In which reader has been haunted all her life by the ghost of unrequited love, always reminding her of everything she could never have. That is — until she met Spencer.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader
Genre: angst x fluff x smut (18+)
Content warnings: spoilers for s8e12, very angsty but no worries there's a happy ending
Word count: 5,4k
A/n: for anyone who can relate to not having their love reciprocated, I'm hoping you'll find your spencer reid soon
It’s stupid, really, to love someone so wholeheartedly. It’s even more stupid to expect them to love you back.
Never in your life had anyone reciprocated your love — hell, no one had even accepted it. Unrequited love was a burden that has clung to you all your life, a thread of rejection woven through the fabric of your earliest memories.
You remember the moment clearly, when as a little girl you found your mother hunched over the dining room table, furiously wiping away tears she did not want you to see. You watched from afar, making sure she left the room when you tiptoed to the table, finding a piece of paper ripped out of a notebook. Your small finger traced the letters of the handwritten note. The words were jagged, some unfamiliar, making you skip them. You experienced a rush of pride and excitement when you could make out some words: leaving, sorry, woman, goodbye. It was the first time you’d read something that wasn’t written in the large colorful books Miss Abigail assigned in school. It wasn’t until a few days later, when your mother explained that your father wasn’t coming back, that the weight of the note fully sank in. From that moment on it felt like your fate was sealed.
In middle school you had some friends, but when the moment came to pairing up for school trips, it was you being the one left out. You always had someone you would call your best friend, but you’d never be theirs. Someone always seemed to be better, more lovable, more wanted.
In highschool, you got your first boyfriend, Timmy. You weren’t sure you loved him, but you wanted to be seen, to be noticed. So when he asked you out, you said yes. For a while, you reveled in the feeling of someone showing you off. That was until the day you overheard his friends, talking by the lockers.
“I swear, his tactic is working!” one of them said. “Jessica dumped James the second she saw Timmy walking hand in hand with Y/N through the hallways.”
“Oh shit, man,” another friend laughed. “If I knew that, I also would’ve used a fake girlfriend to get to Hannah.”
A fake girlfriend. The words echoed in your mind as you started to make sense of the situation. It suddenly clicked how Timmy only showed you off in public, only kissed you in the busy hallways, where people could see. It was never about you.
You decided to give love one more chance in university, but when a night that was supposed to be the first of many, ended in a one-night-stand and a “I’m sorry, but I don’t really see you that way”, you made yourself a vow: no more chasing love. You stopped giving your love to people who would never truly appreciate it, and instead, you gave that love to yourself. The library became your refuge, spending endless hours studying to give yourself the future you deserve. You passed your exams with flying colors and never forgot to reward yourself after every small victory. And when you landed a position at the BAU, making it as an FBI agent, you knew you made the right decision to never fall in love again. That was until you stepped into the office, and you saw him. Spencer Reid.
“And this is doctor Spencer Reid,” your boss Hotchner introduced him with a nod.
He was tall, awkward in the way only someone who was brilliant could be, but he smiled warmly as he waved a hand at you. “Hi.”
You smiled back and stuck out your hand instinctively. “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”
He blinked at the gesture, looking uncomfortable. He swallowed, his voice uncertain. “It’s nothing personal, I just don’t like shaking hands.”
You tilted your head and laughed. “That’s totally fair. Do you know how many germs your hands carry?”
His eyes widened in surprise, as if no one had ever said that before. “I-I actually do! The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s actually safer to-”
“Kiss?” you interrupted, a grin spreading across your face.
The words came out simultaneously, and you both laughed. A sound that felt... easy. Like something you hadn’t experienced before.
Someone you would later come to know as Morgan, who had been leaning against a desk, looked up at the two of you, eyebrows raised in disbelief as he shook his head.
It was then you realized — there was something special about Spencer Reid. It was something unspoken, something more than just the intellectual connection. Before you even knew it, you had fallen in love.
