something you had completely forgotten about, something that made your heart drop and brought tears to your eyes. You reached out and picked up the small bluetooth speaker you had bought to keep in your old apartment. It wasn’t something you used often, as you preferred to listen to music with headphones on, as opposed to out loud through a speaker. It wasn’t until Spencer came along that you made regular use of the small device, following a memorable night at home with him. Holding it in your hand, your mind was racing with vivid memories of that night, and what led to the start of a special tradition between the two of you.
Years ago, you had invited Spencer over for dinner, for your first ‘at home’ date as a couple; you decided to listen to a playlist with the top songs at the time, but since you were cooking you’d decided to play the music from a speaker, because it was hard for you to cook and hold your phone at the same time. When you opened the door for Spencer, the food was still cooking, the music was still playing, so he came and joined you in the kitchen, making small talk about how work was and telling you how happy he was to see you. You hadn’t been planning to leave the music on while you ate, but Spencer mentioned something about how it was pleasant having music on, so you left it. Most of the songs were upbeat pop songs, ones that you knew from the radio stations that you let play in your car.
When you were both finished eating, and were just talking at the table, a slow, piano ballad started playing.
HEART BEATS FAST…
“One second,” you blurted, worrying it would change the feel of whatever was going on with Spencer; everything that night was going so well, why ruin it now? “Let me change this song. This isn’t any fun to listen to.”
“Wait, don’t—” Spencer breathed. You looked up at him, head tilted in question. “Can we— uh,” he paused. “Would you like to dance?” he asked. “With me. Would you like to dance with me?”
HOW CAN I LOVE…
He looked across the table to you, a soft expression washing over his face as you nodded and took his hand. He led you from where you were sitting to an open area with enough room for the two of you to move around. Spencer placed two light hands on your waist, while you clasped your hands behind his neck, starting to sway slowly as the music played.
ONE STEP CLOSER…
Both of you were silent, enjoying this new closeness you were sharing. At some point, the two of you had locked eyes, and neither of you dared to look away no matter how much you wanted to. During an instrumental part of the song, you broke eye contact, lowering your head momentarily. It was then that Spencer spoke.
“Hey,” he said softly, getting your attention. When you looked up at him, he spoke the same three words that were on your mind.
“I love you,” he said aloud, for the first time.
You grinned, and grabbed his face, planting a kiss on his upturned lips.
“I was thinking the same thing, you know.”
And the song played on.
I HAVE DIED EVERY DAY WAITING FOR YOU
DARLING DON’T BE AFRAID I HAVE LOVED YOU FOR A THOUSAND YEARS
I’LL LOVE YOU FOR A THOUSAND MORE
You remembered this feeling as if it were yesterday; the two of you were the picture of ‘young and in love’, spinning around your apartment, admitting to some of the deepest secrets each of you held: your love for each other.
This moment was what prompted a new tradition: slow dancing to A Thousand Years.
Your whole life, you’d been a clumsy person. As a kid it was a huge insecurity of yours, but as you grew up you sort of leaned into it, and didn’t let it get to you the way it had when you were younger. Every now and then, though, the self-consciousness would creep up on you, and you quickly learned how to hide when it was bothering you. After meeting Spencer, everything changed; he was impossibly good at reading you, and you were never able to ‘hide’ from him. But that was never a problem. Spencer loved you, and your clumsiness was never something he held against you; as a matter of fact, it was the opposite— it was just one more detail about you for him to love. So despite your clumsiness and lack of coordination, and Spencer’s long limbs and aversion to touch, it was almost ironic that you’d ended up with this tradition of sorts.
You and Spencer, dancing together— slow dancing, that is. No grinding hips and sweaty bodies; all small steps and innocent touch. There was something about the familiarity of physical closeness and the comfort in each other’s touch that you both loved and, sometimes, needed.
Reminiscing about the first time you’d danced together brought up memories of the last time you’d danced together.
The sudden feeling of longing, yearning, craving washed over you, overwhelming you, reducing you to a heap on the floor, in the same spot yours and Spencer’s feet had been mere weeks ago, swaying in tandem to ‘your song’.
You felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch your breath, couldn’t inhale enough to make it count. Your hands were shaky, your stomach was turning over itself, and your chest was burning. If you had been standing, your legs surely would have given out by now.
But just as suddenly as the pain started, it subsided, because you had become hyperfocused on a new, strangely familiar, sensation. Spencer. It was as if you could feel him here, totally and completely, almost physically. Your eyes weren’t open, but you could see everything as if it were real, your mind painting a magnificent scene of the last time you and Spencer had graced your living room floor with mindless, matched footsteps and close, comfortable embraces.
You could all but feel his hands on your lower back, pulling you in for a hug. You could all but feel his toes nudging yours with every sure misstep. You could all but feel his forehead leaning on yours following a soft kiss to the top of your head. You could all but feel his breath on your neck, his faint stubble on your cheek, his words on your lips;
“I love you”
And on the floor, in that same spot, you sat, feeling everything and nothing all at once, your mind recreating this scene for you to rewatch, relive.
-----
Spencer had come home from work later than he usually did; he’d had an agonizingly long day, and all he could think about was coming home to you. Time with you— that was all he needed to recharge and feel more like himself, and less like the mountain of paperwork building up at the office.
You were surprised by the first three words out of his mouth when he walked through the door; sometimes it was “I missed you,” especially following a long case, but more often than not it was “I love you,” because...because Spencer was Spencer and he wanted you make sure you knew how he felt, and he did so by saying it whenever he had the opportunity. But no, not that time.
That evening, Spencer asked, “Can we dance?”
Who were you to deny him of such a simple pleasure?
So dance, you did; as always, you connected your phone to your trusty speaker, and hit play on A Thousand Years. Spencer placed his hands on your waist, and you threw your hands over his shoulders. His hands traced the skin above the waistband of your pants and below the hem of your shirt, while your hands traced the skin above the cut of his rumpled collar and below the cropped edges of his hairline. The music played on, and the two of you fell into a familiar pattern, swaying contently and quietly, savoring each other’s company.
Then, as always, as the second chorus faded, Spencer whispered, “Hey.” You turned up at him, and he looked you in the eye saying, “I love you,” with just as much meaning as the first time he ever said it.
-----
Blood rushed in your ears as you were pulled from your memories with Spencer because of the generic, repetitive tri-tone of your doorbell, followed by a sharp tap tap tap against your door you knew could only belong to one person: Penelope Garcia.
There you sat, on the floor of your living room, bringing a hand to your face to wipe away still-falling tears in an effort to pull yourself together enough to open the door for Penelope and not have her be even more concerned than she already was. You picked yourself up, called a quick, “One sec!” to Garcia through the door, and rushed to the kitchen to splash some cool water on your face. Patting your eyes with a towel, you take a few deep breaths, then walk towards the front door.
“Hey, missy!” Penelope says, as you swing open the front door. “I brought some lasagna over, if you want to eat together? I was so bored all alone at home, figured I’d entertain myself with some company!” You stepped to the side to let her into your apartment.
She floats around your kitchen, retrieving dinnerware and placemats, already knowing where everything is stored. After setting the table, she serves each of you a heaping serving of the steaming pasta along with a tall glass of water. As you settle into your seat, Penelope notices something.
“Wait a second,” she says, looking around. “It looks nice and neat in here today! Did you—”
“Um, I—” you interrupt. “Yeah, I...I don’t really know, I guess I was just...in the mood? I was cleaning up a bit before you stopped in.”
That was all you mentioned. Penelope didn’t need to know what else had happened before she stopped in.
“That’s great, babe, I’m happy you had something to keep you busy! Sorry I interrupted though,” she says. “We can finish up together after we eat, if you want.”
You looked up at her with a small smile. “That would be...great actually.” You paused. “Really helpful, um, thanks.”
Half an hour later, Penelope was the one picking up the small bluetooth speaker and putting it in a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind, you supposed.
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'if i could dream long enough / you'd tell me i'll be just fine'
chapter summary: reader finally sleeps, and she dreams of spencer.
word count: 2.1k
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader
warnings: discussions of major character death, themes of mourning, mentions of having nightmares
songs: happiest year — jaymes young, my wish — rascall flatts, hope ur ok — olivia rodrigo, all i want — kodaline
a/n: i am. very proud of this chapter, it might be my favorite thing i've ever written actually. it's...sad and emotional and i think i like it a lot lol as always any and all feedback is welcome, let me know what you think! and also...prepare tissues xoxoxo
<- part II | series masterlist | part IV ->
After Spencer died, you found yourself struggling to sleep. You couldn’t get comfortable in bed, you couldn’t fall asleep, and you sure as hell couldn’t stay asleep.
On the nights you’re lucky enough to fall asleep, you never stayed asleep because you knew you would dream about Spencer— you’d been having the same dream for weeks now— and the thought of living an entire dream with him was too painful to even entertain, because you’d have to wake up and face the reality that he wasn’t here anymore.
The dreams always start the same way: you and Spencer stood facing each other, and his head leaned on yours while he wiped away whatever tears were falling onto your cheeks with his fingers. It’s peaceful, intimate, familiar...and it’s almost everything you missed about Spencer. You’d stay like that, with dream Spencer, for a minute or two, and then he’d whisper your name; that was when you’d wake with a start, as if you were having a nightmare. You would always sit up wherever you fell asleep with your heart racing and your hands weak, struggling to take deep breaths because each one was shaky. Spencer saying your name was always the thing that jolted you back into reality, even while you were asleep, because it was the thing you longed for the most: to hear him call your name, one last time.
But one night, after an incredibly long day, you just...fall asleep. For the first time in what felt like forever, you’re out like a light, sleeping deeper than you can ever remember yourself sleeping, especially recently. And as you could have predicted, the dream starts; but to your surprise, Spencer whispers your name, and the dream continues. You don’t jolt awake in an almost-horror as you have every other time this dream has started playing out in your mind. The buildup of exhaustion must have finally taken its toll on you, because you stay asleep. The dream continues on, into territory you had not yet witnessed.
