spencer reid who, while eating you out so good, can’t help and hump the mattress while he devours your cunt because his cock is so hard and your pussy is just so intoxicating. so he seeks relief by humping the fabric of the mattress, his cock still constricted in his trousers. and he’s moaning and whining against your pussy as he saviors the taste and feeling.
About: You were scrolling on your phone, swiping left and right on tinder to find a date. Spencer finds you scrolling on your phone and asks what you’re doing. So you tell him you are looking for someone to hookup with. He decides to show you that you don’t need anyone but him.
A/N: happy valentine‘s day my little sluts. although this isn’t valentine’s day themed, let’s pretend that it is lol. i hope you guys enjoy!
It was a rare day when there were no cases and yet, you were still required to come into work, just in case something happened. Usually, these days consisted of paperwork, going over recently solved cases to ensure nothing was missed and that everything had followed protocol. But for a team that is so action-based, having to do paperwork was entirely boring for everyone except Spencer, who was engrossed at his desk, the one across from yours, reading every file intently.
Meanwhile, you were sitting at your desk, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. It had been a long time since you had sex. With your line of work, it’s hard to find time to do anything outside the realm of your job. So you were doing what any normal person would do nowadays: resort to dating apps. You were scrolling on Tinder, mindlessly swiping left and right on people you thought were and weren’t attractive. You stopped at a certain profile, trying to decide if someone was cute or not and if you’d actually be willing to have them in your pants.
JJ walked past your desk and glanced at your phone. “Oh? Who’s this?” She asked, standing next to your chair.
You glanced at JJ before looking back at your phone. “Some random guy,” You said, showing her your phone. “Do you think he’s cute?”
JJ shook her head no, a small grimace on your face. “You can do much better, sweetheart,” She said, her grimace becoming a smile. “Are you finally looking to meet someone?”
You laughed, shaking your head no. “I’m just looking to get dick,” you replied bluntly, giving JJ a cheeky grin.
JJ laughed, nodding her head. “I get it,” she said, sighing. “Will and I haven’t had our alone time in weeks,” She rolled her eyes.
You pout in sympathy before swiping away the guy on your phone. “Do you want to help me look for the perfect person?” You asked.
JJ nodded her head, grabbed a random chair, and pulled it up to your desk. “Hell yeah, give it to me,” She grinned as she looked over your shoulder at your phone.
Unbeknownst to you and JJ, Spencer, though his attention looked as though it were on the files, had a frown on his face. To anyone, it would look as though he were deep in thought. But actually, it was due to listening in on your conversation with JJ. Why did you have to resort to some stupid dating app? Shouldn’t you know better than to trust random strangers on the internet? That’s like kind of what your job is about. Spencer felt a gross feeling in his chest, something he hadn’t felt before. Perhaps he’s been attracted to you since you joined the team some time ago and the idea of you seeking someone else for pleasure made him jealous. Not that he’d actively admit that.
As you and JJ sat there, talking and giggling with one another about random people you see on your phone, Spener bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his attention on the files in front of him. His jaw was clenched, and his hair tousled all over the place. It wasn’t until it was finally time for everyone to go home that he could get some peace and quiet. As everyone, including you, exited the bullpen to go home, Spencer remained alone with his thoughts for a little while longer.
He thought about you going on a date with some random person. How you’d get yourself all dolled up and beautiful for some random loser who likely wouldn’t even know where the clitoris is. Spencer may not have the most experience in the world but he definitely knows where the clitoris is located. He groaned to himself, realizing that his jealousy was consuming him. He rubbed his eyes before sitting back in his chair. And then, Spencer came to a sudden realization, causing him to quickly stand up and grab his satchel before leaving the Bureau.
You were in your apartment, sitting on your couch as you looked through the television channels. You were dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, your hair mostly dry but still a bit damp from the shower you took when you had gotten home from work. You were originally going to see about possibly going on a date tonight but instead, you opted to stay home, too exhausted to really want to go out and meet anyone.
