REQUESTβclosed
β³ no guarantee of being written or if written, it will be a long process. [if im not comfortable writing it then it's deleted]
DM/ASKSβopen
β³ come and connect!! i enjoy replying, it might take a while due to my busy schedule, but if i can easily reply, i will [p.s. weekends are my best chatting hours]
Synopsis: a shivery trip to a liquor cellar turned into a steamy secret between friends and a not-so-subtle reveal between a small herd of colleagues.
Word Count: 5k+
WARNING: SMUT. please, please, MDNI !!! penetration (piv). unprotected sex (but fr wrap it up!!!). fingering (a lil bit). obsessed!spencer (bc why not?). ex friends with benefits to lovers. a pinch of angst if you squint. cursing. troublemaker spencer reid and reader. not proofread!!
A/N: heavily influenced by the song Dress by Taylor Swift. I love me a TS song. I'm obsessed, and I saw the opportunity. Also, this is my first Spencer Reid smut fic. Be nice, and tell me what you think!
β The sharp brush of spring and little kisses from the evening air prompt you to savor the shivery feeling on your skin.
β You take a deep breath before sliding your heels off, dangling them in your hand as you trail down the maze of a hallway in Rossiβs lavish home. Your dress is now a product of a shoddy decision.Β
β All you knew was how presentable and wedding-appropriate it was, but you never realized why you would wear such a dress barely sewn for the crisp evening weather in May.
β βHiding from everyone?β
β A smile instantly layers over your painted lips before you can even raise your gaze ahead. Thereβs this tickle of warmth that sparks inside of you the moment you hear his voice. Hands shaking in an intense subconscious buzz of excitement. Thrilling.
β No other than Dr. Spencer Reid is ten feet away from you, standing lazily against the wall. His hair is messy from all the magic tricks he tore out to Jack and Henry and, funnily enough, Penelope, too.
β Bright gleam shines on your face, flashing a saccharine smile you can only muster when the receiver is him. You shake your head.
β "Are you?"
β One hand in his pocket. Spencer shyly nods, βI ran out of magic tricks, and Jack figured out one of my tricks halfway through my little show.β He explains without persuasion, staring into space with playful horrid written all over his face.
β You steal the half-full glass from his other hand, cringing at the taste of sparkling cider. βOne sip wonβt kill you, you knowβ¦β You say, shoving the glass back into his hand.
β Spencer laughs, βYouβd love to see me drunk, donβt you?β He quips, a sheepish smile growing with each syllable.
β βVery much so,β You nod, making a beeline to the kitchen to find some kind of beverage thatβll knock you out βtil the next day.
β He follows you like a tail. Your senses feel his warmth, his breath fanning against your exposed back. The feeling of his tall presence behind leaves your breath hitching between inhales and exhales, and youβd love more than his figure on your trail. You ache for something more than the image of him in your wake. You need him merged with your soul, his body tightly pressed against yours.Β You crave something harsh.
β Itβs wishful thinking.
β βWhat took you so long? Did you not notice I was gone?β He wonders.
β Or is it?
β βItβs cold out here, you know,β Spencer pouts in your peripheral.Β
β You want your lips to wipe them off, then turn them into an O.
β βAww, does pretty boy genius feel lonely?β You tease over your shoulder, tapping his chest with the back of your hand. Your brows jump, twisting on your heels to face him. βIβll be damned,β You exclaim, pushing your palm against his pec with more pressure.
β It's been so long since you touched him with more than an accidental brush of your fingertips. His body stiffens under your light squeeze. And the thirst for more slowly dries the circumference of his throat.
β βReid, whenβd you get this fit? No wonder women are all over you.β Genuine curiosity takes over, looking up at him with fluttering lashes.
β Spencer scoffs, leaning down eye to eye with you, βIβve always been hot.β He retorts with a straight face. The confidence radiates, and it does something in the pit of your stomach.
β A brief silence whooshes between your bodies, and the next thing you know, both of you are laughing βtil your cores cramp.
β You gasp for air, head against his sternum, hand still placed over his pec. βDonβt ever say that in front of Morgan. He might get a stroke.β You begin walking once more, turning your back to him.Β
β βI am! Donβt you agree?β You do. He banters a few feet away, keeping a safe distanceβor so help the impulsive thoughts that are whirling around his mind. A playful grin works his facial muscles out, only hoping that you didnβt notice the way he takes in your scent like a bait set out for him.
β Spencer didnβt even need to run to catch up with you. His strides are five times longer than yours.
β You feel a soft fabric cover your shoulders, accompanied by a heavy arm that burns your skin in pure reflexive need. βI thought you were cold?β You ask, glancing to your left, where Spencer walks beside you.
β Spencer shrugs, βRather feeling cold than you getting a cold tomorrow morning. The chances of me getting sick from being cold tonight versus you sneezing on me like a troll is 15 to 85 percent.β He replies calmly, earning a light smack from your hand.
β You roll your eyes, but your smile never travels far. It only happened once. And you both swore once was enough.
β The two of you became friends during your time in the Academy. Youβll never forget the first time you met him. The urge to shove a sock inside his yapping mouth over the repercussions of shaking someoneβs hand. Most people say the two of you are best friends. Somehow, his intelligence didnβt set you apart. You tolerated his constant rambles, and he tolerated your random bursts of sass.Β
β It's more than that though. The entanglement was more than two friends. More than innocent study sessions. More than a trip to the nearest shooting range.
β As two twenty-one-year-olds who's never felt the most sensual touch before, one minute of forced proximity and all hell broke loose. What seemed so platonic was sexually intimate behind closed doors.
β However, in lieu of staying attached to the hip, the two of you went your separate ways after graduation. You went to pursue each respective interest. You both said no hard feelings. And both believed things would never work anyway, because no one was willing to put in the work.
β The two of you reconnected when you joined the BAU team almost a year ago. Meeting him once again was nerve-wracking. With unresolved fallout and nonexistent communication, it scared you a bit. But you shouldβve known Spencer Reid has always been differentβgood, different. The bond you had didnβt seem too damaged. If anything, it was merely locked in a vault and became stronger than ever before. You managed to be civilβbecome friends.
β And since then, you never ran out of ways to be in each otherβs vicinity. Or he just always succeeded in keeping you interested in his antics. Or youβre just addicted to him more than youβd like to admit.
β But friends don't shake from mere self-control. Friends don't choke on breaths when the other touches them. Friends don'tβ
β βWhat percentage of alcohol will you get from Rossiβs cellar?β He curiously asks, his warmth keeping you from shivering.
β The damned dress.
β And his damned loose tie.
β You chuckle shakily, βYouβd love to see me drunk, donβt you?β You mimic, throwing back the same antic he used not a few minutes ago. He rolls his eyes, and you open the door to the cellar. βI was tasked to choose the best whiskey ever made.βΒ You announce, sinking deeper into confinement.
β βSo you lost a bet.β Spencer laughs, following behind. He shakes his head when you nod yours. βYou donβt even drink whiskey.β He smirks.
β βGo back out there, then,β You shoo him away, waving your hands. βI didnβt ask you to join me on my quest.β You add in a giggle, tying your hair up in a messy ponytail after setting your shoes on the table in the middle of the room.
β You donβt see the way he swallows at the sight of your nape. The same way you hadn't notice his self-restraint for the past year, for the entire evening, dipping his hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. Because if he doesn't, they just might crave the feeling of your skin against the texture of his palm.
β βAnd what if you canβt reach the best whiskey?β
β βIβm a federal agent, too, Reid. Iβm smart enough to figure that out.β
β βDoesnβt change the fact that youβre similar to a hobbit.β
β The brows on your face lift over your forehead. "Excuse me?" Your mouth fall agape in disbelief, scoffing.
β Spencer shrugs, "You're excused."
β Amusement twitch the ends of your lips. "You sure you're not drunk?" Your eyes narrow, scanning him from head to toe.
β "I'm not." He defends. Scarlet skin glows underneath the soft light. Spencer averts his eyes, stealing a mouthful of a sigh from the chilly air. Okay, maybe he stole one glass of scotch from the unit chief, took a sip, and felt his body on fire, so now he's settled down for ciders the entire evening.
β You smirk, "Then, why are you being so clingy?" Arms cross over your chest. You raise a brow in question.
β Spencer rolls his eyes, silently clearing his throat. "Why not? There's no harm in hanging out with you." His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek.
β "There is when said friend is acting like a clingy boyfriend." You say, skimming through the shelves of liquor adorning the walls from ceiling to floor.
β βRight,β Spencer states blandly, finding himself a seat. βIβm just a friend. I canβt act any other way. I canβt even give you any affection, huh?β He deadpans, tracing the wood patterns on the table.
β Your eyebrows crease in the middle of reaching for a bottle. You slowly go up behind him and smack the back of his head without warning.
β βOw!β He hisses. βWhat was that for?β Spencer complains, face scrunching in temporary pain.
β βFor being weirder than usual.β You say, hitting his shoulder. βStop it.β You scold, finger-pointing over his chest.
β Spencer is not one to be petty. Never petty over the boys you mingle with for a short period. Never be petty over your tendencies to somehow land on the worst species of men. Since the two of you reconnected as colleagues, he's minded his business. Why now? And why the hell is your heart pounding obnoxiously?
β He theatrically rolls his eyes, βAm I wrong? Arenβt I just your friend?β There is something in his tone that you can't distinguish. His face is awkward and reserved, as always, but something is different.
β You know. You just love lying to yourself.
β βWhat else are you going to be?!β Even you are surprised at the volume of your voice.
β The creak of the small open window fills the room. None of you dares to say a word. No one dares to breathe within each other's personal bubble.
β You break eye contact first, stepping away, but Spencer has other plans. His hands land on your waist, gripping the flesh to keep you between his legs.
β βThatβs a question Iβve been asking myself,β The luminescence of his eyes turns a shade darker. Chocolate hazel eyes gradients to deep earthy irises. Or it may have been the dim lighting in the room and the glass of wine in your system.
β You swallowβroughly like a ball of sandpaper rows down your throat. Fingers lace above his textured ones, wrapping over the long digits to get their bruises off your skin.
β βItβs a simple question. Thereβs no reason to dread it.β You almost stumble on your words, taking well-needed pauses to huff a small breath. You try to break his grip on you, but they donβt budge one bit.Β
β The more you attempt to remove his hold, the more they tighten against the little fabric over your skin.
