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@reidslovegia
Masterlist ♡
♡ my name is gia and i'm 20 yrs old! she/her!
♡lover of spencer reid
♡ i write for spencer reid only!
so so happy you're here angels, and welcome to my blog! take a look around and talk to me!
about me!
request guidelines! (reqs open!!)
masterlist!
moodboard masterlist!
isn't it just so pretty to think...
spencer reid x f!reader (she/her pronouns used for reader insert) a soulmate au - flangst wc: 8.2k
She’s wondered and fantasized about who her Soulmate could be since she was a little girl. She’d sit on her grandmother’s lap while she brushed her hair and would beg her to tell the story of how she met her grandfather over and over. She’d ask her what went wrong with her parents — why they weren’t Soulmates and why they decided to get married, anyway. When she caught a glimpse of the woman’s Soulmark, she’d trace over the initials with her fingers until her hand got knocked away because it was starting to tickle. The fascination never faded. The fact that there was a perfect person out there for her plagued her mind and dreams. When would she meet them? What would they be like? What if she never met them? What if they didn’t believe in the legitimacy of the Soulmark?
Spencer doesn’t fully believe in the promise of the Soulmark. He’s researched the concept and has retained the personal accounts and statistics, so he knows that less than half of the world’s population will meet and stay with their Soulmate for life. His parents were Soulmates, technically, and their relationship definitely wasn’t a success story. Diana read him beautiful stories about Soulmates and tried to convince him that they were magical, but he was always skeptical. Aaron and Haley were the most convincing proof of the Soulmark that he had come across, but it was clear that they weren’t perfectly happy. Sure, nobody is, but isn’t it the whole point of the mark that it will lead you to your perfect match? Maybe Aaron would’ve been happier with someone who understood his passion for his work, and maybe Haley would’ve been happier with someone who worked a scheduled job.
Sometimes – rarely – Soulmates have a platonic connection to each other rather than a romantic one. Derek and Penelope decided this when they revealed their Marks to each other. Spencer isn’t entirely convinced by their decision, due to the way they speak to each other and the longing glances he’s caught them making. But it does happen. That’s probably what will happen to him; if it does happen at all, he’s sure of it.
─── ♡ ───
When her Soulmark ignites, signifying that her Soulmate is nearby, she’s packing into a busy Metro car at seven in the morning. She’s on her way to work, and the skin above her ankle starts tingling as she funnels inside. A quiet gasp escapes her as she carefully analyzes each person in the car, but none of them seem fazed.
Everyone around her is in their own little bubbles. Men and women dressed in corporate attire stare out the Metro windows with their eyes glazed over. A handful of teenagers have headphones on. A man is flipping through the pages of a book, sitting diagonally from her. There are older people scanning newspapers. Nobody’s day has been irrevocably changed like hers has. Maybe there’s been a mistake? But the universe doesn’t make mistakes…
She’s hoping to meet the eyes of the beautiful stranger that she’ll get to call hers for the rest of her life, but nobody is as alerted as she is. Tearing her eyes from the crowd, she glances down at her leg, seeing the golden and slightly glowing SR.
Little does she know, her SR is too engrossed in his book to have noticed his Soulmark activating, so distracted that he was supposed to get off three stations ago. He’s capable of getting so lost and entrenched in a novel that a sinkhole could appear underneath him and he wouldn’t notice until the sunlight withered and dark shadows were cast over the pages.
Her heart aches as the Metro pulls away from the station and continues its ascent through the Line. She’s heard about this happening to people, but she never thought it would happen to her. She tries to self-soothe by reminding herself that some people never meet their Soulmate, but it has the opposite effect on her nervous system.
She’s fighting back tears as she exits the car at her stop, pulling at a loose string on her cardigan until it unravels and frays at the edge of her sleeve. As she pulls open the door to her work, the light chime of the bell contrasts with how heavy her heart feels. She barely acknowledges her boss, Beth, as she clocks in and pushes the cart of returned books through the aisles.
Beth is an older woman who reminds her of her grandmother, who died a few years ago. She corners her a few hours into her shift, crossing her arms and intently staring at her over her glasses. “Why the long face?”
She lifts the hem of her dress enough to show the woman her Mark and tears up as she tells her what happened. Beth insists that she’s not doomed, that at least her Soulmate lives in the city. Then, she feels guilty as she recalls Beth’s story of her Soulmark igniting while she was on vacation in a foreign country.
─── ♡ ───
Spencer is in the work bathroom, shirt slightly lifted, staring at the reflection of his Mark on his hipbone. He doesn’t even know when it appeared. It must have happened sometime between leaving his apartment and arriving late to work, but he didn’t feel it ignite. Rubbing a hand over his face, he’s incredulous as he stares at the golden initials.
Derek barrels into the restroom, stopping in his tracks as he catches a glimpse of the golden writing on his coworker’s skin. Spencer yanks his shirt down as the door swings open, but he doesn’t cover himself in time.
“Reid… Is that…?”
As he tucks his shirt back into his slacks, he quickly mutters, “It’s nothing.”
Derek crosses his arms over his chest. “It didn’t look like nothing.” Spencer tries to slip around him, but he’s blocked by the large expanse of Derek’s body. Staring at him pointedly, he asks, “Did you meet your Soulmate?”
Spencer huffs and crosses his arms too. “No.”
“No?”
“No! I missed the Mark igniting and I don’t know when it happened or who was nearby and I might never meet them, okay?!” Derek’s lips part in shock, and Spencer takes the opportunity to escape the restroom.
─── ♡ ───
A few weeks pass before she regains any hope of meeting her Soulmate. She’s been wearing long pants to cover the mark, as catching glimpses of it fills her with dread and despair. Even as it’s gotten warmer out, – a humid Spring settling into the Virginia air – she couldn’t be paid to wear her floral dresses again.
She’s running the register one evening when a cute man enters the store – donned in glasses, a tie, and a leather satchel. Her head had been bored, resting in her hand until he walked in, but the sight of him had her perking up. Even if he’s not her Soulmate (which he likely isn’t), he’s extremely attractive, and she’d love to talk to him. He does look slightly familiar, but she can’t quite place him.
He swiftly approaches the counter, hands gripping the strap of his bag. “Hi–”
“Hi–” she says at the same time.
They both chuckle and duck their heads.
With a flush on her cheeks, she continues, “Hi, how can I help you?”
He adjusts his glasses as he inquires, “Um, I was wondering if you guys have a book I’m looking for? The shop on 4th said you might?”
“I can check for you,” she says as she shifts over to the computer, tapping the keyboard to wake the screen. “What was it called?”
“Thank you, um, it’s Mutus Liber. I really need the first edition.” He nervously bites his lip. “Not even Georgetown or George Washington has it, and I kind of urgently need it for work.”
Her eyebrows shoot up at his obscure request, but she continues typing. “You might be in luck. Beth, the owner, is obsessed with old books and first editions…” She glances up at him as she waits for their dinosaur of a computer to load, and he’s bouncing on his heels and glancing around the store in wonder. He’s even prettier up close.
The computer dings as the results pop up, and she smiles as the book appears in the first line. “We have it downstairs. I’ll be right back.”
His eyes light up, and his shoulders sink in relief. “Wow, thank you so much.”
She nods and turns around to head to the basement door, shifting through the keys on her lanyard until she finds the right one. Glancing back at him again, taking in his pristine appearance and polite attitude, she decides to bend the rules for him. “Do you want to come with me?”
Cocking his head, he asks, “Am I allowed to?”
She purses her lips. “Not technically, but maybe you’ll find something else that could help you?”
His lips turn upward, and he adjusts his glasses again. “I wouldn’t want to upset Beth.”
She chuckles and waves him over. “Please, she will be ecstatic that a customer is interested in her collection.”
Pausing to think for a moment, he fiddles with the strap on his bag some more. Finally, he nods and says, “Okay,” before circling the counter and standing behind her as she unlocks and opens the door. He reaches over her head to grab the edge of it as it swings towards them, holding it open for her.
She whispers, “Thank you,” as she tries to be normal about him being so close to her – so close that she can smell his woodsy cologne.
As they descend the rickety stairs, she flicks the light switch, and the bulb flickers on. He quietly gasps as the shelves come into view, books blanketed in dust cover them from the floor to the ceiling.
She heads to the shelf of first editions as he scans the room with wide eyes and parted lips. Pulling it down, she tells him, “So I can’t let you take it home, unfortunately. But you can stay here and look through it for as long as you need.”
Approaching her from behind, he leans over her shoulder to look at the book. She turns her head to look at him, and she stops breathing as she takes him in. With smooth hair and freckled skin, he’s incredibly beautiful.
She’s forgotten that she said something until he responds, “That’s not a problem, actually. I’ll only need to look through it once.”
“Oh?”
His cheekbones have a dusting of pink as he shyly tells her, “I have an eidetic memory. Once I see it, it’s all stored up here,” and he taps his head and turns to face her.
Their faces are terribly close, and she forgets what she was about to say as her eyes flit over his face. His warm brown eyes and rosy cheeks make her knees feel weak. She catches herself glancing down at his perfectly pink lips and sharply inhales as she takes a step back. Handing over the book, she racks her brain for something to say. “That’s, um… That’s really impressive.”
He gently takes the book from her hands, as if it were made of glass. With pursed lips, he flips the cover open.
As she recedes towards the stairs, she says, “You can bring it upstairs, if you’d like. It’s so dark and gloomy down here.” He nods and follows her back up.
A customer is waiting at the counter as they emerge from the basement, and she beelines for the register to check them out as the cute boy lightly flips the pages behind her.
It doesn’t take long before he’s handing the book back to her and thanking her sincerely for her help. “Oh, no problem. Feel free to come back if you need anything else.” He nods and heads for the front door. She finally introduces herself just before he pushes the door open, telling him her first name, and he mumbles it under his breath before informing her of his name, as well.
“I’m Spencer.”
She smiles and nods, “Bye, Spencer.”
It’s probably just a coincidence that his first initial matches the one near her ankle, she tells herself. But she can’t help from hoping that she’ll see him again, anyway.
─── ♡ ───
The team is grateful and impressed that Spencer managed to find the exact edition they were looking for, and Aaron asks him where he went.
As he explains that he went to the shop across town — a shop that has an archive of old, first edition books in their basement — nobody is surprised at how his expression glows.
Derek watches him carefully, though. Something seems off about his story. Nothing about him going out of his way to find the book is abnormal, but as Spencer recalls the woman who let him see the basement, Derek interrupts the story.
“And who was this woman who led you to this creepy-sounding basement?”
Spencer rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t like that. She was really great- extremely helpful.”
Derek inquires, “Hm, what was her name?”
Spencer sends him a scowl, silently begging him not to bring up his Soulmark in front of their coworkers, as he shares her first name with him.
Derek’s eyebrows shoot up as he smirks, “Interesting name.”
─── ♡ ───
Over a week passes before he comes back to Sherwood Books. She’s in the middle of a conversation with Beth as the doorbell chimes, and her eyes widen as she realizes who it is. Beth gives her a pointed look as she tunes out the woman and watches Spencer walk inside. She waves at him with stars in her eyes, and he returns the gesture before heading for the book displays.
Her boss snaps her fingers in her face, making her flinch and redirect her eyes back to her.
Beth points at her ankle and asks, “Is he the one?”
Shrugging her shoulders, she replies, “I don’t know, probably not… But I wouldn’t be mad if he was…”
Tutting at her and peering over her glasses, she realizes, “Oh, he’s the one you broke the rules for.”
Her heart races as she reminisces on their time in the basement – him standing so close to her and smelling so nice and being so nice and-
“Is that a yes?” Beth interrupts her thoughts.
Sighing, she rolls her eyes and confirms, “Yes.” Beth affectionately squeezes her shoulder before she walks away to her office.
She tries not to stare at him as he peruses the shelves – she really does, but she just can’t help herself. The sleeves of his button-up are pushed up to his forearms, and she desperately scans his skin in search of a Soulmark, but finds nothing. When he senses the weight of someone’s gaze on him and peers around a display, making eye contact with her, her eyes widen, and she quickly turns around, pretending to be busy with a box of books.
Eventually, he approaches the register, and she races to help him before Beth can.
Slightly breathless, she greets him, “Hey.”
With a polite smile, he returns the greeting before placing a book written in Russian on the counter. “Just this for me, please.”
Impressed by his selection, her lips purse as she flips it over and scans the barcode. She asks, “You know Russian?” then immediately feels stupid for asking. Obviously, he knows the language; why else would he be buying a Russian novel?
He chuckles and shyly shrugs, “Yes. I can understand seven languages currently.”
Her eyebrows rise at his admission. “Oh, wow.”
“I do struggle with the pronunciation sometimes, though.” She appreciates his attempt to be humble.
“Well, there goes my plan to impress you by reciting some obscure text in a foreign language,” She jokes, with a smile.
His cheeks flush as he laughs and replies, “You don’t have to try that hard to impress me.”
She’s certain her heart has stopped beating. Was that flirting? Was he flirting with her? She was definitely trying to flirt with him – was that him flirting back?
With parted lips, she feels her face heat as she stares at him. He’s staring back at her with his impossibly beautiful eyes, and she knows she needs to say something. Looking down, she realizes he’s holding his debit card, and she remembers where they are — that she has a job to do.
After rattling off his total, their fingers brush as he hands the card over to her, and her veins buzz. She feels dizzy. This is ridiculous.
Swiping his card, she holds onto it for a moment as the register processes his payment. She looks down at it and freezes as she reads the name. Spencer Reid. SR.
She doesn’t notice his receipt printing and stares at the piece of plastic, dumbstruck.
He asks, “Is everything okay?” waking her up from her stupor.
Quickly, she replies, “Yes. Sorry,” and tears the receipt off the machine, handing it and his card back to him.
He thanks her as he slides them into his wallet, but his voice sounds distant, like he’s underwater, to her clouded brain.
He could actually be her Soulmate. His initials are SR. What is she supposed to do? How is she supposed to bring this up? How does she ask him if he’s gotten his Soulmark yet? Are her initials displayed somewhere on his body? What if he hasn’t? What if it’s just a coincidence?
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
She realizes she’s been staring downward at the register with her fingers gripping the counter for an unknown amount of time. She tries to wave it off and replies, “Yes, sorry. I, um, I’m not feeling very well all of a sudden.” It’s not a complete lie. She does feel dizzy, and her stomach is full of knots.
His expression softens with concern. “Don’t be sorry. I hope you feel better soon — I was just saying that you guys have a remarkable selection here and I’ll be back soon.”
Soon. He’ll be back soon. This is good. This is terrible. This is-
“We’d love to have you back. I’m just gonna…” She points vaguely behind her, quickly squeaking, “Have a good day!”
He flinches and steps toward the door, replying with a confused, “You too…”
She bolts into Beth’s office, slamming the door behind her and resting her back against it. Her boss jumps at the intrusion, and the wheels of her chair roll against the tile as she faces her frazzled employee.
Before an inquiry can be made about what happened, her chest heaves as she says, “SR. His initials are SR.”
Beth’s face lights up with a grin as she lifts her glasses to her head. “And you told him?”
Her expression quickly drops as she’s met with the shake of a head. “What if it’s not him? What if he doesn’t have his Mark yet? What if he does, and the initials aren’t mine? Oh my god, I think I’m dying…” She keels over with a hand on her chest.
Beth rolls her eyes and stands up from her chair, resting her hands on the desk, “You’re acting like you’re the first person to go through this. You need to talk to him.”
She straightens her posture and nods her head. “I know. I will… if I didn’t just scare him away.”
─── ♡ ───
Luckily, she hadn’t scared him away. He returns to their store a few days later, and when she catches a glimpse of him walking through the door, she sends a wide-eyed, terrified look to Beth.
She still doesn’t know how to ask him about the existence of his Soulmark. She’s anticipating that he’ll have to let her down. She’s sure he’ll be nothing but polite as he does – as he informs her that he’s not the SR she’s looking for.
Petrified to talk to him, she begs Beth to check him out as he approaches the register. Of course, her boss refuses and gently shoves her towards it.
With a French novel in his hands and a soft smile, he says, “Hey, are you feeling better?”
Her mind blanks. “What?”
Spencer sheepishly raises a hand to the back of his neck. “Um, L-Last time? You said you weren’t feeling well?”
“Oh!” She remembers, awkwardly laughing. She is, in fact, not feeling any better than she was the other day. Honestly, she feels even worse. “I am, thank you,” she lies. “How are you?”
“I’m alright. I haven’t had to travel for work for a few days, so that’s been nice.”
“That does sound… nice.” She wants to bang her head against the register keys. Why is she so incapable of being normal around him?
He chuckles, “Yes.”
As she scans his purchase, she asks, “Do you travel a lot for work?”
Nodding, he says, “I do. All over the country, actually. And I rarely ever know where we’re going until we’re headed there.”
“Oh, wow.” She astounds. “I don’t know if I could do that. I try to go with the flow, but… I prefer if the flow follows a schedule.”
His lips curve upward as he tells her, “I don’t know if that counts as going with the flow.”
Laughing and rubbing her forehead, she replies, “You’re probably right.” She interjects their conversation by relaying his total, and she hesitates before she takes his card from him.
As she swipes it, she realizes she hasn’t asked him what he does for work, even though it’s come up twice. “What do you do, exactly?”
“I, um, I work for the government.”
“Gotcha, so you can’t tell me exactly what you do?”
Tittering, he says, “No– I mean, yes, I can. I’m with the FBI. We use psychology and behavioral analysis to catch serial killers.”
Her lips part in surprise as she rests her hand on the receipt printer. “Oh, wow. That sounds intense.”
His mouth purses as he nods, “Yes.”
As their casual chat comes to a close, the lull brings her inner panic. This is the part where she’s supposed to ask him about his Soulmark.
Okay, here it goes. “Do you… um…”
He gives her an expectant gaze while tilting his head. “Do I…?”
“Sorry, do you need a bag?”
Spencer glances at his singular book that definitely doesn’t require a bag, then shakes his head. “I’m good. Thank you, though.”
Bashfully smiling, she hands back his card and his receipt. “Right. Well, thank you for shopping with us.”
He tells her, “Have a great day,” as he turns to leave, and she wants to disappear as she recalls their last interaction.
Muttering, “You too,” she rotates to face Beth, whose face is full of anticipation. After the door chime rings, she tells her, “I’m a coward.”
Her boss laughs as she agrees, “Yes.”
─── ♡ ───
Derek tells Penelope that Spencer met his Soulmate. Derek told Penelope, and Spencer is pissed. He wanted to deal with this on his own. He didn’t even want to tell Derek, but he was cornered into it twice. He doesn’t even know if she is his Soulmate.
Penelope goes behind his back and finds her social media accounts — solely by knowing what her first name is and where she works. Her skills are frightening at times.
She storms into the bullpen like a neon tornado, racing to Spencer’s desk, gripping a piece of printer paper. Slamming it onto the wood, she screeches, “Is this her?!”
The intrusion has him flinching galvanically, and he scrambles to grab the sheet, holding it to his chest, as he balks, “…No.”
She smiles like a Cheshire cat, “Then why are you holding it to your heart like it’s something precious?”
He grumbles something about privacy and boundaries as he shoves the screenshot of her Facebook into his desk drawer, hoping that Penelope can’t see him biting the inside of his cheek, hiding a smile.
It’s probably not her, he rationalizes. There are thousands of people in this city, and there’s no statistical way she’s the only one with initials that match the ones on his hipbone. It’s incredibly unlikely and would be entirely too lucky for him to have found her. Maybe this is the universe righting its wrongs for putting him through-
There’s no way it’s her.
─── ♡ ───
It’s definitely not her, but Sherwood does have a great selection of books. It’s definitely not her, but maybe they can be friends.
Spencer starts spending more and more time at Sherwood. He’ll pile up a stack of books in his arms and sit in the armchair by the window, reading, until they close and Beth lovingly kicks him out.
The first time he did this, she approached him with a shitty cup of Keurig coffee made from the machine in the office. He accepted it gratefully, fingers curling over hers around the mug. She nodded to the stack of books and asked him if he was planning to get through all of them before they closed in a couple of hours. He laughed and informed her that yes, he was planning to, and that he can read twenty thousand words per minute. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.
It became a routine. A few times a week, he’d pop by, meandering through the shelves while picking his selection. After he settled into his spot, she’d bring him his cup of coffee, carefully blowing at the steam while she carried it over to him. He’d sincerely thank her, pretending to be surprised that she’s done it again. She’d ask him about what he’s chosen that day, and he’d animatedly tell her about each book: what he knows about them and what he’s looking forward to. He’d give her thorough reviews before he left, as he returned each one to its rightful place. She insists that he doesn’t have to do that, that he can leave them on the returned books cart and she’ll take care of them for him – it’s literally her job – and he’d refuse.
He asks her what her favorite books are, and when she shyly tells him that her favorite genre is romance, his heap of books becomes a mixture of his selections and ones that she’s mentioned.
She avoids Beth’s gaze when she comes into work one morning with a brand-new coffee machine tucked under her arm. He deserves better than shitty Keurig coffee.
─── ♡ ───
The BAU has a case in Bumfuck, Utah and they’re about to board the plane and he has no way of telling her that he’ll be gone for an unidentified amount of time. He wonders if she’ll worry about him – if she’ll glance at the door each time it chimes, hoping it’ll be him.
JJ watches him forlornly stare out the jet window, narrowing her eyes in confusion.
When they return from Bumfuck, Utah, he goes straight to Sherwood before even heading to his apartment. It’s two in the afternoon, and he’s never gone in at this time. He hopes that’s okay. His duffel bag is hanging off his shoulder, and he feels a little ridiculous walking around like that.