You never confessed your feelings to Spencer, but you felt like there was an unspoken understanding between you. Every morning, you arrived at work with an oversweetened cup of coffee for him, and in return, he made sure you never went without your favorite sandwich from the shop around the corner, especially on days when you were too absorbed in a case to remember to eat. On your days off, you took each other on trips. Sometimes to a museum where you would explain the art in great detail, and he would pretend not to know any of the facts, just to hear you talk. Other times, you’d go to a movie screening, where he would simultaneously whisper translations of the foreign dialogue to you, making you giggle when his breath tickled your ear. You convinced yourself that this was what love was: understanding someone to the point of not needing words.
But how foolish were you to have forgotten about the shadow that lingered behind you, always ready to remind you of everything you could never have.
“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N! Have you heard the news?” Penelope squealed in delight as she rushed toward you, the rhythmic click of her heels making a melody against the office floor.
You glanced up from your desk, raising an eyebrow. “Based on the excitement, I’m going to assume you're not talking about the wildfires in California.”
“Oh no, no,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m talking about big news. The juicy kind.”
You chuckled, leaning back in your chair as you sipped your tea. “Alright Pen, bring it on.”
Penelope’s grin widened. “Spencer has a girlfriend!” She yelped, hands flying to her mouth as she realized just how loud she’s gotten.
You blink as you try to process her words. “He finally adopted a cat?”
Penelope shook her head vigorously. “Y/N, I mean a real girlfriend. An actual human being girlfriend!”
You scrunch your forehead, the words not quite connecting. “I don’t think I understand.”
Penelope leans in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Derek told me that Blake told him that Spencer’s been making calls... to a woman.” She glances around quickly, making sure no one can overhear.
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your smile drops at the familiarity of the situation. Spencer had been leaving the bullpen often recently. You’d always assumed it was because he was still struggling with his headaches and didn’t want the team to get worried. Not in a million years would you have expected Spencer was seeing someone.
Penelope continues speaking, but her words fade into the background as your thoughts spiral. “Excuse me,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you push yourself out of your chair and rush to the bathroom.
Once inside, you lock the door behind you. Your chest tightens, the familiar weight of a panic attack settling in as if it had never left. Your breath comes short and shallow, the room spinning slightly as you grip the sink. The air feels thick, suffocating even. For the first time in years you find yourself back in this situation, fighting to breathe.
After a while, the whispers and giggles about Reid's love affair had died down. Still, it took Spencer some time to feel comfortable enough to share more about her — Maeve Donovan, the brilliant, lovely woman who had stolen his heart. As his best friend, you were the one he turned to, the one who had to endure all the little details of their intimate phone calls.
And you tried, you really did. You tried to be the supportive friend, even when each word about Maeve felt like a thorn in your chest. You’d joke, asking him if he was sure Maeve wasn’t some sixty-year-old man catfishing him, or teasing him about how it didn’t count as a relationship if you’d never actually met the person. The snark was the only way you could cope with the sinking feeling every time he smiled when her name came up, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of her. But Spencer was oblivious to your remarks. No matter how hard you tried to plant seeds of doubt in his mind, it never seemed to have any effect.
It was a sad thing to admit, but on nights when anxiety kept you awake, you couldn’t help but wish for their relationship to end. You prayed for a chance to tell Spencer how you really felt. You convinced yourself there would be time, that everything was going well, and eventually you’d find the courage to speak up. But on nights like these, you deeply regret never having thought of the possibility of another girl realizing how incredible Spencer is, and making a move before you ever could.
Those feelings of jealousy turned into big regret, when Spencer came bursting into the bullpen, panic and fear evident in his eyes. He was frantic, certain that Maeve had been kidnapped. His suspicions turned out to be tragically true, and your world crumbled the moment the gunshot rang out, taking Maeve from him. Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces as Spencer broke down in front of you, and you couldn’t even reach out to comfort him, believing it was you who caused this. That the ghost you knew as unrequited love, finally gave you what you wished for.
You wanted to scream, to turn back time, to take back every selfish thought. But now wasn’t the time for regret. When Spencer locked himself in his apartment, unwilling to speak to anyone, you made it your mission to be there for him. You were the only person he let in, and when the door creaked open, you were struck by the sight of him — pale, hollow-eyed, and worn down in a way you’d never seen before. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace. The two of you cried together, until his neighbor shouted at you both for the noise. From that moment on, you’d take Spencer to your apartment. Making sure he had a warm, homemade meal waiting for him as you’d binge Doctor Who episodes, trying to get him to smile even just a little. Slowly, he began to open up, the weight of his grief pouring out in quiet conversations. And you made sure you listened to every word as you held him close, offering whatever comfort you could.