β Your brows knit. A sigh of defeat escapes your lips as your gaze travels back to him. βSpencer, stopββ Your spine shivers when he starts to lazily move his thumbs in slow, firm strokes.
β Spencer stands in silence, staring at you like you are a doe he preyed on. His eyes start to make your legs melt, and your heart races wildly.
β Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
β His gaze flickers over your lips, βWhy donβt you answer the question for me? Since youβre so smart, it seems.β A tone of clear mockery spills from his lips. Spencer smirks under his signature smileβsmug and utterly amused by the sound of your small, hitched breaths.
β βCan you stop kidding around?β You prattle. A peel of awkward laughter shoots straight down your bones. It was all you could do to relieve the growing tension between your thighs. Or else youβd jump on him like a desperate psychopath.
β "Who says I'm kidding around?" Spencer narrows his eyes. "I never kid around." He squeezes your sides once more and grins when a soft gasp rattles out of you. He hasn't done that in so long, and the nostalgia and buzz spark something in his chest.
β Thick, airy gulp forces itself down your throat. You know why he does it. The same pattern of movements you knew so well in your younger days. The days you spent with him.
β "We can't." It is almost inaudible, but he catches it. You lightly shake your head, backing away, "I-it's notβ We can't."
β Spencer raises his brows. "What are you so afraid of?" He reads your features for a moment. The gentle touch of his gaze along your searing skin is electrifying.
β You nibble at the corner of your lip, "Let go of me, Reid." And it seems you love lying to him, too. Because you don't want him to let go. Desperate for his touch. The soft trail of his thumb. The primal clutch of his fingers, like they were claws. It was all too intoxicating to ever want him to let go.
β βAnswer the question first.β He flashes the smirk heβs been trying to hide like a villain, exposing his true colors. βI dare you.β Spencer challenges.
β βYou know the answer.β Your chest feels like exploding.
β βSay it out loud, then.β
β βWhy should I?β
β βBecause weβre not leaving this position until you do.β His voice sparks fire in your core. Spencer doesnβt let his eyes stray from your moving lips. If anything, he makes a point that he is, in fact, staring at them like a starving lion, ready to pounce at any given moment.
β Oh.
β Well, isn't he such a sweetheart to feed you just what you crave? You don't know where it comes from, nor do you care, but there's at least four liquid cubic centimeters of boldness that flows through your veins.
β Your laughter echoes in the cellar. βPlease, or what?β You relax in his hold, convinced that he's just the same lanky guy you've always known. βYou going to fuck me like a slut? Not exactly your M.O., pretty boy.β You tease, playfully tapping on his shoulders.
β A low, hoarse chuckle vibrates across his chest. With lust-filled gaze and a thin, mischievous smile, Spencer shifts his eyes to look straight into yours.Β
β βExactly.β
β Your eyes grow the widest they have ever been your entire life. βWhatββ Before you can stop him, his lips are already clashing against yours.
β Spencer holds onto you as if he is falling off a cliff, and you are a branch about to snap any second. He kisses you aggressively, pulling you so tight, like he needs you glued to him.
β You try to push him, but it doesn't take long until you give in. Until you kissed back.
β You kissed him back.
β You fucking kissed Spencer back.
β The hands that recently danced on his shoulders begin to tug on the soft curls over his nape. The weight of his lips is starting to make your legs wobble.
β Every scrape of his teeth against your stinging lips feels new. It isn't what you're familiar with. Your mind recalls his gentle touches and gentle words as if you'd break if he held you too tight. But the one kissing you isn't. The slice of his tongue over your lips is primal. He's not the Spencer you once knew. He's the Spencer you've been craving, so much so that the mere thought of bruises caused by his grip has been contaminating your mind since you started in the BAU.
β His kisses deepened, warmth enveloping the two of you despite the chilly breeze inside the cellar. With breathless and plump lips, a new strike of desire courses throughout your body the longer you kiss.
β Spencer breathes you in like oxygen, starving for more, never satisfied with just one gentle breath. It's new. And you love it.
β Heaving, you and Spencer pull away, lips detaching and reattaching like magnets βtil distance is too far to push back. His lips are a darker shade of pink, swollen, and adorned with smeared lipstick. You donβt doubt the effect of making out with him gives you any more leverage, imagining your lipstick thickly outlines all over the rims of your mouth.
β Judging by how Spencer stares at you like a satisfied drunken man, you presume he's loving every second more than he's prepared to admit. Most will wonder if his eagerness is merely a product of lost inhibitions. But a simple educated guess tells you that none of his actions are driven by alcohol. He's as sober as an ice cold water splashed over one's face.
β Spencer lifts you on the table, standing between your thighs. The fabric of his pants scrapes against your skin, and your aching cunt throbs at the feeling. He cups your face into his large hands, reattaching your lips once more like itβs an unforgivable sin to keep them apart.
β He pulls away after air fails him, resting his forehead over yours. βI want to be the only one who gets to fuck you like a slut, or so God help meββ Spencer closes his eyes agonizingly slow, ββNo man near you will ever see daylight again.β
β Your heart pounds against your chest, and you mentally beg Spencer to do so tooβpound against your hips like youβre banned from ever walking again. The pressure of his voice and hot breath fanning against the land of your skin is ecstatically satisfying.Β
β Spencer's hand drives up the slit of your dress, and at that moment, you know exactly why you chose to wear such an article of unfriendly clothing amidst your intolerance to the cold wind.
β You wanted him to take it off of you.
β You needed Spencer to take the dress off of you and fuck you hard.
β The tickle of his lips trailing from your jaw to the spot underneath your earlobe has your back arching almost a hundred and eighty degrees. Ever the opportunist, Spencer takes it as his chance to pull you closer, squeezing your thigh with his palm.
β You throw your head back, giving him access to more eager-to-be-touched skin. Legs wrap around his middle in utter pleasure, βSpencerβ¦β You whine breathily, eyes fluttering close at the way he holds your flesh with both hunger and caress.
β His mouth falls agape. Your voice. His name. Itβs addicting. His world stops in a millisecond, reveling in the joy of your mouth, uttering his name with the intense pleasure he provides.
β βWeβre barely starting,β Spencer whispers against your clavicle, snaking his hand under your dress to the lining of your underwear. He swipes over your clothed clit.
β You twitch under his touch. A total puppet wrapped around his finger while his literal thumb begins to toy with your clit. The pace makes you painfully and deliciously squirm.
β Spencer loves the image before him, especially the rise of your chest as he plunges a finger, then two, inside your needy cunt. Itβs the first time heβs ever heard your moans so... needy and begging and desperate and sweet and hot and something he knows youβve never reached the volume before with other men, and heβs hookedβaddicted.
β βYou have no idea what your dress did to me the whole night.β He muffles on your neck. Wet kisses echo at the touch of his lips. Spencer buries himself in your scent, one hand unzipping your dress. βNo idea how much I wanted to take it off of you.β He whispers next to your ear.
β A hum spills at the ring of his words. His kisses start to sting, and burning hues form on your skin. Spencer marks you with his tongue and teeth.
β It's euphoric. His hunger. His need. And you want nothing else but to give him whatever he wants, the same way he gives you everything you need.
β The sound of his fly distorting in the air makes your skin tingle, nipples perk, and cunt quiver. You whine when he pulls away, already missing his heat.Β
β Spencerβs eyes soften, βAre you sure you want this to continue? When we were friends with benefits things didn't workββ
β βShut up, take my dress off, and fuck me, Spencer.β You heave, or beg, or whichever fits the way you eagerly undo his tie and unbutton his shirt while kissing the soft spot on his neck, marking him yours.
β The vibration of his chuckles sent delicious throbs down to your cunt, drooling to be filled by him.
β βAren't you needyββ Spencer lifts his arms in defense, ββalright, shutting up now.β
β The cold is nowhere else but the back of your mind. You feel wetness on the peak of his boxers. Spencer's hard erection suffocates him, and you're eager to relieve him in every possible way.
β He immediately sighs when your dress droops down your waist. Spencer takes you in as if you're the most prized art in a museum. He takes every line, scars, birthmarks, or as simple as the crease of your breast into memory.Β
β βSo, so beautifulβ¦β Spencer murmurs in sheer adoration and awe. He looks up as if God has listened to his prayers as if heβs a passionate believer.Β Thankful to have you within his reach.
β Warmth coats you with every sweep of his hand on every curve and slope of your body. Heβs memorizing each soft plush and perfect flaw. The sentiment alone heightens your arousal like youβve been touch-starved for years.
β A yelp comes out of you when he unexpectedly spreads the wetness on your folds, touching where you need him most. βSpencer, pleaseβ¦β Itβs a plea. A begging need.
β He circles on your clit with more pressure than the first. βYou ready for me?β A vigorous nod responds to him while you bite your moans to keep them at bay.
β Spencer pulls you closer by the small of your back. Your ass is almost falling off the edge of the table. The lacey cloth stretched on the side of your entrance. He aligns his slobbering tip with your equally desperate cunt.
β Unsatisfied by your response, Spencer grabs your chin with so much force your bitten lips set free. βI need a verbal answer, sweetheart. I need to hear your voice say the words.β Heβs begging, too, aching to slam just about all of him in one push.
β The anticipation is frustrating. "I waβ" With a mere echo jumping out of your throat, Spencer takes it enough confirmation and thrusts his hips to meet yours.
β Temporary pain and electrifying pleasure cause your body to shake, followed by a pornographic moan that Spencer muffles with his hand over half of your face.
β Your mind spins around in endless bliss as his cock throbs at the pressure of your hold. Spencer doesn't move an inch, waiting for your signal.
β βPleaseβ¦ move. Now.β Your voice is caught in the middle of your throat, dragging into a lovely gasp when he pulls back slowly.
β With the tip of his cock the sole filler inside your cunt, Spencer thrusts back so fast, so good. He keeps a steady pace that leaves both of you a moaning mess.Β
β Spencer pins your hips on the table, making sure he satisfies you with every force. He sucks a breath in, dizzy at the sight of your breast bouncing on his beat.
β Can he surpass the knowledge that other guys have seen you undone like this? Never. Will he clash heaven and hell for the sake of pleasing you? The almighty and the merciless neednβt make yet another bet because they know Spencer will drag anything, anyone, to kneel before you.
β Because Spencer needs you undone like you have never been before. He craves to be the first to fuck you like it's the last thing youβll ever do.