You didn’t particularly care to actually date anyone. Your desires are always laid elsewhere, with a very specific coworker you had. And unfortunately, you could not have this specific coworker as it would break so many Bureau rules. But you were allowed to have your thoughts, thank you very much. And if those thoughts included thinking of Spencer pounding into you and whispering praises into your ear then that was your own volition.
It was currently eight o’clock in the evening when there was a knock on your apartment door. You glanced at the clock before standing up from the couch and walking to the door. You looked out of the peephole, seeing Spencer standing there looking a bit disheveled. You opened the door, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you looked at the brown-haired man in front of you. “Spencer…?” You asked. “What are you-”
“You know, some people use dating apps to target potential victims for violence or sexual assault,” Spencer interrupted you. “Which is why you shouldn’t use dating apps.”
Your look of confusion remained on your face. “You know, that could’ve been a text,” you replied sarcastically.
Spencer bit his lip, looking at you. “Maybe,” he replied. He looked you up and down, taking in your appearance. You were always so beautiful at work, dressed in mostly professional, sometimes casual clothing with light makeup on your face. But right now, you were ethereal. Dressed in lounging clothes with your hair perfectly natural and no makeup on your face. At that moment, Spencer didn’t understand why you even bothered to get yourself dressed up each day when you were perfect just the way you were.
“Why are you here?” You asked softly, noticing the way Spencer was looking at you. You didn’t question it, however.
Spencer remained silent for a few seconds, trying to think of a proper response to give you. He hadn’t completely thought this through when he made the sudden decision to visit you. Finally, he spoke, “Do you want me to leave?”
You shook your head. “No!” You responded immediately. “I just- I’m surprised you’re here is all.” You bit your lip nervously. You hadn’t invited Spencer in yet and that had suddenly dawned on you. You moved to the side, allowing Spencer to step inside before closing the door behind him. You leaned against the door, looking at Spencer as he turned to look at you.
“You shouldn’t resort to dating apps,” He spoke. You furrowed your eyebrows at Spencer, confused as to why he would come here just to tell you that. Just as you were about to respond, Spencer cut you off by speaking once more. “Not when I could help you.”
“What?” Your voice came out more hoarse than you intended.
Spencer cleared his throat, the only sign that his confidence had slightly diminished. “If you need someone to pleasure you, you don’t need to use dating apps when I’m right here,” he said again, rewording his earlier statement.
“Are you saying you want to have sex with me, Spencer?” You whispered, biting your bottom lip.
Spencer moved closer to you until he was right in front of you. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Is that okay?”
“Y-yes,” you stuttered.
Spencer nodded his head. A silence overcame the two of you before he spoke again, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Okay,” you responded.
Spencer leaned in and gently kissed your lips. It was nervous and hesitant, as if unsure if you’d actually want to kiss him or not. But when you kissed him back, Spencer became more sure of himself as he kissed you deeply. He brought his hands to your cheeks, cupping them. The two of you moved in sync, kissing one another slowly. Eventually, Spencer pulled away slightly to look into your eyes as you stared back at him. The gaze the two of you had held a hunger that neither of you had admitted to yourselves in the entire time you’d been working together.
Spencer kissed you again, this time more roughly and hungrily. A soft noise escaped your lips from the roughness but it wasn’t unwelcome whatsoever. As the two of you kissed, you gently pushed him around the apartment to try and get to the bedroom. Spencer accidentally bumped into a side table, causing a vase to fall to the ground but luckily it didn’t break. “Whoops,” he said, pulling away from the kiss to look at it.
You put a hand on his chin. “Don’t worry about it,” you said as you pulled his face back to yours. The two of you continued moving throughout the apartment until you reached your bedroom. Spencer’s lips left yours and began kissing your jawline, making his way down to your neck. His touch was like feathers as he lightly kissed along your skin. His lips brushed against your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine and causing you to clench your thighs. An action that wasn’t missed by Spencer.
“Needy?” He asked against your skin.
You nodded your head. “Very,” you whispered.
Spencer let out a hum as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt. He slowly pulled the material up, moving his head away from your neck so he could pull it off of you and tossing it to the side. You weren’t wearing a bra and Spencer couldn’t help but just look at you. “Can I touch you?” He breathed out, eyes locked on your tits.