In a scene already so familiar to you, the two of you continue standing facing each other, foreheads touching, while Spencer takes his hands and cups your face, using his thumbs to wipe away the stream of tears quietly falling from your eyes. He then moves one hand to the back of your head and the other to the small of your back in a move to pull you to his chest where your head could rest on his chest.
Ever since you and Spencer started dating, you loved standing together like in that position, because your ear would lay right over Spencer’s heart, and you’d listen to his heart beat steadily while he whispered sweet nothings that always flowed along the lines of, “You hear my heartbeat? It’s for you and only you, love; my heart does and will always beat for you.”
Even though you were dreaming, something felt off to you, but you couldn’t put your finger on what was causing the uneasiness in your gut— not until you stood quietly and still against Spencer; It was then that, even though you were dreaming, you realized there was no steady heartbeat under your ear like there once was. Right, you thought, because Spencer doesn’t have a heartbeat. People don’t have heartbeats after they die. Spencer doesn’t have a heartbeat because he’s dead. Spencer’s dead. Right.
Your ear on dream-Spencer’s chest, your face buried in his shirt, he pulls you close into a tight embrace, and says your name again, quietly.
“I am so so sorry I had to leave you, love. I don’t think I had a choice, but know that I wanted to stay,” his voice now a choked whisper. “I wanted to stay for you, I just— I couldn’t bear to leave you. But I didn’t have a choice. I’m sorry. I love you, and I’m so, so sorry my love.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at his face, the face of the man you buried all those weeks ago, the face of your one true love. Your body was trembling against his, plagued by the side effects of the violent sobs you couldn’t help but contain. Although it was all a dream, you took solace in Spencer’s embrace, hoping to preserve this feeling enough to carry it with you long into the daylight hours you trudged through.
After pausing to steady himself, Spencer lets himself go on.
“I love you so much, baby, I do. And I’m so incredibly proud of how you’re holding up. I know— I know you’re hurting, I can feel it. And I know it can’t be easy. But I’m so proud of you. I know you feel stuck, but remember that everyone processes grief differently. You’re doing so, so well, love, and,” Spencer inhales sharply, “and I hate that you’re in so much pain and I can’t even do anything to help you.” He hesitates, then lowers his voice. “That’s— that’s all I want— to be able to help you and be there for you and just be with you. But you are so much stronger than you think. You’ll be just fine, I have no doubt about that. You will push through this part of your life and you’ll come back just as strong— no, stronger— on the other side. You’ll be fine, I know you; you just need to believe that a little bit more yourself. You will make it through this, love, you will.” You can barely hear Spencer sniffling through his tears over the blood rushing in your ears.
Spencer unwraps his hands from around you, and moves them to, once again, cup either side of your face; you finally make eye contact. Your eyes bore into the bottomless, honey-colored eyes you know so well and miss more than almost anything, second only to Spencer’s touch. You’re about to lose all resolve, but then he continues.
“I— I love you more than you can even know. I love you. The last years of my life were, without a doubt, the best ones, and that is because of you. You loved me so wholly, so purely, and...and I know I’ve said it but I’ll say it again: I would never have been the man I was without you. I can’t thank you enough for being my everything, because it made all the difference. Know that you’ve filled every crevice in my heart, and that I truly love you with everything I have, everything I am, and that will never change. I love you.”
As you take a shaky breath in, you realize your face is damp, but Spencer’s hands, which were on your face, are not; yet another allusion left by your subconscious reminding you this isn’t real. Even though you were crying, aching, you felt so much more at peace here, in this dream, with Spencer.
If this is what it feels like to sleep, you thought, to be able to get Spencer back...maybe I don’t—
And just like that, you’re awake.
You blink a few times, adjusting to your surroundings, feeling hazier than usual after your first deep sleep in quite a while. After being dragged from a dream as vivid as the one you just had, taking a few deep breaths proved more difficult than you thought. You sat up, and the sudden motion made your face feel cool. With a small gasp, you realized your cheeks were wet with tears, tears Spencer could no longer brush away with his long fingers and loving touch.
This had happened a few times before; you’d have a dream, a nightmare, so vivid and tangible that your body didn’t know what to do and you’d cried silent tears in your sleep, not even conscious of it as it happened. But some of the more recent times it had happened, you hadn’t had to handle it alone like you used to. Spencer was one of the lightest sleepers you’d ever met, and it took some time for the both of you to fall into rhythm when you’d started sharing a bed; you felt like you had to be overly cautious when moving around trying to get comfortable because you didn’t want to wake Spencer, and he didn’t know how else to communicate the fact that it’s really not a problem if he got woken up because he’d just go right back to sleep.
The first time you had a nightmare sleeping nestled in the crook of Spencer’s arm, he woke with alarm, his mind jumping to the worst conclusions it could conjure up. But when he whispered your name, and after increasing his volume and trying again but you still didn’t respond, he realized you were sleeping. You were crying in your sleep. His heart broke for you, because in that moment there was nothing he could do. He called your name again, and gently shook you awake, waiting for your eyes to open and meet his. You were so disoriented, gazing up at Spencer’s tear-filled eyes, not even registering your own while you wondered what happened.
“You— I—” Spencer started. “You were, um, crying,” he tried to get out, “in your sleep, uh, I—” he paused again. “You were having a nightmare, I think?”
“Oh—”
“I, uh, I didn’t really know what to do,” he muttered, sheepishly, “but I hated that you were crying and I couldn’t help you, so I, uh, I woke you up so—”
“Spence,” you said in a small voice, “um, thank you.”
Slightly embarrassed, you turned, facing away from Spencer, closing your eyes in the hope that you’d fall asleep and this would soon be a distant memory.
“Wait—” Spencer said. “Is everything okay? Are— are you okay? Is there anything, or, um, can I do anything to help? To help you?”
“Hold me?” you breathed.
It was as if you heard the words leave your mouth before you even had a chance to consciously say them. Immediately, you regretted speaking so quickly, not taking one second to comprehend what you’d suggested.
“Yeah! Yeah I—” he stuttered, pausing to collect his thoughts before starting again. “Of course, yeah. Of course I can hold you— c’mere,” and with that, he pulled you flush against his chest, his arms circling yours around the front of your body. You leaned your head back into Spencer’s shoulder, taking a deep breath in as he drew small circles on the back of your hand. The two of you fell asleep comfortably like that, Spencer waiting to breach the ‘nightmare’ topic until the morning. He waited until you both sat down for coffee, and he didn’t push you for specific details until you were ready to offer them. You explained that, even though they don’t happen often, sometimes it just happened and there wasn’t a viable explanation for when and why. He held your hand the entire time, and for the first time in as much time as you could remember, it wasn’t some embarrassing thing you’d have to deal with on your own; it became something you and Spencer would handle together, as it presented itself, whenever it presented itself.
“I promise,” he’d said that morning. “I promise I’ll do my best to be there with you through every nightmare that comes. And if I can’t be there in person, because of...work, or something, you just… pick up the phone! Pick up the phone and call me and I can just stay on the line, so you know I’m there.” He continued on, listing all the ways you should know and you should feel like he’s with you, always; and he had yet to break this promise to you, he was there for every incident since that talk—
Until now. Until he became the nightmare. Until he became the origin of the tears you shed in your sleep.
It’s a shame stray bullets don’t take old promises into account.
Spencer is no longer sleeping next to you, wiping the tears off of your face when you can’t yourself. He is gone, and the thought of him no longer here brings literal, physical pain to you; but you can’t bring yourself to think about it it any other way. Because getting through this, moving past this, means moving past Spencer, and you are not ready to do that.
Not now, maybe not ever.
as always a very. thank you to @aubreyprc for suffering before all of y'all so i don't have to <3 ily my rude girl yup
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'there's your coffee cup / the lipstick stain fades with time'
chapter summary: reader reminisces on better, busier, happier times at home with spencer, while served with a painful reminder of what she doesn't have anymore.
word count: 1k
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader
warnings: discussions of major character death, themes of mourning, some crying and a lil bit of a breakdown (nothing major nothing graphic just. reader is. sad :/)
songs: unconditionally — katy perry, haunted — taylor swift, waves — dean lewis
a/n: this one’s short and sweet (by sweet i mean. the phrase ndkdkfjd it’s still angst besties) and i really. don’t know how i like this one. at all. so as always, any and all feedback is welcome:) let me know what you think!
<- part I | series masterlist | part III ->
You were always surprised when Spencer didn’t mind sharing food or drinks with you; for someone who was such an extreme germaphobe, it always struck you as interesting that he didn’t care about sharing his food with other people. Then again, you weren’t just people; you were the love of his life, he was yours, and the two of you were practically engaged after being together for so many years.
Spencer would let you dip a greasy French fry in his ketchup, give you his chopsticks to taste his lo mein, and, most beloved to you, even share his precious coffee when you’d need a caffeine boost. Without fail, every time he’d shared his coffee with you, you were filled with a familiar jolt of disbelief and surprise, because it’s simultaneously so like him and so unlike him to offer it up at all. You knew Spencer better than the back of your own hand, but he still never failed to amaze you with the intricacies woven into his persona and the exceptions to each of his own rules.
Whenever you were running late for work or school, which happened more than you cared to admit to, you all but wrecked the apartment in an attempt to get ready quickly; in a frenzy of hair irons, makeup brushes, and outfit changes, you’d be practically out of breath by the time you get to Spencer in the kitchen. He was always ready before you, even when you weren’t running late, so it became his job to start the coffee machine every morning; each morning, by the time you were ready, Spencer was always waiting in the kitchen, nursing a steaming mug in his right hand, the daily paper in his left. But when you were running late you never had time to sit and enjoy your coffee together because you were always in a rush to get out the door; Spencer knew this, which is why it had become second nature for him to pass you his own mug while you frantically searched the kitchen for some food to grab on your way out, while he made you your own coffee in a to-go cup. You always, without fail, made a face with that first sip of Spencer’s coffee; you didn’t take your coffees the same way — he liked his so sickly sweet — but you didn’t care as long as you had some caffeine in you before starting your day. Watching you taste it, Spencer would laugh, then swap his mug for your to-go cup. You would then kiss him hastily and run out the door— coffee in one hand, bag in the other.