β You're addicting. An influence he freely lets himself get sucked in. Spencer wishes he could brand himself with your name, eager to be yours. He's desperate to be called yours.
β Spencer adorns your skin with red and purple hues, beaming at the sight of his marks with every echo of his lips popping yet another possessive tattoo.
β The pleasure he gives sends you beyond time and space. Euphoric daze fogs up your brain. Vision locked inside your skull, eyes permanently rolled into sensual darkness.
β βSpenceβ¦β
β Fuck. The nickname drips perfectly off your lips. You and only you can make his cock even harder just by saying his name. He doesnβt try to keep his head from spiraling into desires, desperately imagining all the ways he can own you.
β You gasp shakily, feeling the knot in your abdomen begin to tighten. One, twoβfive more strokes and you enter a void filled with sparkling stars and mind-numbing pleasure.
β Spencer doesn't stop, just as you wish, through broken moans and nails digging into the thin layer of his skin. Not a single pace slower or faster. And it is fucking blissful.
β Your moans drool off your lips, clenching around his cock. He rides your high like a limited experience that he will never get to try again. Though, you're sure thereβll be more clandestine rendezvous than you both are willing to admit. You both know this isn't the last youβll ever get a taste of him. And it is not the last time heβll crave you like oxygen.
β A hand reaches out for his nape, carding your nails at the tangles of his hair. You begin to comb between his curly strands, massaging the scalp beneath. Spencer spits out a tasteful curse dedicated to the pleasure the sensation of your touch has given him.
β βI keep up with my pill. Iβm on a good window.β You assure him, breath hitching. βFill me up, Spence.β You implore greedily, wanting nothing but all traces of him engraved inside and outside of you.
β His mouth slacks open, burying his cock in the deepest part of you. βFuck, youβre too good to me,β He hisses in utter bliss. Spencer jolts at the ecstasy that vibrates out of him, emptying himself through the depths of your walls.
β Spencer rests his forehead against yours, whispering praises like you suddenly became his goddess. His senses tingle. And he doesnβt want time to continue.
β Your ragged breaths sync with his and soon turn even. Years of yearning are fulfilled in one evening. The prick of his bites floods your senses.Β
β βWhat was the question again?β You giggle out, still, a bit out of breath, breaking the silence.
β Spencer playfully rolls his eyes, zipping up the back of your dress with a kiss on your shoulder. βI basically asked, βWhat are weβ like a typical chick in a movie.β
β βI canβt believe you just said that.β Your sweet laughter follows while Spencer covers you once more with his jacket despite the clear indication of sweat glistening over your forehead that youβre not nearly as cold anymore. "That many?"
β Pride surges across his chest, beaming. "Like a canvas drenched with paint." He softly bites his lower lip, satisfied by the work he has done.
β You glance down, gasping at the sheath of love bites. "More like a slab of beaten up flesh." Your head lifts up to look at him in disbelief. Spencer painted every inch of your skin, no space left untouched. You don't even recognize your skin anymore.
β "Maybe this will help," He reaches on the back of your head, tugging on the band. Your hair drapes over your neck.
β "No, Reid. It does not help at all." Blinking, you slap his arm lightly, earning a shrug and a peck on your lips. He simply fastens the buttons of his jacket on you, covering everything the fabric can.
β He hunches down to pick up the tie you discarded on the floor. When he stands back up, he says, βWe can keep this between us for now while we figure things out if youβd like. But we have to agree on one thing.β He tucks in a wild strand of hair behind your ear. βIβm yours, and you donβt have a choice. Sounds good?β
β You giddily smile, nodding as you dangle your weak legs over the table. βWhat about me? Canβt I be yours?β You coax, fixing his tie.
β "Do you want to be? Because I'm content with just pleasing you every chance I get. I'm not in a rush."
β "Spencer," You take his face in your hands. "Do you really want to just be friends with benefits?"
β He swipes his tongue over his lower lip. "No..." Spencer squeaks under his breath.
β You nod, humming. "Good, because I don't want you like a best friend either." You flatten the crease on his shoulders.
β "So?" Spencer chases your eyes, hoping he can read your mind.
β "So, you're mine, and I'm yours. Sounds better, don't you think?"
β "Sounds great." He simpers, helping you get back on your feet.
β The two of you come back to the others with the worst whiskey in the cellar. Your hair is neat, and your lipstick is replenished. His tie sits presentably on his chest and hides the smallest purple mark on the base of his neck. Intricate measures for intricate people.
β Derek complains. Penelope agrees. Rossi objects. Hotch sips his drink with no care. Emily laughs hysterically. JJ shrugs.Β
β No one knows. Or no one cares. But the secret remain as is.
β Perks of being seen as the most platonic friends. More so than the great Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia. What they know nothing about wonβt hurt them, right? And itβs not like itβll be any worse if they did.
βYet the absence of suspicion brews boredom and discontent. How come the others are suspicious enough, but not you and him? What's so dull in the air between you and Spencer that no one dares to wonder if romance ever crossed your minds?
β Spencer drags his fingers on your thigh under the table. And no one suspects why you never take off his jacket despite dancing the night away.Β
β And as the night deepens, like any other gathering, the group disperses into different areas and smaller groups.
β βSo?β JJ starts, wiggling her eyebrows.Β
β βWhat?β You chuckle into the wine in your glass.
β JJ rolls her eyes, βDid you give the photographer your number?β
β Oh, yeah. Youβd forgotten about the entire thing, glancing at the photographer who happens to have his lens on you. He smiles shyly, but you swear in your life that your shy boy is a lot more charming.
β βBecause if not, I think Willβs cousin has his eye on you, too,β JJ adds with a mischievous smile. The most supportive friend youβll have. How will she react when she finds out?
β You smile, looking far ahead at the pair of brown eyes.
β Spencer returns the smile, Hotchβs voice muffling in the background.
β βLike I said, itβs quite a little paperwork, but if you want to try things out and date, I have no problem with helping you out,β Hotch advises between sips of warm whiskey, talking about that one agent who approached Spencer at the bullpen thrice. What will he think when he finds out two of his agents are participating in fraternization?
β They have no idea. Not an inkling of doubt whatsoever.
β The naivete. It bores you and Spencer. Itβs prosaic. Itβs unglamorous.
β From one end to another, the same words echo.
β βIβll have another drink.β
β The two of you stand from each end, meeting over the table with vast choices of alcohol. You pick up a glass as Spencer stands next to you.
β βTake it off?β
β βTake it off.β
β And you went separate ways.
β JJβs eyes widen at the small hint of marks on your chest, jacket slightly drooping over your shoulder.
β Hotch doesnβt say a word when he notices the hickey on Spencerβs neck when the younger agent loosens his tie and undoes one buttonβand Hotch quotesβbecause of the heat. His peripheral catches JJ, Emily, and Penelope hovering around you like a group of crows scavenging for some sort of fleshy information he thinks he knows whatβs about.
β βA simple no wouldβve suffice,β Hotch says evenly. βBut youβre still filling out paperwork. Am I clear?β
β Spencer stifles a smug smirk, looking down on his drink. βClear.β
Synopsis: As the BAU's communications liaisonβwith a pretty faceβyou're in charge of peace. But what happens when you're not feeling so peaceful?
Word count: 2.2k
WARNING: fluff. but also fem rage lol. a few curses. not proofread oopsie
A/N: I'm still rusty, so sorry, my lovelies (; _ ;) but I tried my best I promiseeeee. I missed writing so much <3 let me know what you think!
Three years.
Three years of grueling hours. Three years of sweat and hidden tears. Three years of nonstop compensation for multiple skills you aren't born with.
You take pride in your work. You show up. You follow through.
It's no secret. No surprise. You're a beaut, and you don't feel shy. It's normal. So be damned if you curse the parents who gave you such wonderful genetics.Β
But that does not make you just pretty.
If anything, it just makes your learned skills, strong will, and assertiveness much more credible. You're not just beauty, but also brains and brawn.
With that in mind, one shall have the mature intelligence to understand the itch on your palms to smack the shit out of the man right before your eyes.
"We told you that I'll be taking care of the media." You start as you follow behind the local precinct's detective. Might as well call it chasing. He's been walking around like you're a fly he's been trying to ward off.
"Like I said, Missβ" He says that to diminish you. To make you smaller. He ignores the fact. He can't grasp the idea. The truth. That you're not just a pretty face. "βThe press was there. I didn't know they were going to ask questions that can make things worse." Oh, yes, he did. A liar. And a bad one, too.
That is exactly why the plan is solid. To have you right on the podium, fighting the urge to blink from the flashes. The plan is preventative. To keep the UnSub from thinking that they are winning.Β
You manage to keep your eyes from rolling, subtly grinding your teeth. "And we made the plan for that certain reason. I'm used to questions that we have to avoid. I'm more skilled inβ"
"Are you saying I'm incapable? That you're better than me?"
His voice rises. Loud enough to shut the entire precinct up. Loud enough to get your team's attention. To prompt judgment and, worse, to make you seem weak.
"You're twisting my words, Detective. I'm telling you what I'm trained for and why we're making use of that advantage." It's simple. It's clear. A grade school level of intelligence can understand just what you said.
But the issue remains the same.
You can't teach someone to fish if their goal is to hunt.
"Listen, doll face. I'm not going to let my city live in false hope by some chick."
If the silence isn't deafening enough, his words are. They exploded like a bomb made to leave you into fine dust.
Three years.
Three years of constant backlash to the idea that a communications liaison can do more than just pick up the phone and connect two vessels of justice into one.
That's why you chose to stay in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They give you the freedom to do your job. They aren't filled with cheap people who'll mansplain as simple as using a copier.Β
Three years, and you learned a lot. You learned your role and their role. You learned how to read, observe, and listen.
So, you know just how much the team filters you from violence. You know how much the BAU team expects less from you when it comes to battling UnSubs. Or going against prideful local detectives, police officers, and more.Β
You knew, but you didn't mind. Because despite that, you knew they cared for you dearly. Respected the hard work you put in.Β Wanted your job to be as easy as possible.
Today, however, is a different story. You're not about to let the team fight your battle. Not when it's with a guy like him. Not when you know damn well how crucial the case is. Not when you're more than some chick he tries to insist you as.
As usual, Hotch is about to step in when gasps echo throughout the room. He stopped in his tracks, bolting his feet on the tiled floor. Maybe even wide-eyed.