“Yes, please,” You replied breathily.
He didn’t hesitate to use both of his hands to massage your tits, feeling the flesh in his hands. He thumbed your nipples, causing you to moan softly at the feeling. “You know, some women can orgasm just from having their nipples stimulated,” he murmured, eyes fixated on your breasts.
You let out a small laugh. “I don’t think I’m one of those people,” you exclaimed.
Spencer let out a hum as he leaned down and captured one of your nipples into his mouth. The action caused you to let out a whine as he tongued the nub, his hands still massaging your boobs. He moved to the other nipple, doing the exact same thing. Your cheeks were warm as felt the sparks of pleasure being sent down your spine. Eventually, Spencer pulled away, pressing gentle kisses along your chest before returning up your neck and to your lips.
He guided you to your mattress, sitting you down at the edge of the bed as he pulled away from you. You looked up at Spencer, watching Spencer as he got on his knees in front of you. “Do you want me to continue?” He asked softly.
You licked your lips, nodding your head. “Yes, please,” you murmured.
And that’s all Spencer needed to put his hands on the waistband of your sweatpants and pull them down, tossing the material to the side. You weren’t wearing underwear underneath, causing Spencer to let out a soft hum of approval. “I want to taste you,” he said, looking at you with his puppy brown eyes.
“Please do.” You whispered, biting your lip as you spread your legs for Spencer, revealing your cunt to him.
He let out a groan, his eyes immediately moving to look at your glistening pussy. Without hesitation, Spencer dived in, licking a strip down your slit and then back up, causing you to moan. Spencer hummed against your cunt, his eyes fluttering closed as he tasted you. His tongue began lapping around in figure-eights, teasing your clit with each flick. If you had told yourself that your night would end up with Spencer on his knees, eating you out, you would’ve laughed. And yet, here you were.
Spencer made out with your cunt, his lips moving against your pussy like you were the sustenance he needed to live. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the nub. You let out a loud moan, bringing your hand to Spencer’s hair and tugging on his curls. The action alone caused Spencer to whimper against your cunt as it encouraged him more.
You were whining and moaning, relishing in the pleasure Spencer was giving you. No one had gone down on you in so long and you had almost forgotten what it had felt like. But Spencer? He was built for this. His face was sculpted to eat pussy. If you could live with Spencer’s head between your thighs for the rest of your life, you think you’d die a happy woman.
“Oh my god,” you whimpered, throwing your head back. Spencer hummed against your pussy, his tongue dipping into your hole while his nose rubbed against your clit. He was breathing in your cunt, drunk on your juices. You could feel yourself getting closer, causing you to buck your hips. “I’m gonna cum,” you whined. With a slurp to your clit, you gasped and let out a choked moan, thighs clamping against Spencer’s face as you arched your back. “Spencer!” you moaned his name as you came.
And when you finished, Spencer pulled away from your pussy. His face was glistening with your juices as he looked at you with a smirk. “You’re so beautiful,” he said huskily as he gently rubbed your thighs. “Did I do good?”
“So good,” you breathed out, smiling at Spencer.
“Then you don’t need anyone else, right?” He asked, standing up.
“I only need you, baby.” You replied, looking up at Spencer with a dazed look. “Now fuck me.”
Spencer grinned, undressing himself before crawling onto you. “Gladly.”
And after that, you begin a new journey with Spencer where you explore each other’s bodies. Why do you need to use dating apps when all you need is Spencer?
the sight of spencer on his back under you absolutely never gets old. his legs wrapped around your waist, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, the soft moans spilling from his lips. “how ya feeling, honey?” you tease, your hips flush against his and the silicone toy fixed to your hips buried to its hilt inside him. spencer moans unintelligibly, back arching and hips jerking as he tries desperately to fuck himself down on you. “feeling good? you love mommy’s dick, huh? such a good little slut for me, baby, c’mon, tell me how you feel.”