One morning, you were running late because you had taken too much time getting ready; someone had mentioned something about...pictures? or something in that vein? so you wanted to make sure your hair and makeup were done a little bit better than usual (“It can’t hurt,” you muttered), resulting in you losing track of time, and ultimately causing you to be twenty minutes behind schedule. As per the usual for mornings like those, Spencer handed you his mug, and you took a long swig, face contorting into a grimace, but with a loving, knowing smile, as you consumed Spencer’s sweet concoction; that smile quickly turned into a frown when you realized most of your lipstick had come off on his cup, so you ran back to your bathroom to grab the tube of lipstick you had put on earlier, making note to reapply in the car before walking into your building. Spencer finished making your coffee while you went back to get your makeup, handing it to you as you walked towards the door. Like always, you kissed him lightly before swinging the door shut behind you.
Unbeknownst to you at the time, that would be your last such encounter with Spencer.
You hadn’t thought about that morning until the first time you walked back into your apartment after Spencer died. You noticed his mug, sitting on the counter, with the dregs of his coffee left over from what felt like a lifetime ago. It was then that you noticed your lipstick stain on the rim, tears in your eyes as you relived the memory of your last morning at home together. The two of you had fallen into such a domestic routine, you could’ve imagined going on like that forever. You pictured the slow, lazy mornings when neither of you wanted to leave your bed, and the hasty, rushed mornings when you both rushed out at the same time; you longed for it all with Spencer, but you would have been content with any of it, as long as it was with him.
Now, the thought of you and Spencer ‘playing house’ physically pained you. You were hunched over, clutching at your torso, wrapping your arms around your middle as painful sobs wracked through your body.
That was his mug, but he was no longer here.
It was actually kind of funny, you thought to yourself; the mug shouldn’t even be on the counter. Every morning Spencer would rinse out his mug and leave it out to dry before heading to work. You think about why he didn’t rinse it out this one time. You can almost imagine it; that morning, Spencer getting a call from Hotch, JJ, or any of the other team members, rushing out of your apartment towards the BAU while on the phone listening to details about a case that had just come in.
That was the last thing on your mind before collapsing on the couch and crying yourself to the point of exhaustion where your body just...shut down and turned off; you thought about how funny it was, because it was his mug, and he never even made it home to clean it out.
Then, you dreamed of Spencer.
bless @aubreyprc for allowing me to not have to reread my work ever again hi aubrey ily aubrey (🙄)
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‘here i am waking up / still can’t sleep on your side’
chapter summary: reader tries adjusting to life back at her apartment, without spencer.
word count: 2.2k
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader
warnings: discussions of major character death, themes of mourning, case-related details/stress (nothing graphic), general exhaustion, sleeplessness
songs: conversations in the dark — john legend, unsteady — x ambassadors
a/n: alright here we go y’all part I! i’m not sure if i love the way this chapter turned out but regardless hsjdkdjdjd happy reading and, as always, let me know what you think! i’d appreciate any and all feedback you feel like giving :)
<- prologue | series masterlist | part II ->
Spencer Reid had loved watching you sleep. He loved seeing your hair splayed out wildly behind you, your legs bent in seemingly uncomfortable angles, and your face buried in a mountain of pillows. But what Spencer loved the most was how you slept— spread out completely, in what he described to you once as ‘The Starfish’. He made up the term, and it snuck its way into your shared vernacular, slowly but surely. It always made Spencer laugh when you ‘starfished’; he liked to think of it as your body decompressing and taking up the space it hadn’t during the day. You slept deeply, but somehow always flailed around at least a little bit, moving from one ‘starfished’ position to the next, more comfortable one.
Early on in your relationship with Spencer, you’d learned something...interesting, peculiar, unusual about yourself: you never ‘starfished’ when you slept next to him.
It had been a few weeks since that first coffee date; enough time had lapsed for date nights here and there, joint walks to the coffee cart down the block, and, surely enough, for you to (finally) call Spencer your boyfriend. But in that time, you’d yet to take the step of spending the night together for the first time, so you’d never seen each other sleep sleep...until now.
As the BAU’s media liaison, you had always handled things like a true professional, and this time was no exception; you swiftly balanced the constant barrage of repetitive questions, the non-stop pestering for details the team had yet to iron out, the roundabout responses regarding information that was not yet available to the public. But this case in particular was proving absolutely brutal, the media firestorm seemingly never dying down. The case was moving slowly, and everyone was growing impatient, constantly asking about things which simply did not have answers yet; you hadn’t had much to do, except hold conferences to announce the same things and answer the same questions over again. Somehow that, more than anything else, was draining you completely; and Hotch, noticing you pacing the halls of the precinct, saw your energy clearly depleted. That was when he approached you.
“A break,” he proposed. “Take an hour or two off. We’ll call you back as soon as we need you, but between you and me,” he says with a small, tired smile, “this case is moving a lot more slowly than we’d like it to. But in the meantime, you can at least take this as an opportunity to get a couple of hours to recharge. Go--” he says, tossing you the keys to a Bureau issued SUV. “I know where to find you when I need you.”
Case details crowding every corner of your mind, it feels impossible to get comfortable enough to properly decompress. Spread out on your hotel room bed, you toss for what seemed like hours, constantly flipping from side to side, front to back, trying to find a position better than the last. It was then that you heard a light tap on your door, followed by the muffled sound of your name coming from the only FBI agent you’d be truly happy to see standing outside your hotel room.
Despite the exhaustion you still felt, a timid smile creeps its way onto your face as you open the door for Spencer. He slips inside, closing the door behind himself as he follows you into the room, back towards the bed you’d just gotten up from. Perching on the edge of the mattress, he wraps one arm around you, pulling you close so your head lays comfortably in the crook of his shoulder. After a moment, you shy away from Spencer to lay back on the pillows from earlier. He follows your lead, though; he comes around to the other side of the bed and opts to lay down next to you, finding your hand and tugging you closer to him. Turning towards Spencer, your face now buried in the soft material of the sweater he’s wearing, he moves his free hand to the back of your head, brushing over your hair in a repetitive motion he knows calms you. As he presses small, soft kisses onto your forehead, you feel more relaxed than you have in days; with one last kiss, you feel yourself drifting off to sleep, still holding Spencer’s hand despite not being curled up into him anymore.
When he nudges you awake (“A break in the case,” he said quietly.) you notice you’re in the exact same position you fell asleep in. No ‘starfish’, you realized. That...never happened; not before.
But now?
You learned you never ‘starfished’ completely when you fell asleep next to Spencer; something about the warmth of his body, the comfort of his touch, the familiarity of his smell...they had you sleep better than you’ve ever slept previously, and you stayed still throughout the night, usually entangled, in some capacity, in Spencer’s embrace. Your ‘starfish’ usually entailed Spencer shifting over slightly, closer to the edge of the mattress, but he never minded; he’d give you the world without question...what’s a few less inches for himself on what had become ‘his side’ of the bed? And although Spencer enjoyed watching you sleep, ‘starfished’ across the mattress, he much preferred you sleeping wrapped up in his arms, so the sometimes lack of space worked to his benefit; he never had to reach very far to find your hand in the dark and intertwine his fingers with yours, and he never had to reach very far to to pull you closer to his chest in an attempt to wrap his arms around you.
When Spencer first broached the idea of moving in together, the two of you joked that maybe you should look for a place where they could fit a bigger bed, so you wouldn’t have to fight for space on the mattress; there could be sufficient room for you to ‘starfish’ while Spencer could get comfortable in his own space, without you getting tangled in each other unintentionally (while, of course, still being cozy enough to be able to find each other’s hands without looking too hard).
After debating the possibility of moving into either one of your apartments together, you’d decided to take the plunge and go apartment hunting, to find a place of your own, together. You and Spencer spent weeks forwarding links to each other for different condos and complexes, booking appointments with realtors and stopping by showrooms when the two of you weren’t holed up at work. Finally, after what felt like forever, you walked into a place that truly felt like it could be home; the realtor gave you both a tour of the apartment, showing off its spacious living area and its kitchen with updated appliances. She brought you two through the space, showing you the laundry machines, closets, and finally, the bedroom. As soon as you walked in, Spencer searched for your eyes, his already glinting with amusement, and you shared a giggle knowing exactly what the other was thinking: there was no room for a bigger bed.
That day, you both shook hands with the realtor, claiming the apartment as your own for the first time.
You bought a full-sized mattress, the same size you’d had at your own apartment previously. Although it wasn’t as big as you would have originally liked when looking for a new place, you still loved the feel of it. The both of you got used to sharing the bed every night; Spencer had picked his one side, and you’d had to learn to stick to yours, but you figured it out. Realistically, that meant that you did, in fact, wake up tangled in each other constantly, even if you hadn’t meant to. You and Spencer would joke that your mattress size was a great enforcer of the “don’t go to bed angry” rule, because, no matter how hard you and Spencer would try, it was incredibly hard for your bodies not to touch, even when facing apart, just because of sheer proximity to each other; even turned away from each other you two would practically be back to back, shoulder blades nearly touching, so there was no real use trying to avoid whatever was upsetting at the moment once you were halfway to snuggling (unintentionally). Neither of you were stubborn enough to surrender to the couch, so you’d had to force yourselves to talk it out; afterwards, you’d be snuggling up to each other (very intentionally).
But now, with Spencer gone, you don’t even know what to do with the extra space you once wished for. You have not, and will not, lay as much as one finger on his side of the bed; it’s still his, even though he isn’t here anymore.
Right after he died, you couldn’t bear facing your apartment, let alone your bedroom. You ended up staying with Emily in her hotel room until she was needed back in London; despite the awful circumstances regarding her return, you couldn’t help but be grateful your best friend was at least here, with you, while you were suffering through this loss. Emily spent those weeks wishing there was something more she could do for you; but knowing there wasn’t, she just held you while you laid next to her, hiccuped sobs rippling through your body and silent tears running down your cheeks, until your body succumbed to its building exhaustion.