She lights up like a Christmas tree when she spots his chestnut hair and sweater vest in the doorway. He apologizes profusely for disappearing, explains that he had to go to Bumfuck, Utah, and shyly asks for her number.
Giggling and pulling a sparkly green pen off her lanyard, she scribbles the digits into the palm of his hand.
─── ♡ ───
He told himself that getting her number was solely for logistical purposes. It was only so he could inform her when he’d be out of town and to ask about the books in the basement. At first, that’s all it was.
Then, she started sending him pictures of new releases and views from the bookstore window that never failed to put a smile on his face. He started sending photos from random states and the jet window in return.
Eventually, he found himself texting her first thing in the morning and right before he went to bed. He’d do so throughout the day, sporadically, as well – as long as Derek or Penelope weren’t nearby.
“Do I want to know why you’re smiling at your crotch?” Derek saunters up to Spencer with a twisted grin on his face.
Spencer shoves his phone under his thigh and purses his lips in feigned confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
─── ♡ ───
It’s raining, and multiple spots on the ceiling are steadily dripping into buckets. She’s spent half of her shift setting up and moving wet-floor signs, and she wishes that she could curl up with a book and a cup of tea by the window. The soft sky and gentle pattering of droplets normally bring her comfort, but today they’ve only brought chaos.
She’s not even as excited to see Spencer as she normally would be. Her hair is a frizzy mess from the humidity, and her mind is completely frazzled.
He’s perusing the shelves for something he hasn’t read yet – a difficult feat – when a customer informs her that the ceiling is leaking in another spot. With a sigh, she goes on a hunt for an additional bucket, passing Spencer as she does.
Her feet skid across the floor behind him, and he just barely sees her lose balance in his periphery. Instinctively reaching his arms out for her, if he hadn’t had an eye on her, she would’ve slipped and fallen backwards.
She gasps. “Oh my-” As he pivoted, his hands found her waist to steady her, and hers landed on his chest. “Thanks,” she continues, winded.
Their faces are incredibly close, and she can feel his breath fanning over her face as they just stare at each other. “You’re welcome,” he replies, whispering. Her eyes flicker down to his lips as he speaks, lingering there as they move. His tongue darts out to wet them, and she quickly meets his eyes again, only to find them pointed towards her mouth. His palms feel warm around her hips, and her fingers find the edge of his jacket.
Her heart jumps as he gets closer, seemingly leaning in to kiss her. Is this really happening? Maybe she’s dreaming. Maybe she did slip and she smacked her head and this is a weird concussion dream.
Spencer murmurs, “Could I-”
“Excuse me, ma’am, do you work here?” She flinches and turns around to find an older man awkwardly staring at them. Spencer’s hands slowly fall from her hips, and he takes a step away from her. If her entire body weren’t on fire, she’d feel cold from the absence of him.
She’s breathless, and her mind is reeling as she smooths her shirt, hoping to calm the butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach.
Clearing her throat, she shakily responds, “Yes.”
The customer is holding a children’s book that has a Jolly Rancher stuck to the front cover. “Can I get a discount on this?”
She flattens her lips to smile politely, “I’m sure we can find one that isn’t damaged,” and leads the man to the kids’ area. She can’t help herself from looking back at Spencer one more time, where she sees him watching her wistfully.
─── ♡ ───
It’s getting too hot for her to continue wearing pants, so she wears her dresses again, but with socks long enough to cover her Mark. She’s standing on a ladder, stocking the top shelves, when he comes in again. He doesn’t stray from his usual uniform as Spring fades into Summer. The most of his skin that she’s seen is his forearms, and she feels like a creep wishing to see more of him bare.
He always smells so good, and his clothes look so soft. She wonders how they would feel against her skin – how it would feel to lay her head on his chest, inhaling his cologne and listening to his heartbeat.
His eyebrows furrow as he glances around the store, looking for her. He smiles and waves politely at Beth when he catches her eye, and her heart flitters as she watches this from above. He’s so courteous and sweet and lovely. When his eyes trail up the ladder and find her, they soften and glisten.
Walking up next to her, he cranes his head to see the books she’s stocking and asks her about them. “Cookbooks?”
Glancing down at him with a smile, she says, “Yeah. We just got a new shipment.” She has to force herself to look back at the box in her arms. He looks especially pretty from high up. “Do you cook?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he replies. “I can, but I don’t do it enough.”
She tsks at him and jests, “Busy FBI agent too busy to boil water?”
As he laughs, she bites her lip to hold back a celebratory grin. He replies, “Something like that. It’s just easier to order in… Do you cook?”
She nods and says, “As often as I can. I’m often only cooking for myself, though, so it can be hard to get the servings right. I find myself begging Beth to take some of my leftovers like every other week,” while giggling. She’d love to cook for him sometime. She wonders what he would like, what he grew up eating.
As she descends the ladder, he holds out a hand for her to hold. She quietly thanks him, slightly lifting the hem of her dress as she steps down. She doesn’t see his eyes flicker to her ankle, where the top edge of her Mark is peeking above her sock.
“I- Um- I have to go.” He abruptly announces, with a perturbed look in his eyes.
“Oh-”
Rubbing his mouth, he murmurs, “Sorry- I… Bye,” before bolting out the door.
She glances over at Beth in confusion, who’s looking back at her with a similar expression.
─── ♡ ───
“She has her Soulmate already,” Spencer tells Derek while sulking at his desk.
Derek frowns and squeezes his shoulder, “I’m sorry, man.”
Spencer shrugs, “It’s fine. I don’t care about it anyway.”
Derek stares at him while he maintains his focus on his desk. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying,” Spencer defends, pursing his lips.
Derek narrows his eyes and tilts his head accusatorily. “Then why do you look like a kicked puppy?”
“I don’t,” Spencer responds too quickly.
Derek pesters him, asking what happened, until Spencer folds and tells him.
Derek speaks slowly, and it makes Spencer feel dumb, which greatly annoys him. “So you didn’t see the initials properly?”
“No.” He confirms.
“So, for all you know, they could’ve been yours?”
“Not likely, but yes, I suppose.”
Derek flicks him in the forehead, and Spencer yelps in pain. “What was that for?!”
“For being an idiot,” he replies, rolling his eyes before walking away while shaking his head.
─── ♡ ───
Almost two weeks after last seeing him, she runs into him at the grocery store. The store closes in thirty minutes, and she’s only there to buy ice cream.
She’s certain she’s hallucinating when she sees the back of his head at the end of the aisle. How pathetic is it that she misses him so much that she’s seeing things — applying his caricature to someone else?
Her breath lodges in her throat when he turns around, and it actually is Spencer who’s staring at the frozen waffles.
She’s as frozen as the food around them as he makes eye contact with her. For a moment, they stare at each other like two figurines trapped in a snow globe.
He raises his hand to wave perfunctorily before turning on his heel to walk away. She frowns and finds herself chasing after him.
“Spencer- Wait-“
Part of him wants to ignore her and just keep walking, but she didn’t do anything wrong and doesn’t deserve that. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for treating her that way. Halting his movements, he slowly turns back around to face her. How does she still look so beautiful under the harsh fluorescent lighting?
“Hey, we’ve missed you at Sherwood.”
He winces, “Yeah… I’ve, um, I’ve been busy,” and raises a hand to the back of his neck.
She nods, averting her gaze to the wall of sliced cheese behind him. “Right, of course. I didn’t mean-” Wringing her hands, she looks back at him to ask, “Did I do something wrong?”
His heart wilts at her inquiry. Her voice sounds so small and timid, and he hates himself for causing her to feel this way. Eyes softening, he takes a step towards her as he says, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong.” She really didn’t. It’s not her fault that she’s already met her Soulmate. It’s his fault for naively thinking that she could be his.
She absentmindedly nods, and they both know she doesn’t believe him, but she’s trying to absorb his words anyway. “Okay… good. That’s good.” Turning to point at the breakfast foods aisle, she dumbly says, “You didn’t get your waffles.”
His lips part, then shut, then open again. “Um… I realized that I already have some.” He’s lying, and they both know it.
The words fall out of her like a torrential downpour. She can’t control it, and she doesn’t have an umbrella to protect them with. “I have this recipe that makes exactly two waffles – I could send it to you if you’d like? I put a dash of cinnamon in mine, but you don’t have to, but I’ve found it adds a nice flavor-”
“Sure.” He interrupts her nervous rambling with a tense, closed-lipped smile. “I have to go. I’ll try to stop by Sherwood soon.”
Before she can respond, he’s already turned around and bolting to the checkout. Her eyes burn as she watches him go. She sends him the stupid recipe with blurred vision. He doesn’t respond.
She buys two pints of ice cream and eats half of both.
He does make the waffles when he gets home. It was the main reason he went to the store that late — a need for something sweet to drown his sorrows in. Something to drown in syrup while he tries to pay attention to a documentary.
His waffle maker sucks, so the first one comes out burnt and ruined. He only gets to eat one. It’s the best waffle he’s ever had, yet his chest aches with every bite.
He remembers when she said that she mostly cooks for herself, and thinks that her Soulmate is an idiot for not enjoying her cooking.
─── ♡ ───
Beth has had enough. She’s had enough of the sulking, downturned expressions, and half-hearted conversations with her employee. Books are being shelved incorrectly, and the front door didn’t even get locked last night.
She approaches her with her arms crossed. “Call him.”
She doesn’t even look up as she mumbles, “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Beth scoffs, “Look, honey. This has gone on for far too long. You need to tell him about your Mark. You’ll regret it if you don’t,” and she stands there, eyes flicking down to her dress pocket, until she relents and yanks her phone out of it.
“Fine. But I’m not doing it out here,” She says before walking towards the office door.
Her thumb hovers over his contact as she shuts the door behind her. Closing her eyes, she dials him and begins pacing as it rings, biting the skin around her thumb.
It rings for so long that she’s certain it’s about to go to voicemail when his light and airy voice enters her ear: “Hello?”
She takes a rattled breath. “Hi.”
For a few moments, the only sounds they can hear are each other's breathing.
He clears his throat before he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Well, no. I think we should talk.”
He hesitates before he answers, thinking that she’s going to continue, but when she doesn’t, he says, “Okay-”
“Can you meet me at Shady Park today? After work? I mean…” She shakes her head and drops into the desk chair with a hand on her forehead. “Are you in town?”
“Yes, I’m in town,” Spencer confirms. “And yes, I can meet you at the park. Is everything okay?”
“I just need to talk to you, and I don’t want to do it over the phone.”
“Okay… That makes sense… I’ll meet you at seven? Or does it need to be after Sherwood closes?”
“Seven works.”
“Okay.”
She rushes to conclude the call, “Okay. I’ll see you then. Bye,” and hangs up before he can respond.
As she emerges from the office, pale and breathing shallowly, Beth looks at her expectantly from across the store. She tells her about their plans and tries to pull out her phone to cancel on him three times before Beth takes it from her and hides it.
A few hours later, she’s sitting on a bench in the park, watching the ripples in the river as it rushes by. The sky is gray and lifeless, and she should’ve checked the weather before planning to meet here.
Spencer approaches her from the side, and she catches a glimpse of him in her periphery before she stands to greet him. Why is she standing to greet him? That’s so strange. This is so strange.
He looks tired and sad, and she hates it. Pointing to the empty side of the bench, he says, “Hi. Can I sit?”
She overexerts a nod as she sits back down, whispering, “Please.”
They sit in silence for a while because neither of them knows how to start the conversation. They haven’t spoken in weeks, and the air between them feels abnormally heavy. Or maybe it’s just the humidity from the impending rain. They’re sitting close enough that she could lean over and rest her head on his shoulder, but there’s a metaphorical boulder separating them.
She blurts out, “I got my soulmark a few months ago.”
Spencer sighs, adjusting his posture on the bench. “I know. I saw it.”
She wasn’t really sure what he was going to say to her confession, but that wasn’t it.
Turning to face him, she’s appalled. “Wait, you saw it? So you know?” His gaze remains straightforward.
His voice remains flat and even, as if he’s sharing a mathematical equation. “Yes, I know that you already met them.”
She stutters, “W-Well, I’m not entirely sure who it is.”
He finally turns to look at her with furrowed eyebrows, “What?” and a raindrop falls onto his shoulder.
She focuses her gaze on the damp circle as she tells him, “I don’t know if you’re my SR, but I really wanted you to be.”
His heart sinks at her use of past tense. Wanted.
He barely heard her say his initials before she’s pushing down her sock and gesturing to her Mark. Spencer’s lips part as he stares at it properly. He’s certain his heart has stopped beating in his chest. He can’t wrap his head around this; his brain is struggling to make any conclusions, especially as more raindrops fall from the sky – getting caught in her eyelashes and rolling down her temples.
He suddenly starts loosening his belt, and her eyes widen. “What are you doing?”
Spencer frantically mumbles, “I need to show you something.” Her eyes dart around them as he pulls on his waistband. Surely he’s not- “Look. Please.”
Looking back at him, she finds him carefully watching her. Her eyes trail down his body to his waist, where he’s exposed a sliver of skin by his hipbone. A sliver of skin that has her initials branded into it.
Her jaw falls open. She can’t tear her eyes away from it. The rain is pouring down around them now, and she’s barely taken notice of it. She’s unsure if her eyes are burning from the droplets, her makeup, or tears brewing. Her voice trembles as she asks, “When did you get that?”
“A few months ago. I was running late for work, and I didn’t notice it until I got there. I was-”
“On the Metro? The Purple Line?” She frantically asks.
“Yes,” he sighs in response, while readjusting his pants.
“Spencer, I-”
Boom! A crack of thunder crashes around them. They both flinch at the intrusion, suddenly hyperaware of the downpour surrounding them. Spencer rises from the bench, grabs her hand, and leads them under a nearby tree. The covering of leaves does little to protect them from the rain, but the damage has already been done anyway — they’re soaked to the bone.
She asks, “Should we be under a tree when it’s storming?” glancing around at the sky in search of lightning.
His hands lift up to her cheeks, angling her head towards him. Stepping closer, he murmurs, “We’re fine.”
Her breath hitches as his face nears hers. Electricity crackles under her cheeks where his thumbs brush the skin. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Surely, she shouldn’t leave them just hanging by her sides, but before she can decide anything, he’s pressing his lips to hers.
She completely melts into him. Somehow, her arms end up wrapped around his neck, and she’s pulling his body into hers. She can feel him everywhere.
Another crack of thunder sounds throughout the sky, and this time it’s closely followed by a flash of lightning. She gasps, and he takes the opportunity to swipe his tongue into her mouth, sending heat into her belly and numbing her fingertips.
Finally, Spencer wises up when he sees another flash behind his eyelids, and he reluctantly separates his lips from hers. With a sly smile, he grabs her hand and points toward the parking lot. “C’mon, I drove here.”
She giggles as they run through the damp grass, puddles splashing up their ankles and their bodies drenched.
Once they reach his car, he mumbles under his breath as he sticks the key in the door, fumbling to unlock it. She thinks she hears him say something about a stupid old car.
They fall inside as the rain patters against the roof and windows, and he quickly starts the ignition to get the air blowing. They’re shaking and shivering, and she has goosebumps on her arms. She’s not sure if they’re from the rain or from him.
Looking over at him, she laughs at the sight of his hair matted to his forehead and his soaked clothes. She’s sure she doesn’t look much better. The warmth in his eyes floods her bloodstream, thawing her from the inside out as he turns to look at her.
He leans over the center console and grabs both of her hands in his, thumbs rubbing over the backs of them. With averted eyes, he tells her, “I’m sorry for how I acted.”
She had almost forgotten that he’d iced her out for weeks prior to this. She’s grateful he didn’t let her. Whispering, she responds, “It’s okay,” and he immediately shakes his head.
Making intense eye contact with her, he asserts, “No, it wasn’t. I-I really missed you — please know that…” He squeezes her hands. “I really liked you. I really like you. And I tried telling myself that I didn’t care about Soulmarks, that if ours didn’t match then we could at least still be friends, but when I saw yours I… I panicked.”
“I really missed you too. I wanted to ask if you had gotten yours, but I chickened out every time.” She purses her lips, then lightly laughs, “Beth wanted to strangle me each time you left Sherwood, and I still didn’t know.” He chuckles at that, too.
For a moment, he just stares at her, unashamedly. Her eyelashes have clumped together from the rain, and her hair is a mess, honestly, but it’s endearing, and he can see the reflection of the droplets smacking and rolling down the car windows on her skin. He notices the chills on her shoulders and urgently sits straighter, letting go of one of her hands to search his backseat. “I think I have a sweatshirt back here…”
“Oh, that’s okay-“ She’s interrupted by him presenting it to her, a tattered grey thing with CalTech embroidered on the front. Gratefully accepting it, she slides it over her head and revels in the comfort it brings her.
He gives her an imploring gaze. “You look beautiful.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure I look like a wet rat.”
He chuckles and shakes his head, lifting his palm to the side of her neck. Without thinking, she leans into him. Tilting her head towards him and leaning closer, his lips brush hers as he says, “Not at all,” before softly kissing her again.
─── ♡ ───
The following day, Beth watches as she flits around the bookstore. Her employee is biting back a smile and humming under her breath, and the woman’s eyes fill with tears.
Down the road at FBI Headquarters, Derek nudges Penelope’s arm as Spencer walks past them. Derek gestures at his own neck and nods his head in Spencer’s direction. Penelope’s eyes drag from Derek’s collar to Spencer’s, where the edge of a lovebite is peeking above his shirt, and her eyes widen as she squeals.
─── ♡ ───
hiii i started brainstorming for this back in may and it's finally done! i hope u liked!! pretty pls interact if u did!! reading y'all's comments and reblog tags make my entire day <3
taglist: @sabbiabbydabbywabbie // @siriuslyval03 // @amobigode // @the-floatingotter // @angelstatistic // @themoonandthesunandstars // @tostellify // @aphyrna-mokarran // @roaryxoxo // @feliasrchive
comment here to be added to my taglist <3
Sunburn // Spencer Reid☀️
synopsis: in which spencer is so focused on taking care of your family that he forgets about himself
pairing: dad! spencer x gn parent! reader
genre: fluff
wc: 1.1k
notes/tags: lowkey not a fan of this but i believe in posting everything, inspired by my own sunburn <3, boy dad AND girl dad spence for both target audiences, spence uses magic as bribery, it was very painful to type ‘soccer’ as a brit
masterlist // pls reblog if you enjoy it helps promote the fic so much !!
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You raised a hand over your eyes, shielding them from the glaring sun and leaning back on your free palm as you watched your kids run around just ahead of you. The picnic blanket Spencer had laid out for you was warm, littered with fruit and candy and paper cups spread out between you both. He seemed to be examining the sun, his own shielded eyes darting between the sky and your children as they kicked around the football they’d brought along.
“I think we need to reapply their sunscreen.” He said, reaching for your kids’ backpacks.
“Are you sure?” You turned to look at him and the warm flush on his cheeks. “We only put it on them a couple hours ago.”
Spencer rummaged through your daughter’s dinosaur backpack before finally finding the bottle, pulling it out and setting it on the blanket. “Exactly. The recommended wait time between applications is approximately two hours, and given the fact they’ve been running around and sweating it off for one of those hours they’re actually overdue.”
You felt yourself smile as you turned your attention back to your kids, just in time to see your son let his little sister score a goal in their make-shift soccer field marked by twigs. Your husband had tried to play alongside them for a while, but was ultimately benched when he stumbled over his own feet for the third time.
“They’re also due a hydration break.” He muttered, diving back into the bags. “Where are the chips we packed? They need something salty to replenish their electrolytes.”
“You know we’re just watching them play, not coaching a soccer game.” You teased, smirking at him over your shoulder.
“Well, I did coach in high school.”
You tilted your head at him. “I thought that was basketball?”
“I dabbled in soccer too.” He shrugged, zipping the bag shut and gently tossing it to the side. “But don’t tell Morgan. He’ll realise I was hustling him in his game against Anderson as payback for that prank he pulled on me.”
“You’re full of surprises, Dr Reid.” Laughing, you took a sip of the lemonade he’d poured for you, leaning back once more and feeling the warmth of the sun kiss your skin. “I take it you want me to reapply too?”
Spencer leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple as he placed the spare bottle of sunscreen in your hand. “Have I ever told you how smart you are?”
Chuckling, you unscrewed the cap, finding yourself thanking the summer heat for disguising the blush in your cheeks. He waved your kids over, offering his sarcastic apologies when they grumbled and groaned and trudged their way back to the picnic blanket.
“But Daddy, it feels yucky!” Your daughter whined, snatching her arm back when Spencer reached out for it.
“I’ll bet you sunburn feels even yuckier.” You chimed in as you slathered your own arms.
“I bet it doesn’t.” She huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout, looking awfully familiar as her big brown eyes narrowed at him. It’s like looking at a pair of twins, you thought.
“I guarantee it does.” Spencer reached out again, tucking her breeze blown hair behind her ears. “Sore burns, peeling skin- nausea. This is serious, honey.”
Her eyes dropped to the floor as she scuffed her shoe against the grass stubbornly. Spencer sighed, gently tilting her head back up to look at him. Her face was red, her skin brandishing a light flush that made a little knot of panic tighten in his chest.
“Sweetheart, are you sure I can’t-“ he returned his hand to her ear, pulling back a piece of candy seemingly from thin air, “bribe you?”