“feels… y’feel… s’so good, mommy, so good,” spencer whines, chest heaving with desperate breaths. you pump your hips faster, deeper, moaning like you can really feel him tight around you. a red flush spreads down spencer’s chest, tears spilling across his cheeks. his nails dig into your shoulders, clawing helplessly at your skin.
you kiss him softly, a sweet press of lips incongruous from the brutal pace of your hips. he’s drooling a little, dazed and dizzy, sweat dripping across his brow. his hands drift down his body, a moan slipping from his lips as he wraps them around his cock, bucks up into his fist. “ah-ah,” you chide, “no, you don’t get to touch, honey. or d’you think i can’t make you cum all by myself?” you pout, slowly pulling out and stilling your hips.
spencer gasps, shakes his head wildly. “n-no. i mean— i don’t think that. m’sorry, mommy. i won’t touch. i want you to make me cum, please,” he whimpers, and the sound is so delicious that you take pity on him, slam your hips against his. a scream tears from his throat, and you kiss it out of his mouth, bite on his bottom lip a little.
“so good for me, sweetness, so good for mommy,” you murmur, brushing sweat-soaked hair away from his face with one hand. “oh, baby,” you murmur after a few more slow, deep thrusts. “you’re close, huh? c’mon, tell mommy what you want.”
“wanna cum,” spencer pleads, hips jerking and body writhing. “mommy, please!” you smirk, gently trailing your hand down his body and fucking deeply into him. three more quick, sharp thrusts and he’s coming apart under you, cum splashing between your bodies as he chants your name like it’s the only word he knows.
you fuck him through, kissing soft whines out of his mouth as he comes to. “you look so pretty falling apart on my dick, honey,” you coo. “gonna give you a minute, get you cleaned up, ‘n then you can fuck me, okay?”
mdni. cw: sub!spencer, ass play (m receiving), feminisation. prompts here. part of the neighbor!au
wc 774. probably not what you were expecting, hope you enjoy anyway
you kiss spencer slowly, indulgently, moaning happily and twining your bare legs with his. “morning, pretty,” you mumble, rubbing your foot along his calf.
it’s one of his rare days off, and an even rarer day he’s agreed to spend the day in bed with you instead of planning an elaborate (wonderful, but exhausting) date. “morning, baby.” he pretends to just be shifting in bed, trying to get comfortable, but you can feel his dick pressing into you where he tries to grind against your body.
“did you have a good dream?” you tease, and he flushes.
“being awake’s better,” he answers, pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips. you make out with him for you don’t even know how long, content to let him map every inch of your body with lips and hands, map his in your turn. but you can feel him getting restless, and soon enough he breaks away to blink at you with lust-blown eyes, his lips swollen and spit-slick. “i want— i want you.”
you grin widely. “what do you want, honey?” spencer’s face is flaming. “if you can’t say it, you’re not ready for me to give it to you, okay?” you cup his jaw, smile at the slight stubble under your palm, thighs tingling at the prospect of feeling it between your legs.
spencer presses his lips together in a thin line, apprehensive. you brush your thumb reassuringly over his cheek, give him a gentle smile. “i want you to, um…” he fumbles for the words. “i want you to fuck me… with— with your fingers,” he murmurs, burying his head in the crook of your neck.
you can’t help but feel a little proud at his openness. god, he’s come so far. “all you have to do is ask, sweetness,” you croon, fishing under your pillow for a bottle of lube as you kiss at spencer’s neck and jaw. “you’re so pretty, baby. mommy’s gonna make you feel so good, promise.”
spencer writhes as you trail your hand down his body, and he whimpers out a plea. “why are you already squirming?” you coo, gazing up at him from where you’re knelt between his legs. “i haven’t even started yet.” you slide a slicked-up finger between his legs, circle his hole, his entire body jolting. “almost there, sweet, just breathe for me, okay?” you murmur as you slip one finger inside.
“mommy,” he chokes out as you start to thrust your finger, carefully add another. “i— oh, my god,” spencer gasps, incoherent babbling stumbling off his normally curated tongue. “please!” he moans after a few minutes of teasing thrusts, never quite pressing your fingers where he desperately needs them.