Before Emily left, she and the girls tried to help settle you back in your apartment as best as they could. With Emily gone, you tried to stay home at night as much as you could, forcing yourself into getting adjusted; it never worked. While you had stayed with Emily, the team had taken turns coming in and cleaning up, while gathering a few days’ worth of fresh clothing for you to wear. Even though the apartment being clean and orderly, everything felt wrong to you, Spencer’s presence was everywhere and it was overwhelming. On nights when you felt like you couldn’t handle it alone, you would crash at JJ and Will’s house. Despite JJ welcoming you in with open arms, you hated the idea of feeling like a burden, so sometimes you ended up home alone, on your living room couch, begging yourself to fall asleep and ultimately failing. After this unfortunate pattern took hold, you’d gotten into the habit of texting Emily while you stared at the ceiling of your apartment, awaiting morning light; the time difference provided a perfect distraction for you, as your nighttime was Emily’s morning. You would text, even speak on the phone sometimes, always playing some mobile game with each other to pass the time.
Although you had assured everyone you’d be okay on your own, in this apartment, you weren’t always. When you were feeling particularly down, you would peek into your bedroom, observing the interior. You knew this was in no way healthy for you to be doing; it was like a stab victim twisting the knife he was stabbed with while it was still lodged inside him. But sometimes, when you wanted to feel the hurt a little deeper, aggravate your emotions a little more, your most shared, intimate space with Spencer did just the trick.
Ever since you were a little kid, you had never been able to fall asleep without going ‘starfish’; ever since Spencer’s funeral, that had changed. Since that day, you’ve only fallen asleep with your knees pulled up to your chest, laying completely still; even when you slept alone in other beds, you can’t seem to spread out like you used to. It’s like your body just expects Spencer to be there, because, why wouldn’t he be? It was so unnatural for him not to be right up next to you, and your body didn’t know how to adjust to stop something that was ingrained in its muscle.
One night, getting ready for bed, you decide to give the whole bed a try; maybe you’d be able to sleep better if you just...moved over a little bit, giving yourself some more space? As you shifted, crossing over what was considered ‘Spencer’s Side’, you jolted, as if you were burned. No. As much as the prospect of a better night’s sleep entices you, the idea of sleeping on that bed as if it were only one person’s completely repulses you. So you stop trying to adjust, letting your body’s muscle memory take over. You roll back over to your side of the bed, pull your knees up to your chest, and…wait.
But your body remained tense, your eyes remained open, and your mind continued to race, flooded with memories of what once was, what you once had, in this room.
It was after a very long hour that you conceded defeat. And so you grabbed your blanket, and your pillow, and made your way back to the couch in your living room, attempting to settle in for yet another night of restless sleep out there.
shoutout to @aubreyprc for volunteering to suffer multiple times on account of. this fic existing and also she’s the reason it has 700 more words so everyone say thank you aubrey (thank you aubrey)
if you’d like to join my taglist, here’s the form to fill out :)
chapter summary: reader faces the immediate aftermath of losing spencer, and the whole team struggles to find their footing after losing him too.
word count: 2.2k
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader
warnings: major character death, lots of feelings, themes surrounding mourning, discussion of case-related injuries, alcohol consumption (not by reader), brief mentions of food
songs: be alright — dean lewis, amnesia — 5sos
a/n: the first part of my series!!! this has been my baby for….so long, and i’m kinda nervous putting it out there but thank you for being so excited for it:) i’d appreciate any feedback you feel like giving!!! happy reading y'all and ….. i’d be happy to reimburse the cost of your tissue boxes if needed lmfao
series masterlist | part I ->
Twelve hours ago your life looked drastically different. Although your scariest thoughts sometimes took you to places as dark as this, you never could have prepared yourself for the reality of what it feels like to live out your worst nightmare.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader
Summary: Reader becomes rather possessive over Spencer when she learns he’s been been with someone else since they hooked up four months ago.
Category: SMUT (18+)
Content Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hand-on-neck (no choking), praise, degradation kink, possession kink, dirty talk
Word Count: 7.1k (I didn’t mean for it to get this long I swear aldjfsdlfksk)
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3
MASTERLIST
NOTE: HERE IT IS!!! 🥰 Thank you all for showing so much love to Part 1, I seriously wasn’t expecting all the requests for more of the story, so it was fun coming up with ideas! I’m still not sure if I want to do 3 or 4 parts yet, but I’ll let you know soon! In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy reading this second installment! ❤
***
He’s been a ghost in my head for four months.
Everywhere I went I could hear his voice, hear the way he whimpered out my name and how cries got higher and higher as I clenched around him. I felt the rough grip he held on my hips as I rode him, the pads of his fingertips leaving behind faint bruises that I currently wished I still had.
And more prominently, I saw his face. It was always in the back of my mind, burning into me with lust-drunk eyes and a pouty mouth in the shape of an O. It sizzled into my brain, the sound definitely sounding more like raindrops than fire, but I was more than okay with that.
summary: having a crush on one another was bareable until reader and spencer have to share a room on a case
a/n: okay this is not only for @meganskane 700 celebration (congratulations my darling!!! u deserve every single one) it's also a request fic from @sunlitspence aka the loml; v fluffy and funny fic coming ur way 🤪
prompts: "quit looking at me like that", "oh, you've started stealing my socks now?"
pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader warnings: lots of mutual pining, self conscious spencer and reader, little tension in some places, team teasing spence words: 4.6k (so sorry its over a lot)
The entire team had called you lucky the first day you became a part of the team. You got the so-called "good desk" in the bullpen upon assignment, the first case you had ended in the best way it could have. But for some reason, the team were most jealous of the fact that, for Lucky Reasons (of course), you never had to share a room with any members of the team once on a case. Everyone believed you had some sort of Luck curse attached to you.
"You've been with the team for six hundred and fifty-seven days. By now you should have shared a room with one of us at least seven times." Spencer tells you on the jet, on the way to a case in a small town in Colorado, making you look up from your case file, seeing the eyes of the entire team on you.
You shuffle under their gaze. "Shouldn't you be grateful? That means the entire time I've been here, nobody here has had to share a room." You say with squinted eyes, trying not to think about the heat radiating off your cheeks as you feel Spencer's gaze next to you trained expertly on every word you say.
Emily rolls her eyes, "But before you came, we've all shared a room at some point. We just want you to share the pain of sharing a room with one of us."
You stifle a snort. "Pain? I'm sure it's not that bad."
Rossi holds his hand up as he comes back with a mug of coffee in his other free hand, sitting on the seat on his own, shaking his head at you. "Even I've had to share rooms with these bozos since I've come back, and believe me," His gaze shifts to Hotch's, eyebrows raising, "It is not fun. Every time we have to share, I pray the case is short."
You're in disbelief. The team were a family to you, a second or even primary family body for pretty much everyone else, and you don't understand how they can cope seeing one another more than they see their own loved ones in their personal lives, but can't go a few days just dividing a room between themselves.
A thought crosses your mind, settling into your seat, the case file forgotten about for now on the small table in front of you. "Okay, if it's so bad, tell me who's the worst to share a room with."
Derek, Emily and Hotch all speak up in a terrifying unison, "Spencer!" They cry out, and Spencer's eyes snap from looking at you adoringly to his work colleagues, an astonished squeak leaving his lips.
"Me?! Why?"
Emily furrows her eyebrows in his direction, amazed by this obliviousness to himself. "You sleep with your mouth open."
Hotch quips in after her, "You take forever in the shower, wasting all the hot water." Spencer's eyes grow wider with every comment uttered about his living habits.
Eventually Derek takes it as his chance to have his say, speaking as if he was reading off a list he had curated in his head. "You snore really quietly then suddenly really loud, you leave your go-bag in the middle of a path that I'm always damn tripping over, you insist sleeping with a night light, and then read until the middle of the night, so I had to get used to falling asleep to you messin' around with paper for hours."
Silence envelopes the jet, and you feel Spencer shift next to you, dropping his gaze to his lap, looking every bit as self conscious as everyone has unintentionally made him to feel. You grip your hand on his forearm, looking up at the team with shameful narrowed eyes. "I'm sure Spencer has plenty to say about all of you, and nothing's truly annoying unless you let it be."
Rossi pipes up once more with a loud laugh, "I'd like to see you pair up with Reid, Y/N, even I have had the absolute joy of sharing with him, not even I can escape room shares."
You look up from the case file, "That's just proof that money can't buy you everything, Dave, nothing else." You quip, earning some laughs from Derek and JJ.
Having had enough of the pointless conversation, Hotch takes front and centre once more, regaining control of the team and turning your attention back to the case at hand.
You don't even have time to settle your go-bag in the hotel when you land, going head-first into quite a gruesome case, not stopping for one second for the rest of the day.
The second you get to the hotel at an ungodly and unbelievably late hour in the early morning and Hotch calls out your name, hotel key in hand, you wordlessly take it from him, taking the endeavour down the hall and up the one flight of stairs in this remote B&B somewhere just off the edge of town here, yet nothing was really the edge. The so-called centre of town was a two hundred second journey. You made the effort to count in your head, and you're confident if you asked Spencer the journey time in the morning, he would say the same thing.
Nevertheless, the comfort in opening the door and inhaling Total Privacy for the next five or so hours that you most certainly do take for granted fills your lungs with a certain comfort that's edging yourself closer to a knockout deep sleep.
You were lucky you hadn't zombie-walked straight into the shower as per your nightly routine, the incessant beeping of your phone alerting you it needs urgent attention by charging it, as you certainly didn't expect Spencer blindingly walking into your room. It made you jump out of your skin, hand clutching your chest as you turn your head so your chin rests on your shoulder, still crouching to reach the plug.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Spencer, you scared the shit out of me." You sound firm and annoyed and immediately regret it, blaming your chronic tiredness.
You stare at his crestfallen face and want to run up to him and place a million kisses all over his it until his lips crack that smile that makes your stomach do a hundred somersaults. "Sorry. Tired." Was all you managed to squeak out.