Swift.
One swift pull on the detective's tie and the height difference between the two of you shifts. You glower at him as if itβs a crime to be the type of person that he is. And in the back of your mind, you agree.
He's sitting on a chair now. Your left foot is between his thighs. The point of your heels sits three inches from his crotch like a gun to his sorry proof of manhood.Β
And even with the stretch, you're nowhere looking lewd despite wearing a skirt. Emily thinks you look badass. Her wide grin can testify to that.
"It's Agent." You announce softly. So soft that the back of Derek's neck shivers in fear. "And if it weren't for this chick's team, another dead body wouldβve made your city much, much worse."
Fire spreads inside your body. Rage seeps in. A strong rope that finally snaps.Β
βShould we stop the kid?β Rossi asks lowly without batting an eye. Heβs worried that if he blinks, youβll turn into a criminal he canβt bear to catch.Β
Hotch only shakes his head in response. Nonetheless, he moves one step every five seconds. Steadily approaching a lion to tame her. Itβs not that he thinks you need taming. Itβs the fact that he has no idea how to. Youβve never snapped before. The team is at a loss for words.
The grip you have on the detectiveβs tie can easily choke him then and there. But one thing you're great at is control.
Terrifying control, that is.
"So unless you cooperate, I'm not afraid to pack up and pull us off this messy case." You lightly tug him closer. You watch as a bead of sweat run down the side of his face. "And if you think you can drag our hands into the mud. You'll have your hands dirty all by yourself, because I'm damn great at keeping ours clean. Do I make myself clear, Detective?"
No oneβs ever thought itβs possible to mock a worthy title such as detective, but youβre as shocked as everybody else.
How far can your beauty get you? The answer is nowhere, but he doesnβt need to know that. He's already too busy blinding himself from the fact that you're not just that. What more is tricking him into thinking it can get you farther?
A light hand lands on your shoulder. You turn to find Rossi with an unreadable expression. It's his way to pull you back to reality, to calm you down.
Hotch reaches for your hand on the detective's tie. "I think he understands," He insists. Stern but not harsh. More of a plea if you had to say so yourself.
Then, again, heβs always been confident with his words that most of them turn into law, which the entire team abides by without question.
Your hand lets go of the tie, blinking as if youβd been possessed, overwhelmed with rage. Tension dissipates from your body. The furrowed brows on your forehead finally separate.
"JJ and Morgan are going back to the dump site. Go with them."
An order.
Cool off, then weβll talk later. Thatβs what Hotch meant, and you know it by heart, considering the amount of times you heard him utter the same words to the team.
Itβs first for you, though. So it stings. Embarrassing, for lack of a better word. Part of you knew it was coming. Itβs not you to step over a line you know youβre not allowed to cross. Still, it doesnβt change the suffocating feeling in your chest.Β
You nod and turn around. Your fists clench so tight crescent indentations sting your palms. Even Rossi's gentle tap on your back didn't make you feel better.
You'd done it.
You broke their trust.
Who are you to say those things anyway? You're just a communications liaison. You have no power.
You canβt even bear to look up ahead to where the others stood. You're afraid that the indifferent looks on their faces will be the final blow.
Despite that, another feeling brews. It creeps right from the marrow of your bones.Β
Disappointment.Β
A feeling so familiar you canβt bear to feel it at all. Not when it comes to the team. Not when it comes to the people you find comfort with.
The detective coughs loudly as if you really did choke him to death. "You better control your liaison, Agent Hotchner. Itβs not a good look to have someone rogue in the FBI." He demands. A snide comment about the teamβs power. Heβs been intimidated from the start, and he chose you to relieve himself of any jealousy that runs in his blood.
What a wimp, you thought. And unbeknownst to you, your team did too.
"Sorry," Your ears perk as soon as it comes out of Hotch's mouth. "I don't control the person that keeps my hands clean. If anything, I give them soap."
You're out of the door before you can even hear more, getting into the driver's seat without realizing your tight grasps on the wheel.
"Remind me never to piss you off," Derek immediately implores as he sits on the passenger seat next to you. βIβm glad I donβt wear neckties that often.β
Tears uncontrollably fill your eyes and soon enough trail down your cheeks. The adrenaline finally crashes down, and you're back to the realization of what just transpired.
You feel JJ's arms around you despite being in the backseat, "Thank you for being there for us. I know how hard it is to be in your position."
And the sobs come second. "Oh, my gosh! I almost choked a detective. What am I supposed to do? Iβm just a liaison. Iβm going to jail or something." You cry in almost inaudible tangents, earning a chuckle from the other two, to your dismay. βAnd did Hotch just make a joke about giving me soap? What does that even mean?β You think youβre going insane. Laughing and crying at the same time like a lunatic.Β
βYeah, I think he likes that one lemon scent you brought in the kitchenette,β JJ adds, rubbing your side to calm your senses down. Thereβs a motherly feeling in the way she tries to comfort you, and you wouldnβt want it any other way.
Derek grabs your hand and places a small tissue pouch. βListen here, Agent.β He smirks proudly. βYouβre not just a liaison. Youβre our liaison. The behavioral analysis unitβs communications liaison. Youβve worked more than what your job description says. None of us would be here if you didnβt show up. Do you have any idea how many times the group almost fell apart when JJ left us? Left the role empty? This team needs you.β He ruffles your hair, to which you're quick to swat before grabbing a napkin.
Sobbing in front of the team is a first, too. Albeit just JJ and Derek with you, it feels like all the members somehow know youβre crying like a child, too.Β
A phone ring momentarily distracts the three of you. Emilyβs name flashes on JJβs phone. She waves it with a knowing look before putting the call on speaker.
βYes, Emily?β JJ answers as if to inform Emily that the three of you can hear her.
β[Iβm gonna need pointers how to get a man in line.]β Emily starts, clearly talking to you. Though, you don't think she needs any pointers.
βIs that for self-defense or some freaky stuff?β Derek playfully interjects, grinning at the sight of the screen.
You can hear the way Emily rolls her eyes despite not seeing her at all, β[Wouldnβt you like to know, you dog.]β Laughter erupts inside the van. β[Also, I think Reidβs traumatized for life. Heβs clearing out the table from all his folders, something about our liaison asking him to stop hogging the table.]βΒ
The tears stop, then. You shake your head while you wipe under your eyes. βI canβt believe I did something stupid. Iβll have to write a report about this.β You groan, leaning against the headrest.
"If you ask me, I have no idea what you're talking about.β Derek shrugs nonchalantly.Β Β
JJ nods, βYou're going to sound crazy if you add that to your report because none of us wants our hands dirty." She bites her lower lip to sound more serious, but it doesnβt help her at all.
β[Oh, guys, hereβs Hotch.]β Emily interjects, prompting static from the other end of the line.
Hotch clears his throat, signaling everyone. β[Can you take me off speaker phone for a moment?]β He directs.
JJ passes you her phone, and you step out of the van.
You take a deep breath before attaching the device to your ear, βHotch? Iβm so soββ
β[Iβm going to stop you right there, Agent.]β He cuts you off. β[Donβt ever think that defending yourself is a fault. Thatβs not how I run myβour team.]β
βI know, but I technically assaulted a cop. And technically threatened him.β Thereβs nothing technical with what happened. You did them exactly as is, and not to be braggy, but you did so with poise and assertiveness.
β[Well, thatβs something we can talk about never. I just wanted to give you a formal apology for not stepping in before it even happened. Youβre essential to this team. An insult to you is an insult to all of us.]β
It's as if a heavy weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You can breathe better. And the embarrassment completely melts off your skin. Better yet, the disappointment with your team downright disappeared.Β
You shouldnβt have doubted them.Β
You snap out of your trance when Hotch says your name, βYeah?β
β[Where do you buy those scented soaps?]β
You bit your lower lip in hopes of keeping your tears from drowning your eyes. You really shouldβve known better than to think the team would ever believe you are just a pretty face.
ok so reader is a translator for the bau and theyβre always reading and translating texts or calls or anything like that. and the reader to spencer is basically like penelope to derek. they flirt all the time and all of those lovely things.. and itβs kinda just where theyβre flirting on the phone and morgan teases reid about it and reid gets all flustered
IDK IF IT CAN WORK I JUST LOVE FLUSTERED SPENCER :(
anyway iβll probably be in your inbox a bunch uhhh so call me h or something
-h
Warm Under the Collar - S.R
summary: spencer insists he is not flirting. morgan insists that spencer absolutely is. one of them is lying.
pairings: spencer reid x translator!reader
warnings: heavy flirting, pre-relationship mutual pining, verbal sparring as foreplay, workplace hr violations, use of angel
wc: 0.6k
βAre you thinking about me, Dr. Reid? Because Iβve been thinking about you.β
Spencer exhales, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt as if loosening it might alleviate the sudden stranglehold of your words. He wasnβt sure if it was always this constricting or if it was conspiring against him at the mere sound of your voice.
He rolls his eyes, performative, really, because you canβt see him, and itβs easier to feign exasperation than admit the effect you have on him. His mouth, however, twitches in betrayal, flirting with a smile before he crushes it.Β
The crime board he was supposed to be focusing on, filled with monochrome photos and reports, was now blurring into meaningless scribbles as his thoughts veer off-course, plummeting headfirst into you.
βIβm always thinking about you.β
The words come easily because they require no effort to be true. Always isnβt hyperbole, itβs a mathematical constant, an irrefutable fact.
He was thinking about you before he even called you, felt the shape of you in his mind like an afterimage burned onto his retinas.Β
Thought about what color you were wearing, whether your hair was up or down. He wondered if youβd eaten, if you were drinking enough water, if youβd remembered to bring a jacket to the office because the temperature had dropped unexpectedly.Β
βAlways? Spencer, if you wanted me that bad, all you had to do was say so.β
He isnβt sure why he hesitates β why his brain takes a detour through all the ways he has said so, if not in words, then in the way his thoughts orbit you like a law of nature.Β
βI feel like I did say so. Quite literally. But if youβd like me to be more explicit about it, Iβm happy to oblige.β
Another pause. He wonders if youβre smiling.
βMmm, well, Iβm certainly not going to stop you.β You sigh, a little dramatic. βGo ahead, be explicit.β
Spencer physically winces at how hot his face gets. The very concept of explicit sits indecently in the pit of his stomach.