As the weeks passed by, the weight of the situation was becoming overwhelming. It wasn’t easy hearing the love of your life talk about another woman. The way he spoke about her, like she meant more to him after just a couple of months than you ever did in all the years you stood by his side. It was almost too much to bear. When you overheard a moment between Reid and JJ, where Spencer mentioned how he would’ve had kids if it weren’t for Maeve dying, you realized you couldn’t keep going like this. You needed time to process what you were feeling, to grieve what you’d lost — even if it wasn’t really yours to begin with. So, you called in sick for the next case. Hoping you could clear your mind, while the team was out of state.
So here you were, experiencing heartbreak like all those times before — rotting on the couch with a pint of ice cream as you watched reruns of Love Island.
You jumped when a loud banging echoed from the front door. Your surprise faded as quickly as it came, knowing there was only one person that would bother you this late an hour.
“Y/N, I know you’re in there. Open up!” Spencer’s voice rang out, firm and insistent.
With a sigh, you shuffled to the front door, trying to steady yourself before facing him. The moment you opened the door, you were met with Spencer, brows furrowed in concern and annoyance.
“Where were you? You didn’t show up on the jet, and you’re never late,” he said, brushing past you to step inside.
“Sure, let yourself in,” you muttered under your breath, closing the door behind him. “I wasn’t feeling well, had a headache,” you replied, keeping your tone casual.
Spencer paused, taking a quick glance around the room. His eyes landed on the TV blaring in the background and the half-empty pint of ice cream on the coffee table. He turned back to you, eyebrows raised.
“Your TV is on full blast, and you’re eating ice cream,” he said, his tone skeptical, clearly aware of your lie.
You sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, I just needed a break.”
“A break?” He scoffed. “You never take breaks. We practically had to force you to stay home when you got shot. You’re always there, no matter what. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”
As much as you appreciated hearing that he needed you, this wasn’t the time to feel flattered by it. “Spencer, I know,” you started, your voice taut with frustration. “I just had my own things to worry about.”
“What things?” He stepped closer, his tone rising. “What could be more important than your work? Then being there for a friend when he needs you?” It was obvious how upset he was.
“I was worried about you,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I called you every day, and you didn’t pick up.”
His words hit harder than you expected, and a bitter laugh escaped before you could stop it. “What about me, Spencer?” you snapped. “Have you ever thought about me needing a break? Or am I not important enough for that?”
“Oh, please.” His voice dripped with disbelief. “You’ve always been there for me, but suddenly you can’t pick up your phone because you need time for yourself?”
“God, you’re such an ass,” you shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
“Me? I’m the ass?” His voice pitched higher, his eyes widening in disbelief.
“Yes, Spencer! I told you I wasn’t feeling good. I needed time off.”
“You could’ve just picked up the damn phone!” he yelled, his voice cracking with emotion. “Do you even realize how worried I was?”
“It sounds like you were more worried about yourself than me,” you countered, your tone icy.
His face twisted in frustration, but then his shoulders sagged. “Is that what you think?” He asked quietly, his voice trembling. “I was worried about you. Can you even imagine what it was like for me to call and get no answer?”
You swallowed. For a split second your mind drifted to Maeve, thinking that he might’ve felt the same fear as when she didn’t pick up the phone. You quickly put the thought away, he didn’t care about you like that.
“If you’d just asked Hotch, you would’ve gotten an answer right away,” you said defensively, crossing your arms to shield yourself.
“Oh, so Hotch knew?” His tone turned bitter, his eyes narrowing.
“Of course, Spencer. He’s my boss!”
“And I am your friend! I always tell you everything before I let anyone else know.”
You rolled your eyes, frustration taking over. “Well, that’s on you. Just because you feel the need to bother everyone with your problems doesn’t mean I have to do the same.”
The instant regret was written all over your face as the words left your mouth. Spencer’s expression shifted, looking completely stunned.