Instantly her eyes lit up, widening with marvel as she squealed. “How did you do that!” She giggled, sticking her hand out to take the candy from him, only for him to pull it back.
“You have to let Daddy put your sunscreen on okay?” You nudged, but she was nodding before you’d even finished speaking, enthusiastically lunging for the sweet as she plopped herself down cross legged on the blanket.
Your son watched on, amazed, before grinning at Spencer. “Dad, I think there’s something in my ear too!”
A short while later and many magic pieces of candy down they were both running around again, Spencer at ease for another couple of hours and peacefully snacking on the cookies you’d brought for him. He’d been thorough, the sunscreen practically becoming a second layer of skin everywhere the sun’s rays might reach- their hands, their faces, all the way to the tips of their noses, even behind the ears he’d pulled all the magic candy from.
“Happy now?” You said, shuffling on the blanket until the rolled up sleeve of his cardigan was brushing your arm.
“Hmm.” He hummed, nose scrunching. “Almost.”
“Almost?”
Holding back a smile, he raised his arm, beckoning you closer with a tilt of his head. You obliged in a heartbeat, letting his arm fall around you, tucking you into his side as your head lolled onto his shoulder. You could’ve fallen asleep as he placed a tender kiss to your crown.
“Now I’m happy.”
Bonus
Later At Home
“Oh my God.” You gasped. Spencer was shuffling slowly into the kitchen, skin red and raw. “Oh, honey you look like you were roasted on a spit.”
“Yeah, I know.” He murmured miserably. You stepped towards him, gently brushing the tip of his nose with one finger, pulling away when he winced through his teeth.
“I’m sorry!” Looking him up and down, you pouted at the redness sticking out of his sleeves and creeping up his chest and to his neck. “How did this even happen? All you did today was talk about sunscreen.”
“I was so focused on making sure the kids were safe,” he looked down pathetically, almost whimpering at the sight of his burning skin, “I guess I forgot about myself.”
You sighed, wanting to reach out for him but not wanting to hurt him. Despite the wounded-puppy look on his face you couldn’t help the tiny smile pulling at your lips. Of course Spencer Reid would get so swept up in magic tricks and reciting the dangers of sun damage that he would forget to actually protect himself from it.
“You’re too caring for your own good.” You risked a hand in his hair, carefully avoiding his scalp as you brushed your fingers through it. “Diagnosis: sunburn. Treatment?”
“Aloe vera?” Spencer’s head tilted, following your movements.
“You need help putting it on?”
He smiled at you, small and slightly embarrassed. “Please.”
Giggling softly, you held out your hand for him to take, delighted that his hands were sunburn-free enough to do so. “Come on, Rudolph.”
-
s.reid headcanon- first date/ fem!reader
spencer reid who doesn't really pay any mind to any of his coworkers at the bau, romantically, anyways, because why would he? they seem fine enough, but no one he makes a point of having a relationship with outside of work. besides, 57% of people reported that work relationships impacted their performance. he didn't want to be part of that statistic.
spencer reid who forgets about that statistic when you start, because he's never met anyone like you. and you're so nice to him. he can feel himself getting flustered around you, debating whether or not to avoid you or try and spend more time with you, especially when he knows morgan is watching.
spencer reid who fails to notice that you never seem to mind his rambling or awkward quirks, and in fact, seem more attracted to them instead. you, of course, notice he gets more anxious around you, so you absolutely take advantage of that. reid, gets even more confused, wondering how he can stop embarrassing himself in front of you. and the rest of the team, who seem to be fascinated with watching him fail.
spencer reid who is bet by derek morgan and penelope garcia to get it over with and ask you out. he wants to tell them the statistics of rejection, but he saw the quick ten slipped between them, so he holds back, and instead, on the jet plane back from a case where you're reading 'of mice and men' (he doesn't have a clue why that would be your choice), he asks if you would be inclined for dinner that weekend. much to his surprise, and lack to yours, you accept, telling him you'd be more than delighted.
spencer reid who spends too long trying to get ready before the date, thinking of what colors you would like best on him, debating if you would prefer a sweater or button up? and maybe khakis? or casual jeans? would you even care? when he doesn't know that you've spent double the amount of time working on your own outfit, assuming he would know color theory on a person, what would look best on you- hoping you get it right.
spencer reid who tries not to spend the whole date looking at your lips. the way you tilt the wine glass to them, leaving a lipstick mark around the rim. the way you bring the spoon to your lips, your mouth wrapping around it carefully, and he has to refrain from thinking of everything else it could be around in that moment. the way your tongue runs across your lips when you finish talking, or a breath in a sentence. or when a drop of wine lands on them.
spencer reid who drops you off at your apartment, walking you to your door, thanking you for agreeing to the date. as if it was forced, which makes you laugh, another thing he realizes he really likes. he's not an expert in kissing, by any means, but he dips his head down anyways, finding your lips. he feels you smile against him before meeting him into the kiss, your arms wrapping around the nape of his neck, pulling you deeper into him. making out in front of an apartment door was always cliche to spencer, but he couldn't think of a better place to be than right now.
Do Nothing Day // Spencer Reid 🩵
based off of this request :3
synopsis: when spencer comes home from a rough case in the middle of the night tired and injured, he wants nothing more than to spend the day in bed with you (and to make you breakfast)
genre: fluff !
wc: 1.6k
notes/tags: another sleepy spence fic? from cherrygarcia-07? its likelier than you think, im so sorry that im always writing him hurt i promise i love him, spencer has Anxiety, puppy coded! spencer strikes again
masterlist // pls reblog if you enjoy it helps promote the fic so much !!
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It was odd. You were sure you’d fallen asleep in a bigger bed than you’d woken up in. Now that you think about it, the bed was colder last night too. You blinked awake slowly, adjusting to the amber glow peeking through the blinds, listening to the distant sound of the world waking up outside. The sun. Of course. That must be why it felt so warm. Yet as you caught up with your consciousness you became aware of a weight over your waist, small, rhythmic puffs of air against the back of your neck. Your lips melted into a sleepy smile as you realised.
Spencer.
He must’ve come home in the middle of the night, careful not to wake you as he climbed into bed beside you. You could picture him, all heavy limbs weighed down with exhaustion and tie discarded on the sofa somewhere in the dark as he shuffled like a zombie into your shared room. It was never easy for him, coming home this late. The team usually stayed overnight wherever they were when a case ended deep in the night, opting to make it home for the morning instead. Whatever case they’d been working on must’ve been harrowing enough that they just wanted to get away as fast as possible.
You stretched as much as you could without stirring him, delighting in his sleepy grumble as he dreamily nuzzled further into you. From the way he had anchored himself to you, you could tell this was a much needed rest. You lay there for a while just listening to him, to the steady sound of his breathing and the occasional murmurs and mumbles that accompanied them, before you found yourself itching with the urge to see his face. Slowly, cautiously, you turned over in his grasp, cringing at every creak of the mattress and each rustle of sheets. Ah, there he is.
There was a graze on his cheek, red and raw and stinging- but he was alive. A cut curved over his lip, dark, dried blood making it look worse than it probably was but it made your chest tighten all the same. His hair fanned out over the pillow behind him, a little stringy like he’d been too drained to wash it. You made a note to do it for him when he was ready. Gently, you let your finger hover over the deep purple beneath his eyes, confirmation that this was probably the first decent sleep he’d gotten all week. Spencer’s cheekbones were always prominent. You always told him it made him look like a statue, carved and chiseled like he belonged in a museum. Yet now as the rising sunlight found them, the shadows beneath them looking darker and more hollow than usual- he looked frail.
You lay there for a while, just observing. It was something he often did to you after a bad case, too hyper vigilant to let himself rest. He needed the confirmation that you were okay, he needed to see the rise and fall of your chest to steady his own. It wasn’t often that it was the other way round.
“How long have you been watching me?” A low voice mumbled. It was thin and gravelly, like he’d been yelling until it broke.
“Hm?” You looked up from where you’d been staring at the split in his lip to find two half-lidded eyes squinting at you. “I haven’t been.”
Spencer let out a small huffed laugh. “That’s funny. I could’ve sworn I’ve been feeling your breath on my face for the past five minutes.”
“Nope. Must’ve dreamt it.” He began to smile but began wincing where his lip clearly stung. You kept your voice gentle as you swiped your thumb across it. “Are you okay?”
He groaned, like he deliberated answering and ultimately decided against it. Instead he lifted his arm from your waist, beckoning you closer against his chest. “Come here.”
You obliged, biting back your insistence and cuddling into him. He’d tell you when he was ready. For now, you allowed yourself to sink into him, feeling his arms wrap around you as you slung your legs over his. It’d been a long case. Too many nights of falling asleep in an empty bed, of not waking to the smell of coffee that always seemed to cling to him. Spencer’s knuckles began grazing up and down your spine, a hypnotic rhythm threatening to lull you back to sleep right there.
He let out a content sigh, mumbling to himself. “I think I’m going to stay home today.”
“What?” Your eyes shot open. In all the years you’d known him, he’d never ever taken a day off for himself. For his mother? Of course. For you? In a heartbeat. But you were convinced he would rather crawl into work straight from his deathbed than to simply exist at home with nothing important to do. Rolling off of him slightly, you propped yourself up so that your face hovered over his, narrowed eyes squinting down at him. “Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”
He pouted, as if the sudden absence of you in his arms was physically breaking his heart. “I got my report done on the jet. I don’t have any paperwork that needs doing.” He reached out, desperately trying to guide you back to him and pouting even more when you stayed put. “I just really want to stay home today.”
“And do what?” You asked, leaning down and giving him a peck on the tip of his nose to appease the big, sad eyes he was giving you.
“Nothing.” He shrugged.
“Nothing?” Your eyebrows shot up, scandalised. “Pigs must be flying.”
Spencer chuckled, wincing as his split lip protested. “The idea of laying on the sofa in my pyjamas with you and catching up on Doctor Who is far more appealing to me than sitting at my desk for eight hours while everyone fails to pretend the past week didn’t happen. And for once, I have an opportunity to do the former.”
“The case was that bad?” You asked softly. You tried to soothe him, gently brushing back his sleep-tousled hair from his forehead, but his gaze dropped.
“Can you please just come here?” His voice was small as his big eyes found you again, his arm reaching for you once more and this time you let him pull you back into the warmth of his chest.
“So I’m not allowed to get up and make you breakfast?” You muffled into his shirt.
His arms wrapped even tighter around you. “I can make my own breakfast. And yours too while I’m up.”
You tried to lift your head up, but you found it pinned beneath his chin, breath fanning over the flushed skin of his neck. “What happened to doing nothing?”
“I am doing nothing.” He retorted, and though you couldn’t see his face you could tell his eyebrows had pinched. After so long, you could practically hear it in his voice, in the way his inflection rose ever so slightly. The perfect foundation for teasing him.
“Well,” you began, smiling against his neck, “‘doing nothing’ implies lying here motionless. Not getting up, not moving, not talking- definitely not making us both breakfast. Literally ‘doing nothing’. Unless of course you meant it figuratively- but that’s not what you said so…”
“Are you-“ Spencer let out a sharp laugh, his chest jostling beneath you. “Are you really arguing semantics with me right now so that I’ll let you make me breakfast?”
“Depends.” Finding your strength, you untangled yourself from his grasp just enough to hover your face over his again. “Is it working?”
“No.” He laughed again, a grin growing on his face much to the misfortune of his split lip. “But it was a very cute attempt.”
A tiny drop of blood emerged from the cut, making you cringe with concern as you lifted your thumb to it and swiped it away. As the sun continued to flood the room, the graze on his cheek seemed darker, angrier where it intruded his skin. Even the way he clung to you felt pained, desperation worsening his aching bones as he fastened you to him like he’d fall apart without you. Whatever happened must’ve haunted him. He was often a little over protective, a little obsessive over your safety. But it wasn’t often that he was afraid to let you out of his sight, especially in your own apartment.
“You want me to come with you?” Your hand drifted to his cheek, sweeping over the raw skin as gently as you could. “Make breakfast together?”
Beneath you, Spencer’s chest deflated like he was exhaling all the terror that had flooded his lungs over the past week. He took your hand from his cheek, bringing it to his lips and pressing a thankful kiss to your knuckles. “Please.”
“Alright.” You flashed him a smile, kissing his lips before pulling away with a teasing glimmer in your eyes. “You can do that thing where you hug me from behind like a koala and pretend to be helpful while I do all the work.”
“What?” He squeaked, following you as you hopped out of bed. “I do not do that.”
You turned the corner into the kitchen, laughing as he followed at your heel like a puppy. “You totally do. I bet you the last pancake in the stack that you do.”
“Deal.” He scoffed. “I can’t wait to eat that last pancake.”
He’d have to wait a little longer.
-
BEHIND THE SCREEN
series masterlist‧₊˚✧
previous part ➛ "Rainy mornings"
pairing: spencer reid x shy!secretary reader
summary: when a quiet afternoon of slacking off turns into a flirty exchange, the courage you only ever find behind the safety of the screen leaves you with a date for the evening
warnings: fluff, light teasing, reader being uncharacteristically bold, spencer being a tini tiny bit jealous, that's about it
wc: 1,1k
author's note: I haven't posted in well over a month and I'm so sorry! Life just got really busy, and I rarely have the time or energy for anything these days. But I'll do my best to stay as active as I possibly can. Thank you for your understanding, and I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Have a nice day!<3
p.s. this is barely proofread, so please excuse any typos
The bullpen was wrapped in a rare stillness, the kind of quiet that the rest of the team was using to finally catch up on overdue paperwork. On your monitor, the quarterly report had been sitting open for a solid thirty minutes — entirely blank. Instead, your focus was buried beneath a massive folder of documents, where a well-worn romance novel lay open.
You had just reached the exact moment where the main character finally realizes his feelings, your chest aching with a familiar, wistful envy, when a sudden flash from your computer screen shattered the daydream.
In the bottom right corner, the internal office messenger window popped up.
Unknown User: Reading on the clock again?
Your breath hitched, and your heart dropped straight into your stomach.
Hotch. It had to be.
A cold sweat broke out across your neck as you instinctively shot a guilty glance toward his office door. But a wave of relief washed over you as you remembered he was away at a briefing. Exhaling a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, you stared back at the screen, your mind racing.
Who could it possibly be?
Before you could think, another message flashed.
Unknown User: Another romance novel? ;)
You squinted at the glowing text.
You: Who is this?
The typing bubbles appeared almost instantly.
Unknown User: Who do you think it is?
You: Penelope?
Unknown User: Good guess, but no. Try again ;)
You hesitated, the tip of your tongue catching between your teeth. Normally, the mere thought of drawing attention to yourself made you want to shrink into your chair, but curiosity ultimately won.
You: Alright then, I need a hint.
The status line vanished. There was a pause on the other end, as if they were carefully choosing their words.
Unknown User: I know you’re re-reading the exact same page for the third time because you don’t want the book to end.
Oh.
Your hand froze over the mouse. Such a specific detail left absolutely no room for doubt. Granted, you were surrounded by people who read micro-expressions for a living, but there was only one person in this entire building who would actually care enough to notice something so small. Who would look at you long enough to count the pages turning.
Spencer Reid.
Usually, you were an absolute, tongue-tied mess whenever he came around your desk. You’d drop your pens, stutter over simple greetings, and spend hours agonizing over how awkward you must seem in the eyes of a literal genius.
But right now? Shielded by the monitor, a sudden, wave of boldness flooded your chest. He couldn't see your blushing cheeks right now. He couldn't hear your racing heart.
Before the rational part of you could take over, your fingers flew across the keys, fueled by pure adrenaline.
You: Hmm...Cooper?
The reply came almost immediately.
Spencer: No(
Spencer: And who even is this Cooper guy?
A quiet chuckle escaped your lips. Propping your chin in your hand, you couldn't stop the wide smile from stretching across your face.
You: A cute guy from the IT department. He helped me with the printer last week. And, by the way, he promised to stop by again today to check up on it.
The silence that followed was long.
You bit your lip to choke back a laugh, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird as you waited. When the text finally appeared, you could practically hear his voice in your head.
Spencer: I know a thing or two about technology as well. Actually, the mechanism of a standard office printer is incredibly simple, and I could have resolved your issue much faster than anyone from the IT department. You didn't necessarily have to call Cooper.
You: Doctor Reid, are you jealous right now? Or am I just imagining things? ;)
Spencer blinked at the screen, momentarily losing his train of thought. He hadn't anticipated this playful, flirtatious side of you — and if he was being entirely honest with himself, the sudden shift was making his own heart beat just a little too fast.
Spencer: I'm not jealous, I'm simply stating a fact that my qualifications allow me to solve such mundane problems.
You: Really? So your brilliant brain is capable of handling not just serial killers, but my temperamental ink cartridge too?
The typing dots flickered, vanished, and then appeared again. You held your breath, twisting the hem of your cardigan around your finger.
Spencer: I wouldn't use those exact words, but yes.
You: You sound awfully confident, Dr Reid. And what if I need help with something other than technology?
The exact second the message marked as delivered, reality crashed back in.
The digital shield shattered, and panic set in. Your chest tightened, a cold dread replacing the giddiness as the seconds ticked by without a response.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
What were you doing? Had you pushed it too far? Had you completely misread a friendly joke and made things weird between you two?
You were just about to send an apology when three little dots appeared again.
Spencer: That depends on what kind of help you need. If it's something that requires...a private consultation, then after the shift ends, I am more than ready to offer my time. Just you and me. If you don't have any other plans, of course.
Your breath caught, jaw practically dropping as you stared at the screen.
Your brain scrambled, desperately trying to find some platonic, professional explanation for those words. But private consultation? Just you and me? There was absolutely no way to misinterpret this.
Spencer Reid had just asked you out.
Your hands were shaking so badly you had to take a long breath just to steady yourself. The playful confidence was gone, but you forced your fingers to type the words anyway.
You: Lucky for you, I don't have any other plans. So tonight, I'm all yours.
In the next room, a soft smile bloomed across Spencer's face, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. The spell was only broken when he caught Morgan looking at him from across the bullpen, a knowing smirk plastered across his face. Realizing he’d been caught red-handed, Spencer quickly ducked his head, hiding his burning face behind the safety of his monitor.
A quiet chime echoed from your speakers, snapping you out of your daze.
Spencer: Better put the book away now. Hotch will be back in twenty minutes.
You: No)
Spencer: Fine, but you have to tell me all about it over dinner. I need to know what kind of fictional man I'm competing against.
You: Deal. At seven by the exit.
You leaned back in your chair with smile tugging at your lips.
You were going on a date with Spencer Reid.
Garcia was absolutely going to lose her mind when she found out.
likes, comments, and reposts are always appreciated<3
you and me... potentially? (Spencer reid x fem!reader)
Summary: you've been keeping your massive crush on spencer reid a secret, that is until you go to the movies with him and realise he might just feel the same way about you.
CW: fluff, basically shy!reader, fem!reader, she overthinks a lot, has low self esteem. mentions of Project Hail Mary but no major spoilers, but lots of references to Grace's science pun t-shirts lol.
Word Count: 1.9k
A/N: yay finally!! I had so much fun writing this, inspired by a conversation with my lovely moot @mango-lovrr and our headcanon that spencer reid would absolutely wear science pun t-shirts.
You were kind of going crazy.
Dimpled smiles. Wispy chestnut hair. Impossibly soft cardigans.
The man sitting at the desk adjoining yours - Doctor Spencer Reid.
You were also kind of hoping no one noticed - the way your cheeks reddened and smile broadened - when you both talked. About the most mundane things, too. The weather, what you ate for dinner, anything for goodness sake.
Basically, you kind of had a massive, raging crush on Spencer, and you could only pray no one noticed. Including him. Especially him.
Because you really weren't the type of person to go shouting about it, or confide in anyone the way most people do in, for example, 2000’s romcoms. You were a girl who did not confront, because you knew there was always someone better out there, much prettier than you, who Spencer probably deserved more. Because he was gorgeous - and way, way out of your league.
Plus, you had an idea of his type, what with the case in LA a few years earlier and a gorgeous blonde by the name of Lila Archer, whom Spencer made out with. In a pool. Psyching yourself out was something you did a lot, really. The slight burn in your chest, sparkling with a twinge of hope while simultaneously decaying your self esteem.
Penelope had invited you to countless girls nights at O'Keefe's, urging you to pick up a man. “Have a little fun, show off some of your charm!” she’d exclaim, while you knew that you were more of a spluttering and stuttering sort of charmer. Awkwardness no one seemed to desire in a woman, but yearned for in a man.
Which was greatly ironic, considering the circumstances: the dimple adorned, wispy haired, soft clothed agent sitting opposite you, somehow emitting a warmth under the unforgiving and oppressive fluorescent lights of the bullpen.
“Hey, you okay?” Spencer questioned concernedly, craning his neck over the desk divider to peek at you as his eyebrows raised.
“Um…uh-huh” you replied unconvincingly, cheeks burning at the thought of being caught staring.
Spencer nodded, soft curls unfurling from behind his ear as he returned his attention to the case file on his desk. Part of you wished you could reach right over, tuck the hair back in place again.
Your stomach pulled at the wanting that you were so unfamiliar with, it seemed to come out of nowhere.
***
The clock struck five.
You’re not usually the type of employee to immediately stop working when it’s time to leave, simply because absolutely no one else is, and you’d rather not appear like you're eager to go, what with the serious nature of your job and all.
So you hang on a few minutes. Usually until Spencer starts packing his things. Not in a creepy way.
He stands, pulling his coat on and slinging his worn messenger bag over his shoulder, before looking at you.