βTempting.β He exhales, rubs a hand down his face, forcibly redirects. βBut I do actually have a job to do. And, lucky for me, it just so happens to require your specific set of skills.βΒ
He leans against the crime board, half-smirking despite himself, because if nothing else, this is fun β the sharp back-and-forth, the way you press all the right buttons just to see what happens.
βI have a recording that needs translating. Think you can focus for long enough to help me, or do I need to, I donβt know, compliment your intelligence first to get you in a professional mindset?β
βComplimenting my intelligence to get what you want? Interesting. Manipulative, even.β
He groans, tilting his head toward the ceiling, appealing to some higher power for patience. He pinches the bridge of his nose. βI didnβt say I was going to ββ
βToo late, you put the idea in my head, and now I expect it. Preferably in an eloquent, well-structured speech. Bonus points if you make it poetic.β
βOr,β he counters, βyou could translate the recording first, and Iβllβ¦ circle back to stroking your ego at a later, more convenient time.β
A small pause. The kind that feels intentional, like youβre weighing your options.
βI guess that works,β you say. βSend it over, pretty boy.β
Spencer shakes his head, fingers moving on autopilot as he sends the file, because if he thinks too hard about the way you lilted that last pretty boy, he might die. βAlright, thanks. Be good, angel.β
He hangs up, still grinning like an idiot, still entirely too warm under the collar. He exhales, staring at the phone in his hand like it might have the decency to cool him off, maybe undo the physiological mess youβve left him in.
βIf I have to listen to one more of your phone calls with her, Iβm sending yβall an invoice.β
Spencer freezes when he sees Morgan standing behind him.
He clears his throat, ignoring the flush he knew was climbing up his neck. βFlirting is an unsubstantiated claim.β
Morgan just stares at him. Stares. βYou donβt even believe that.β
Spencer mutters something about professionalism because heβs nothing if not a walking contradiction.
π masterlist
taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs
Synopsis: You always choose Spencer Reid, but is it the right choice?
Word Count: 3500+
WARNING: ANGST. not proofread!!!
A/N: oh, here we go again... the angst plot in my head. this one feels disorganized. like my writing is all over. i've had this one in my drafts for over a month. but today i have the courage to hit post. honestly have mixed feelings about this. it's a new type of reader I'm dabbling in so i really am anxious about this. tell me what you think!
ββYou shouldβve seen him when he first saw me.β
THE PURCHASE.
βVast lavender field soaked in chamomile tea. Dusty sunset through the window pane. Overwhelming aroma of old books. One figure tiptoes to the eighth shelf. Arm stretched to reach an old copy of The Scarlet Letter.
βWhenever Spencer is asked what he felt at that moment, he thinks, βLike I saw an angel freshly descended from heaven.β
ββShitββ Gasps by the said angel.
βA book and body drop on the carpeted floor.
βSpencer runs to your aid. A failed attempt to prevent the seething pain you momentarily felt. First of many.
ββAre you okay?β He asks, kneeling next to you. Spencer reflexively offers his hand.
βYou chuckle, taking his hand, and you feel him tense. βDonβt worry, Iβve had it worse.β You retract your limb to focus the pads of your hands on dusting yourself, squatting down to pick up the book.
βSpencer nods unknowingly despite the confusion and the knots in his eyebrows. He glances at the book, βThatβs a great book.β
βFollowing his gaze, you hoist it up with a grin. βVery,β You emphasize. βIβve read this, like, tenβ thirteen times?β You brag excitedly, sparkling eyes as you meet his big brown sight.
ββEighty-four.β
βYou hum, raising your brows.Β
ββIβve read it eighty-four times.β Spencer shyly smiles, tight lips in a curved line. His hands grip the strap of his leather satchel. Socializing has always been his worst skill, let alone talking to someone as beautiful as you. He canβt help but feel his tongue twist itself into knots he canβt untie.
βYou blinkβslowly and adorably innocent. βWhat?β You chirp. Itβs not every day you meet someone whoβs read a book more times than you. Plus, the boy in front of you is quite the charmer, and youβre distracted by the glow of hazels in his eyes.Β
βSpencer nibbles on his lips, and a faint reddish glow creeps all over the land of his skin. βIβ uh, I have to go. Bye.β He shuffles as if his body canβt figure out where to direct itself and ends up malfunctioning in the process. In the end, he walks past you, rushing to another aisle.
βIt takes you roughly twenty seconds to process that heβs no longer in front of you, twisting your body to his trail. βEighty-four?!β You exclaim, baffled.Β
βYour feet chase after him. βWait!β You try to match his pace, almost jogging to catch up. βHow is that even possible?β You get past him, completely blocking his way. βYou just love this book so much that you read it on a loop, or what?βΒ
ββIt really isnβt that big of a dealβ¦β He mumbles, eyes glitching from one title to another, to towers of spines except you. A book with such a beautiful cover, his hands itch to reach and flip every page into memory.
βYou place your hands on your hips, furrowing your brows. βTell me how you read it eighty-four times. I wonβt leave you alone until you do. And I swear Iβm the most annoying person youβll ever meet, so it might be in your best interest to get rid of me quickly before you go insane.β You shrug like itβs a normal thing to say to a stranger.
βCuriosity brims from your eyes, like a big doe's eyes begging a prey to bite her limb for the sake of adventure. And like a pirate tempted by a siren, Spencer takes the bait.
ββMy mom loves the book, so I read it to her all the time.β He admits, a hand behind his neck. Itβs the start of a long explanation. You donβt dare stop him. Your eyes are fully fixed on his moving lips. He can feel it. And he fights not to meet yours because he just might explode.
βRight then and there, you know the small contact from his hand completely stole your heart. And his words hold you into a willing prisoner because you saw him first from afar. Because you specifically chose the book in your hand despite having two copies of it to avoid first contact. Because you didnβt want him to know how long youβve been staring.Β
βSpencer gets abruptly cut off by a patron bumping into him. You fight every willpower in your chest to keep yourself from making a scene in a mallβs bookstore, shifting your attention to him.
ββWant to talk more about it over coffee?βΒ
ββI was mesmerized. The beauty of his mind was so intricate I couldnβt stop myself from falling even if I tried. I wanted him to own me. And it happened just as I wanted. I just didnβt know itβd be tortureβ¦ Reaching his hand out was his fatal mistake. Taking his hand was my demise.β
THE FIRST CHIP.
βDisheveled. Broken. Sharp.
βBig brown eyes dull in the dead of the night. Spencer stands before you with indifference.
βHeβs changed.
βBut the grip on the neck of his satchel tells you your Spencer is still there behind the walls he put up. The first of many false hopes you convince yourself to believe.
βFive months. Youβve been dating Spencer Reid for only five months. And youβre in love with every fiber of his being. Only five months, and you know youβd love him for the longest run.Β
βWhen people ask why you love him, you say, βBecause I know heβll never hurt me.β
βThen it happens.
βTobias Hankel.Β
βYou loathe the name the moment you hear it. Accidentally burn yourself in the middle of making dinner when you receive a call from Penelope Garcia that Spencerβs been kidnapped by a serial killer.Β
βIn the moment, you panic. Almost causing a huge fire in your apartment building as you babble over the phone, asking Penelope where the hell your boyfriend is being held as if the word kidnapped meant a mark on a map.
βThen, you worry. You beg Penelope to let you in on the progress of his search. You pace in your living room. You read every true crime book on your shelf. You pray on each page that an answer will dawn on you and that youβll have something of use to locate Spencer, as if you knew everything when, in reality, all you knew was that heβs held captive by some sick villain in your story.Β
βYou felt like every sidekick in a heroβs movie. Useless.
βWhen Penelope tells you that heβs on his way home, youβre never too tired or sleep-deprived to drive to his place. You waited hours outside his doorstep. You ignore the shivery breeze all over your skin, as youβd forgotten to change into something more weather-appropriate. You donβt worry about the unattended kitchen, the food you are excited to make.Β
βYou only think about one thing: be the first person Spencer sees when he comes home.Β
βHe arrives in the sixth hour, close to dawn. There's a gauze on his temple. His eyes are glued to the wooden floor.
βItβs a strength not to cry out from the sight. Worry courses throughout your body. But the relief that heβs made it home safe cancels the anxiety out of your head. All you want is to cradle him, wrap him in your arms to remind him of home, of safety, of being loved.
βYou take Spencer into a tight hug. βI was so worried.β You whisper in his chest, breathing in his wake. Heβs safe. Everything should be okay. βIβm glad youβre safe. I care about you so much.β
βOnly for him to say, βYou should go home. Itβs late.β
ββIβm not gonna leave you by yourself.β You shake your head, pulling away to stare at his empty face. Your palm cups his cheek, and itβs cold. He doesnβt lean against it. He simply winces like your touch is dangerous.
ββIβm too tired to entertain a guest.β
βYou.
βA guest.
βThereβs a small sting inside your chest that you ignore donβt notice. Your heart feels similar to a teacup with a chip on its rims. Delicately painful to the touch.Β
βYou swallow the thick air in the middle of your throat, nodding as you bite the tears from the back of your eyes. βAlright, my loveβ¦β You softly enunciate, not wanting to sob at the sight of Spencer avoiding your image.
βThe spark in him that you love so much is nowhere to be found. Only hatred and something you canβt figure out swim behind his irises. He doesnβt even reach for your hand. Doesnβt hum in delight like he always does when your skin caresses him.
βA prominent chip marks your being. As if you had been dropped from two floors down.Β
βYou shove the thought away.Β
βYou tell yourself that Spencer needs his space. Tell yourself that he needs time to process, to heal. You tell yourself itβs okay because Spencerβs had a long week. You tell yourself itβs not about you.
βYou leave a kiss on his cheek, βRest well. Call me if you need anything.β You walk down the stairs with a weight you donβt discern.Β
βSpencer doesnβt say he will.
βAnd he didnβt.
ββIt takes a while before I realize the chip he caused. And even then, I said, what is love if I never get hurt? What is love if thereβs no struggle? Besides, there are moments when the chip didnβt hurt. Minimum effort filled the aching void. Simplest gestures blinded me. Sweetest words impaired my hearing. I wasnβt hypnotized or caught in a spell. Itβs plain and simple. He had a hold on me. I chose not to break free.β
THE VOICES IN HIS HEAD.
ββOh, here we go again.β
βYou feel yourself physically shrink.