“Spencer, I didn’t mean-”
But the damage was done. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening as he looked away.
“Please, Spence, I swear I didn’t mean it like that,” you said softly, your voice trembling as you reached out to him, but he instinctively stepped back.
“Spencer, I’m so sorry,” you pleaded, your voice cracking. “I don’t know why I said that.”
He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Oh, but you said it. And you meant it.” His voice was quieter now, but somehow it felt heavier. The anger in his eyes had faded, replaced with something worse: disappointment.
“Spencer,” you whispered, the sound barely audible, terrified to say anything else that could upset him.
He looked down, his shoulders sagging as he exhaled shakily. When he finally looked back at you, his expression had softened slightly, though the hurt still lingered in his eyes. “Do you really think I’m someone who bothers people with my problems?” he asked, his voice raw with vulnerability.
“No!” you said quickly, the desperation clear in your tone. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t think that at all. I’m so glad you opened up to me and trusted me with your feelings.”
“And yet…” he trailed off, rubbing his temples in frustration. “You ignored my calls. You avoided me. And then you said that. Jesus.” His hands fell to his sides as he let out a tired sigh, his exhaustion etched into every feature.
“Spencer,” you started, but he interrupted. “I don’t understand,” he said, looking at you like he was searching for answers he couldn’t find. “If you’re glad I talk to you about my feelings, why did you shut me out?”
You swallowed hard, the weight of his question bearing down on you. “It’s just… a lot to handle, Spence,” you admitted. “I’m not a therapist. I don’t know how to deal with these feelings. I want to be there for you, I really do, but it takes a toll on me too.”
“It takes a toll on you too?” His voice rose, and you cursed yourself for triggering another outburst without meaning to. “I’m the one with ‘the problem’. I’m the one with the dead girlfriend! All you had to do was be there for me when I needed you.”
You exhaled heavily. “I’m getting a drink,” you muttered as you made your way over to the kitchen. Spencer followed behind you, not willing to give up yet.
“Of course,” Spencer said, with a sarcastic edge. “Grab a drink. That’ll fix everything.”
Ignoring him, you grabbed a glass and poured a generous amount of whiskey. You raised it to your lips, savoring the burn as you swallowed.
He crossed his arms, watching you with a raised eyebrow. “You know what? Go ahead. Keep ignoring the problem. That’s what you’re good at, right? Avoiding things.” He said, his tone filled with hurt.
Your hand trembled slightly as you set the glass down. “I know you don’t believe me,” you said, voice shaking, “but I am trying.”
“Trying?” Spencer’s laugh was humorless. “You didn’t even call me. You just disappeared. I needed you, and you left. What kind of ‘trying’ is that?”
“God, Spencer, I didn’t want to avoid you. I wanted to pick up the phone, to explain everything, but I couldn’t. I knew I’d just hurt you more, and I couldn’t-” Your voice broke against your will. “I couldn’t risk ruining all the progress you’ve made.”
Spencer’s expression softened, his furrowed brow easing as confusion replaced his anger. “You’re not protecting me by keeping whatever it is that’s bothering you to yourself. You’re hurting me even more by shutting me out. I want to be able to help you when you’re struggling, Y/N.”
Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill. You bit your lip, trying to hold your words in.
“Please,” he whispered, his hand gently taking yours. “Let me in. Let me help you like you’ve helped me.”
You stared at him, your chest aching. How could you possibly tell him? How could you burden him with this truth when he was already carrying so much? But the way he looked at you, so desperate — it broke something inside you.
The words escaped before you could stop them. “I’m in love with you.”
Spencer froze, his heart skipping a beat as he loosened his grip on your hand, making you regret speaking up.
“You.. you’re in love with me?” He asked, his voice a mix of surprise and disbelief.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, guilt twisting in your chest.
He stared at you in silence, his gaze unreadable as he processed your words. After a long pause, he spoke up. “You’re sorry?”
Tears spilled down your cheeks as you nodded. “I’m an awful friend,” you whispered, your voice breaking.
“No, no, no,” Spencer said quickly, stepping closer. His heart ached as he reached up to gently cup your face, brushing away your tears with his thumbs, hating to see you cry. “You are not an awful friend — you’re wonderful.”