“Have you seen that new sci-fi movie yet? Project Hail Mary?” he enquired politely.
You and Spencer shared a love for film - especially the sci-fi genre - and regularly discussed new releases. This is what made your wanting so consuming. You shared so many similar interests, the discussions serving as a reprieve from your gruelling job.
You considered his pretty simple question carefully, not because it was particularly mentally challenging, but so that your mouth could catch up with your brain and form a coherent response.
“I haven't actually, but I've been wanting to. I’ve heard good things about it!”
“Me too! I've been anticipating its release for a while, actually. It was originally a book by Andy Weir, who's the author of The Martian - a book that’s also been adapted into a movie. I really recommend reading them too, surprisingly I found the movies just as enjoyable - which, you know, isn't always the case. Also, Project Hail Mary’s portrayal of astrophysics, relativity and spacecraft engineering is highly accurate, so that’s good.”
A pause.
“Would you… like to watch it with me? It's showing this evening at the local movie theatre, not far from my apartment. I could, um, drive us and then… drive you home?”
Heart fluttering stupidly in your chest, you said: “I would love to!”
Not bad. No stuttering, at least.
Spencer waited patiently as you gathered your belongings, before following him towards the elevators, oblivious to the fact that your discussion had attracted a little audience across the bullpen.
“How long has it been? Three years now?” queried Emily.
“What, since he’s been looking at her like she hung the moon?” JJ joined.
“Nah, more like she’s been looking at him like that.” corrected Derek.
“Whatever, can they just- ugh - do something about it already!” exclaimed Emily, losing patience.
***
“You totally cried!” you exclaimed while grinning brightly under the darkened sky. You always loved exiting a movie theatre after the sun had gone down. It was like entering a new world.
The sidewalk was wet with fresh rain, petrichor pungent in the air. You walked side by side with Spencer, a newfound electric energy between you as you excitedly discussed the movie.
“I did not…cry,” Spencer said so unconvincingly it caused a chuckle to bubble from your chest, “I… teared up. But so did you! I did see you reaching for the tissues in your pocket, you know.”
“Well, I really thought Rocky was…” you started.
“I know, I know, me too. But he wasn't! The end was incredibly… heartwarming.”
“Yes, it was.” you agreed, peering at him as you stopped once you reached his car. “Are you sure you’re okay to drop me home? I really don’t want to be a bother, the metro journey isn't too bad-”
“Please, I insist,” he earnestly said, cutting you off while opening the passenger door for you.
You peered into his eyes, impossibly dark, and you could have sworn they glistened like stars under the night sky. He looked so earnest as he stood there. Before you could be accused of outright staring, you thanked him before getting into his car. Of course, being the gentleman that he is, he closed the door for you too. Which could mean nothing.
***
Everything looked blotchy as the raindrops on the windows blurred everyone's car lights together, a warm toned distortion against the navy sky. With the heater on (since Spencer noticed you shivering) you felt incredibly cozy, the rhythmic sound of the indicator almost drifting you to sleep.
It was quiet in a way that confirmed two people were comfortable enough in each other's presence to not force words, and the silence continued for a good ten minutes before Spencer spoke.
“I liked his t-shirts.”
“Hm?”
“Grace’s t-shirts. The science puns. You know… ‘I Had Potential’” Spencer chuckled.
“Oh yeah!” you realised, “they were pretty fantastic, weren't they?”
“Definitely” he agreed.
Eventually, Spencer halted the car outside of your apartment complex.
“...Thank you. Not just for dropping me off, but for this evening too. I really enjoyed the film,” you psyched yourself up for your next words, “...and spending time with you.”
Spencer let out a breath, shifting in his seat to look at you more directly. “I enjoy spending time with you, too. Well um, you know, they’re probably going to be more movies. That we both enjoy. To, um, watch together.” he stuttered.
Your heart wouldn't stop doing that stupid jumpy thing as you undid your seatbelt, the pure warmth of your face becoming unbearable.
“Yes. For sure” you nodded.
“Wait, let me-” he said, swiftly getting out of the car and walking around to your side, opening the car door for you.
You could barely keep it together as you exited his car, stuttering a goodbye as he waved, supposedly waiting until you were safely in your building before driving away.
***
It had been about a week since you attended the movie theatre with Spencer.
Fluorescent lights, rhythmic typing, and the smell of coffee. The usual for a monday morning inside the BAU.
You were early that morning - thankfully - as you beelined to Spencer’s vacant desk. You hoped no one saw as you planted a gift bag next to his keyboard. You picked a bag that looked the most unassuming, a plain dark blue. Successfully, the bullpen was empty enough to not attract wandering eyes to your activities.
Or so you thought.
“Pretty girl, whatcha got there? Is it pretty boy’s birthday or something?”
Derek.
“Um. No… It’s just something. For him. That I thought he’d like.”
Way to play it cool.
“I see, I see,” he acknowledged with the most shit eating grin on his face, “you’re all sweet on him, aren't you?”
“What! I simply-”
“He’s all sweet on you too, you know that right? The way he looks at you? It’s driving Emily insane, how oblivious you both are.”
“I really don’t think he-” you began, before Derek cut you off again.
“Look… I understand you’re both not the type for a big fuss, so I'll leave this here: say something, do something.” Derek spoke with such understanding that, surprisingly, the shock of feeling seen didn't really feel like shock at all. It felt like relief.
“This is me doing something.” you motioned towards the bag with your head.
Derek nodded, satisfied, and walked away.
***
About half an hour later, Spencer walked through the bullpen doors.
Once at his desk, he eyed the blue gift bag curiously. Your best effort to appear unassuming included pretending to be absolutely absorbed in the case file open on your desk, when in reality, you were hyperaware of his movements, watching them from the corner of your eye.
He opened the bag, pulling out the first bundle of fabric and unfolding it curiously. You then heard a surprised laugh.
“Was this you?” he asked with such delight, holding up a t-shirt with the words ‘I had potential’ on it, as well a potential energy graph.
You couldn't help but laugh, too, at his joy.
“I just had to! It being a science pun and all, they reminded me of you.”
Spencer rummaged further into the bag, pulling out another t-shirt, this time one with a periodic table printed on it, with the phrase ‘I wear this shirt periodically’ beneath it.
His laughter increased, while you grinned sheepishly at him.
“I love them. Thank you.” he spoke earnestly. His face softened, looking at you with such…longing?
“I’m glad you didn't think it was weird or anything.” you mumbled pathetically.
Spencer took a seat at his desk, carefully folding the shirts back up and gently placing them back into the bag. “You’re kidding right? This is one of the best gifts I've ever received.”
Again, a familiar moment of silent reflection, until:
“Ive never met anyone who's understood me so well,” he began with a serious expression, “I know I'm not for everyone, some people make that explicitly clear, but with you,” he gazes, “I feel like I can be myself.”
He places those words between you like they’re fragile, vulnerable.
“Me too,” you reassure him, "it's always so easy with you.”
You take a breath.
“Would you like to make our next trip to the movie theatre… a date? We could get dinner afterwards. If you want.”
Spencer’s mouth opens in what you could only call amused disbelief, “you know, that’s funny. I was about to ask the same thing. A date.”
That’s it. You’re dead.
“I guess it’s settled then,” you confirm.
“I guess it is.”
You can’t help the upturn of your mouth, which he reciprocates, before you both try so hard to begin your work for the day.
Derek catches your eyes from across the room. He winks. You smile.
God, you’re pathetic.
Superhero // Spencer Reid🧸
synopsis: when spencer’s daughter asks him to speak to her class about his time in the fbi, he spirals about what kind of example he’s setting for her, and about what kind of path he’s encouraging her peers to go down
pairing: post s15 dad/husband! spence x reader
genre: flangst? hurt/comfort? not sure
wc: 2.3k
notes/tags: spencer is retired from the FBI!, brief talks of prison. brief talks of spencer dying, spencer being the best dad in the world but being too much of a worrier to see it as per usual, proofread but only once pls lmk if there’s any mistakes🙂↕️
masterlist // if you enjoy this pls reblog it helps promote the fic so much !!
————————————❤️———————————
Your fingers tapped on the counter as you debated with yourself, humming in thought. You were never one to snoop, not with your husband and not with your daughter- but something about that afternoon was bugging you. When they’d both come home they’d been all smiles and laughter, Spencer swinging her hand in one of his and her pink school bag in the other. She’d hugged you both before running off to her room, leaving Spencer to put her coat and things away. That was when his smile dropped.
You’d watched as he opened her bag, fishing out a sheet of paper with that worried look that often came to him too easily, before crumpling it up and shoving it back inside. Now as he worked away in his study you just stared at it, chewing the inside of your cheek as you tried to convince yourself not to pry.
You couldn’t help it. It wasn’t like Spencer to keep things from you, especially when they involved your daughter. With a sigh you caved, reaching into her bag for the scrunched up ball of paper. A school logo confronted you first, followed by big, bold letters.
Dear Parent/Guardian
This semester our school will be hosting its annual Career Day presentations. We would like to invite you to speak-
“What are you doing?” You startled, your head snapping up as you stared at your husband in the doorway like a deer in headlights. You hadn’t heard him come downstairs.
Holding the paper up in the air, you watched as he almost winced. “How come you didn’t tell me about this?”
Spencer cleared his throat, making his way towards you. He attempted to shrug it off, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “I just didn’t think it was important.”
“You mean you don’t want to do it?” You tried to meet his gaze as he dropped it, his silence answering for him. “But you love being a professor. I would’ve thought you’d be jumping at the chance to teach people about teaching.”
He was standing across from you now, arms folded as he swallowed nervously, eyes glued to the floor. The lump in his throat choked him, his body beginning to sway subconsciously as he debated just how much he should let you in. You knew this face well- it was the face he gave you before he told you he was worried he was too much for you, and again before he told you he wasn’t sure he’d be a good father. It was the face of insecurity.
“That’s not the job she wants me to talk about.” His voice was small as it left him, cracking around the edges. When he looked up again he landed on the picture of your daughter pinned up on the fridge, gazing up at him behind the camera like he was her entire world. “I just don’t think I can do it.”
“Why not?” You nudged softly, but you knew. Your daughter only knew bits and pieces about Spencer’s life in the FBI, tiny snippets of stories with happy endings and memories with the team- with her aunts and her uncles. But that was it. That was all she knew, and all he ever wanted her to.
“How-” He started, voice breaking off. “How can I stand there and encourage those kids to go down the same path I did?”
“Spence,” you tried to step towards him, but his arms instinctively wrapped around himself like a barrier, “she just admires you. You did a lot of good when you were on the team.”
“Yeah, and saw a lot of things I shouldn’t have.” He snapped, eyes flickering to you apologetically before dropping back down. When he spoke again it came out broken, low and scared. “Things I don’t want her to see because she grew up and decided she wanted to be like me.”
Tension brewed over the kitchen like a storm cloud, the two of you standing within arms length of each other but not reaching out. Your heart ached to see him like this, to see all the fears he thought he’d left behind with his badge rear their ugly heads again, rabid and drooling at the opportunity to send him spiralling once more. Before your daughter was even born he’d considered quitting, worried about the nights away, about playing a passive role in her life at the hands of the job. Even worse, he dreaded the thought of the two of you falling into the hands of danger and meeting a fate he’d seen far too often. You’d tried to reassure him and convince him that would never happen and he believed it, just barely, for a while. But then he was sent to prison.
His anxiety had never quite recovered since. The wounds had definitely begun to heal- thanks to your little girl. He was her best friend in the whole entire world as well as her father. He did everything he could for her, made up for every night he spent across the country with all the bedtime stories and tea parties she could ever dream of. But every time she fell, every time she cried or got hurt you saw it. That little flicker of doubt in his eyes the telltale sign of that little voice in his head telling him this was confirmation that he wasn’t good enough, that he can’t protect her. And it only amplified whenever she called him her hero. He’d been through hell, faced and even experienced death too many times. Yet nothing scared him more than the idea that his perfect little girl would want to follow in his footsteps.
“I was so young when I was recruited by Gideon.” Spencer spoke finally, his whispers barely audible despite the stark silence. “I was directionless. I’d been so focused on caring for my mother I hadn’t given any thought to what I was going to do for myself. I was sold a life I didn’t want and I didn’t realise until it was too late. I can’t in good conscience stand up there and do that to those kids.”
“I know that. I know that Spence, and I wish with everything in me that things could have been different for you. But she doesn’t know that.” You stepped forward, risking taking his hands in yours. “She means well. All she knows is that her daddy saved people.”
“Really?” Spencer recoiled, brows pinching together so tight it looked painful as his hands shot back to his side. “Does she know I almost missed her first birthday because I was in prison? Does she know how many times she could’ve been in danger because of me? How many times I almost didn’t make it home to her at all?”
His mouth opened to speak, but his throat felt glued shut. In an instant he was just a scared little boy grappling to keep things under control. Desperate to take it back, to prove himself right- but nothing came out. Some hero. You watched as he tried to blink back tears, stinging hot and acidic as they pooled in his eyes. A drop escaped despite his efforts, burning a trail down his face before he hastily rubbed it away as fast as it had appeared.
“How can I stand up there and talk about how much of a hero I am when I failed her so many times?”
You pursed your lips, your own eyes threatening to spill as his bottom lip began to tremble. “Stay here for a minute, okay?” You said softly, offering him a gentle kiss on the cheek, right where the tear had stopped, before heading to your bedroom.
After swinging the closet door open, you crouched down and began searching for the worn edges of the box you knew was hidden back there somewhere. You rifled through folded blankets and old sweaters before your fingers finally grazed it, sighing in relief as you dragged it out into the light. You flicked through paper after paper, colourful squiggles and bright paintings shedding glitter into your hands until you found it. It paralysed you for a moment, your eyes locked on the childishly messy handwriting staring back at you before you finally rose to your feet.
When you returned Spencer had collapsed defeated into a chair, his elbows on the table as he cradled his head in his hands. He stirred as he heard your footsteps, an instinct reaction built into him by now. Big wet eyes gazed up at you, fear and insecurity swimming in them, yet they softened at your appearance all the same.
“Found it.” You smiled gently, taking the seat beside him and holding out the card you’d retrieved.
Gingerly he took it, turning it over but not daring to look at your daughter’s message inside. “What’s this for?”
“Do you remember this day?” You pointed to the drawing on the cover.
It was the kind of abstract crayoned piece only a parent could decipher, all wonky lines and uneven proportions- but still the most moving piece he’d seen in a long time. It was him, long limbs and wild hair, holding in his hands a teddy bear. It was white, a polar bear, with a scarf around his neck. Large in Spencer’s doodled hands because that’s how big it appeared in his daughter’s much tinier ones.
“Of course I do.” Despite himself, a wet chuckle escaped him as he thought back. “I drove all the way across town to find that bear after she lost it.”
“Exactly.” You whispered. “She couldn’t stop crying when she realised she’d left him behind. I tried to calm her down and distract her with a different toy, then I said we’d get her a new bear-“
“Rookie mistake.” He winced, shaking his head with a small smile.
“Oh, she started wailing. But then you-“ you poked at his cheek, right where his dimple was beginning to show, “told her you’d go looking for him. You said you weren’t going to come home until you’d searched everywhere. You marked on a map every single place we went that day even if we were only passing through.”
“She was worried sick about him.” Spencer’s shoulders drooped. No matter how long ago it was, the image of his little girl’s tear stained face always hurt him. “She kept saying that he was scared and that he’d think she left him behind on purpose. I had to at least try to find him.”
“And you did.” You traced the scribbly doodle of the bear on the card, knowing she was likely upstairs playing with him as you spoke. “That’s what she means when she calls you her hero. When she says that you save people.”
Spencer fell quiet. He toyed with the edges of the card, something within him still stopping him from opening it and facing his daughter’s heart poured out on the page in her favourite glittery pink pen. Instead he just stared at himself mapped out in crayon, at the smile drawn onto her teddy bears face and the matching one on his.
“Sure she doesn’t fully understand yet.” You spoke up, angling yourself toward him. “She doesn’t know how ugly it was, or how much you got hurt. She doesn’t know how rocky things really were sometimes. But she knows that you went out there and brought her bear home and that you’d do it again in a heartbeat. On some level she knows that that’s what you did at work- you brought families back together.”
“I didn’t always.” He said, voice hollow. “She doesn’t know that.”
“Spence,” you cupped his face in your hand, gently turning him to face you properly, “I know you’re spiralling imagining her growing up and joining the bureau or doing something crazy like that because of you- but that’s not what she wants.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.
“What she wants is to be smart and kind like you, she wants to be the kind of person who makes a difference in people’s lives and does good in the world.” Tucking a stray curl behind his ear, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, smoothing out the crease between his brows. “And she thinks you’re cool and just wants to show you off to her friends.”
He huffed a tiny laugh, but he didn’t smile. “I still don’t think I can do it. So she won’t want to grow up and do what I did, but what if some other poor kid does? I can’t be responsible for that.”
You hummed, letting go of his face and letting his gaze drift back down to the unopened card in his hands. “I think you should talk to her. I think deep down she doesn’t care if you talk about the FBI or about teaching or about some part time job you had when you were sixteen. She just wants everyone to know how much she admires you.”
With a deep breath Spencer let the card fall open, tears springing to his eyes once more. She was always an articulate kid, it comes with the territory of being Spencer Reid’s daughter, and like him she wore her heart on her sleeve when it came to the people she loved. The words blurred on the page as he wiped tears away thinking of the little girl upstairs playing without a care in the world, totally oblivious to the power she had over him.
“I admire her too.” He whispered. The card closed, the teddy bear’s scribbled eyes staring up at him again. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Good.” You smiled, playfully bumping your shoulder against his as you felt him finally relax. “You don’t need to prove how much of a hero you are to those kids. You just need to be her hero.”
Spencer looked up at the picture of her on the fridge, her eyes bright and sparkling as she grinned at him, her cheeks rosy and warm in the sunlight spotlighting her. “I can do that.”
-
⊹ . ໒꒰ྀི ˵ˊᯅˋ˵ ꒱ა expectations
synopsis: time after time again, spencer unknowingly meets your desired dating standards, evolving from quiet acts to something more intimate.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
warnings: 2.8k words, 18+ MDNI, porn WITH plot, eventual sex, protected p in v, soft smut, nerdy sweet gentle spencer, office setting to plane setting to bar setting, reader wants that cookie bad, based on olivia rodrigo's "expectations"
masterlist!
Location: The BAU headquarters. Time: 9:46am.
You had first day jitters. How could you not? You had just graduated with a major in phycology, you had done well in interviews, everything was fine. But you had close to zero field experience, while everybody else in the building had. How could you compete with that?
You held your keycard in shaky hands, swiping it once to get through the front door. When it didn't work, you swiped again, and again, until finally it worked. Must've just been a glitch, right? Or was it something else, and you weren't supposed to be there, or maybe this was all a dream and it was still exam season—
You blinked the thoughts away, stepping through the door and glancing around. Desks cluttered everywhere, you saw employees typing away or talking into microphones. Nervous to disturb any ongoing mission or case, you tiptoed around carefully, trying not to interrupt anything. This meant you weren't looking up and collided with a firm chest, stumbling back and managing to catch yourself on a nearby potted plant.
"Sorry. Sorry, I should've looked." You mumbled out, then cleared your throat, forcing yourself to speak again and not sound like a weak mouse. "My apologies."
"No worries. You're, uh, new here, right? First day?"
You looked up. The man in front of you was tall, almost lanky, with his tie and dress shirt peeking out his sweater collar. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, veiny arms on display, and he was looking at you with a tiny smile.
"It's normal." He continued without waiting for you to reply. "Reported that at least 50% of new hires in any workplace get mishaps on the first day. That can be fixed with a tour guide. I can help you around."
You blinked. You weren't used to a man offering to help you before you even said anything; especially not with your dating history of douchebags and idiots.
"That…would be great. Thanks." You attempted a smile, holding out a hand for a shake. The man just ignored it with a little wave instead, saying; "I'm Spencer."
Disregarding the lack of contact, you followed behind him as he showed you around the office. He showed you meeting rooms, facilities like printers or bathrooms, and finally, your own desk. It was conviently just a few rows down from his own. The space was empty, and he gestured to it with one hand.
"I'm sure you'll decorate it as pretty as you look."
You hardly had time to process the compliment before he smiled awkwardly and backed away, turning around to head down a hallway.
Well. This would be more interesting than you thought.
Location: The BAU printing room. Time: 2:12pm.
While you waited for papers to print, you got time to think.
It was simple, really. All the things others called bare minimum were legendary in your world; you were lucky for a boyfriend to even touch you at night, let alone get flowers or plan dates or notice little details without words. You had settled for guys doing drugs at parties, guys with fake jobs, guys that weren't smart or funny. None had ended well, and while you (and your closest friends) could have deducted that at your first meeting, you had stuck to him with a I-can-fix-him attitude.
Yeah. You could admit you were a bit too hopeful sometimes.
You needed standards. Expectations that your boyfriend will do the same things your friend's boyfriends did. Expectations that he won't be an asshole that'll just leave you in the dirt as soon as a prettier girl slided up next to him at a bar.
What you had started doing, though, after five months as part of the BAU team, was to keep a list. Not of cases or to-dos, but of every time Spencer did something like that. No, you weren't dating, nor would you let yourself think you had a crush on him. But he was doing more sweet things as a coworker-friend than some six month long relationships had.