βSpencer rolls his eyes, pushing one hand into the depths of his right eye socket. Heavy sighs drool off his lips. The pounding in his head makes his vision blurry. And youβre convinced some type of voice tells him youβre no one important in his life.Β
βYou had asked him if heβd like to take a break from his files. After heβd said no, you carefully made a point that he hadnβt eaten anything the whole day. Then, youβre back to the now, where Spencer snaps at the mere mention of taking his fingers off the thin edges of the case.Β
βA year into loving him. A year into being his solaceβhis words that now seem to be a lieβand you feel your entire body tense with every twitch and narrow of his eyes.Β
ββCanβt you just leave me alone?βΒ
βYour chest tightens. A tug hitches your breath. A strong pressure sits over your lungs, deflating every air out without any chance of inflating back.Β
βSince that night, Spencer changed. And you don't blame him. Completely understanding the stake of his trauma. Motivated to make his days better, to make him feel better.Β
βThe first month since that evening, Spencer didnβt text or call. He didnβt answer yours either. He isolated himself, and youβd heard from JJ that they even had a hard time talking to him.Β
βSo, you thought you weren't alone. That you weren't the problem. Because if everybody else can't reach him, then Spencer must want his solitude.
βYou climb on your shelf. You patiently wait for him to want you again. You let it happen. Let him consume you despite the ache that gnaws in the back of your mind.
βAnd when he comes knocking on your door. You swing it so fast, eager to have him back in your arms. You lock the tingly feeling inside a vault. Because Spencer said he loves you that day.
ββIβm trying to do my job. Itβs a difficult job, unlike yours, where you just scribble on paper or tap on your annoying keyboard and be done for the day.βΒ
βIt cracks. Every fiber of your being cracks. The colorful memories are stricken with connected lines, slowly turning into a depressing gray.Β
βYou crack internally. A glass hit with force enough to break but not enough to shatter apart. Your skin holds up every broken part like a puzzle piece.Β
βHeβs just mad. He doesnβt mean it. You chant inside your head. You donβt know who youβre lying to.
βSpencer said he loves your writing. Love every word lined by your weaving hand. Love the stories formed from mundane moments and late nights. Love the emotions that brim within spaces and punctuation marks.Β
βAnd you wonder if you should've kept not believing it. If you should've stayed appreciative but never convinced.
ββThere are peopleβs lives at stake. Iβm saving peopleβs lives, not filling their free time by reading your made-up stories.βΒ
βA target made to be maimed. Spencer aims at the center with precision. And youβre stricken with every shot.
βYour feet step back on their own. A subconscious pull for safety. Heart beats in fear, in ache.Β
ββIβm sorry.β
βIt dies in your throat. Your body shakes in so much pain you don't mind the way your heart and lungs shrink. Afraid that tears may fall, willing them to stay in placeβin the back of your eyes where Spencer won't find them.Β
βHis migraines worsen. You tell yourself.Β
βHeβs still in pain. You remind yourself.
βHis job is more important. You convince yourself.Β
βExcuses after excuses. You make it a habit. Make excuses for him to distract the piercing agony.
ββW-why donβt I give you some space? Refill your cup?β You offer a smile like itβs a job you must carry successfully.
βSpencer gulps, hands in his pockets. βThat would be great. Thanks.β He replies, getting back on his seat as if he hadnβt just cut through you like a sharp ax splitting a small trunk in half.
βYou flinch when he shuts the door as soon as you step out of the room. Each piece vibrates in place, waiting for the last hit.
ββLitany of reasons come after that. I woke up each day with yet another excuse. A shameful attempt to sell what was rotten. Until I took a bite of it myself, and I tasted the sickening truth.β
THE DESTROYED SAND CASTLE.
βIt's deafening.Β
βThe sound of you shattering into a thousand pieces. Sharp edges cut through every fabric of what you thought was true, what you thought was real.Β
ββI love her.β
βBut you're not her.
βYouβre not the great Dr. Maeve Donovan. The woman who kept his migraines at bay, if not anything, cured them. The smart, beautiful, successful woman who rang every local pay phone in his vicinity. The woman that occupied his waking days. Days he went through next to you.
βDr. Maeve Donovan. Spencerβs great love.
βAnd heβs never seen her in person until her last breath. But her voice is enough to steal him away from you. Enough for the color in Spencerβs skin to light back up after years of your failed attempts. Enough for Spencer to fall in love with her. Enough to stay in love with her despite her being gone in the wind. Despite you sleeping next to him every single night.
βShe was enough. The idea of her is enough.
ββI love her.β
βLove. Present tense. Spencer loves her.Β
βYou donβt remember the last time heβd ever said those words to you. Donβt remember the genuine emotions that radiate along those words. Donβt remember the last time youβve ever felt loved by him.
ββHeyβ¦βΒ
βYou walk past Penelope. You don't realize it until she catches your arm, distracted by the fatal explosion inside your chest. You can see the way your world crumbles like a sand castle kicked by the meanest bully.
ββSweetie, whatβs wrong? Did you not find Reid? Is he not in Hotchβs office?β Her eyes soften at the sight of your tears flowing like a steady river. βHeβs safe, I promise. Just a little graze, youβll see.β She tries to console you, rubbing the side of your arm.
βJust a little graze.
βSpencer has been carving little grazes on you for years, and the final blow causes your entire life to shatter in fine dustβclose to nonexistence.Β
ββDo you mind telling Spencer that there was an emergency, so I had to go?β Your voice breaks with each syllable, fighting the sobs from spilling out. Itβs numbingly painful. Every part of you is sore and aching.Β
βPenelope furrows her brows, βSure, but is everything okay? What emergency?β She pries, no bad intentions, simply a sign of her kindness.
βYou take a rough gulp. βIβ¦β You look into her eyes, begging for her not to ask further.Β
βShe nods, giving you a soft squeeze on your arm and a warm smile. That's when you knew that she knew exactly the source of your nonstop tears. Maybe no longer than you did because you can see the anger in her eyes. At least she's on your side. And it's enough for you. βCall me if you need anything, love,β Penelope says, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. βIβm always here for you. Iβm always ready to be on your side.β She adds against your neck.
βAnd you're heading towards the elevator without a second thought.
βYou hear your name as the doors close, lifting your head to find Spencer coming out of the bullpen. Penelope is true to her words, blocking him from reaching where you stand. His voice makes your insides churn. The sound of your name rolling off his tongue is sickening.
βYour body collapses on the floor. The sobs finally echo within the tight space. The tears endlessly flow in raging torrents between floors. You wrap your arms around your torso, holding yourself together.
βBut it's way too late.
βEvery piece of you has already shattered into messy pieces. Spread out in broken parts, unfit even if you tried to glue yourself back together.Β
βSpencer has destroyed the castle you've built. The castle you made just for him.Β
βYou wonder if it's all for show. If Spencer chose to keep you just to avoid his boredom when Maeveβs unreachable. If he only tolerated you to fill her physical absence.
βBut you shouldβve known that it was a matter of time. His kisses were merely ghosts. His touch was stinging cold. His words were hallow.Β
βThe signs were clear in plain sight.
βSpencer stopped loving you a long time ago.
β"It's my fault." You say out loud, as if thinking it isn't painful enough.
βYou made a choice. Each day, you choose to make up new reasons why Spencer is distant. You convince yourself that you aren't hurt by his cold glances. You tell yourself that itβs not torture if you love him.
βThe elevator dings to the last floor.
ββRemnants of myself dried up inside that box.β
βTongue runs over the softness of your lips as the final lines of your book approach with the same heart-wrenching ache. For the audience, at least.
βYou flip the page, lifting your gaze. You scan the mass of teary eyes and silent sobs.
βThere, you find two familiar faces. Penelope sniffs next to Rossi, whoβs smiling proudly. The sweet blonde became your secret ray of sunshine. And the Italian mentored your way to a New York Times bestseller.
β"In that tight space. In the center of those four moving walls. I wished so much that he'd only said when. When everything felt too much. When I was unwanted. When he stopped loving me. I would've understood. Because I always did."
βWhat you donβt expect is the third familiar figure. It stands in the farthest back. A shadow if you donβt know any better. You take a deep breath.
βThe next words are etched in your brain. The first words youβve ever written in the making of the book under your palm. The words that still ring in your ears.
ββI must say, itβs not that I never learned. I learned so much that within the cracks of my broken self, I filled them with empty promises. Promises I never kept. Promises I broke because I believed Iβd be fixed in a couple of days. I believed that the space between pieces of me would mend if I made the choice to stay.β
βHis hair is unkempt. His eyes are as brown as the healthiest earth. His build is leaner. His face is worn out by horrors you don't dare imagine.
βFlashes of his pleas, his tears, his knocks on your door. You remember them like they were just yesterday. The pain that left a prominent indentation on your heart.
βTattoos of pain adorn his face. Has he been there the entire time? Do you really care if he was?
βYou lock eyes with Spencer, pausing for a moment. You let the past seep in. You unlock the vault of your broken pieces. Let them sing in agony. Let him hear the melody of your suffering.
βAnd then it stops. They vanish through the air of peace. The relief of moving on.
βYou smile at him. The one that started everything.
ββItβs important to know that I always had a choice. And with that is the acceptance that each time I chose wrong.β
Synopsis: as they say, in sickness and in health, but Aaron Hotchner seems to take sickness too seriously.
WARNING: a whole lot of nada (i hope). all fluff. overprotective!aaron (duh). not proofread !!!!
Word Count: 912
A/N: THIS IS A REPOST of a req from my sweet, sweet lumi @egdropsoop when i was sick. i had to mourn accidentally deleting the original post. it felt so heart-wrenching. and i couldn't find the draft in my docs for almost a week, so it was another type of panic and heartbreak. this writer is such a dummy sometimes, but i hope rereading the fic in case it pops in your feed isn't so bad
βThis weekβs case, by far, has been the most difficult you have yet to experience.Β
βBesides the buzzing summer heat of Los Angeles and the loud commotion in each corner of the local precinct, not only did you have to bring back sticky sweat and ringing ears, but you also brought back a mind-numbing body temperature of 102.3 degrees.
βWith Emilyβs driving and Spencerβs constant rambling, by the time you guys arrive at the airport, your body is creaking with chills and joint pain.Β
ββHey, hey, whatβs going on?β
βYou feel Hotchβs hands lay atop yours, prompting your brows to clash and your head to turn to your side where he towered over you. βWhat? Iβm trying to make tea.β You say disorientedly, breathing quite ragged.