“take it like a good girl and stop whining,” you say, gentle but firm, and spencer’s eyes roll back in his head. “can you do that, honey? can you be a good girl for mommy?” spencer’s entire body convulses, mouth opening and closing like he can’t find the words.
you lean down, press a kiss against his chest. taking pity, you find his g-spot and spencer damn near screams. “oh, honey. so desperate,” you murmur, dripping condescension. “you want mommy to make you cum?” he nods frantically, chest heaving. “just gotta do one thing for me first, okay?”
“anything,” spencer promises instantly, voice shaking with want.
“tell me what a good girl you are for mommy, baby. just say that one little thing and i’ll give you what you want.”
you scissor your fingers a little, making him gasp and twitch, tossing his head back and forth and screwing his eyes shut. you press encouraging kisses to his chest and stomach. “m’your… your good girl, mommy, all yours, please!” he gasps, hiccuping through desperate tears.
“was that so hard?” you say softly, taking up a rhythm in earnest that drives him wild. “that’s my good little girl, honey.” after barely more than a few quick, sharp thrusts, spencer screams out your name, back arching as cum splashes across his belly and lands on your tits. you smirk catlike down at him. “feel good? don’t think i’ve ever seen you cum that hard before, baby,” you say smugly.
spencer winces as you pull your fingers free. “every time i think there can’t possibly be anything new…” he says, laughing through heaving breaths.
“you should know by now, sweetness. i’ll never be done with you,” you giggle, crawling up the bed to plant a kiss on his slack lips. “and, speaking of…” you pat his cheek. “i wanna ride this pretty face of yours. you gonna let me?”
spencer’s tongue is inside you practically before your next heartbeat.
you love getting spencer riled up. watching your professor pull at his collar, flush red to the tips of his ears, clear his throat and try desperately to look away from you sends a thrill up your spine. and it’s so easy. you’re only playing with your hair, reapplying lipgloss, gently thumbing over the bruises on your neck faux-absently, and he’s eating out of the palm of your hand.
“you need to stop teasing me,” spencer groans as the door to his office clicks shut, taking you by the waist and pulling you into a searing kiss. “you make me feel like some dumb, hormonal teenager, make it so hard to control myself,” he moans against your mouth.
you giggle. “mmm, but you have to, right, professor?” spencer’s breath hitches. he’d never admit it, but the title, the taboo of it all turns him on so much. “you can’t let anyone know you’re fucking your student, can you, sir? mm-mm. you have to be a good boy and take it,” you coo.
spencer tugs you through the room, deposits you on his desk. “good boy,” he scoffs, lips pressing against your neck as his hands creep up your skirt, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulling them down. “i’ll show you a fucking good boy,” he promises, trailing his fingers up your thigh.
“mmm, you— oh, fuck, spencer!” you gasp, writhing as he slides two fingers into you without warning.
“be a good girl, angel,” he says softly, setting an indulgent pace as you whimper and lock your legs around him. “so wet, such a slut,” he coos. you clench around him, moaning when he brushes his thumb over your clit. “you want me to fuck you, pretty girl? yeah? good. i want to make a mess of you,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw, your neck, biting gently at your collarbone.
you unbuckle spencer’s belt greedily, choke on a gasp when he fucks into you. your nails dig into his shoulders and hot pleasure rolls up your spine. spencer whines your name, the sound sliding deliciously over your heated skin as he fucks you slow and hard and deep. two fingers work insistently at your clit, ecstasy twisting and tugging in your gut as you arch your body towards him.
spencer kisses you, all sharp teeth and greedy tongue, thrusts so deep that you swear he’s splitting you in half, groans into your mouth. “god, you’re gonna make me cum, baby, need you to cum for me first, okay? can you do that, sweet girl? cum for me and make me cum? yeah? good girl,” he babbles, fingers working you into a frenzy and tipping you over the edge into pure bliss.
your vision whites out, your body humming with energy as you feel spencer spill inside you. “thank you,” you breathe, resting your head in the crook of his neck and holding him in place with your legs so he can’t pull out. “just wanna feel it a little longer, okay?” you murmur.