He nods in understanding. Of course he's understanding, he's quite easily the best person you've come to know. You're now spending a good percentage of the small amounts of energy left in your body to try and stop obsessing over Spencer Reid ten times more than usual. The late night (early morning) has turned your filter off.
Spencer still hasn't said anything. Your eyes flicker down and you only just notice the go-bag clutched in his hands along with his satchel. You look back up at him, head snapping.
Dread fills in you, like the conversation on the jet was a warning of what was to come.
"What are you doing in my room?" You manage to bring yourself to say, albeit slightly slurred. Fatigue was not your friend.
The blush on Spencer's cheeks tell you everything, but you still stay silent as you wait for him to reply, his fingers curling a thick strand of his long hair behind his ear. "There's only four rooms." He says quietly, as quiet as a whisper.
Fucking Rossi and his money ruining your Lucky Streak.
You try not to think about the comments all the team manage to have stored in a file in their minds ready for distribution, but then your cheeks flood pink with the thought that you're in this 5x7 rectangular box of a room with Spencer.
You could barely handle him standing in the doorway without letting your head go wild with all the professions of love you have repeated to yourself hundreds of times, but go nowhere near your lips. You swallow audibly. Spencer does the same. The room is dark, you can barely make out his features, the blush on his cheeks blossoming in your head.
When he steps forward and closes the door behind him, the moonlight instead confirms your thoughts. You should close the curtains and turn on the light, but you don't want to. He looks breathtakingly beautiful.
"I'm sorry I ruined your six hundred and fifty-seven day streak of not sharing a room." It was the second thing he's said to you since stepping in, and it's riddled with guilt. You hate yourself as you're probably aware he thinks you dislike this arrangement.
Quite the opposite, really. If you could share a room with anyone, shit on what the team thinks, it would be Spencer. In a heartbeat.
You give him a small smile that he could only see through the moonlight, but the way his guilt-ridden features soften slightly tell you he saw it despite the less than ideal lighting. You bet you don't look as good in the moonlight as Spencer does. "It's okay." You say quietly, very aware that in one big step your noses could touch. "I don't mind that it's with you."
He smiles proudly at that, recalling the conversation on the jet. You said it so he could react like that. You want to see him smile.
You shuffle quietly away from the window, and in that split second you're passing Spencer directly the smell of wood and coffee fills your nose. You purse your lips sewn shut to not subconsciously sigh at the smell.
Get your head screwed on, Y/N.
"So, are you a morning shower or evening shower person?" You clear your throat, setting your pyjamas at the head of the bed, ready to change into the second you have a second to yourself.
He looks up at you, his bag still firmly in his hand, like you're about to kick him out at any second. "I don't mind." It was the response you were expecting, so you take your clothes wordlessly, heading towards the bathroom, the routine silently solidified. He was to shower in the morning.
You give him a small, weak smile when you step in the bathroom, which breaks the second the door shuts behind you. You're acting like an idiot. You can't be normal around him, because every two seconds your mind sends you a little post-it note that there was one bed. One stupid, measly, Not Big Enough for Two People bed.
It takes a fifteen minute internal workshop to calm yourself down before you step in the shower.
When you do eventually come out, ice cream pyjamas clinging to your legs and arms and droplets of water dripping from your hair to the carpet, Spencer is lying his head on one of the flat pillows, clinging on to a sparse blanket. The curtains are closed, room enveloped in pitch black darkness, and you nearly walk into his head.
A second ungodly sound howls from your lips, feigned annoyance but it was really dismay as the man you loved seemed to be sleeping in worse conditions than the One Bed situation.
"Spence, what on earth do you think you're doing? Get up." You say, leaning down to grab his arm and pull it. You could only manage to make him sit up, heavier than what you imagined.
He looks at you, but you can't see. You trudge to switch the bedside lamp on so a yellow glow settles on his face. He looks perplexed. "I'm sleeping here!" He could barely squeak. There was not one ounce of sleep in him.
You shake your head stubbornly. Not on your watch. "Your leg has only just become better, love. I am not going to be responsible for causing decay beyond repair. Sleep in the bed." The nickname for him slips out without recognition, and it's not until you see the wide eyes planted on Spencer's face that you make an unbelievably high-pitched noise and purse your lips.
Spencer ignores it, embarrassment must have been too obvious. "Then where will you sleep?!"
He presumes you will be sleeping separately, where your mind has spent the last half an hour thinking of every possible way to share a room with Spencer, all of them being the pair of you in bed together. You hate the fact your filter is turned off.
You shrug, "I'll sleep here."
"I won't let you do that."
A huff leaves your lips, "You're the recently former leg hobbler. You need the bed more than me."
He's just as stubborn and insistent as you are, bum firmly planted on the makeshift bed he's created. "It's only fair. You were here first."
If you continued on like this, you would be here discussing who gets the bed until the sun comes up. You move to your purse, rummaging until a coin is retrieved between your index finger and thumb. The coin is thrown into the air, caught in your hand and slammed ontop of your palm. You look at him with an eyebrow raised. "Heads or tails?"
He says his answer in a heartbeat. "Heads." He's confident, and you remember a conversation with him a few months back where he tells you how heads is more likely to be the result rather than tails.
You uncover your hand. A smirk lines your lips. "Tails." You tell him, and now he stands, looking at the coin sitting on the back of your hand in sheer perplexity.
He is forced to set aside his gentleman-like qualities and settles in the bed. You take note he sleeps on the right side and you usually sleep on the left. It sets your heart off for no reason at all. You force your rapid beats that are coming out of your chest all the way down to your stomach. It was what you had to do if you were going to keep to yourself until you get home.
Like Rossi says on the jet, you hope the case is quick.
—
Four nights later, and the case is still going.
Spencer has spent the days at his wits ends trying to figure out anything about what this unsub's next moves are, and also trying to avoid the cheers from the team kept making about how you had to share a room with him.
He got it, honestly. He saw the look on your face when you realised that you had to share a room with him. You were surprisingly good at sharing with him, though, like you didn't seem to mind. Of course, Spencer didn't mind either. He could not think of anything better than to have to share a room with you.
He tried his hardest over those four nights to be the best roommate he could be; all those knacks the team mentioned, he kept off from doing around you. Spencer didn't want you to think he were a bad person to share a room with by any means, and he would like to be your person of choice should the room sharing happen in the near future.
The days were long, and the nights were too quick. Time seemed to be taunting Spencer and telling him he shouldn't spend all this extra gifted time with you, but he didn't care. He cherished the moments where you brought food for him to eat and snacking because you insist that Spencer doesn't eat well enough on cases, or just asked about what he's enjoying doing right now outside of work. It made him feel special.
It became apparent to Spencer on the second night that things for your sleeping arrangements were less than ideal. You barely slept. Through the night all he could hear was you tossing and turning in the dark to try and find that one comfortable spot that you never found.
By the fourth night Spencer had had enough. His filter was long gone by now. He felt himself physically ache at your distress, and it wasn't doing anything for his sleep either.
You turn once more, and Spencer's eyes are wide open, though you can't see them, his eyes glancing at the clock beside him informing him it had already been two hours since you both muttered fatigued goodnights to one another.
"You might as well sleep here, you're not even starting to fall asleep." Spencer says into the dark abyss of the empty room. Your movements immediately still. He lets go of a quiet laugh, so in love with you but he could never admit such a thing out loud.
Silence takes over once more, and Spencer smiles to himself. He knows you're pretending to sleep. "Come on, Y/N," He says once more, voice at his normal level, which sounds like a shout in the dead of night. "It's comfier here."
"But—" You begin, throat slightly croaky with it not being used in hours.
Spencer is having none of it. He has no energy to be bashful or self conscious or embarrassed around you like he usually is. "You nearly fell asleep today walking through the unsub's house. What if we catch him tomorrow and you fall asleep mid-raid?"
That's what persuades you to stand, shuffling your feet around to the left hand side of the bed, standing nervously at the edge. Spencer's grinning like an idiot, you're twisting your hands into knots.
He pats the empty side. You reluctantly lift the duvet and slot your legs in the gap. Your legs are cold, and Spencer can feel them even though they're not touching him. He can't help but breathe a little heavier and swallow a little harder. You seem to be doing the same.
Your head shifts on the pillow. You're looking at Spencer, and he could feel it pierce his soul. "Thank you." You whisper. It was no louder than the howling wind raging outside with no mercy, and if you weren't mere centimetres from his own lips, he wouldn't have heard.
When the shine of the sun peeks through the unbelievably thin curtains the next morning and Spencer's phone rings, his hand reaches to grab it, but it can only reach so far because the rest of his body is weighed down suddenly. He looks down, and suddenly his filter is fitted back into his brain and he is freaking out.
He answers his phone anyway, staring at the way your head is slotted into the crook of his neck and one of your arms are lazily thrown over his stomach. "H-Hey Hotch...Yeah, we'll be down in thirty. I'll wake Y/N up." He mutters quietly, hanging up quickly, going back to look at you.
His heart swells. He wants to wake up like this every single morning from now on. He wishes he was exaggerating. There was one thing imagining you waking up next to him, but the real thing? It was almost overwhelming for Spencer's brain to comprehend. He can't stop breathing like a maniac who'd just run a marathon.
"Quit looking at me like that."
The vibrations in Spencer's collarbone made him stiff right up, but he still can't bear to tear his eyes away from you. He swallows thickly, dragging his teeth along his lips. "Like what?" He whispers, a blush redder than the lipstick you wore yesterday.
You sigh. Your eyes are still closed, and Spencer knows he has to tell you to get a move on because Hotch said there's a lead, but he cannot physically move. His body won't allow it. He doesn't mind that.
You reply bluntly, "Like you're in love with me or something. I know Hotch called but. Just stay with me. Five more minutes."
What if he was in love with you?
He complies anyway, and fits his arm around your body curled against his flat one, head tilting to the right so it landed on top of yours silently for those five more minutes that were possibly the most peaceful he had ever found himself in.