βItβs his turn to knit his brows. βSounds reasonable, but donβt you think your cup has enough hot water?β You follow where heβs looking at your blushing red hand, steaming with heat. βYouβre going to burn your hand at that rate.β He adds, lifting his gaze back at you.Β
βHe reads you for a moment. Your pinkish cheeks, heavy breathing, and disoriented state told him enough to make a deduction. They tell tales that are similar to those of a small Jack Hotchner after a venture in the rain or dry sweat over a fun visit to the park.Β
ββYou have a fever,β He informs you sternly.
ββNo, I donβt.β Your nose crinkles, shaking his hands off yours and straightening up. The simple movement alone brings your head to spin, pushing you against the counter. You close your eyes, βMβkay, maybe I do.β
βEverything seems fuzzy, but you feel Hotchβs gentle hand over the small of your back, and youβre suddenly being led to one of the two couches in the jet, momentarily seeing a pouting Spencer Reid, woken up from his slumber as he mumbles to another seat.
βHotch wraps his jacket around yours, squatting in front of you. "Honey, why don't you lay down? Get some shuteye." His voice is gentle in your ears. He squeezes your hand in his while the other brushes away loose strands off your burning face.
ββYou okay, mama?β Derek turns from his seat, βWant some cocktail with that fun swirly straw you and Penelope love?β He jokes lightly in hopes that humor will lessen the throbbing in your head.
ββItβs not the time for jokes, Morgan. If youβd like to help, maybe stay quiet in your seat.β
βThe entire jet shuts up.
βEmily and JJβs low whispers halt as they shift their gaze from where Hotch blocks Derekβs view. Spencer tries his best to stifle his laugh, but Rossi only shakes his head.
ββShe has a fever, Aaron. Not cancer. Let the lady sleep in peace.β Rossi interjects in defense of the teamβs eye candy.
βHotch ignores him, rolling his eyes. He maneuvers back to the kitchenette in search of some cloth and a bucket to fill with tepid water.Β
βDerek settles back in his seat with a look of disbelief, βI thought I was dead for a second.β He mutters under his breath. βHeβs gone full papa bear mode on her.β
βThey watch as Hotch pulls heaven and hell in your favor. He makes tea. Even finds a can of soup from somewhere in the cabinets, wondering why none of them has ever seen that before. He goes back and forth, placing a cloth over your forehead.
βHis goal is to get you out of feverish delirium by the time the jet lands back in Quantico. And Hotch is quite the mission-oriented guy.
β"Aaron..." You mumble almost unheard if only everyone isn't eavesdropping.
β"You need something, hon?" He gently blots the cloth over your face. His sleeves are rolled past his elbows, and a rivulet of sweat is over his temple from all the movement he's made in the past ten minutes.
β"Stop fussing and let me sleep, hmm? Go drink some scotch with Dave or something." You shoo him with one hand and steal the cloth from him with the other.
βHotch shakes his head as if your eyes haven't been shut tight for a while now, prying the cloth off your hand. "Come on, now, sweetheart. I can't just leave you alone." He coos, successfully repossessing the damp fabric.
βIt takes a toll on your body when you sit up, yanking the small towel a second time from his grasp, more aggressive this time.
β"Hey, be carefulβ"
βYou raise a hand to shut him up, "Aaron Hotchner. Take a break, or I swear you won't have a bed to sleep in when we get home." You huff, willing your facial muscles to look as intimidating as you possibly can at your state. "And Jack will not side on you. We both know I'm his favorite. So get." You point at Rossi's direction.
βHe sighs in defeat, leaving a kiss on the crown of your head. "Fine. But tell me when you need somethingβ"
β"Start walking, Aaron," You shake your head, giving him a stern look.
βThe unit chief trudges to the seat next to Rossi, where the older agents offer a glass. Before Hotch can even decline, you voice rings in the jet.
β"You better take that glass."
βHe rolls his eyes, but does as you say.
βEveryone fights their will not to burst into laughter, or they just might get pushed off the jet.
in which your daughter goes to the BAU to hand out her extra Valentines
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: fluff
content warnings: horrible tooth rotting fluff, chemist!reader and leah, the spencer reid dilf agenda, valentine's day, reader wears pink (it's FESTIVE)
word count: 1.47k
a/n: happy valentine's day my loves!!!!
You had just finished helping your daughter put her visitor badge over her head before she proudly approached the two agents manning the security desk.
She brandished two Valentineβs Day cards for them, grinning while they looked down at her in surprise. You watched them tentatively take the cardstock from your three-year-old while she teetered back and forth in her pink Mary Janes. They thanked her while you pulled your visitor badge on. βCβmon, Leah,β you said, holding your hand out for her to take, βLetβs go see Daddy.β
βDaddy!β She chirped, her pure, childhood joy causing people in the lobby to stare. Most people were already vaguely aware of who she was, and even if they werenβt, itβs difficult to be truly bothered by a kid wearing heart antennae. Adjusting her grip on her basket of Valentines, she led you to the elevator, practically dragging you through Quantico.
Her hand couldnβt quite reach the button in the elevator, accidentally hitting the number four while wavering on her tippy toes. βHere, lovey,β you said, reaching over her and pushing the number six for her.
Leah beamed up at you. βThank you,β she whispered, lowering herself and standing next to you, tugging on your pink sweater in an attempt to get your attentionβas if she had ever lost it. βYou wanna Valentine?β Her voice was soft, as if you were exchanging state secrets in the elevator, sweetly leaning her head against your leg. She stumbled over the name of the holiday a bit, replacing the second βnβ with an βm.β
βIβll get one after everyone else,β you reassured her, adjusting her headband and smiling at the way the hearts bobbled.
She nodded confidently, making faces at her reflection in the elevator doors as you continued your way up.
You held your breath as the doors opened, once again holding your hand out for her to take so you could enter the bullpen in an orderly fashion, but as soon as they were open, she had taken off, the door being held open for someone else, leaving a perfect gap for her to slip through. There was barely enough time for you to call, βIncoming,β before she ran directly into Luke.
Thanking Anderson for holding the door for you, you followed Leah into the bullpen at a much slower pace and locked eyes with your husband, sighing in relief at the fact that youβd made it with little stress.
Your daughter had already been rescued from a room full of tall people by Dave, whoβd hoisted her onto someoneβs desk, so they were nearly at eye level. βHappy Valentimeβs, Dave,β she said excitedly, urgently rifling through her basket to find a treat that she deemed worthy of his receipt.
Rossi smiled at her, βHappy Valentineβs Day, kiddo. What have you got there?β You werenβt sure if he was faking interest for the sake of your toddler, but either way, you were grateful for the opportunity to sneak by them, approaching Spencerβs desk.
He powered off his computer monitor as you leaned on the edge of his desk. βHey,β he greeted, leaning his head up so you could plant a quick kiss on his lips. βDid she have fun?β
You nodded, peeking over your shoulder to see Dave walking Leah around to hand out Valentines to the entire office. βWe severely underestimated the number of parents who keep their kids home for Valentineβs Day,β you informed him. Leahβs daycare class had been nearly empty when you picked her up early.
βWhat does that mean for us?β He asked, placing his hand on your knee and giving it a squeeze.
Raising your eyebrows, you grinned impishly, βIt means weβre bringing a lot of lollipops home with us.β
Spencer chuckled, eyes following Leah as she made her way to Emilyβs office, jumping up the steps and giggling at the sound effects that Tara made when she landed. βHow was your morning?β He asked nonchalantly, and since nothing Spencer ever did was nonchalant, you knew he was on a fishing expedition.
The corners of your mouth quirked up while he shuffled the papers on his desk, preparing to spend his lunch with you and Leah. βOh, I dropped Leah off and then went to work. I only had one class to teach, Physical Chemistry, as you know. I had some time before I needed to be back at the daycare, so I decided to stop at home and found a large bouquet of red and pink roses on the kitchen counter. They didnβt belong there, so I tossed them in the trash before heading here.β
βYou did not,β Spencer challenged, grinning up at you, pushing his tongue against his teeth like he did when he was holding in a laugh.
You laughed breathily, hiding your smile behind your hand until Spencer reached up and took your hand in his. βNo,β you acquiesced, βBut I have no idea where weβre going to put two dozen roses.β
He pretended to think about it for a moment. βHow about the kitchen counter?β
Humming, you leaned down to kiss him again. βWorks for me,β you murmured to him on your way back up. You turned your head to find your toddler, seeing that Penelope had made her way to the bullpen and was putting a red feather boa around Leahβs neck.
Listening in on their conversation, you frowned when you overheard Leah complaining that the boa wasnβt pink. βLeah,β Spencer called her name, having overheard the conversation himself. βWhat do you say to Aunt Penelope?β
The three-year-old spun around, stumbling a bit when she tried to come to a stop, before looking up at Garcia and jumping, βThank you! Matches my butterfly ears!β She fumbled the word βbutterflyβ a bit in all of her excitementβbubberfly.
Your husband looked at you, confused. βButterfly ears?β
βAntennae, obviously,β you told him, shaking your head in faux disappointment that he didnβt understand what she was talking about.
He shook his head in disbelief. βHey, princess, cβmere,β he said, waving over your daughter.
You waved to JJ and Emily as they joined the impromptu gathering, with everyone in the bullpen watching while Leah skipped over to her dad. βHi, Daddy,β she greeted, lifting her arms for him to pick her up, which he did happily.
βHi, baby. Happy Valentineβs Day,β he replied, sweeping a stray strand of hair from her forehead. Heβd left before you got her dressed this morning, so he hadnβt been able to see her in her festive outfit, complete with a pink and red tutu.
Comfortably sitting in her fatherβs lap, she giggled when he tickled her side. βHappy Valentimeβs Day, Daddy,β she managed to squeak out. Sighing when he finally gave her a break, she asked, βLunch?β
You smiled softly, βSoon, lovey.β The three of you had planned to do lunch as a family, and Penelope had promised to take Leah for a sleepover so you could go out for dinnerβyou were nervous, and she was thrilled.
She kicked her feet contentedly, telling Spencer about the cards she had given away at the security desk in a hushed voice while you watched an exchange across the bullpen. Luke was leaning toward Tara, holding his lollipop in his hand, βWhat flavor did you get?β
Tara peered at him suspiciously. βBlue raspberry,β she replied.
βIβll trade you a green apple,β he offered, extending his arm out for the swap.