omg can you write a neighbor!au where Spencer is away on a case and has a wet dream about reader :0
YUMMY… let’s talk about it!
you kiss spencer slowly, cup his cheeks as his hips grind down against your thigh. such a good boy, you coo, so good for mommy, honey. you want me to make you feel good? spencer nods, drool pooling in his mouth as he squirms desperately in your lap. please! he whimpers, eyes rolling back and his vision going dim. when spencer opens his eyes, he’s alone in a hotel room somewhere in oklahoma, facedown and grinding into the mattress. he whines, pouts, closes his eyes again to try and fall back into the dream.
he’s unsuccessful, but a dull hum of need throbs in the back of his skull. moaning softly, spencer grinds down into the mattress. burying his face in the pillow to muffle his noises, he rolls his hips, pleasure coiling in his belly. your name slips from his lips like a plea, and he imagines your thick, soft thigh between his, your hands roaming across his skin, quiet praises dripping honey-sweet across his mind. mommy, he moans. gonna cum, please, can i? he begs, instinctive, pouting when he realises you aren’t there to give him permission.
a few more desperate, sloppy thrusts against the mattress and spencer comes undone, spilling hot and sticky into his boxers with a shiver. defeated, he flops against his pillow, shuddering in disgust at the mess. but he can’t resist texting — he loathes it, but loathes the idea of waking you more — you that he misses you before he gets in the shower. and, of course, you know exactly what that means at this hour. my sweet boy, you reply. i hope you feel good. can’t wait for you to get home and show me how much you missed me xx
I'm still trying everything
to keep you looking at me.
-mirrorball, taylor swift
₊ ⊹
summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again
cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence
tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap
a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!
read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)
this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Spencer is a really good boyfriend.
Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.
He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.
He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.
But you still worry.
All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.
“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”
A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”
The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”
“More like uptight.”
“Dad—“
“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”
Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.
You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“
“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”
(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)
Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”
“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."
You don't dignify his words with a response.
"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."
"It's not funny."
"Don't be like that--"
"Goodbye."
You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.
The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.
Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.
But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.
You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.
Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.
You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.
So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.
This, of course, is easier said than done.
It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.
But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.
But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.
You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.
"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."
"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."
He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.
It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?
When is it all going to end?
--
Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.
JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."
That little voice comes back.
Too much too much too much too much too much--
"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.
JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."
You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.
Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.
You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.
Be better. Try harder.
You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.
--
You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.
"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"
A little stab of ice in your stomach.
"I don't know. I think it's nice."
"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."
You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.
A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.
--
The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—
That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.
That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.
But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?
--
You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.
It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.
You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.
You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.
--
The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.
You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.
It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.
He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.
Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—
"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"
"Yes?" You croak.
His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.
Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.
"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"
"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.
He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.
You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.
"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."
He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."
"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."
He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"
You freeze. "What do you mean?"
He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.
"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."
Your finger's twitch at your sides.
His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."
He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.
Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.
The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.
"My parents think you're going to leave me."
Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"
"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."
"But that's not your fault."
You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"
You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.
I'm not easy to love.
"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."
"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."
He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"
You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"
"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."
His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."
He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."
The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.
"Maybe."
"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"
Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"
A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."
That makes you look up. "Really?"
He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."
"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"
"When did you go to the vet's—"
"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."
He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.
"What do I do now?"
"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."
"What?"
You're so close your breaths are mingling.
"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."
"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."
His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.
"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."
You laugh. "I do not swoon."
"You will."
He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.
It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.
--
Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.
He also starts needing you a bit... louder.
It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.
Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.
"Don't you have work to do?"
"Either finished it or it can be done later."
You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.
He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.
"Your hair smells good."
"Like what?"
"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."
You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.
"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"
"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."
He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.
--
Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.
You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.
"You wanna know something cool?"
"You know it,"
"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."
"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"
"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."
"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."
"Should we get dinner afterwards?"
"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."
"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."
--
Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.
You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.
He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.
"Should I move?"
"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."
Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.
--
It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the teeth, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the T.V.
You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.
"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.
And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.
And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.
"I love you."
He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.