—
That day the unsub was caught, and it was almost like it had to take you and Spencer to sleep in the same bed for this case to finally get a move on. Hotch was going to send everyone on the jet as soon as, but most of the team by that point were walking zombies, so instead opted to leave the airport at dawn.
There was one more night in the hotel left with you and Spencer.
You didn't realise you had slept on top of Spencer all night, but it was warm, and you were rudely awoken by the pierced ringing of Spencer’s phone. Moving seemed like a very last resort at the time, and all the times you imagined cuddling Spencer in the brink of the morning, it was so much better than whatever you curated in your head. His pyjamas were soft and the cotton soaked into your skin like liquid silk, and his heartbeat was steady in your ears and it relaxed you even more. It didn't seem possible.
Spencer was in the shower when you got back from the bar in the late evening, he declined the invitation to go, no matter how much you nagged him to go with you. He felt impossibly closer to you since waking up with him, and your mind was littered with the images of the morning everytime someone even as much mentions Spencer's name.
There are a pair of fresh socks lying on top of Spencer’s go-bag. One is of ice creams, like your pyjamas, and the other are little triangles of cartoon-style cheese. You're not even thinking, just the almost instinctive feeling to be even closer to Spencer taking over any human sense that existed in you.
You put the socks on your feet, wiggling your feet at the bagginess of them, the heel of the socks up to your ankle, but they're as soft as Spencer's pyjamas, and you're settled on top of the bed's blanket, starting to write your case report.
Spencer leaves the bathroom, his long hair super curly and being towel dried, you have never seen him so casual. He's wearing dinosaur pyjama bottoms and a CalTech oversized hoodie that you come to think must have been a dress for him when he was barely a teenager in university. The sight makes you choke, but you manage to hold some dignity and resist the urge to widen your eyes.
He chuckles lightly. Your stomach drops down a cliff. "Oh, you've started stealing my socks now?" Spencer snickers, and your neck is on fire.
You rub your Spencer sock-clad feet against one another instinctively. "What? They're comfy."
The bed dips as he sits up next to you, his feet fully stretched going over the edge of the bed. It makes you both giggle. He looks at you, gaze a little hazed from the mist coming from his shower, eyes heavy. You resist even more to lean over and kiss his lips and die of lack of air because you're certain you wouldn't let go.
Spencer squints his eyes at you playfully. "Fine. You can wear them, only because it's you." The words roll off his tounge as naturally as breathing comes to his lungs. He widens his eyes when he recalls what he just says, but you silence him by resting your head on his shoulders. He does indeed stutter himself into a shocked mute.
"Can I ask you something?"
Spencer is once again stuttering and blushing like crazy, his neck feeling almost too hot to rest your head on. "S-Sure, Y/N."
You're going to go on a tangent, you feel it bubbling it at your lips. Being so close to Spencer and him letting you is doing things to your brain, and it's currently undergoing a severe reboot. "Why don't you read when you go to bed? O-Or have a nightlight on, or have like two minute showers. Why don't you properly sleep at night?"
Your thoughts have malfunctioned Spencer too, it seems, because when you look up at him he's starting at the blank beige wallpaper that's coming undone in small strips ahead of you. He's drumming his fingers rhythmically against his thigh, a sign of life, but Spencer's silence worries you. It actually fills you with almost fatal dread.
Spencer looks down at you, mostly with his eyes, but his chin rests just before your forehead would meet with it. He sighs, chewing the inside of his cheek. Say something before I burst. "I wanted you to...to like me. Not be bothered by anything I do. I want to share with you in the future. So I took...what they said...a-and just made note to not do it with you. Your opinion means too much to me."
Your eyes immediately soften. Your stomach is no longer in the pits of your bowels. Your hand finds itself on Spencer's chest, and his eyes focus on that instead. They go back to your eyes quickly, he doesn't know what to focus on.
You take your hand off Spencer's chest, kissing your fingers tenderly and placing it on his cheeks, so gently it could have been missed. He smiles at you, glorious and as bright as the sunshine that's no longer visible outside. Your thumb skates along his cheekbones as you say gentle as a dove, "I don't care about that Spencer. Frankly you could leave your dirty underwear scattered around the room and I wouldn't complain." He turns his nose up at that with a disgusted scrunch, and you laugh with shut eyes.
"Listen to me," You warn, playfully prodding his cheek with your finger. "I want you to read and do whatever you want. I like you, I have way before the conversation on the jet, I will long after we get back on the jet home tomorrow morning." Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it's loud enough for Spencer.
You only just realise how close you are to Spencer’s lips, and there's an indistinguishable lump stuck in your throat. At the same moment Spencer sees this too, and smiles nervously.
"Can...Can I kiss you?" He asks meekly, sheepish and totally unsure if he's judged the moment completely incorrectly.
You nod though, and it sends sparks of electricity to Spencer’s eyes, lit up, and he gently pushes his head forward that half an inch to allow your lips to mould together and suddenly everything about Spencer is so comforting you could melt. That now includes his beautiful lips.
Both you and Spencer have identical blushes when you pull away for breath, your ankle joining with his own pair of odd socks that make you smile gleefully when you glance down at them.
You nudge him with your elbow to his ribcage, "Read to me." You request, and once more his eyes become a scene of joy, jumping down from the bed and rummaging in his go-bag, holding up the cover, a book you don't even recognise, but you're sure that you'll enjoy it because it's Spencer who's going to be reading it.
"Glad you ended up sharing a room?" Spencer asks when he settles back into bed, opening his arm for you to fit underneath like the way you found yourself waking up last night.
Once again you nod, a feeling of comfort settling in your chest greater to the feeling of when you first came in alone in this wonderfully run down hotel room. "Oh, more than glad." You affirm.
summary: The team goes camping on a long weekend. Turns out, it’s really easy to tell someone how you feel when you’re under a starry night sky.
pairing: spencer reid/reader
category: fluff, start to finish
warnings/includes: mention of food, a mild burn
work count: 4.1k
a/n: this is my fav thing i’ve written in a HOT SECOND. enjoy! pls reblog if you feel inclined, it helps me out a ton!
check it out on ao3
—
You’ve never found chicken pox to be more of a miracle.
In truth, you are a little saddened that Jack’s Boy Scout troop all got sick and their camping trip had to be postponed. This does not change the fact that you’re elated at the opportunity to nab Hotch’s campsite reservation. The team jumped at the chance for a vacation, the promised long weekend only truly promised in places without cell service.
You pick Spencer up early, the first of many people you’ve offered to drive out to the mountains. After tossing a very heavy-sounding duffel bag into your trunk, he clambers into the passenger seat. He strikes you as a little nervous—he won’t quite look at you as you wind your way out of D.C and towards the countryside.
“I’ve never been camping before, actually.” He says it quietly, mid-conversation about Boy Scouts and the safety of camping with children. There’s a 5-mile radius around Quantico where work is the only thing you can really think about. As you turn onto the highway, hands flexing against the wheel, you’re glad to be free of the office.
“Really? Never?”
It makes sense, the longer his sentence sits on your tongue. Vegas isn’t the most hospitable environment to camp in. You make a mental note to thank your parents for raising you on the East Coast, where the forests are frequent and the soil is actually fertile.
“Yeah. I’m not sure, I’m, uh, really suited for it.” You look at him now, the slight sadness in his eyes, and there are a thousand things you’d like to say. Instead, you reach across the center console, squeezing his hand in yours. Before he can say anything, you’ve returned your hand to the wheel, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Summary: In which Spencer doesn’t really know why he kissed Lila Archer—especially when the person he really wants to be kissing is you. Too bad you won’t even look at him now.
Pairings: Spencer Reid x gn!Reader
Prompts: “Please stay.” // “I can’t stand not talking to you. // “I think in every reality, I still find you.””
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings & Content: my usual dash of self-doubt, a tiny smidge of angst, and a swear or two, but the rest is just… marshmallow fluff
A/N: this was originally supposed to be a blurb from my prompts requests but it got away from me… what can ya do?
Spencer may be a literal genius, but every once in a while he does something completely and utterly ridiculous.
Today is one of those days.
He knows that he’s made a terrible mistake the moment he sees the look on your face. The two of you lock eyes for just a second, and Spencer opens his mouth to say something—anything—but you don’t give him the chance. You turn and head right back into the house, slamming the door shut behind you.
Spencer barely registers when Elle shoves the destroyed film strip into his hand.
“I fell in,” he mutters lamely. He knows she doesn’t buy it for an instant.
She arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, and I’m sure there were plenty of photos of it.”
He ignores her, looking past her and through the windows of the living room. There’s a flurry of movement inside, but he can’t quite make out what’s happening.
“Reid,” Elle sighs. “Forget it. Y/N probably already left with Morgan, and we need to focus on catching this unsub. You’re going to have to deal with this mess later.”
She’s right. He knows it, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. He shifts awkwardly in his waterlogged shoes, and the sudden realization that he both looks and feels like a drowned rat hits him all at once.
Elle smirks, though not unkindly, and pats him on the shoulder. “Go dry yourself off. And try not to kiss any more girls you don’t actually like while you’re at it.”
Elle knows. Spencer doesn’t know how, but she always does.
Summary: When a couples’ therapist is suspected of murdering his own patients, Y/N and Spencer must go undercover as a feuding married couple to draw him out.
Chapter Summary: Jealous Spencer makes an appearance at the fundraiser.
A/N: Thank you for all of the lovely feedback, you're angels. I really hope you enjoy this one, I have a sneaking suspicion that you might. (i also edited this 3 beers deep so im sorry. but i will come back to it later) Love you all ❤️
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Category: Fake Dating, Friends to Lovers, (Eventual) Smut, Fluff, Angst
Warnings: NSFW language, sexual themes, language, mentions of stalking & infidelity, alcohol consumption, kissing, heavy petting, jealousy, marking, bruising etc.
Word Count: 4.7k
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Something about the way she hangs out of his arm gives him a sense of giddy pride. No one here knew they were a sham, instead people would see them together, their arms intertwined, their left hands adorned with matching gold bands, and they’d have no choice but to presume she was his. But that didn’t do a lot to calm his nerves, if anything it exacerbated them. Getting such an inadequate tease of the real thing over and over was beginning to take its toll.