“Don’t say that,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not wonderful, Spencer. I listened to you grieve every night, and still I felt jealous because she got your love, even if it was just for a second.”
His eyes widened. “Jealous?” he asked softly. “You were jealous of Maeve?”
You cringed at his words, shame tightening your chest. “I know, it’s disgusting. I get it if you never want to see me again.”
“Is that what you think? That I’d stop wanting to see you?” He shook his head. “How can you think I’d judge you for having feelings for me?”
“Because I blame myself, Spencer!” you cried. “I should’ve been happy for you, but I wasn’t. And now she’s gone, and I feel like it’s my fault.”
He closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of that. You didn’t make any of those things happen,” he reassured. “They were just… they were just an unfortunate turn of events. You didn’t have any control over it.” He held you tightly against him, trying to comfort you as his heart ached.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” you sniffled, but you weren’t able to pull yourself away, needing his touch.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your face up to meet his eyes. “I should touch you,” he said firmly. “I should hold you, and comfort you, and be there for you. Because that’s what friends do. That’s what I want to do.”
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice quivering with emotion. “I did feel jealous, but please, don’t think for a second that I didn’t care. I’d do anything to bring her back.”
“I know you care,” he murmured into your hair. “I know you do. That’s why I could never think of you as a bad friend.”
You cried against his chest, the weight of everything finally crashing down. His arms tightened around you, his hold warm and grounding. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got you.”
You shook your head. “You shouldn’t be the one comforting me.”
“Yes, I should,” he said. His arms didn’t loosen, holding you as if he feared you’d vanish if he let go. “Your feelings matter. Your happiness matters. I don’t want you putting yourself aside for my sake.”
Something in his tone gave you the courage to lift your gaze. His eyes met yours, searching, filled with an emotion you hadn’t dared to hope for. Slowly, he reached out, his thumb brushing against your tear-streaked cheek with a gentleness that made your chest ache.
“I mean it,” he said, his voice firm. “You matter to me, more than you probably realize.”
You leaned into his touch instinctively, the warmth of his hand calming you. “You can still talk to me,” you said quietly. “I just… I needed a break. But we can still have our talks.”
He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know. And I’ll take you up on that.”
His hand remained on your face as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “I care about you. I always have, and I always will.”
The proximity was impossible to ignore as his thumb traced slow, soft circles on your cheek, his eyes locked on yours. “I’m sorry,” he began, his voice quiet and pained, “for not realizing sooner how you felt about me.”
“It’s fine, Spence,” you replied, lifting your shoulders. “I should’ve been more obvious.”
He let out a quiet sigh, his heart heavy with remorse. “You were, I should’ve known. Penelope and JJ never treated me the way you did.” He admitted. “I wasted so much time. I could have had you, but I was too blind to see it.”
“You… you would want to be with me?” you asked, surprise noticeable in your voice.
His eyes softened, his expression filled with disbelief. “Of course I would. How could I not? You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re caring, you’re beautiful...” His voice dropped to a tender hum. “You’re everything.”
You looked away, as doubt crept in. “You’re just confused,” you said. “I gave you a lot to process all at once.”
“I’m not confused,” he said steadily, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not about this. I know how I feel. I know that it’s you that I want.”
Your heart ached at how convincing he sounded, but you couldn’t stop your uncertainty. “You’re not over her, Spence.”
The mention of Maeve made him swallow, his gaze flicked downward for a moment. “I know,” he said quietly, as he looked up at you. “I know I’m not completely over her. I may never be. But that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
Tears welled in your eyes. “It doesn’t feel fair,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve wanted you for so long. It doesn’t feel fair that I get to have you now.”
Spencer gently pulled you closer, the simple comfort of having you in his arms overwhelming. “You deserve everything, Y/N. You’ve been there for me through everything. You’re one of the most selfless, most loyal, most caring people I know.”
The warmth in his gaze, the tenderness in his touch, made it impossible to look away.
“I need you,” he said, his voice a raw confession. “Not talking to you these past days was torture. I can’t do this without you. I need you in my life, Y/N. Not just as a friend.” He paused, his voice softening. “You deserve to be loved, please let me be the one to do that.”