As of now, you counted four things. The time you didn't want to interrupt at a group meeting, so he let you whisper your idea in his ear and he spoke it out, crediting you afterwards. The time he left a bouquet of flowers on your desk with a note that read as a new decoration. The time he read his science book to you when you couldn't sleep on a plane ride home, enunciating softly so you could hear each word in that nerdy voice of his. The time he brought coffee for you, exactly the way you liked it despite you having never told him explicitly what you liked.
In between the more memorable services, he found ways to slip more kindness in every day interactions. He never spoke much after he did these acts for you, just giving you the same smile you'd grown so fond of or a little finger brush that made you shiver each time.
The printer dinged. It had finished. As you collected your papers, you heard a voice behind you that you instantly recognized;
"What'cha working on?" Spencer asked, going past you to get to the coffee machine in the corner. He placed his mug down, going for a refill as he kept his gaze on you. You loved that about him; when he talked to you, he talked to you directly, like he wanted to hear your response.
"Some papers for Hotch." You replied easily. You found it easy to talk to him — and the rest of the team — now that you had been at the BAU for a few months now. Other than long cases, you were used to the hustle every day; and you woke up every morning excited to see Spencer again. He really had an effect on you.
Spencer nodded, taking a sip of his now finished coffee. "What are they about?"
Through his questions and curious gaze, you ended up talking to him for at least fifteen minutes, the two of you slowly inching closer and closer like magnets until you were standing side by side in the printing room. Spencer had read over your papers with his usual quick speed, and while you started talking about work, you ended up talking more about your own lives.
He had told you about a few of his published research papers, and you were excited to get home and read them. You had told him about all your extracurriculars in college, and he seemed interested about what you were interested in. You talked about what you thought your lives would look like in ten years, and you had to bite back the urge to say something about how you hoped Spencer was still in yours.
There was a loud knock on the door, and you could tell it was Hotch wanting the papers. You laughed quietly, just for Spencer, collecting all the sheets and heading out the door.
With your back turned, you didn't see how he kept looking at you while you left.
Location: The BAU business jet. Time: 11:54pm.
Everybody on the plane was asleep except for two people; you, and Spencer.
You were sitting side by side, as you now usually did. Penelope had noticed it first, how close you two had gotten over the year you had been at the BAU, and then everybody else caught on. You weren't a hundred percent sure if that was because of how you acted or because of Penelope's love for gossip, but now it wasn't a secret how close Spencer and you were.
Spencer was reading a book, flipping pages so quickly you could barely read a full paragraph before it was onto the next.
"Slow down." You murmured softly, your elbow propped up on the armrest between your seats, leaning over to look down at the book. You laughed quietly to not wake up the rest of the team asleep in their spots. "It's almost scary how fast you read."
"You think I'm scary?" Spencer whispered back, and you turned your head to look at him. Underestimating the closeness, your lips nearly brushed his as you met his eyes. Neither of you moved.
"I think you're lovely." You replied whole-heartedly, which got you a small smile.
You turned your head back to his book when you knew he wouldn't actually reply. He never really did after you tried to compliment him, and it wasn't annoying; no, it was just another trait you loved about him.
Liked. You liked about him. Where did that come from?
The problem was that it was late, almost midnight, and you still had a few hours until you landed back in Quantico. After a long day and a bumpy start to the ride, you were feeling tired. You dropped your head on Spencer's shoulder, barely noticing his freezing as your eyes drifted close.
You felt one of his hands come up to the side of your head, gentle fingers brushing through your hair, and you let out a sleepy hum of contentment.
You weren't sure if it was Spencer's lips or a slight breeze that grazed your forehead, but you knew what you were wishing it was.
Location: Brenna's Bar, downtown Virginia. Time: 10:32pm.
You hadn't meant to get drunk. You really hadn't. And if you thought about it hard enough, you weren't that wasted; enough to stumble a little as you moved on the dancefloor, but not enough to not register what Penelope or Derek were saying.
Despite it being a work celebration after a long case, you had dressed up cute, pinning your hair up and slipping into a short dress and heels, and you felt pretty. While applying your makeup before leaving, maybe you had thought once or twice about Spencer's reaction to seeing you.
To your disappointment, he just gave you the same smile and sat down a few seats away. No jaw drop, no heart eyes, and you knew it was childish to feel that way, but you couldn't stop it. Not after spending so long with kind and gentle touches and acts and feelings, not after everything Spencer had done for you under a friendship label. Friends didn't do what you two did.
At least, that's what you said to get yourself to sleep at night.
You were dancing now, the pink and purple lights reflecting off the disco ball and your shimmery dress. You were up with JJ and Penelope while the guys sipped their drinks on their stools or talked about whatever guy things they talked about. You were too tipsy to care, too tipsy to notice Spencer's subtle glances to you, too tipsy to see Morgan punch his shoulder with a teasing grin.
You wanted to show off. It was a Friday night, and you hadn't been with anybody in ages, not since before you joined the BAU. You were desperate to get Spencer off your mind, which was why you were moving so energetically next to JJ and Penelope's bodies, not really paying attention to anything other than the pounding of your heart.
You felt a pair of hands slip over your hips and waist, and craning your head over your shoulder, you saw the guy that stood behind you, swaying along. His body was tall and chiseled, his lips curved into a smirk with light stubble growing on his chin. He was hot enough, and his hands were warm and confident, nothing like Spencer's soft and tentative touches. He whispered something in your ear. You didn't hear it.
If you squinted enough, you saw Spencer in his features.
And then you actually did see Spencer, as he had gotten up from his stool and stormed over, pulling the man's hands off your waist. You hardly had time to gasp before he reached for your wrist, pulling you away to the back exit.
When you felt the cold night air hit your face, you exploded.
"What the fuck, Spencer?! I spent months trying to be confident and flirty and get you to want me, but you never do. I never stop thinking about you, as much as I fucking hate it. As soon as I think I can get some sort of distraction and be with somebody who wants me, even for just a night, you storm in and act like I'm a cheating whore!"
"I never said that." Spencer cut in, running a hand through his hair.
"I never said you did!" You pushed his chest, too drunk to filter the words coming out of your mouth. "But you sure are making me feel like one! Did any little thing you ever did mean shit to you, or am I just losing my fucking mind?"
"What do you want me to say? That I'm in love with you? Because I am, and that doesn't change anything!"
It took a minute to process his last words. Because I am. He was in love with you. You weren't crazy, you weren't making things up to satisfy your own desires.
You deflated. "You…you are?"
Spencer let out a long sigh, turning his head away, down the allyway to the street. "…yes. And seeing you with some random person just…I don't know."
Wow. Spencer never didn't know things. He was the smart one, the nerdy one, the one who never shut up about science or math or miscellaneous facts. You had never heard the words "I don't know" come out of his mouth, ever.
"Can you do something about it?" You asked quietly over the cool wind breezing through the alley.
"I think I should now, huh?"
Location: Spencer's apartment. Time: 11:06pm.
It didn't take too much time to get to his place.
You had gotten a taxi, and the two of you barely sat restrained in the back, the only connection being your hands laced together. You kept glancing over at Spencer, your head starting to clear ever so slightly from the lack of new drinks, though you knew you were still a bit tipsy.
The second the door closed behind you, he was kissing you.
It was all consuming now; the way he pressed you to the door, the way you could feel his body heat through layers of clothes, the way his lips moved so desperately against yours like he had wanted to act on his feelings for months, just like you had. Your hands came up to thread through his hair while his own hands laid hesitantly on your waist, careful not to touch skin.
You broke your lips apart just enough to murmur out a; "Touch me, Spencer."
You could feel him swallow harshly, gently prying you off the door and taking you further into the living room. He laid you down on the couch softly, as if all the desperate pent-up desire he had back in the allyway fizzled out now that he actually had you under him. You could still see the want in his eyes, the hunger, but you could also see the sweet man you had fallen in love with so many months ago.
Love. That was a big word, yet no word felt so right.
"We can't. We shouldn't." Spencer whispered. You were laying down on the couch, and he hovered over you, legs bracketing your hips and propping himself on his elbows beside your head so he didn't crush you under him.
"Why not?" You asked, tilting your head up, chasing his lips.
He sat up fully, delicately pushing your shoulders down to the soft cushions. "You're drunk. Or tipsy. I don't know how many drinks you had, and that's what makes me nervous. You aren't in your right mind as of now."
You huffed. You really thought this was going somewhere. "What does that mean? Are you kicking me out?" "No, god no." Spencer reached one hand down to brush over your hair. "Just…wait until the morning. See if you still feel the same way, then we can do everything you want to."
Location: Spencer's apartment. Time: 8:48am.
Sunlight poured in from the windows.
The breeze of the air conditioning wafted through the house.
You were being pushed into the mattress.
Spencer never stopped being gentle with you; when you woke up, he had tucked your hair behind your ear. When you said you wanted to do the same thing you wanted last night, he had just nodded and kissed you deeply.
Now, the same hands that barely grazed yours months ago was holding your waist down to the mattress as he thrusted in and out of you with gentle purpose, eyes locked on your face to watch your expression for any twitch of discomfort or — god forbid — pain. He wanted to make you feel good, as good as you could feel with a hangover, and while you pulled at the nape of his neck and moaned out his name, all he did was smile and kiss you again.
"Love you." He whispered against your lips. You knew he did, you knew he fit all your expectations, from the day you met and he showed you around the headquarters to just last night at the bar.
It wasn't possible to say anything else. "I love you too."
a/n: got a bit carried away haha!!!! sorta lost the plot near the end but i really really love how it turned out though and i'm proud to call this my first spencer reid fic! hope you guys enjoyed ❤️❤️
summary : spencer is on the hunt for a book that might help him crack a case. despite the heatwave, he'd walk through the whole city to get a very special bookstore owner's attention
word count : 1.8k
pairings : early seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader (meet cute)
notes : dual pov, inspired by s2ep8 "empty planet", where the unsub uses a sci-fi book as a prophecy. the heatwave is just self indulgent, and my swet glasses!reid is a sweaty and blushing mess
it was a hot day in seattle.
afternoons in late june felt inexplicably long, as if time was enjoying making spencer suffer from boredom during such cases. the sweat clinging to his skin, thepowerful burn of the sunlight on the almost melting concrete, it all made him wish he could be anywhere but here on a crime scene.
most people were busy welcoming the summer season. on this day of summer solstice, walking around the public garden or enjoying a picnic by the water, life seemed to have taken on a slow rhythm timed by the need for rest and relaxation.
no one could've possibly guessed the city was under a bomb threat.
back at the police department, when the team gathered around the makeshift conference room with no AC, he swore he could feel his braincells decompose. there was no way he was making it to the end of the day in that lifesize oven.
this is why he practially jumped up when hotch sent him on the hunt for a particular book. some obscure science fiction novel he must've mumbled about in a heat caused haze.
at least he got to be outside.
the first bookstore he saw was the one that caught his eye.
a few blocks near the park, between a coffee shop and a vintage store, was a ridiculously old building that looked straight out of an animated movie. the bricks were cream colored, hidden behind leaves of ivy and numerous flower pots that were somehow surviving the heatwave.
he was glad to have a reason to go in.
usually, he drove past bookstores and libraries he dreamed to visit in the black sedan, and could only promise himself he'd go once the case was over, which almost never happened.
the little bell above the wooden door made a clear noise when he pushed it open, stepping into the cozy atmoshpere. the first thing that hit him was the freshness of the air - slightly smelling of the distinct scent of books he loves so much, and a hint of something sweeter.
lavender, maybe. he too, a look around.
it wasn't too vast of a space, but the aisles weren't narrow either. rather welcoming, inviting, books on the shelves stacked just right in a way that scratched his neurodivergent brain.
naturally, he felt compelled to profile the person who owned the place.
his eyes roamed over the titles of the books as he took a couple of steps further. the titles were highlighted by the giant windows, that bathed the store in sunlight. yet, the temperature was more than delightful.
"looking for anything in particular ?"
someone said right behing him.
it took him a moment to realize the saccharine words were destined to him. he was the only one to be book shopping of all things, on this blazing day.
"i'm just looking around, thank y-" he turned to face her and gesture the shelf in front of him - the book he was searching for on full display - but froze.
she was beautiful, the girl standing before him.
suddenly, the outside heat felt like nothing compred to the one spreading on his cheeks, shades of pink matching those of her flowy sundress. it almost reached the floor, cascading down your hips where the fabric hugged her skin.
staring, he was staring. get a grip, reid.
"yes, actually." the lie came out smoother than intended. good, a semblance of dignity in front of such an ethereal presence was all he hoped for. "is that... the fiction aisle ?"
"yes, all the way to that shelf over there" she pointed to the opposite side, her smile rather amused than anything.
real smart, genius.
for someone who was searching for a book, he didn't make it sound like he even knew how to read. the sign just above his head listed the different sections of the bookstore, how pathetic.
she added kindly, her hand smoothing the fabric of the dress - the dress of the undoing. "but we also have a vast selection of non-fiction books over there, and a little cafe area"
"o-okay."
"if you need something fresh to cool down, or..." she shrugged, and it was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. kindness radiated out of her so easily, he wanted to say yes desperately.
or at least to say something, anything.
but on top of forgetting how to read, he'd also seemed to have lost his speaking abilities.
so he did what perhaps was the most insensitive thing to do and grabbed the book from the shelf, muttering something along the lines of a poorly enunciated thank you before heading to the checkout.
sliding behind the counter, their fingers brushed when she took it from him gently, giving him the change in return.
"you'll like it," she spoke, carefully placing it in a brown paper bag. "it's not my favorite genre, but the plot unfolds pretty nicely."
he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and manages to say.
"not mine either, really. it's for scientific purposes, but i usually stick to classics or true crime novels"
"me too !!" she says enthusiastically.
as he took the bag from her, it appeared to him that small talk might be the closest thing he'd ever get from her, and suddenly regreted the way he dismissed her out of nervousness.
"this place is nice,"
she looks up, smiling at the compliment. not bad, he thinks, does he sound too eager ?
"thanks you, i’ve been working here for a while... not alone, usually, but it’s hard to attract people with that heat”
“not for you,” he answers, instantly biting his lip.
“what ?”
attract as in interest, in books. shoot, the haze in his mind was completely unlike anything he’d ever experienced and made him stupid.
“i mean, uh… you’re great. a great salesperson, basically. you’ve got the social cues down”
she let out a genuine chuckle, closing the cash register as the coins clinked.
“don’t you ?”
“no, not really…" he hints at in a bashful tone, slightly shifting positions to lean against the counter in an attempt to appear nonchalant.
the rays of the sun are filtering through the glass, hues of gold spreading around her, reminding him of an angel's halo. bright is the smile she gives him, the magnetic field around her promting him to get closer, closer.
"there's nothing wrong with choosing books over people, trust me" she says as she hands him the bag.
"less disappointing"
he nods, brain too focused on how they almost touched for the second time today. outside, the hot weather is almost nagging him, knowing he'll have to rush back to the police station. spend his day locked in yet another enclosed office, bathing in the discomfort of his own sweat and loneliness.
but he should be getting going.
so, reluctantly, he disappears with an ironic sound of the silver bell as the door closes.
every step he takes is unsure and reluctant, as if his body contemplated betraying him by turning back around. the urge was too strong, similar to the desire he felt to be near you, the scent of sugar and roses you emanated.
except the bell rings not too long later.
you had barely found the time to catch your breath - that had been taken away by the handsome boy on aisle three earlier this morning, the only person in the whole town who’d actually thought it would be smart to come here today of all days - that the sharp sound was heard again, pulling you out of your daydreams.
rays of sunlight hit your eyes, his figure appearing like a mirage in the light.
“you’re back,” you exhaled breathlessly.
quickly, you got up from the shelf you were rearranging. kids picture books, sorted by themes instead of colours.
“i’m back,” he said at the same time.
your brows met halfway, nerves wracking. surely, you couldn’t have spent so much time reading under your breath, nostalgic about your favourite childhood book.
a gasp escaped from your lips.
“you didn’t like the book ? no. it was the wrong one ? what’s wrong ? i forgot the change ?”
shy stranger chuckled again, a sound you couldn’t get enough of. “no, it was the right book and you got everything right.”
“then what ?”
frankly, you could’ve forgotten a dollar or two. it happened often when your preference for literature over maths showed. or when a handsome client with eyes of gold showed up.
“actually… i finished it.”
somehow, he looked bashful.
like it was a truth he hated to admit, disguising the unique parts of him under a joking tone he didn’t quite master. crossing the store to approach you tentatively as if you were in the middle of something, his eyes never left yours.
“the book ?”
“yes, the book.”
stupid question. and incredibly intelligent man, or so it seemed.
his mouth opened once before he spoke, gathering the whirlwind of thoughts as they rushed through his mind.
“twenty thousand words per minute. that’s my usual reading speed,” he explains, like it’s the most natural thing ever.”
“if you minimise factors such as the environment or time of the day. usually, my brain is more active in the early morning.”
you nod along.
“so,” in an attempt to understand, you put your hands on your hips. the little dimple on your right cheek is probably showing, you think. it always does when you’re intrigued.
he almost stares, you notice before he says again.
“so, i was wondering if you had any recommendations. you said classics, right ?”
classics.
jane austen, dostoevsky, maybe some hugo or brontë. the energy he brought felt like a calm breeze, a yearning soul perhaps. looking at his hazel eyes and tall frame felt like discovering a puzzle part you didn't know was missing.
oh, you had plenty of suggestions for him. questions too popped up in your mind as he leaned against the shelf, tilting his head in silent obsrvation.
caramel curls were sticking to his temples, rebelling from the way they'd carefully been pushed back earlier.
he took the silence as an opportunity to ask, round eyes pleaing. "you said something about fresh drinks ?"
the world seemed to stop when you giggled, his inner thermostat skyrocketing.
that's what it was.
it was the expression on your face he wanted to decipher.
your thoughts that he truly wanted to read.
"sure, i'll get you some iced tea" flowing dress creating a delicate movement at every step, you made your way to the coffee station.
"right, i'll just... wait here"
books, fresh air, you. eveerything here seemed perfect, he never wanted to leave, followed you after a couple of seconds as if a magnetic force had pushed him to.
the rest would just have to wait.
౨ৎ if you liked this, try reading you're in my way now
tag list, feel free to comment if you wanna be added/taken off !! @deerfawnn @xervoxs @kaz-03 @cynbx @sleepysleepnomore @emerkinsella89 @sweetheartspence @g4rvez-r3id @peanutalergy @keirareidss @eternlmoonshine @xbluereid @spencilweidblog @corollaim @mostofmeghan @siriuslyval03 @midn1ght-ra1n @rose-of-the-grave @copper-rose-strings @irisinlovee @thecrimsonfog @glossiercheek @littleredwolfnerd @babywinter @1-800-peakyblinders @reidslovegia @sreidahgirl @jjellecubed @sreidahgirl @cherrygarcia-07
u + me = <3
pairing: spencer reid x fem! reader
summary: the most beautiful day of your lives is coming to a close, but your wedding night is about to begin. spencer shows his love to you by setting up the most beautiful room— and giving you the pleasure you deserve.
content warning: mdni 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, fluffy wedding night lovemaking (like sickeningly sweet), softdom! spencer reid, a little bit of nipple play, multiple orgasms, lots of pet names usage (angel, beautiful, baby, good girl), married couple, mentions of longer hair and white wedding dresses, creampie (i hate this word omg), sweet aftercare, no use of y/n
w/c: 5.4k words!
genre: smut, fluff
a/n: soooo welcome to my triumphant return. life kinda got crazy and i didn't want to force myself to write but now that it's summer...ideas have been coming to me. i pictured like season 7-9 spencer but you can imagine any season. this turned out way longer than i thought but i'm so proud of it! can you tell the olivia album inspired me? :)
Spencer's fingers were entangled with your own, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in soft little circles. His brown eyes were shining in adoration as you looked up to meet his gaze, the elevator hum a distant noise in the background— a soundtrack to the beginning of the most anticipated night of your life thus far. He had been looking at you this same way since you walked down the aisle hours ago, like you were something sent from the divine. Just thinking back to that moment, that white dress still flowing all around you, you felt a familiar lump rise in your throat. You were his, and he was yours.
“Baby,” he murmured, searching your eyes and reaching his free hand up to cup your cheek. “You okay? Your eyes went all misty for a moment.”
Damn it. Now you want to cry again, not tears of sadness, no– but in pure joyful emotion. You had married a man who noticed even the slightest change of your eyes or or an off breath.
“I’m more than okay,” you manage to whisper but it comes out more like a choked out wobbly breath. “I just– the way you're looking at me. The way you looked at me. I’ve never felt so much love.”
Spencer leans down to press his forehead against yours as the elevator steadily climbed to the hotel's top floor, the warmth of him flooding your system.
“I love you,” he whispers firmly. “With everything I am, with every breath I take. I’m so happy you’re my wife. I know you know but I need to tell you it again and again. I can’t stop saying it. I’ll always look at you like this because you’re my love. Every chamber of my heart beats in unison for you.”
Just before you could fully burst into tears at the sweetest words you had ever heard and wash off all the makeup that you had spent hours applying this morning, the elevator beeped and opened revealing a long, elegantly styled hallway.
“Cmon, angel,” Spencer murmured softly, his breath caressing your ear. “I want to show you our honeymoon suite,” He tugs on your hand and you giggle at the way he practically drags you down the hallway like an overeager puppy, stumbling beside him.
When you make it to the door at the end of the hallways, Spencer suddenly stops to face you. You open your mouth to speak and then—
“Whoa,” you gasp as he picks you up, his lean but strong arms sliding under your back and your knees to form the classic bridal style hold. “Baby what are you doing?” you giggle into his shoulder, filled with elation. You’re pretty sure you know what he's doing, you just want him to say it.