Being married to Y/N was a feeling he was getting used to. He’d often cycle through all of the things he’d do if this was real. How he’d be as a husband, as her husband. How often would he buy her flowers, or cook her dinner? What would they do on their anniversaries? Would they have new rituals and routines if they lived under the same roof? What would their shared home look like if they actually got to choose it?
There was almost no sense in trying to answer those questions, they only served to break his heart as he let time get away from him, fantasizing about some would be reality. So instead he tries to focus on the task at hand.
“This place is a little embarrassing, no?” she leans in close to whisper, and he has to stifle a chuckle.
“What makes you say that?” but he knows why, this place is hardly her scene, despite how well she plays the part of fitting in. The ballroom they’re lead to is ornate and cavernous, high-ceilings with gold trims, and there’s an extravagant chandelier hanging from the center of it.
“It’s just very ostentatious? Why bother with all the fuss?” she says, waving her hand around gently, gesturing to the entire room.
“Some people like the extravagance” he shrugs.
“Well I’d take our sofa and some take-out over this any day” she says with a roll of her eyes, but he’s too hung up on her phrasing to even respond. She said ‘our sofa’ so offhanded and flippant he hardly noticed it at first, and maybe she hadn’t realized herself, but it does something to his heartbeat.
Before they set about trying to find Dr. Harris they decide to grab a drink. Spencer hopes it’ll soothe his nerves, but at the very least it’ll help him blend in. Once they’ve been served it doesn’t take very long to find their unsub though. Sitting poised at the other end of the bar, nursing his own drink, is Dr Harris. He’s entertaining a few guests when Y/N spots him, her hand reaching out to pinch Spencer’s arm before he can walk away.
“Ouch!” he yelps a little, drawing more attention to the two of them than was probably necessary.
“Sit down” she says with a light laugh, and he just looks at her confused before settling in to the bar stool next to her. With her back turned to Dr. Harris she throws her eyes to the side, signaling to Spencer where he should be looking until he catches on. Giving her an ever so slight nod.
“God, he is not subtle” Spencer says under his breath, and she giggles.
“Watching us already?” she asks, unwilling to turn around and see for herself. She didn’t want to risk engaging with him, not tonight at least.
“Watching you” he says it with a sort of exasperated laugh, “Like every other man here”
She wasn’t an idiot, of course she knew he liked the way she looked in this dress. But something about the statement makes her break out in a smile, her eyes narrowing as they take in his awkward expression, and his quickly reddening cheeks.
“Maybe you should get out of here then, give one of them the chance to talk to me?” she says it with a wink, and reaches her hand out to pat his thigh in a last-ditch attempt at a reassuring gesture.
“I guess I’ll go take a call outside then?” he asks as he stands up from his stool, she takes a second to mouth the words ‘hurry back’ up to him which gives him some relief, so he leans in and places the most featherlight kiss against her cheek.
Spencer's barely out of sight before another man takes his place. The tall broad shouldered blond eyeing her up as he walks straight towards her.
“Is this seat taken?” he asks, nestling himself into it before he even has the decency to wait for a response. She remembers that this isn’t real, she’s not supposed to find this man charming or handsome, she just has to pretend like she does.
“This dress looks absolutely stunning on you,” he starts, “but something tells me it would look even better on my floor”
She has to sit with it for a moment. That was his opener? That’s what she had to feign an interest in? More than anything in that moment she wants to laugh at him, at his pathetic attempt at flattery. Spencer would never be so crass, or if he ever did it would only be with a great deal of nervousness, or bravery.
“Let me know if you need any help getting out of it later”
She hears the phrase echoing around her head. It was probably a joke, or a taunt, and if it wasn’t, it was the most brazen thing Spencer had ever said to her. In a way she supposed it was a bit of a cheesy line too, but whispered against her ear with those strong hands on her waist, it felt awfully serious.
But this buffoon in front of her was neither nervous nor brave, he was just ignorant and entitled. But she couldn’t turn him away, not yet anyway. So she giggles in response.
“Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get to find out” she taunts, so he leans in closer.
“What about that guy with you? Is he your date?” he says it with an inquisitive eyebrow and a mocking tone. And the very insinuation that Spencer was anything other than a perfect date made her strangely tense. She had to work against her muscles to stop her fists from balling up as she responded.
“Does it matter?” she teases, throwing him a suggestive smirk before reaching her hand out to ghost over the top of his thigh. All she can think of is how much more difficult this is than usual. Yes she was a little out of practice, but this all used to come so easy. Instead, every single part of this interaction required her entire self control.
As he laughs at her remark he leans in even closer, reaching a hand out to brush an errant tendril of hair off of her face. As his thumb grazes her cheekbone, she can only think about the way Spencer's hand would feel in the exact same place, his light touch before he’d grab her and pull her in close. She lets herself drown in the thought for a moment too long. Her eyes locking with Spencer's as he walked back towards her.
So she was quick to pull this stranger's hand off of her, nestling back into her own personal space before uttering a quick and resolute, “You should leave now” to the man in front of her. Which he brushes off with a proud scoff, as if this hasn’t damaged his ego in any way, but the expression on his face tells a different story.
There was no way of pretending Spencer hadn’t just seen what he had seen. But there was no contingency plan for this turn of events. Dr. Harris was only supposed to see the flirting behind Spencer’s back, not his reaction to the whole affair.
When he reaches his stool next to hers he doesn’t sit down. And for some strange reason he doesn’t look like the same Spencer that had left only a few minutes earlier, the one who’d left a soft kiss on her cheek as a parting gift. Instead he barely makes eye contact, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her out of her chair. She barely has enough time to grab her bag before he’s tugging her out of the main ballroom with some strange sense of urgency.
“What’s going on?” she rushes out as quiet as she can, it didn’t seem like Dr. Harris had moved from his seat, they were hardly in danger.
“Not here” is all he says in return as he makes quick work of navigating his way towards a desolate hallway. Which somehow still wasn’t private enough for him to answer her question.
He waits until he finds a supply closet, just big enough for the both of them to fit inside. It’s a little cramped but he pushes her right up against the door the second it’s closed and she knocks against it with a soft ‘thud’.
Both of their chests are heaving from the adrenaline, or the anticipation maybe? A strange cocktail of anxiety and excitement filling the tiny, dimly-lit room.
“Spencer, what’s going on?” she asks again when he doesn’t immediately volunteer an answer.
“Okay” he breathes, resting a hand on either side of her head, caging her in against the door. As the deja-vú hits him like a truck, he has to physically stop himself from leaning in too close in case he couldn’t stop himself from kissing those crimson lips.
“We’re going to pretend to have sex” he echos her words back to her, and he says it the same way. Like it’s not even a question, just like she’d done to him. And funnily enough, her reaction is the exact same as his was. Her eyebrows shooting up, her eyes bulging a little at the proposition.
“What? Here? Why?!” she rushes through each question in a flustered whisper.
“Because,” he explains, strangely calm, “I want him to think that I’m possessive, and jealous, and maybe even a little vengeful” he leans in a little closer as he speaks, and she has to force herself not to notice.
“And how is this going to accomplish that?” she asks, more as a taunt than anything else because, realistically, she didn’t need an explanation at all as to why Spencer wanted to put his hands on her.
“I think we can do a decent job of making it look… rough” he whispers the last word right against her ear and she can’t stop the little half-moan, half-gasp that escapes her. She also hopes that Spencer doesn’t pick up on the way her thighs come together on instinct as his lips graze the sensitive area right below her ear. His touch is paradoxically soft in comparison to his last sentence.
“We don’t have to do this.” he tells her firmly, “We can stop anytime you want?” but she doesn’t even want to think about stopping. If she could stay in this closet with him forever she would.
“No!” she shakes her head with a little more force than necessary, “It’s a good idea, it—it’s a great idea” she tells him, her hands quickly finding their way to his soft brown curls, gripping them tight enough that he let out a stifled moan against the side of her neck.
“Uhh— good.” he groans, “I’m gonna make it look like you got ruined in here, do you understand me?”
She can’t even respond to that properly, her head still reeling from the very thought of Spencer talking dirty. So instead she just manages to force out a little whimper in tandem with a nod, but this domineering version of Spencer wouldn’t let that slide.
“I said” he repeats, grabbing a rough handful of her hair, tilting her head back to look up at him with just enough force that she had to remember how to breathe, “do you understand me?”
“Mmhmm, yes!” she moans out this time and he suddenly looks satisfied.
But she almost regrets it as his hand loosens its grip on her hair, instead falling further down her body. Skimming along her curves over the smooth satin fabric until he finds what he’s looking for. His delicate fingers slipping beneath the slit in the skirt until they were wrapped firmly around the bare skin of her exposed thigh. They take a moment to caress the smooth skin, savoring the way he can feel the goosebumps he leaves in his wake, until he remembers he’s not supposed to be gentle, not right now.
So he changes tactics, grabbing the underside of her thigh roughly, digging blunt nails in hard enough to leave marks as he uses the grip to hike her leg up over his hip. Slotting himself into the welcoming space between her legs, pressing himself close enough that his body was almost entirely flush against hers. As her leg wrapped around his hips, pulling him in closer, he became painfully aware of the way the skirt of her dress fell open, just enough that he knew the only thing really separating him from her from his touch was the teasingly light fabric of her panties.
He satiates his desires by leaning into the crook of her neck. Inhaling the familiar and intoxicating scent before placing a slew of delicate kisses along the skin. Until he’s ready to sink his teeth in ever so slightly, just enough to leave a slowly fading mark where everyone would be able to see.
When she lets out a soft sigh at the sensation he can’t help but do it again. The perfect noises she makes feel like they're tailor made for him as they fill the tiny space. And he can’t really stop himself from pressing his body closer to hers, loosing his remaining restraint by the second.