You felt your breath catch, not finding the words to express how you’re feeling. “Can I kiss you?”
His lips parted in surprise, but his eyes softened, filling with an emotion that made your chest ache. He nodded, “Yes. Please.”
His hands were warm against your cheeks as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was everything — urgent, raw, and filled with years of unspoken longing. A soft, desperate sound escaped your throat, conveying all the need you’d kept bottled up for so long. Spencer seemed to feel it, deepening the kiss as his fingers threaded into your hair, afraid you might slip away.
He effortlessly lifted you onto the kitchen counter, his body fitting perfectly between your legs as you wrapped them tightly around his waist. The closeness wasn’t enough to satisfy your need. Your fingers found his tie, fumbling to loosen it before letting it fall to the floor.
As you moved to the buttons of his shirt, Spencer groaned softly against your lips, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. The moment your hands met his bare skin, his breath hitched, and his grip on your hips tightened. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and every inch of him seemed to respond to your touch.
“God, Y/N…” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and filled with desire. His forehead rested briefly against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath. But his hands never stopped, sliding down your sides and pulling you even closer.
You continued your exploration, your fingertips tracing the planes of his chest and shoulders as if trying to memorize him.
You’d always imagined taking your time when this moment finally came — savoring every touch, every kiss. But now that it was happening, you couldn’t stop the rush coursing through you. The need to feel him everywhere, to prove that this was real.
“Spencer, please,” you whimpered against his mouth, your voice filled with desperation.
“I know, sweet girl,” he murmured, knowing exactly what you needed. His hands slid down to your thighs, gently parting them to make room for himself. The warmth of his touch had you gasping, and you let out a quiet cry of relief as his fingers moved to his belt, the soft clink of the buckle filling the air.
You didn’t want to waste any time, tugging your pants down your legs in a frenzy, eager to meet him halfway. Spencer’s gaze flickered to yours, his eyes dark with need, and in an instant, his mouth was on yours again.
His kiss was hungry, consuming. One hand gripped your waist, holding himself steady, while the other hooked beneath your leg, lifting it effortlessly to pull you closer. The heat between you is overwhelming, every touch igniting yet another spark.
You threw your head back as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your wet folds. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he slowly pushed into you, the stretch intoxicating. Your fingers gripped his back as you sunk your nails into his skin.
The sharp bite of pain drew a low, guttural groan from him, his face buried in the curve of your neck. His breath was hot against you as he murmured your name like a prayer.
“I wish we’d done this sooner,” you gasped, as he began to move, his hips rolling into yours.
His breath hitched at your words, and he pressed a soft kiss to your jawline. “I know, baby,” he mumbled. “We’ll make up for it,”
A soft giggle escaped you, but it was quickly swallowed by a moan as his pace quickened.
“Oh, Spence… I’m already close,” you confessed, never having reached an orgasm this fast.
“Thank God,” he groaned, his voice rough with desperation, as his grip on your hips tightened. He guided you to meet his thrusts, the intensity of his movements growing erratic, overwhelmed by pleasure.
Unable to resist, you cupped his face, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss as you moaned and gasped for breath.
Your walls clenched around him, drawing a string of desperate whimpers from your lips as your head fell back. Spencer took full advantage of your exposed neck, sucking and biting on the skin, claiming you. His thrusts grew deeper, determined to hit the spot that made you cry out in pleasure.
His low, breathy moans filled the air, and you could tell he was close. Your legs began to shake around him, and as if perfectly in sync, your release crashed over you just as he shuddered and spilled into you.
“I love you,” you gasped, the words leaving your lips over and over as your orgasm rushed through you. Tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision. You couldn’t tell if it was the sheer intensity of the feeling or the flood of emotions you’d been bottling up for so long, but what you did know is that you meant every word.
Spencer stayed close, his breaths uneven as he gently rocked into you, drawing out the shared high. Slowly, he pulled back just enough to brush your hair out of your tear-streaked face. His eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he truly saw you — every part of you.
A soft smile tugged at his lips as he pressed his forehead to yours.