Spencer smiles down at you and it feels like the warmth of ten thousand suns shining down on you, and healing every emotional wound that ever hurt you.
“I am carrying my very beautiful bride across the threshold of our honeymoon suite, and then I am going to spend the entire night worshipping her.”
You immediately turn that familiar pretty shade of pink that Spencer loves, still not used to hearing him talk like this—even after all this time together.
“You look impossibly pretty like this,” he smiles as his gaze traces the features on your face. “You don’t even know how much.”
Before you can respond with a doubtful quip disguised by humour, he maneuvers you in his arms so he can push the hotel room door open.
Your breath catches.
“Holy shit.”
His eyes fill with pride and you can feel his spine straightening. The room was absolutely gorgeous. The room was lit, not harshly bright, yet light enough so you could see everything. The large windows had the curtains pulled back to reveal the glistening lights of the city. In the center of the room was a king bed, draped with silk sheets and piled with fluffiest pillows you had ever seen. The sheets were covered with rose petals scattered about, and at the foot of the bed sat a basket filled with champagne and other things you couldn’t make out.
“I called a week ago and asked them to set all this up. Penelope helped me find your wedding pinterest board and I wanted to make tonight special, especially since you planned the wedding so beautifully,” he smiles at your wide eyed expression as he puts you down from the bridal carry and kneels down to remove each one of your beautiful but painful heels that had been pinching your toes for hours. “You do so so much, and I'm not the most creatively inclined but I wanted to do this for you. I know I’m about to show you how much I love you physically but I wanted to show you a different way too. I…I hope you like it.”
This. This is why you married him, you thought as he removed each heel— pressing a kiss to each knee through your dress. Not for his incredible profiling skills, not for his astonishingly high iq of 187, not for his tall stature, or his beautifully sculpted face, or his brown doe eyes or his pretty pink lips or his messy brown locks but this. How much he cared. How he remembered the details, like you offhandedly mentioning your pinterest board. How he didn’t mind sleeping with a nightlight on during storms because he knew you got scared. Every single note filled with a fun fact a day left in your lunch. How he would listen to you ramble on and on about your favorite shows that other boys might laugh and call too girly, but he made a detailed chart with you on whether Jess or Logan was Rory's soulmate in Gilmore Girls. You married him for him. For the way he loved you in a way you thought was only possible in fairytales.
“Spencer,” you breathe out shakily as his eyes lock onto yours, looking impossibly soft. “I don’t even know how to describe how I’m feeling right now. I love you. I love you so so so much. I can’t believe you asked Penelope for my pinterest board. I can’t believe you even remembered me mentioning it. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“Of course I did…I love you,” he smiles gently as he tugs you closer, his hand wrapping round your waist. “I’m going to be doing things like this for you forever. It’s the least I could do. You are the most incredible girl in the entire universe,”. He smirks as he leans his forehead down to touch your own. “And that's saying a lot because the universe is actively expanding and actually the rate at which it’s expanding is accelerating which means—”
“Wait,”. He suddenly stops and takes a breath. “I’ll tell you about galactic redshift later because I’m getting too distracted by how you look in this dress,” His lips slightly turn up as his voice lowers. “And how much I want to see it on the floor.”
You can feel your face heat up for like the ten thousandth time today and you groan, pushing a strand of hair back behind your ear.
“You can’t keep saying these things,” you pout and he quickly leans down to press a quick peck to your lips. “I can’t help blushing. I think I have a chronic blushing problem.”
He laughs as he picks you and gently sets you amongst the flower petals on the silky bedspread, putting the basket on the floor before tossing his suit jacket aside.
“Chronic implies that it's long lasting which in this case I think is ideal,” he kisses your forehead in between words as he sits beside you on the bed. “You look too cute blushing— I don’t ever want it to go away.”
You giggle until his lips brush yours and every other thought melts from your mind. He kisses you so gently at first, like you’re porcelain on the verge of shattering. One of his hands reaches up to cup your face, while the other one settles on your waist—contentedly drawing little circles into the fabric of your wedding dress with his thumb. You sigh against his mouth as every nerve ending in your body seems to spark to life all at once.
At your sigh, his breath hitches and his tongue slowly slips into your mouth at the given opportunity. The hand that was against your cheek slides to cup the back of your head as he gently lowers you to lay back against the pillows. Your hair splays out, and he raises up from your lips to stare down at you adoringly.
“My beautiful wife,” he breathes out as his eyes trace your every feature. He lowers his lips to barely brush against yours once more. “My gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”
Before tears of emotion could fall from your eyes, he's kissing you again, and you can feel how much of himself he’s putting into it. He’s kissing you like your lips are what will save him from an incurable disease. Your wedding dress is twisted and flowing around the both of you, and his hands slide under you to fiddle with the delicate buttons on the back.
He raises his head once again and smiles at you, and everything that is outside of the little bubble the two of you created disappears.
“Can I take this dress off baby?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Yes please.”
“Your wish is my command,” he winks and you giggle, amazed at the way he can turn everything from serious and deeply intimate to funny, and yet still make the silliest of things romantic. “Sit up a little for me, angel.”
You obey him and his soft voice without question. His long fingers begin to attempt to unhook each button. Keyword… attempt.
He huffs with a slight pout as his nimble fingers fail to get a grasp on even the first button.
“I have an IQ of 187 and yet these buttons seem to require one even higher. Why are they so tiny? I mean they're beautiful… but Vera Wang certainly doesn't design with efficiency in mind.”
“You should send them a letter.”
“Haha… very funny,” he pouts again as he finally manages to unhook the first one. “I have half a mind to.”
Suddenly his face brightens and his eyes get that twinkling look again.
“I have an idea,” he grins as he leans down towards the buttons. “Kisses for good luck.”
You smile and start to giggle again until you feel the press of his lips to each button through your dress. The butterflies come to life in your stomach again and begin to fly in dizzyingly fast circles.
“There we go,” he murmurs as his lips brush each button and somehow…they unbutton as he tries his hand at it once more. “Told you. Kisses are good luck. Scientifically proven now.”
“You don’t believe in luck,” you whisper as his fingers unhook the last of the buttons.
“I do when it comes to you,” he breathes out as he gently pulls the sleeves of your dress down your arms, and lays you down to pull it off the rest of your body.
Damn, you’re blushing again. And you don’t think it will ever go away as long as Spencer is alive to make you feel this way.
Once the dress is all the way off, you hear Spencer's breath catch, and you look up at him shyly through your eyelashes. You were in wedding lingerie, that this morning your bridesmaids giggled and complimented as they helped you dress. The lingerie was white and lacy, delicate edges against your skin.
“You,” he leans down to kiss you between each word. “Are..” Kiss. “So…” Kiss.” Pretty…” Another kiss.
“Do you like it?” you murmur, stealing another kiss as he lifts his head once more. “I wanted to look pretty and special for tonight.”
“Like it?” he blinks like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “Angel…like is too insignificant a word for how I feel about you in this. Like… is used for saying you like a drink or dessert. Like…is a widely disproportionate word for how I feel about you. I feel like love is even too small to describe it.”
He exhales and leans down to kiss the lace of the bralettes edge, murmuring sweet things that you could barely make out.
“Hey,” you murmur as you reach for the buttons on his white dress shirt. “I can’t be the only one half naked.”
He grins as he raises his head, and now it's your turn to fumble with buttons.
“Here,” he whispers, as his larger hands cover your shaky ones and begin to help undo the buttons on his shirt. Once he reaches the end, he shrugs off the shirt and tosses it on the floor, not caring where it lands.
You let out a soft breath as he lets you gaze upon his chest. He was so handsome, so pretty. He wasn’t built with bulging muscles or a wide chest. Instead, he was built especially for you. He was lean yet defined, strong without being crushing.
You didn’t have any words so you said the only thing that really mattered.
“I love you, Spencer Reid.”
He leans down, and right before his lips meet your own you catch the mist that begins to cloud his eyes.
“I love you,” he murmurs as he kisses your lips and then begins trailing his own lips down your neck.
“I love you,” he repeats again as his lips latch onto that special spot on your neck, the one he's studied thoroughly and knows it’ll make you squirm. Your hips slightly arch to meet his as he sucks and gently bites at the skin, marking you as his own. You can feel the length of him, a not so subtle hardness pressing against you.
You let out a whiny whimper and you can feel his smile spread across his lips as he keeps kissing his way down to your lace covered breasts.
He kisses all around the lace edge and then reaches both hands up to cup them, marveling in how they fit within his palms.
You whine again as he gently squeezes and begins to knead them, the sensation shooting down between your legs.
“These are so pretty,” he mutters in a low voice as he stares at them. “So perfect for me, look at how they fit in my hands.”
“Oh…god,” you let out in a breathy little moan, the feeling and the sight of him playing with your breasts causing the damp patch on your panties to grow even damper.
“Mm-mm,” he tuts gently. “I don’t think a deity is making you feel like this right now baby.” He grins as you let out another soft little whimper. “Who’s making you feel this way right now? Cmon…you can say it.”
“Spencer!” you cry out as he rolls his hips against yours while he continues playing with your breasts, the friction causing a delicious pleasure to flood your senses.
“Thats it angel,” he whispers against your lips with each slow roll of his hips. “Good job… I knew you could do it.”
The praise he lavishes you with goes straight to your core, while he simultaneously reaches around to unhook the lacy bra, this time his fingers not fumbling at all. As it falls off he stares once again for a moment, before lowering his head to attach his lips around one peak while his hand paid attention to the other breast so it wasn’t neglected. He gently sucks and laves his tongue over it causing an exorbitant amount of high pitched noises to leave your lips.
He detaches for a moment to gaze up into your eyes.
“Is this good, angel? Do you want me to keep going or do you want something else?”
“It's so good,” you manage to choke out as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “But can…can you use your mouth and fingers on me?”
Of course, your cheeks pinken again and he grins.
“Where do you want them baby?”
“You know where.”
“Uh-uh” he shakes his head, trying to hide the slight smirk that begins to form across his face. “I need you to say it. Do you think you can do that, huh? Tell me where you want my fingers and mouth. I need to know exactly.”
“I want them…down there,” you manage to squeak out.
He sighs as he shakes his head again.
“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific, beautiful girl,” he crawls down the length of your body. “‘Down there…,’” he leans down, his breath ghosting above your knee, “could be anywhere.”
He presses a kiss to your kneecap and then the side of it as you pout.
“Did you mean down here?”
“No…”
He grins and brushes a kiss to your inner thigh.
“Then did you mean right here?”
“Spencer!” you whine again, looking down at him petulantly.
“Tell me where, angel. Use your words,” he whispers looking up at you with soft eyes this time. “You can say it, it’s just me. I’m your husband. Don’t be embarrassed.”
You inhale softly, swayed by the love in his tone and the truth of his statement.
“Can you use your fingers and your mouth…” your eyes duck down as your voice gets incrementally lower with every word that escapes your lips, “on my…on my pussy?”
Your voice comes out in the softest shyest whisper on the last word, but he still smiles gently.
“Of course baby,” murmurs and inches up a little bit to play with the little lace bow at the top of the edge of your panties. “Good girl, I’m so so proud of you for saying it.”
He presses a kiss to the bow, his lips skimming the lace and his fingers brushing over the wet patch that was increasingly becoming wetter.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he says in a low tone, with a hint of pride. He begins to slowly inch the panties down your thighs and legs, like he was unveiling the most precious treasure in the world. “Look at you…” he breathes out, “so pretty and perfect. My wife. Made just for me.”
You let out a breathy little gasp as his long fingers part your folds. He lowers his head so that his warm breath ghosts against your clit, and you whimper as you helplessly squirm. As you looked down upon his head between your legs— his hair fell in front of his forehead making him look even more handsome in the low lighting.
He swipes his thumb against your aching clit, making you cry out as he relieves some of the tension. Your hips jump and he laughs softly and then...
“Oh—” you gasp as his head finally lowers and he flicks his tongue against your clit, his hands gently holding your hips down in place. “Spencer I— ah!”
He continued licking at your clit, and then gently sucked at it, raising a high pitched sob from your throat. You could feel him alternate between flicking his tongue and suckling, the combination leaving you squirming and whimpering under his touch.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more pleasurable, he gently slipped a finger inside of you, moving it very slowly at first, and then finding a comfortable pace after he felt your walls adjust around him.
“Spencer it feels—” your words were cut off by the moan that you couldn’t help.
“Yeah baby, I know…it feels so good, I know,” he murmurs as he looks up then leans back down to suckle at your clit again. “You don’t have to say it, just let me keep taking care of you.”
He continues to pump his fingers in you, adding a second one— then a third when he feels you’re ready. You could hear the obscene sound of your wetness as he licks and moves his fingers in and out, curling them until he hits that spot inside you. That spot that he knows will send you to the highest of heavens.
“Spence…mm..” you whimper. “M’close.”
He doubles down his efforts, but what sends hurtling over the edge of your orgasm was his whispered ‘I love you’ against your clit.
You shake and tremble through the waves of pleasure as he continues between your legs, licking and sucking as you ride out your orgasm.
When you finally lay panting, he presses one last quick kiss to your clit, the sensitivity making your hips slightly buck again and a soft whimper to leave your mouth. He makes his way back up to look into your eyes.
“Hey,” he breathes out. “Are you okay?”. His eyes search your own. “You did so well, looked so beautiful.”
“I’m good,” you whisper shakily, looking into his adoring gaze. “I…wow.”
He smiles gently and begins covering your forehead and cheeks in soft pecks.
“Do you want a hug?” he says softly, looking back up into your eyes.
“Yes please,” you whisper, wanting so desperately to be in his arms before he enters you again.
He lights up, and pulls you into a hug, his lips brushing the top of your head.
“I love you so much,” he hums out, rubbing your lower back.
“I love you too,” you whisper back into his bare chest.
He holds you tight for another minute, whispering soft ‘I love yous’ ever so often.
“I’m ready,” you whisper against his chest and he knows exactly what you mean.
He kisses your forehead and sits up, beginning to slide his boxers off. You watch in soft adoration as they fall to the floor, and his pretty cock comes into view. You’ve never thought a cock could be thought of as pretty, but Spencer has proven you wrong time and time again.
You reach out to wrap your hand around it, but he gently catches your wrist in his own hand and holds it away.
You begin to speak but he gently shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes.
“I want to make love to you now,” he breathes out as he eases you back onto the bed. “I want to be inside you and if you…touch me now…I might not last.”
When you're laying flat against the pillows again, his hands come up to hold onto yours beside your head. His eyes lock onto yours and you can feel all the love he has for you in his gaze. The emotion builds and builds in the silence until a lump forms in your throat and suddenly your eyes are stinging.
“Hey…hey,” he exhales, pressing his nose to yours, as you feel a drop of water make its way down your cheek. “Don’t cry, angel. I love you so so much. I’m right here. We’re married now,”. He swallows and now you can see that he’s on the verge of tears too. “You’re…You’re my wife now.”
He quickly swipes at his eyes before reaching back down to interlock your fingers again. He kisses each salty tear away with the aching tenderness that makes your heart squeeze.
“I love you so much,” you breathe out as he reaches down to position the tip of himself against your entrance.
“Love you back…my perfect girl…my wife,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead gently, then sweetly pecking your nose. “Ready, baby?”
You nod, unable to speak, because if you do you might start crying again.
He gives you the most gentle, the most impossibly sweet smile before he begins to sink into you. You squeeze his hands tight as he presses deeper slowly, taking his time to savor the first moment you are connected as husband and wife.
You gasp as he goes as deep as he can go, his cock kissing the most inner parts of you. His forehead pressed against yours, and his eyes were closed. This was it. You felt every emotion spiral through you, both of your souls swirling and dancing around each other, connecting in the most intimate of ways.
“God…” he breathes out, his voice trembling. “I love you with everything I am. You feel so good around me. You’re a perfect fit, like always. I don’t–...I can’t—,” he chokes out, taking another breath before continuing, “Every part of me belongs to every part of you.”
A tear rolls down your cheek, one that you both don’t bother brushing away.
“I’m your girl forever,” you say shakily. “I want to be like this always. I never… I never want to be without you, Spencer,” You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer, his chest, pressing against your own. “You’re my other half.”
He swallows back the lump in his own throat, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he smiles softly and kisses your forehead.
“Us forever,” he whispers into your ear, then draws back to lock eyes with you, as he begins to thrust slowly. “It’s you and me.”
You gasped as his cock brushed against the most innermost part of you again and again. Every part of you was connected to every part of him. Each slow stroke sent sensations throughout your whole body— echoing into your bones. You clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into his bare skin as he made love to you.
“That’s it, angel,” he whispers into your ear. “You’re doing so well. There you go,”. He looked at you with the kind of reverence one would show a religious landmark. You were the temple that he worshiped at.
His thrusts remained slow but deep as he looked into your eyes— hitting that spot deep within you that made your whole body tense and clench around you.
“Is that it?” he murmurs, reaching down to rub slow circles on your clit in tandem with his purposeful strokes. He smirks as you let out a high-pitched ‘ah’—hoisting your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. “Yeah… that’s it.”
"You don’t have to be so smug about it,” you manage to choke out between high pitched gasps. “I-oh,” your voice dissolves into the prettiest moan Spencer has ever heard.
Spencer's breath hitched—any confident remark he was about to fire off gone as he felt your walls clench tightly around him again. He gazes at you like you were a miracle that he was somehow lucky enough to stumble into because, to him, you were.
Spencer?” you whimper into his shoulder, as he adjusts your hips so he can hit that glorious spot each time.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Harder…please.”
Spencer's breath stutters at your whine, and you can hear the soft inhale he takes in your ear before he nods, adjusting his weight above you and starts to firmly thrust into you. The sound of the headboard rattling against the wall above you was almost erotic in its own way— knowing that Spencer was putting that much effort into bringing your pleasure that a whole king sized bed could shake.
“You’re so good,” he breathes out as you clutch and cling to him, sensing you nearing the edge. “You’re my wife…my perfect girl.”
He keeps circling your clit, building you up through a steady rhythm instead of quickly trying to get you to your peak. As your body started to tense and tighten, he pressed kisses all over your cheeks and face, light brushes that were so light they felt like a feather caressing your face.
“Baby, I’m close,” you whimper as your hips lift, chasing the friction of his hand as he thrusted.
“I know,” he breathed out, kissing your collarbone. “You’re doing so well. Let me take care of you, I’m gonna get you there.”
As he murmured sweet nothings in your ear, the waves of pleasure grew and grew until they reached their crest— and you shattered around him with a broken moan.
“Spencer!” you cried as your body trembled and he held you so close it almost hurt but you didn’t care.
“Let go baby,” He whispered as he continued with slow strokes as you rode out your orgasm. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. We have this forever.”
You pant softly as you come down, him still thrusting gently trying not to overstimulate you as he reaches his own peak.
“Fuck— baby,” he gasped out as you felt him tense then spill into you. “I love you.”
As you both catch your breath together, you look up into his eyes, a post orgasmic haze hovering around the both of you. Your hand lifts, trembling a bit, and you push the soft curls back from where they were hanging over his forehead into his eyes so you could have a clearer view.
“You okay?” he whispers, studying every inch of your face to make sure there was no lingering soreness. “I went a little harder towards the end there. Was that okay?”
You smile because this was Spencer. Soft and sweet and yours. Always checking in and returning his gentle self after taking control and giving you the most pleasurable sensations you’ve ever felt in your life.
“Spencer,” you breathe out, pulling his head closer to yours to steal a kiss in between words. “That was amazing. Best wedding night ever.”
He presses another peck to your lips, then raises his head to look into your eyes with a silly smile forming on his lips.
“Best wedding night ever?” he laughs, poking the tip of your nose. “This was your only wedding night ever.”
You giggle as you reach up to poke his nose back.
“Yeah, but in my imagination if I had ever had any other wedding nights, this would be the best.”
He caught your wrist before you could poke his nose again, and a slow smirk spread over his face before kissing your forehead over and over again.
“I guess we just have to get married over and over to each other so we can have more wedding nights and do a comparison of all of them,” he smiles as you begin to giggle again, warmth from the sounds of your laugh spreading throughout your chest. “That way I can run a statistical analysis.”
“Only you would suggest analyzing our wedding night for science,” you smile as he continues pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead.
He smiles as he leaves one more peck on your nose, before rolling off you and standing up.
“Where are you going?” you pout, the warmth that had been present only seconds ago now gone cold.
He smiles as he reaches down to stroke your hair.
“I am going to get something to clean you up,” he whispers, “and then…we’re going to order so much room service.”
You perked up immediately.
“Room service? Can we get whatever we want?”
He laughs as he comes back with a warm washcloth, sitting beside you on the bed again.
“Whatever we want, angel,” he says softly as he leans down to gently clean you between your thighs. His touch was so soft, wiping away whatever remained and soothing any lingering soreness.
After he finished and quickly disposed of the washcloth, he lay back beside you and you immediately found yourself back in his arms— like you were two opposite ends of a magnet.
“I love you,” he murmured against your forehead. “My lovely, perfect wife.”
You looked up from your cocoon in his arms, and met his eyes, overflowing with adoration.
“I love you too,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering as you tried to force yourself to keep them open— not wanting this night to end quicker than it had to.
“Hey,” Spencer breathed against your forehead, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes, “you can go to sleep…I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. We have tomorrow like this, then our honeymoon… then forever.”
Your stomach flipped again at the mention of forever, as his breath warmed your ear. You were plastered to him, like you were an extension of his body.