“Oh god” she mumbles out as he grinds his thigh against her. She’s got no idea if it was intentional or not but it’s hard not to savor the friction. When his lips travel further and further down she can’t help but think about where they’ll stop. Sucking and biting marks all along her neck, stopping to nip at her collarbones, making their way down to the tops of her breasts as they peeked out over the neckline of her dress.
His lips start out tentative and soft at first. He’s unsure maybe, if this is a step too far, but he doesn’t want to stop. So once he hears the shuddering breath she takes in he feels his nerves ease ever so slightly, because she was nervous too. So he throws all caution to the wind and places a sloppy, open mouthed kiss against the soft skin of her cleavage, and he’s rewarded with the most perfect whimper.
“Uh— fuck” she breathes as his mouth starts to work a little harder, sucking at the delicate skin, toying with it between his teeth until it was raw and bruised, and matched the marks that trailed down the length of her neck.
And for a moment she feels like she should be holding back, she’s not supposed to be enjoying this quite so overtly. She’s about to reel herself in but then she feels it. As Spencer makes his way back up her body she feels the prominent bulge in his slacks. He’s rock hard and from this angle he’s pressing right against the inside of her thigh. So tantalizingly close to where she wanted him.
And she wants that, she wants him closer more than anything. So she pulls him in by the lapels on his jacket until her hands find their way up to his cheeks, holding a hand on either side of his face to look into his half-lidded, lust-filled eyes.
“Can I try something?” she asks, her voice somehow hoarse from the strange exertion, so it comes out a low whisper, barely audible over the sound of his deep rattling breaths. But he nods, eager and obliging.
So she pulls him in tighter, using her leg to pull him right in against her, his eyes closing softly for a moment because of the way she was pressing up against him, and he lets out the filthiest moan she’s ever heard from the man. It’s not what she was aiming for, but fuck, did it sound like heaven.
Using her grip on his face she pulls him down to her gently until their lips meet. Pressing them tight together in an attempt to coat them with her lipstick. She doesn’t even open her mouth, and there’s something strangely innocent about it, given the moment. But when she pulls back and Spencer’s lips are coated with the soft red of her lipstick she can do nothing but smile up at him. As much as he’d marked her in the last few minutes, this just felt like staking her claim.
“There.” she says with a low, satisfied giggle, “It would look weird if you came out of here with none of my lipstick on you”
She waits for his response but he looks like he’s at a loss for words. So she figures he could use a little more. Tucking herself into the side of his neck, she begins to coat it with slow languid kisses. Leaving a trail of red stains in her wake, even going so far as to place one on the collar of his crisp white shirt. That would come out later, probably.
“Fuck” he groans, and she can feel the way his hips are beginning to rock against hers. The nails against her thigh somehow digging in even harsher than before. And the way he brushes against her, and the friction that it builds, makes it strangely difficult to concentrate on kissing him anymore. For now she can only think about the feeling between her legs, and the sensation of Spencer’s warm breath fanning against her neck with each rough exhale.
They move together for a few moments, his body pressing hers more insistently against the door with each rock of his hips. Until one particularly harsh thrust when she moans out a loud and drawn out, “Uh— Spencer” and he stops momentarily.
His face rising up out of it’s crevice so that his eyes can find hers in the dark, and the look in them feels like it mirrors her own. It’s filled with lust, and need, and something more urgent than either of those, but she hesitated to call it love.
But she didn't have much time to dwell on it before he started to move in closer, slowly narrowing the gap between them. His breathing is still ragged and his eyes are looking at her lips now as he closes in. She braces herself for impact, but it’s not quite what she’s expecting as a loud knock rattles against the door, and it feels like it’s inside her skull.
“You’ve got five seconds to get the hell out of there or you will be removed from this event!” a booming voice shouts through the wooden door.
And it startles the both of them. She detangles her hands from his hair, and his reluctantly let go of her. And all of a sudden the air that hangs between them has taken on a completely different tone. One of strangeness and uncertainty.
“Yeah—uh,” she mumbles to both Spencer and the person on the other side of the door “Sorry.”
As they walk past the security guard and head back towards the ballroom Spencer places a hand on her shoulder, stopping her briefly in the quiet hallway. When she turns to face him his expression is soft, and sweet, and the Spencer that she knows so well has returned.
“Wait, you look…” he stifles a smile trying to find the words.
“Like I got ‘ruined’ in a supply closet?” she taunts, and his face begins to flush.
“Something like that” he nods, reaching out a hand to smooth down the tangles in her hair to make her look a little more presentable.
“C’mere” she smiles, doing the same for him in an effort to tame the hair she’d messed up so ruthlessly, but when she tries to rub at the lipstick stains on his neck he jerks back quickly.
“Leave them!” he rushes out, “please?” she doesn’t even bother hiding her smug grin in response.
“Alright, it looks good on you anyway” she assures him, and he breaks out in a smile that matches her own.
— — —
When they rejoin the rest of the attendees in the ballroom Dr. Harris is one of the first people Spencer spots. Lingering at the same area by the bar, no doubt to keep an eye on the entrance.
He notices the way the unsub’s eyes never really seem to give him much notice. Instead they seem to devour Y/N. Taking her in with each invasive glance, no doubt resting on the expanse of bare marked skin all along her chest and neck. The marks left by a possessive and jealous husband, marking his territory. For a moment Spencer wishes that that statement wasn’t quite so true.
The way that guy's hand had brushed against her cheek earlier had set him off more than it had any right to. She wasn’t his, in any sense of the word. But he couldn’t hold back anymore, and if all of this was coming to a close anyway, he may as well satiate some greedy desire.
He still feels guilty about it when they get home that evening though. As Y/N takes off her coat and scarf, he can’t focus on anything else but the bruised and wrecked skin of her neck. The skin that was usually silken and perfect, that he’d ruined by his own admission.
“God” he breathes out as he takes it in in the soft light of ‘their’ bedroom.
“What?” she turns to look at him confused, and he wasn’t really aware he’d even spoken out loud until then.
“Sorry” he mumbles out, “I didn’t realize how bad it was” he reaches out a hand to ghost over the sensitive skin, but she shakes her head softly.
“It’s nothing” she brushes it off, “and it worked, did you see the look on his face?” she smiles softly up at him, but he’s still wearing the same worried expression.
“It’s not nothing” he says with a nervous breath, “Let me— I don't know— I’ll get some ice or something”
He fumbles for some sort of remedy, returning with some ice from the freezer wrapped in a tea towel that would hopefully at least convey his apologies. When he returns to their bedroom though she’s sitting on the edge of the bed with a bottle of make-up remover and a stack of cotton pads, waiting for him.
“What’cha got there?” she smiles up at him.
“Uh- um— ice? For the uh…” he gestures to her neck with the bundle in his hand as he takes a seat next to her on the edge of the bed, “What about you?”
“Just something to get that lipstick off your neck” she explains, wetting one of the rounds of cotton. As she brings it up to the stains on his neck he knows his heart is beating too fast, and maybe she can tell as her fingers brush against his pulse. Maybe she could feel the way his heart beat for her against the pads of her fingers.
“Y’know…” he starts with a deep breath in, “I actually—” he tries again, his hand coming up to take her wrist gently, holding it still before she could wipe any more of the evidence away. “I like them, leave them.”
She looks at him then, straight into his eyes. And in spite of his entire career being built around it, he can’t read her at all.
“I like them too…” she almost whispers, her hand coming up to her own neck gently feeling for the marks he had left, “the bruises.”
She must see it painted all over his face that he’s speechless, in utter awe of the declaration, and of what it might mean. So she tries to add some levity.
“Didn’t think you had it in you…” she says with a soft chuckle, and that snaps him out of it.
“Am I still just the guy who likes to ‘make love’ on ‘high thread count sheets’ then?” he tries to return the joke, but she’s not laughing, she’s just shaking her head instead, soft but insistent.
“No, Spencer…” she gulps down the lump in her throat, “You’re— god, I don't even know…”
And something about it shocks him to his core, because he thinks he might know what she’s trying to say, but he can barely believe it. The way her breathing is shallow and her hands rest nervously in her lap as she tries to find the words.
“I actually think— I don’t— I can’t…” she mumbles, the words trapped inside of her, and she almost looks overwhelmed, a feeling Spencer can relate to a little too well.
“Tell me.” he says, stern now, and his wavering breath is the only thing to betray his seemingly cool exterior.
“What?” she gasps, shocked at the demand, or his eerie sense of calm.
“Just— please” he shakes his head, “Tell me, because if you’re going to say what I think you’re going to say, I just can’t go another second without hearing it.” he pleads, and she can’t deny a request like that, so she braces herself, closing her eyes tight as she readies the words.
“I like you Spencer, a lot, so much.” she says after a deep breath, “So much that I don’t even think I can just be your friend anymore— what am I doing?— I love you, Spencer.” she only wavers on the last few words, unwilling to open her eyes afterwards for fear of what she might find looking back at her.
“Thank God” he breathes out in a sigh of relief, and her eyes open then. Very quickly realizing that there was no reason to be so afraid in the first place.
Still sitting opposite her on the edge of the mattress Spencer’s hands reach out to hold either side of her face gently, his thumbs lightly brushing against her cheekbones as he looks straight into her eyes.
“I love you too. If that wasn’t obvious.” he says it with a lightest smile and it causes one to bloom on her cheeks too.
And then for the very first time, Spencer is the one diving in first. Pressing his lips so softly to hers, the both of them still ever so slightly satined as they work against each other. As her mouth opens for him his hands move to lace into her hair, pulling it gently, just enough to tilt her up further, but she still lets out the softest moan from the shock of it. He feels the vibrations against his tongue and that only makes him want to tighten his grip. So he does, and he’s met with her hands reaching out to him, holding onto his waist and pulling him closer in spite of the odd angle and the things in their way.
They only manage to stop when she hears the rattle of ice falling onto the floor, scattering about on the wooden floor.
“I’ve wanted to do that forever” she gasps, trying desperately to catch her breath.
“We’ve done that before?” he chuckles, furrowing his brow as she shakes her head at him.
“No we haven’t.” she grins, “Not like that.”
— — —
Let me know what you thought about this chapter here <3
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