Turning in her chair, Tara scoffed, setting her Valentine on her desk, βNot a chance.β
A small gasp to your side caught your attention. βNo trades, Newbie!β Leah shouted from her perch.
Instead of turning on your daughter, Luke immediately pointed at Garcia, βYou coached her!β
Penelope feigned offense, holding a hand to her chest and looking around the bullpen, βIt is my duty as her godmother to warn her against certain people.β
βMeaning me?β
βIf the shoe fits, Newbie,β Penelope replied, leaning against a vacant desk while she awaited Lukeβs response.
He looked over at Leah now. βHow did she even hear me?β
You shrugged. βShe has freakishly good hearing; weβre thinking of having her tested.β
Spencer nudged you at your joke, smiling slightly, βShe saw you.β
Sighing in defeat, Luke gave Leah an exaggerated pout, βIβm sorry I tried to make a trade. Can you forgive me?β
Leah nodded with a toothy smile. Luckily, she was three, and things were easy to get over. βHey, do I get a Valentine?β Spencer asked, playing with the hearts on her headband. Β
Humming, she shifted on his lap. βMommy put all of the pink ones in a baggie for us.β
You flashed a grin back at your husband, pulled a Watermelon lollipop out of your purse, and handed it to him. βIβm very good at what I do.β
Synopsis: Spencer always felt afraid you'd be too sweet for him. Turns out, you were just the right spice he needed.
Word Count: 1800+
WARNING: Fluff with a pinch of spice.
A/N: an alternate narrative draft of my other published draft, Regrets Sting... enjoyβ¨
Spencer found you saccharine.
As a colleague, a friend, and... an enchanting woman.
He spent most of his days hypervigilant, careful not to fall for your tempting, bright smiles and witty jokes.
He watched you smile warmly to each and every family of the victims you'd ever encounter. Spencer would never stop bragging about his high intelligence, but somehow, he couldn't figure you out. You were a beguiling force to behold, an enigma of kindness and walking epitome of apricity.
Spencer loves everything about you. He loves you. He was obsessed with you. Craved your presence. Greedy for your attention.
He was afraid that whatever feelings brewed in his chest were going to ravage you. Afraid that he'd ruin a beautiful art due to his impulsivity.
So he chose friendship. He had to, or else...
He became your motivator. Your stimulus. Your best friend.
He was there for you. He was there when a case became too heavy. He lent you his day off. He became your personal therapist, listening to all your vents in the hopes that it would stop the nightmares just for one night. He kept you company, reading a book to you until you drifted off to sleep but left as soon as he tucked you in.
And without you, or him, knowing, he fell for your addicting sweetness all over again. Spencer Reid was in love with you.
He felt guilty. Falling for you right after being in love with someone else because he wanted to avoid falling for you. Even Spencer couldn't make sense of himself. It was a mind-boggling conflict.
And yet, Spencer held himself back for as long as he could. He made himself believe that all he wanted was your friendship. Shoving his feelings into a box as if it were a dirty sin, he tried to keep a secret.
The deeper he fell for you, the more obvious it became to the team.
JJ figured it out first when Spencer put in too much effort to make you smile after a case that hit too close to home. You have been bland with everyone but not with Spencer. He managed to get you to laugh just by saying a couple of nerdy jokes. She knew, then, that you'd be the perfect match.
Emily and Derek noticed Spencer's smittenness at the same time. You were all on a case, and the unsub's victims disturbingly fit you. Spencer was protective of you and knew exactly how it'd make you feel. So he always kept you in his line of sight and insisted on working with you before Hotch had the chance to object. Of course, along with that was Penelope squealing about her suspicions that Spencer had a huge crush on you.
Rossi had a hunch. He saw Spencer's eyes light up every time you walked into any room, staring at you for as long as he could. One time, he saw Spencer organize your case file in the way you preferred: written detailed descriptions instead of photos. And he suspected that Spencer had done so since your first day with the team.
Hotch? He always knew but kept his mouth shut. Spencer went to him for any type of indirect romantic advice. Spencer was experiencing childish love, so who was Hotch to ruin it for the boy genius?
And so it goes...
JJ would ritually give Spencer new, interesting facts about you. Emily would become suggestive whenever you made Spencer his daily cup of sugar with drops of coffee. Derek would flirt with you whenever he caught Spencer staring at you, then report to Penelope about the progress in their project: get Spencer to confess. Rossi, at times, pulled Spencer back from his trance whenever he started to malfunction because of something you did that made his stomach flip. And Hotch was Spencer's go-to companion. Vaguely describing his feelings for you in hopes that the unit chief had some sort of advise in return.
So he could only imagine the heartbreak when you arrived one morning with an unfamiliar scent of shampoo and a giddy smile as you walked in with the precinct's detective.
He immediately expressed his disapproval. Of course, you were confused about it. What was worse was you didn't know why. And worse than that was Spencer couldn't tell you why.
Or so he thought.
"I don't understand why you're making a big deal out of this," You walked into an interrogation room.
"Just because Det. Lohan is an old friend of yours does not mean he can be trusted. You haven't seen the guy in years. I think it's safe to say that sleeping with him was not a smart choice." Spencer wanted to smack himself for his poor choice of words, but he'd rather you lecture him than spend more time with the detective that still lingered on your hair.
You laughed, not taking his words personally. "Spence, I'm a woman with two guns dangling on each side of her hips. I can take care of myself." You took his worry into account and yet made your decision clear.
Out of nowhere, Spencer pushed you by your hips against the door. You gasped out of shock, a dangerous sound that rang in his ears.
"Still think you'd be safe?" Spencer could barely look at you. He didn't know what he would do if he did.
"You're making him sound more dangerous than he is. This is clearly not about keeping me safe. What's going on? You know you can always talk to me." Your voice was like honey. It was sweet and kind. You had no doubt, no suspicion. You trusted him too much. You were too sweet on him.
Spencer released a sharp sigh. He really had no other choice, did he? "I'm in love with you," He muttered under his breath but loud enough to tickle your ear.
Your expression changed. You took time to read whatever his eyes could say, but you came up with nothing, "Spence... you already rejected me. You said we're better off friends. You said you weren't attracted to me." You kept your tone unfairly soft, filling him with guilt.
"I lied, okay?!" Spencer was losing his cool. How much you affected his mood was beyond torture.
"Well, that's not fair... I was in love with you. Told you how I felt." Your face was sullen. "And what? I'm supposed to just take you in my arms because now you want me?" You gently pushed him, looking down on your feet. "I'd like to be alone, please." You were firm with your words, hurt lingering under your breath.
"Was?" Spencer queried.
You looked back up, "What?"
He stepped closer, "You said, 'I was in love with you.' You're not anymore?" Spencer's eyes bore into your very soul. It felt like he was interrogating you with a different charge of crime than a few seconds ago.
"That's not the point," You barely managed to sound in control. His entire demeanor changed, focusing on one phrase.
"You don't love me anymore?" Spencer moved closer, leaving nothing but his breath between the two of you. He quickly glanced at your lips, then stared at you once more, making sure you saw what he just did.
You subtly gulped, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat. "What are youβ"
"Say you still love me, and I'll kiss you," It was as if every restraint Spencer had finally snapped the longer he was alone with you. He has been restricting himself from every inch of you, after all, despite you being unaware of it.
You shook your head, lifting your chin up, "I'm really not in the mood to play games with you, Spence. Why can't you just leave the entire thing alone?" You hoped he couldn't hear how loud your heart was beating right in your ear.
Spencer's eyes soften. He drooled at the sight of your lips, leaning his forehead on yours. Spencer closed his eyes in desperation, "Please say you love me so I can kiss you..." He begged in a small whisper.
A lot of possibilities and doubts flooded your senses, but only one thing rang in your head.
"Iβ" You didn't get the chance to say it. Spencer's lips were already attached to yours.
Your mind went blank, and your knees turned weak. If he hadn't wrapped an arm around your waist, you would've long fallen on the floor and ruined the euphoric moment you were in.
His kiss wasn't anything like you'd imagine. Nowhere near the gentleness you've known him to be. His kisses were desperate and eager.
Spencer pressed your back against the two-way mirror, harsher than when he'd pushed you against the door. The loud thud echoed in the entire room. His kisses became hotter and hungrier by the second.
And just as his lips were about to trail down to your jaw...
"Uhmβ"
You froze at the sound of the speaker sending feedback, lightly tapping Spencer to abruptly stop.
"Sorry... But, uh, the interrogation room's actually not empty. At least not on our side." JJ spoke from the speaker.
You bit your lower lip as you tightly closed your eyes, "I know I'm going to regret this, but who's with you?" Your voice cracked from utter embarrassment.
The speaker spilled a chuckle all over the room, "You got room for another, sweetheart?" Derek could barely hold his laugh as he spoke.
"Count me in, too," Emily chimed in, creating another horrible feedback.
Spencer squinted at the mirror as if he'd be able to see them the more he stared at his reflection. You were glad your back was against, or else they would've seen how red your face became.
"Uh... Can you leave? Please?" You looked up at the ceiling. You couldn't even look at Spencer's face from the embarrassment you were feeling.
"Just don't make a mess. We still need to use the room for the unsub later." Derek teased.
"No promises," Spencer grinned at you, making your face heat up more than it already was.
Emily's amused laughter echoed, "Getting a little too pride of yourself there, Reid." Her voice went one-eighth octave lower. "I won't hesitate to beat you up if you do some dumb shit."
You waited for at least a minute to make sure that they did leave before you collapsed on the floor with your hands covering your face.
Spencer squatted in front of you and took your hands, intertwining your fingers. "Regret falling in love with me yet?" A playful smirk danced over his lips.
"Right now? I do. I really, really do." But you were too sweet for him. So you rolled your eyes, groaning in indecisiveness, "I really don't."
"Yeah," Spencer couldn't help but smile, "You really don't." He grabbed your face by the cheek and stole another kiss.
Spencer couldn't help it. You were his sweet addiction. And he'd keep it that way as long as you let him.
I just got up to pee but I was watching TikTok and telephone by lady Gaga came on and I started dancing really hard around my bathroom and as I was dancing I started to think about the post I made that said it shocks me when spencer Reid bloggers drop lore that theyβre studying to be a heart surgeon or something serious like that and then I thought about like wow this is the future generation πππππππππππ my future doctor might have once wrote Spencer Reid sucks your tit