“Don’t let go,” is the only thing you come up with to whisper back, because if you tried to say more you might start crying from emotion like earlier.
He immediately shakes his head, like even the notion was absurd.
“Never ever” he whispered back with one final sleepy kiss to your forehead.
You fall asleep mid mumble of ‘I love you’, and he just smiled against your forehead, squeezing even tighter.
You didn’t have to finish the sentence. He already knew. You had forever to say it again, anyways.
****
hiiii! i hope you guys enjoyed, this took me like a wholeee day to write! if you liked it pretty please like and reblog! it would mean so so much to me!
u + me = <3
pairing: spencer reid x fem! reader
summary: the most beautiful day of your lives is coming to a close, but your wedding night is about to begin. spencer shows his love to you by setting up the most beautiful room— and giving you the pleasure you deserve.
content warning: mdni 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, fluffy wedding night lovemaking (like sickeningly sweet), softdom! spencer reid, a little bit of nipple play, multiple orgasms, lots of pet names usage (angel, beautiful, baby, good girl), married couple, mentions of longer hair and white wedding dresses, creampie (i hate this word omg), sweet aftercare, no use of y/n
w/c: 5.4k words!
genre: smut, fluff
a/n: soooo welcome to my triumphant return. life kinda got crazy and i didn't want to force myself to write but now that it's summer...ideas have been coming to me. i pictured like season 7-9 spencer but you can imagine any season. this turned out way longer than i thought but i'm so proud of it! can you tell the olivia album inspired me? :)
Spencer's fingers were entangled with your own, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in soft little circles. His brown eyes were shining in adoration as you looked up to meet his gaze, the elevator hum a distant noise in the background— a soundtrack to the beginning of the most anticipated night of your life thus far. He had been looking at you this same way since you walked down the aisle hours ago, like you were something sent from the divine. Just thinking back to that moment, that white dress still flowing all around you, you felt a familiar lump rise in your throat. You were his, and he was yours.
“Baby,” he murmured, searching your eyes and reaching his free hand up to cup your cheek. “You okay? Your eyes went all misty for a moment.”
Damn it. Now you want to cry again, not tears of sadness, no– but in pure joyful emotion. You had married a man who noticed even the slightest change of your eyes or or an off breath.
“I’m more than okay,” you manage to whisper but it comes out more like a choked out wobbly breath. “I just– the way you're looking at me. The way you looked at me. I’ve never felt so much love.”
Spencer leans down to press his forehead against yours as the elevator steadily climbed to the hotel's top floor, the warmth of him flooding your system.
“I love you,” he whispers firmly. “With everything I am, with every breath I take. I’m so happy you’re my wife. I know you know but I need to tell you it again and again. I can’t stop saying it. I’ll always look at you like this because you’re my love. Every chamber of my heart beats in unison for you.”
Just before you could fully burst into tears at the sweetest words you had ever heard and wash off all the makeup that you had spent hours applying this morning, the elevator beeped and opened revealing a long, elegantly styled hallway.
“Cmon, angel,” Spencer murmured softly, his breath caressing your ear. “I want to show you our honeymoon suite,” He tugs on your hand and you giggle at the way he practically drags you down the hallway like an overeager puppy, stumbling beside him.
When you make it to the door at the end of the hallways, Spencer suddenly stops to face you. You open your mouth to speak and then—
“Whoa,” you gasp as he picks you up, his lean but strong arms sliding under your back and your knees to form the classic bridal style hold. “Baby what are you doing?” you giggle into his shoulder, filled with elation. You’re pretty sure you know what he's doing, you just want him to say it.
Spencer smiles down at you and it feels like the warmth of ten thousand suns shining down on you, and healing every emotional wound that ever hurt you.
“I am carrying my very beautiful bride across the threshold of our honeymoon suite, and then I am going to spend the entire night worshipping her.”
You immediately turn that familiar pretty shade of pink that Spencer loves, still not used to hearing him talk like this—even after all this time together.
“You look impossibly pretty like this,” he smiles as his gaze traces the features on your face. “You don’t even know how much.”
Before you can respond with a doubtful quip disguised by humour, he maneuvers you in his arms so he can push the hotel room door open.
Your breath catches.
“Holy shit.”
His eyes fill with pride and you can feel his spine straightening. The room was absolutely gorgeous. The room was lit, not harshly bright, yet light enough so you could see everything. The large windows had the curtains pulled back to reveal the glistening lights of the city. In the center of the room was a king bed, draped with silk sheets and piled with fluffiest pillows you had ever seen. The sheets were covered with rose petals scattered about, and at the foot of the bed sat a basket filled with champagne and other things you couldn’t make out.
“I called a week ago and asked them to set all this up. Penelope helped me find your wedding pinterest board and I wanted to make tonight special, especially since you planned the wedding so beautifully,” he smiles at your wide eyed expression as he puts you down from the bridal carry and kneels down to remove each one of your beautiful but painful heels that had been pinching your toes for hours. “You do so so much, and I'm not the most creatively inclined but I wanted to do this for you. I know I’m about to show you how much I love you physically but I wanted to show you a different way too. I…I hope you like it.”
This. This is why you married him, you thought as he removed each heel— pressing a kiss to each knee through your dress. Not for his incredible profiling skills, not for his astonishingly high iq of 187, not for his tall stature, or his beautifully sculpted face, or his brown doe eyes or his pretty pink lips or his messy brown locks but this. How much he cared. How he remembered the details, like you offhandedly mentioning your pinterest board. How he didn’t mind sleeping with a nightlight on during storms because he knew you got scared. Every single note filled with a fun fact a day left in your lunch. How he would listen to you ramble on and on about your favorite shows that other boys might laugh and call too girly, but he made a detailed chart with you on whether Jess or Logan was Rory's soulmate in Gilmore Girls. You married him for him. For the way he loved you in a way you thought was only possible in fairytales.
“Spencer,” you breathe out shakily as his eyes lock onto yours, looking impossibly soft. “I don’t even know how to describe how I’m feeling right now. I love you. I love you so so so much. I can’t believe you asked Penelope for my pinterest board. I can’t believe you even remembered me mentioning it. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“Of course I did…I love you,” he smiles gently as he tugs you closer, his hand wrapping round your waist. “I’m going to be doing things like this for you forever. It’s the least I could do. You are the most incredible girl in the entire universe,”. He smirks as he leans his forehead down to touch your own. “And that's saying a lot because the universe is actively expanding and actually the rate at which it’s expanding is accelerating which means—”
“Wait,”. He suddenly stops and takes a breath. “I’ll tell you about galactic redshift later because I’m getting too distracted by how you look in this dress,” His lips slightly turn up as his voice lowers. “And how much I want to see it on the floor.”
You can feel your face heat up for like the ten thousandth time today and you groan, pushing a strand of hair back behind your ear.
“You can’t keep saying these things,” you pout and he quickly leans down to press a quick peck to your lips. “I can’t help blushing. I think I have a chronic blushing problem.”
He laughs as he picks you and gently sets you amongst the flower petals on the silky bedspread, putting the basket on the floor before tossing his suit jacket aside.
“Chronic implies that it's long lasting which in this case I think is ideal,” he kisses your forehead in between words as he sits beside you on the bed. “You look too cute blushing— I don’t ever want it to go away.”
You giggle until his lips brush yours and every other thought melts from your mind. He kisses you so gently at first, like you’re porcelain on the verge of shattering. One of his hands reaches up to cup your face, while the other one settles on your waist—contentedly drawing little circles into the fabric of your wedding dress with his thumb. You sigh against his mouth as every nerve ending in your body seems to spark to life all at once.
At your sigh, his breath hitches and his tongue slowly slips into your mouth at the given opportunity. The hand that was against your cheek slides to cup the back of your head as he gently lowers you to lay back against the pillows. Your hair splays out, and he raises up from your lips to stare down at you adoringly.
“My beautiful wife,” he breathes out as his eyes trace your every feature. He lowers his lips to barely brush against yours once more. “My gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”
Before tears of emotion could fall from your eyes, he's kissing you again, and you can feel how much of himself he’s putting into it. He’s kissing you like your lips are what will save him from an incurable disease. Your wedding dress is twisted and flowing around the both of you, and his hands slide under you to fiddle with the delicate buttons on the back.
He raises his head once again and smiles at you, and everything that is outside of the little bubble the two of you created disappears.
“Can I take this dress off baby?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Yes please.”
“Your wish is my command,” he winks and you giggle, amazed at the way he can turn everything from serious and deeply intimate to funny, and yet still make the silliest of things romantic. “Sit up a little for me, angel.”
You obey him and his soft voice without question. His long fingers begin to attempt to unhook each button. Keyword… attempt.
He huffs with a slight pout as his nimble fingers fail to get a grasp on even the first button.
“I have an IQ of 187 and yet these buttons seem to require one even higher. Why are they so tiny? I mean they're beautiful… but Vera Wang certainly doesn't design with efficiency in mind.”
“You should send them a letter.”
“Haha… very funny,” he pouts again as he finally manages to unhook the first one. “I have half a mind to.”
Suddenly his face brightens and his eyes get that twinkling look again.
“I have an idea,” he grins as he leans down towards the buttons. “Kisses for good luck.”
You smile and start to giggle again until you feel the press of his lips to each button through your dress. The butterflies come to life in your stomach again and begin to fly in dizzyingly fast circles.
“There we go,” he murmurs as his lips brush each button and somehow…they unbutton as he tries his hand at it once more. “Told you. Kisses are good luck. Scientifically proven now.”
“You don’t believe in luck,” you whisper as his fingers unhook the last of the buttons.
“I do when it comes to you,” he breathes out as he gently pulls the sleeves of your dress down your arms, and lays you down to pull it off the rest of your body.
Damn, you’re blushing again. And you don’t think it will ever go away as long as Spencer is alive to make you feel this way.
Once the dress is all the way off, you hear Spencer's breath catch, and you look up at him shyly through your eyelashes. You were in wedding lingerie, that this morning your bridesmaids giggled and complimented as they helped you dress. The lingerie was white and lacy, delicate edges against your skin.
“You,” he leans down to kiss you between each word. “Are..” Kiss. “So…” Kiss.” Pretty…” Another kiss.
“Do you like it?” you murmur, stealing another kiss as he lifts his head once more. “I wanted to look pretty and special for tonight.”
“Like it?” he blinks like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “Angel…like is too insignificant a word for how I feel about you in this. Like… is used for saying you like a drink or dessert. Like…is a widely disproportionate word for how I feel about you. I feel like love is even too small to describe it.”
He exhales and leans down to kiss the lace of the bralettes edge, murmuring sweet things that you could barely make out.
“Hey,” you murmur as you reach for the buttons on his white dress shirt. “I can’t be the only one half naked.”
He grins as he raises his head, and now it's your turn to fumble with buttons.
“Here,” he whispers, as his larger hands cover your shaky ones and begin to help undo the buttons on his shirt. Once he reaches the end, he shrugs off the shirt and tosses it on the floor, not caring where it lands.
You let out a soft breath as he lets you gaze upon his chest. He was so handsome, so pretty. He wasn’t built with bulging muscles or a wide chest. Instead, he was built especially for you. He was lean yet defined, strong without being crushing.
You didn’t have any words so you said the only thing that really mattered.
“I love you, Spencer Reid.”
He leans down, and right before his lips meet your own you catch the mist that begins to cloud his eyes.
“I love you,” he murmurs as he kisses your lips and then begins trailing his own lips down your neck.
“I love you,” he repeats again as his lips latch onto that special spot on your neck, the one he's studied thoroughly and knows it’ll make you squirm. Your hips slightly arch to meet his as he sucks and gently bites at the skin, marking you as his own. You can feel the length of him, a not so subtle hardness pressing against you.
You let out a whiny whimper and you can feel his smile spread across his lips as he keeps kissing his way down to your lace covered breasts.
He kisses all around the lace edge and then reaches both hands up to cup them, marveling in how they fit within his palms.
You whine again as he gently squeezes and begins to knead them, the sensation shooting down between your legs.
“These are so pretty,” he mutters in a low voice as he stares at them. “So perfect for me, look at how they fit in my hands.”
“Oh…god,” you let out in a breathy little moan, the feeling and the sight of him playing with your breasts causing the damp patch on your panties to grow even damper.
“Mm-mm,” he tuts gently. “I don’t think a deity is making you feel like this right now baby.” He grins as you let out another soft little whimper. “Who’s making you feel this way right now? Cmon…you can say it.”
“Spencer!” you cry out as he rolls his hips against yours while he continues playing with your breasts, the friction causing a delicious pleasure to flood your senses.
“Thats it angel,” he whispers against your lips with each slow roll of his hips. “Good job… I knew you could do it.”
The praise he lavishes you with goes straight to your core, while he simultaneously reaches around to unhook the lacy bra, this time his fingers not fumbling at all. As it falls off he stares once again for a moment, before lowering his head to attach his lips around one peak while his hand paid attention to the other breast so it wasn’t neglected. He gently sucks and laves his tongue over it causing an exorbitant amount of high pitched noises to leave your lips.
He detaches for a moment to gaze up into your eyes.
“Is this good, angel? Do you want me to keep going or do you want something else?”
“It's so good,” you manage to choke out as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “But can…can you use your mouth and fingers on me?”
Of course, your cheeks pinken again and he grins.
“Where do you want them baby?”
“You know where.”
“Uh-uh” he shakes his head, trying to hide the slight smirk that begins to form across his face. “I need you to say it. Do you think you can do that, huh? Tell me where you want my fingers and mouth. I need to know exactly.”
“I want them…down there,” you manage to squeak out.
He sighs as he shakes his head again.
“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific, beautiful girl,” he crawls down the length of your body. “‘Down there…,’” he leans down, his breath ghosting above your knee, “could be anywhere.”
He presses a kiss to your kneecap and then the side of it as you pout.
“Did you mean down here?”
“No…”
He grins and brushes a kiss to your inner thigh.
“Then did you mean right here?”
“Spencer!” you whine again, looking down at him petulantly.
“Tell me where, angel. Use your words,” he whispers looking up at you with soft eyes this time. “You can say it, it’s just me. I’m your husband. Don’t be embarrassed.”
You inhale softly, swayed by the love in his tone and the truth of his statement.
“Can you use your fingers and your mouth…” your eyes duck down as your voice gets incrementally lower with every word that escapes your lips, “on my…on my pussy?”
Your voice comes out in the softest shyest whisper on the last word, but he still smiles gently.
“Of course baby,” murmurs and inches up a little bit to play with the little lace bow at the top of the edge of your panties. “Good girl, I’m so so proud of you for saying it.”
He presses a kiss to the bow, his lips skimming the lace and his fingers brushing over the wet patch that was increasingly becoming wetter.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he says in a low tone, with a hint of pride. He begins to slowly inch the panties down your thighs and legs, like he was unveiling the most precious treasure in the world. “Look at you…” he breathes out, “so pretty and perfect. My wife. Made just for me.”
You let out a breathy little gasp as his long fingers part your folds. He lowers his head so that his warm breath ghosts against your clit, and you whimper as you helplessly squirm. As you looked down upon his head between your legs— his hair fell in front of his forehead making him look even more handsome in the low lighting.
He swipes his thumb against your aching clit, making you cry out as he relieves some of the tension. Your hips jump and he laughs softly and then...
“Oh—” you gasp as his head finally lowers and he flicks his tongue against your clit, his hands gently holding your hips down in place. “Spencer I— ah!”
He continued licking at your clit, and then gently sucked at it, raising a high pitched sob from your throat. You could feel him alternate between flicking his tongue and suckling, the combination leaving you squirming and whimpering under his touch.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more pleasurable, he gently slipped a finger inside of you, moving it very slowly at first, and then finding a comfortable pace after he felt your walls adjust around him.
“Spencer it feels—” your words were cut off by the moan that you couldn’t help.
“Yeah baby, I know…it feels so good, I know,” he murmurs as he looks up then leans back down to suckle at your clit again. “You don’t have to say it, just let me keep taking care of you.”
He continues to pump his fingers in you, adding a second one— then a third when he feels you’re ready. You could hear the obscene sound of your wetness as he licks and moves his fingers in and out, curling them until he hits that spot inside you. That spot that he knows will send you to the highest of heavens.
“Spence…mm..” you whimper. “M’close.”
He doubles down his efforts, but what sends hurtling over the edge of your orgasm was his whispered ‘I love you’ against your clit.
You shake and tremble through the waves of pleasure as he continues between your legs, licking and sucking as you ride out your orgasm.
When you finally lay panting, he presses one last quick kiss to your clit, the sensitivity making your hips slightly buck again and a soft whimper to leave your mouth. He makes his way back up to look into your eyes.
“Hey,” he breathes out. “Are you okay?”. His eyes search your own. “You did so well, looked so beautiful.”
“I’m good,” you whisper shakily, looking into his adoring gaze. “I…wow.”
He smiles gently and begins covering your forehead and cheeks in soft pecks.
“Do you want a hug?” he says softly, looking back up into your eyes.
“Yes please,” you whisper, wanting so desperately to be in his arms before he enters you again.
He lights up, and pulls you into a hug, his lips brushing the top of your head.
“I love you so much,” he hums out, rubbing your lower back.
“I love you too,” you whisper back into his bare chest.
He holds you tight for another minute, whispering soft ‘I love yous’ ever so often.
“I’m ready,” you whisper against his chest and he knows exactly what you mean.
He kisses your forehead and sits up, beginning to slide his boxers off. You watch in soft adoration as they fall to the floor, and his pretty cock comes into view. You’ve never thought a cock could be thought of as pretty, but Spencer has proven you wrong time and time again.
You reach out to wrap your hand around it, but he gently catches your wrist in his own hand and holds it away.
You begin to speak but he gently shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes.
“I want to make love to you now,” he breathes out as he eases you back onto the bed. “I want to be inside you and if you…touch me now…I might not last.”
When you're laying flat against the pillows again, his hands come up to hold onto yours beside your head. His eyes lock onto yours and you can feel all the love he has for you in his gaze. The emotion builds and builds in the silence until a lump forms in your throat and suddenly your eyes are stinging.
“Hey…hey,” he exhales, pressing his nose to yours, as you feel a drop of water make its way down your cheek. “Don’t cry, angel. I love you so so much. I’m right here. We’re married now,”. He swallows and now you can see that he’s on the verge of tears too. “You’re…You’re my wife now.”
He quickly swipes at his eyes before reaching back down to interlock your fingers again. He kisses each salty tear away with the aching tenderness that makes your heart squeeze.
“I love you so much,” you breathe out as he reaches down to position the tip of himself against your entrance.
“Love you back…my perfect girl…my wife,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead gently, then sweetly pecking your nose. “Ready, baby?”
You nod, unable to speak, because if you do you might start crying again.
He gives you the most gentle, the most impossibly sweet smile before he begins to sink into you. You squeeze his hands tight as he presses deeper slowly, taking his time to savor the first moment you are connected as husband and wife.
You gasp as he goes as deep as he can go, his cock kissing the most inner parts of you. His forehead pressed against yours, and his eyes were closed. This was it. You felt every emotion spiral through you, both of your souls swirling and dancing around each other, connecting in the most intimate of ways.
“God…” he breathes out, his voice trembling. “I love you with everything I am. You feel so good around me. You’re a perfect fit, like always. I don’t–...I can’t—,” he chokes out, taking another breath before continuing, “Every part of me belongs to every part of you.”
A tear rolls down your cheek, one that you both don’t bother brushing away.
“I’m your girl forever,” you say shakily. “I want to be like this always. I never… I never want to be without you, Spencer,” You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer, his chest, pressing against your own. “You’re my other half.”
He swallows back the lump in his own throat, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he smiles softly and kisses your forehead.
“Us forever,” he whispers into your ear, then draws back to lock eyes with you, as he begins to thrust slowly. “It’s you and me.”
You gasped as his cock brushed against the most innermost part of you again and again. Every part of you was connected to every part of him. Each slow stroke sent sensations throughout your whole body— echoing into your bones. You clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into his bare skin as he made love to you.
“That’s it, angel,” he whispers into your ear. “You’re doing so well. There you go,”. He looked at you with the kind of reverence one would show a religious landmark. You were the temple that he worshiped at.
His thrusts remained slow but deep as he looked into your eyes— hitting that spot deep within you that made your whole body tense and clench around you.
“Is that it?” he murmurs, reaching down to rub slow circles on your clit in tandem with his purposeful strokes. He smirks as you let out a high-pitched ‘ah’—hoisting your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. “Yeah… that’s it.”
"You don’t have to be so smug about it,” you manage to choke out between high pitched gasps. “I-oh,” your voice dissolves into the prettiest moan Spencer has ever heard.
Spencer's breath hitched—any confident remark he was about to fire off gone as he felt your walls clench tightly around him again. He gazes at you like you were a miracle that he was somehow lucky enough to stumble into because, to him, you were.
Spencer?” you whimper into his shoulder, as he adjusts your hips so he can hit that glorious spot each time.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Harder…please.”
Spencer's breath stutters at your whine, and you can hear the soft inhale he takes in your ear before he nods, adjusting his weight above you and starts to firmly thrust into you. The sound of the headboard rattling against the wall above you was almost erotic in its own way— knowing that Spencer was putting that much effort into bringing your pleasure that a whole king sized bed could shake.
“You’re so good,” he breathes out as you clutch and cling to him, sensing you nearing the edge. “You’re my wife…my perfect girl.”
He keeps circling your clit, building you up through a steady rhythm instead of quickly trying to get you to your peak. As your body started to tense and tighten, he pressed kisses all over your cheeks and face, light brushes that were so light they felt like a feather caressing your face.
“Baby, I’m close,” you whimper as your hips lift, chasing the friction of his hand as he thrusted.
“I know,” he breathed out, kissing your collarbone. “You’re doing so well. Let me take care of you, I’m gonna get you there.”
As he murmured sweet nothings in your ear, the waves of pleasure grew and grew until they reached their crest— and you shattered around him with a broken moan.
“Spencer!” you cried as your body trembled and he held you so close it almost hurt but you didn’t care.
“Let go baby,” He whispered as he continued with slow strokes as you rode out your orgasm. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. We have this forever.”
You pant softly as you come down, him still thrusting gently trying not to overstimulate you as he reaches his own peak.
“Fuck— baby,” he gasped out as you felt him tense then spill into you. “I love you.”
As you both catch your breath together, you look up into his eyes, a post orgasmic haze hovering around the both of you. Your hand lifts, trembling a bit, and you push the soft curls back from where they were hanging over his forehead into his eyes so you could have a clearer view.
“You okay?” he whispers, studying every inch of your face to make sure there was no lingering soreness. “I went a little harder towards the end there. Was that okay?”
You smile because this was Spencer. Soft and sweet and yours. Always checking in and returning his gentle self after taking control and giving you the most pleasurable sensations you’ve ever felt in your life.
“Spencer,” you breathe out, pulling his head closer to yours to steal a kiss in between words. “That was amazing. Best wedding night ever.”
He presses another peck to your lips, then raises his head to look into your eyes with a silly smile forming on his lips.
“Best wedding night ever?” he laughs, poking the tip of your nose. “This was your only wedding night ever.”
You giggle as you reach up to poke his nose back.
“Yeah, but in my imagination if I had ever had any other wedding nights, this would be the best.”
He caught your wrist before you could poke his nose again, and a slow smirk spread over his face before kissing your forehead over and over again.
“I guess we just have to get married over and over to each other so we can have more wedding nights and do a comparison of all of them,” he smiles as you begin to giggle again, warmth from the sounds of your laugh spreading throughout your chest. “That way I can run a statistical analysis.”
“Only you would suggest analyzing our wedding night for science,” you smile as he continues pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead.
He smiles as he leaves one more peck on your nose, before rolling off you and standing up.
“Where are you going?” you pout, the warmth that had been present only seconds ago now gone cold.
He smiles as he reaches down to stroke your hair.
“I am going to get something to clean you up,” he whispers, “and then…we’re going to order so much room service.”
You perked up immediately.
“Room service? Can we get whatever we want?”
He laughs as he comes back with a warm washcloth, sitting beside you on the bed again.
“Whatever we want, angel,” he says softly as he leans down to gently clean you between your thighs. His touch was so soft, wiping away whatever remained and soothing any lingering soreness.
After he finished and quickly disposed of the washcloth, he lay back beside you and you immediately found yourself back in his arms— like you were two opposite ends of a magnet.
“I love you,” he murmured against your forehead. “My lovely, perfect wife.”
You looked up from your cocoon in his arms, and met his eyes, overflowing with adoration.
“I love you too,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering as you tried to force yourself to keep them open— not wanting this night to end quicker than it had to.
“Hey,” Spencer breathed against your forehead, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes, “you can go to sleep…I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. We have tomorrow like this, then our honeymoon… then forever.”
Your stomach flipped again at the mention of forever, as his breath warmed your ear. You were plastered to him, like you were an extension of his body.
“Don’t let go,” is the only thing you come up with to whisper back, because if you tried to say more you might start crying from emotion like earlier.
He immediately shakes his head, like even the notion was absurd.
“Never ever” he whispered back with one final sleepy kiss to your forehead.
You fall asleep mid mumble of ‘I love you’, and he just smiled against your forehead, squeezing even tighter.
You didn’t have to finish the sentence. He already knew. You had forever to say it again, anyways.
****
hiiii! i hope you guys enjoyed, this took me like a wholeee day to write! if you liked it pretty please like and reblog! it would mean so so much to me!
normal people
in which the robbery of spencer's beloved table prompts some conversations usual to long-term best friends and to kindergarteners, probably.
tags: pre relationship / fluff ? i never know how to do this; high school au !! nerd spencer reid & fem cheerleader reader !!! spencer is most likely neurodivergent and certainly a loser; i dunno it's just nice and sweet and they have no clue what to do with it; penelope mentioned yay !! probably ooc but i dont think i care anymore ♡ gif by @/reidgif !!!
w/c: 2.5k
a/n: hi it's been a while idk what to say this is awkward. i love u and i miss u and i hope u still wanna read this stupid little series ?
prev part | universe masterlist | meet the reader
First day of freshman year:
Spencer Reid walks into the library during lunchtime to hide from the chaos in the cafeteria, and runs to the back of the room only to encounter the ideal table; Between a window and the shelf with chemistry & physics books, above such a rare, perfectly leveled area of flooring, with a surface smooth enough to avoid his clothes snagging and small enough for others to instinctively pass it by.
He proceeds to spend almost every single lunch period, for all of three years, rooted to that very table.
Today:
Spencer Reid walks into the library during lunchtime to hide from the chaos in the cafeteria, and runs to the back of the room only to encounter someone who is not him, sat at said table.
He stops. He blinks. He triple checks, makes sure he's looking at the right spot — not that he'd need to, it's muscle memory at this point. Thirty-six steps from the door and a right turn and there it is. There you are, in all your audacious glory, shamelessly stealing his spot as if it meant nothing. (Which it kind of does, though he refuses to accept it.)
Your shoulder rests against the wall, head bowed over an open book and legs crossed under the wood as if you didn’t know who it belongs to. Your hair — the first thing he saw and recognized to be yours, though he'd deny it for eternity if anyone dared asking — is tucked behind an ear and your fingers worry at the corner of the page and your foot bounces absentmindedly in a steady rhythm.
A container filled with yoghurt and what seem to be blueberries sits unopened beside your phone and earbuds. Your bag leans against his favorite chair. He feels faintly ill.
Still, he can't help but note:
Observation #1 - There are eighteen tables in the library. Seventy two chairs. His mind calculates it instinctively — only a 5.56% chance you'd randomly sit at his table.
Observation #2 - You're supposed to be in the cafeteria like you've basically always done — at the biggest table with the prettiest girls in the pinkest outfits between the giggliest conversations. In no one's books are you the type of person to spend lunch in the library.
Observation #3 - He isn't at all familiar with this specific flavor of anxiety.
Spencer exhales, shallow and uneven. Retreat seems like a logical option; so does standing perfectly still until the bell rings. He clears his throat like it's enough to rid it of that lump of agglomerate nerves and… jealousy?
The sound is quieter than he'd expected, but your foot stills; your fingers stop playing, and slowly, you look up. You smile when your eyes meet his — as if you were, like, actually happy to see him or something. “Hi, Spencer.”
Like usual, he thinks of an answer until it's too awkward to reply. He fidgets with his cuticles. Your brows furrow, lips tilting as the concern he’s almost used to softly takes over your expression, “Are you okay? What, did Jason do somet—”
“No, no,” he cuts you off, shaking his head and looking away. “It's just, uhm…” He starts, voice soft not only because of the Shh signs on every wall. “You’re in my spot.”
“Oh. Right.” You say in a breath, looking around the table. “Well, it doesn't have your name anywhere on it—” you laugh, he doesn't, “—but, uh… if you insist.” It's not anything but lighthearted, yet he can't help the feeling when you start collecting your stuff, getting ready to move. He’s not worthy of your inconvenience.
“No, I— I'm not asking you to leave,” he startles himself with a step, foot moving above creaky hickory before he can stop it. Then, quieter and forcefully less eager, “I can share. I don’t mind it.”
You shrug, biting back a smile as you instead gather your things more neatly together, making space on the table for little old him. He's still talking as he settles on the opposite end from you. “I'm just surprised because there's rarely ever anyone else here— actually, in three years, this has only happened twice before. This table's smaller than the rest, and the placement isn't really convenient for most people— I mean, all of the books on those shelves,” he gestures to the surrounding ones, “are close to new, because no one really reads them except for me, and when it starts getting warmer, the sunlight can hit your eyes uncomfortably if you're sitting on that side… either way, I prefer this side because it's closest to the trash can and I can have my back turned to the librarian's desk to avoid accidental eye contact. Also, I've never seen you at the library before. I thought you were supposed to be in the cafeteria with the rest of the, uhm… the cool kids. Really, students in popular groups are less likely to dedicate enough time to studies and the fact that you'd be willing to sacrifice your lunch hour to—”
When he sees the wide eyes above your equally amused smile, he straightens his back and clears his throat. There’s a crack in his voice when he adds, “Sorry.”
He stares at the beautiful grain where his things now sit and he, not unnaturally, wishes he could bury his head into a hole. The trashcan's near, he said it himself, and he's not sure it'd be any less comfortable than the silence you currently give him as a reply. That little laugh that soon follows from you doesn't necessarily help, either.
And then it's your turn to surprise him, though with that kindness he's not yet familiar with. With a crooked smile and a soft, soft voice, “Why would you wanna avoid eye contact with Ms. Tina? She's super nice. She doesn't even get mad at me when I talk in here.”
He knows it's because most of the time there are so few people in the library to be bothered by it, that she doesn't even give herself the effort. You chuckle to yourself like a reply to his mind, like you know exactly what he's thinking. He picks on some of the dead skin around one of his nails and only when it hurts can he be sure this is really happening. After a beat, he murmurs, “Well, I... I'm not exactly fond of eye contact with anyone, really.”
“Ah, yes.” You nod, eyes falling back to your page with a breathy mumble, “Of course.”
And a little laugh sends you both off into silence.
Spencer, between glances in your direction, tries to look for the title of the book in your hands, but it lays on the table too awkwardly for that — either way, he doesn't think the words on it are the kind to warrant that smile plastered across your face. Your left hand index finger twirls around itself a strand of hair. Your gaze circles around to the beginning of the page once or twice, and he looks away then out of fear that you'll see him staring.
One would be shocked by just how much can be seen from the corner of an eye — pretty much everything you've done has been observed and processed by Spencer from mere glimpses. When you tuck your legs up to your chest and lie the side of your face on your knees, his interest in the ridges of the wood only increases — though he could describe every one of your following actions with immense accuracy.
Your eyes turn their focus (apparently rebelliously so) toward the peeling polish on your thumbnail, though it seems intentional when you move onto examining his expression for a moment, during which he finds himself unable and/or unwilling to move. And then you begin staring at his textbook and at the model of molecules illustrating the hard cover. You frown at it. You chew on your lower lip and take a breath, you tuck that curl behind your ear and you blink far too many times.
You barely even move when the murmur leaves your throat, “If you really wanna know… the cool kids went off campus for lunch with their boyfriends and I wasn't in the mood for third— well, more like… ninth wheeling again.”
“Oh,” he exhales, not hiding the way he looks at you anymore because normal people keep eye contact during conversations. “You’re— uh, you don't have a boyfriend?” is all he can really say, and he curses himself for doing it. “Sorry.” Spencer Reid can't talk relationships is totally something one could correctly say here, but Spencer Reid can't talk to people might be a better fitting statement.
“I like to put it as having real standards, unlike them— but yes, yeah, I'm, ah, ‘m single. Alone,” you mumble with a sheepish laugh.
“Well, I,” he starts, though it's a rare occasion where he pauses to think his words through. “I wouldn't say you're alone. I mean, you have more friends than I'd ever dream of. That's not loneliness.”
“Romance isn't everything. Yeah, yeah, I know, whatever. I'm not, like, depressed because of it or something. It's just a little inconvenience that gets rubbed in my face whenever I'm around them all, you know?”
He's doesn't think he knows because he isn't that often willfully surrounded by people who love each other — he's not that often willfully surrounded by people. He merely nods and hums as a response. After a breath, stupidly, he muses, “Many people here… want you, though,” not sure how to say it, he coughs over the phrase awkwardly.
“I'm not desperate enough go out with any of the guys on the team… if that's what you mean.”
“Yes, that, but— not only that. Loads of boys do,” and he stops himself from listing all of the names he's overheard over time. “They talk loudly in the locker room.”
You giggle again, shaking your head. “I think that's all, like, very gross. Them, I mean. Teenage boys say weird, gross things. No offense. I don't know that I'd ever date the kinda guy who talks about any girl so loudly in the locker room.”
If anyone told Spencer like a month ago that he'd be having lunch (or pretending to have lunch — neither of you has taken a bite yet) with someone like you while chatting about boyfriends, he would’ve condemned them for lying. You also seem to realize the absurdity of the situation and, with a shyness so rarely seen from you, you whisper, “That's so stupid, right? Sorry.”
“No, no,” he's quick to counter. “It's not stupid. It's a good thing, no? You, uh… you know your worth,” is what he guesses to be the right answer.
“I meant the fact that I'm sharing this with you. You, like, barely know me and you just wanna read your book and eat in silence—” you gesture to the copy of Solid State Chemistry and its Applications and the aluminum wrapped sandwich beside it “—and I'm complaining about how boys aren't romantic enough and I doubt you could care any less.”
“I don't mind it.”
“You should, though,” you chuckle.
“No, I'm just… glad someone's talking to me.”
Spencer worries it's pity that fills your eyes for that second of silence, when your smile fades softly and your head tilts to the side, but you speak soon enough to direct his mind elsewhere. “You can talk, too, you know.”
“No, I've never…” he shakes his head, “I'm not— no, I can’t talk about that. I have nothing to say.”
“You can talk about other stuff.”
“Yeah, like what? You want to hear me talk about… solid state chemistry?” he says in a scoff.
“If you wanna,” and you shrug.
He smiles softly, yet keeps his eyes down, and, while formulating an egregiously polysyllabic response, he realizes what he wants is simply to avoid being a bigger bother. He presses his lips together, considers stapling them so; yours can't seem to stay closed for more than a minute.
“We could talk about something else, then, I guess. What's your favorite color?”
He dares another proper look at your face, “Hm?”
“Do you have a favorite color?” and it's like you asked his opinions on the most important of political topics.
Spencer scratches his head and stares at the ceiling and furrows his brows to dig into his own brain, to look through memories, recent or not, that can help him discover or decide the great things about himself as a person. “I don't think I do, no,” is all he can really muster.
Your neck turns at an angle then, and you laugh in sync, short and sweet. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. Why?”
“You totally do, though. Everyone has a favourite color,” you mumble, amused. “I mean, like, if I were to guess…” you narrow your eyes and he’s not sure what to do under such scrutiny, “you look like your favorite color is, like, purple, maybe. You know that one little purple scarf you wear a lot? I think it's, like, in your pallette, or something. Even if it’s not your favourite, you should wear it more often, I think.”
That might be the first time he's heard inside of this building someone confirm his existence as something other than a strange, disturbing anomaly. You don't seem to realize what you're saying or how it makes him feel. Selfishly, he wishes he could ask you to stop talking, so that he can process the unknown concepts of being seen and acknowledged and considered by other people, and of having to stop to process something. Your words echo in his ears in a way that makes him wonder if he's becoming stupider.
“You're probably, like, a… an autumn, maybe? I, actually, I don't know anything about that color analysis stuff, so I don't know if I sound stupid, I probably do, but Penny is huge on all of that, so I hear it a lot. I think I'm, like, a… light spring…? She told me once, but I don't really get it. It's a stupid name, something like that.”
It's not like he didn't know he was real. He's always known he's a human, obviously. What he wasn’t too sure of was the fact that others knew he's a human. Red pools around the edge of his fingernail as another bit of skin goes, and the confusion in your voice when you ask, “Sorry, did I say something wrong?” has enough of a pull on Spencer to get him out of his own head.
“Hm?”
“You’re really quiet. Did I say something?”
“No, oh, no, no— don't worry, no. It's just— I'm just… confused, I guess. Sorry, why are we talking about colors again?”
“Oh, no, it's just, like, a thing,” you shrug. He tries to mirror your smile but he doesn't know how much of a grimace it looks like. “‘Cause that's one of the first things people ask someone to get to know them… in, like, pre-k, maybe, but— oh, well. It's a topic as surface level as it gets, I think.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He relearns how to nod after a while. “Yeah, that makes sense… I guess I do like purple.”
“Really?” You beam, just as proud as you are happy.
“Mhm.”
“Yay! Guessed right. Okay— uhm… what's your favourite animal, then? Wait, no, should I guess, too?”
@theredvelvetbitch @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @matcha-kitty13 @girllblogging777 @xjyuto @ikyoudreamofme @jjellecubed @goldencherriess @grandtheftpiper @idcalol
u + me = <3
pairing: spencer reid x fem! reader
summary: the most beautiful day of your lives is coming to a close, but your wedding night is about to begin. spencer shows his love to you by setting up the most beautiful room— and giving you the pleasure you deserve.
content warning: mdni 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, fluffy wedding night lovemaking (like sickeningly sweet), softdom! spencer reid, a little bit of nipple play, multiple orgasms, lots of pet names usage (angel, beautiful, baby, good girl), married couple, mentions of longer hair and white wedding dresses, creampie (i hate this word omg), sweet aftercare, no use of y/n
w/c: 5.4k words!
genre: smut, fluff
a/n: soooo welcome to my triumphant return. life kinda got crazy and i didn't want to force myself to write but now that it's summer...ideas have been coming to me. i pictured like season 7-9 spencer but you can imagine any season. this turned out way longer than i thought but i'm so proud of it! can you tell the olivia album inspired me? :)
Spencer's fingers were entangled with your own, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in soft little circles. His brown eyes were shining in adoration as you looked up to meet his gaze, the elevator hum a distant noise in the background— a soundtrack to the beginning of the most anticipated night of your life thus far. He had been looking at you this same way since you walked down the aisle hours ago, like you were something sent from the divine. Just thinking back to that moment, that white dress still flowing all around you, you felt a familiar lump rise in your throat. You were his, and he was yours.
“Baby,” he murmured, searching your eyes and reaching his free hand up to cup your cheek. “You okay? Your eyes went all misty for a moment.”
Damn it. Now you want to cry again, not tears of sadness, no– but in pure joyful emotion. You had married a man who noticed even the slightest change of your eyes or or an off breath.
“I’m more than okay,” you manage to whisper but it comes out more like a choked out wobbly breath. “I just– the way you're looking at me. The way you looked at me. I’ve never felt so much love.”
Spencer leans down to press his forehead against yours as the elevator steadily climbed to the hotel's top floor, the warmth of him flooding your system.
“I love you,” he whispers firmly. “With everything I am, with every breath I take. I’m so happy you’re my wife. I know you know but I need to tell you it again and again. I can’t stop saying it. I’ll always look at you like this because you’re my love. Every chamber of my heart beats in unison for you.”
Just before you could fully burst into tears at the sweetest words you had ever heard and wash off all the makeup that you had spent hours applying this morning, the elevator beeped and opened revealing a long, elegantly styled hallway.
“Cmon, angel,” Spencer murmured softly, his breath caressing your ear. “I want to show you our honeymoon suite,” He tugs on your hand and you giggle at the way he practically drags you down the hallway like an overeager puppy, stumbling beside him.
When you make it to the door at the end of the hallways, Spencer suddenly stops to face you. You open your mouth to speak and then—
“Whoa,” you gasp as he picks you up, his lean but strong arms sliding under your back and your knees to form the classic bridal style hold. “Baby what are you doing?” you giggle into his shoulder, filled with elation. You’re pretty sure you know what he's doing, you just want him to say it.
Spencer smiles down at you and it feels like the warmth of ten thousand suns shining down on you, and healing every emotional wound that ever hurt you.
“I am carrying my very beautiful bride across the threshold of our honeymoon suite, and then I am going to spend the entire night worshipping her.”
You immediately turn that familiar pretty shade of pink that Spencer loves, still not used to hearing him talk like this—even after all this time together.
“You look impossibly pretty like this,” he smiles as his gaze traces the features on your face. “You don’t even know how much.”
Before you can respond with a doubtful quip disguised by humour, he maneuvers you in his arms so he can push the hotel room door open.
Your breath catches.
“Holy shit.”
His eyes fill with pride and you can feel his spine straightening. The room was absolutely gorgeous. The room was lit, not harshly bright, yet light enough so you could see everything. The large windows had the curtains pulled back to reveal the glistening lights of the city. In the center of the room was a king bed, draped with silk sheets and piled with fluffiest pillows you had ever seen. The sheets were covered with rose petals scattered about, and at the foot of the bed sat a basket filled with champagne and other things you couldn’t make out.
“I called a week ago and asked them to set all this up. Penelope helped me find your wedding pinterest board and I wanted to make tonight special, especially since you planned the wedding so beautifully,” he smiles at your wide eyed expression as he puts you down from the bridal carry and kneels down to remove each one of your beautiful but painful heels that had been pinching your toes for hours. “You do so so much, and I'm not the most creatively inclined but I wanted to do this for you. I know I’m about to show you how much I love you physically but I wanted to show you a different way too. I…I hope you like it.”
This. This is why you married him, you thought as he removed each heel— pressing a kiss to each knee through your dress. Not for his incredible profiling skills, not for his astonishingly high iq of 187, not for his tall stature, or his beautifully sculpted face, or his brown doe eyes or his pretty pink lips or his messy brown locks but this. How much he cared. How he remembered the details, like you offhandedly mentioning your pinterest board. How he didn’t mind sleeping with a nightlight on during storms because he knew you got scared. Every single note filled with a fun fact a day left in your lunch. How he would listen to you ramble on and on about your favorite shows that other boys might laugh and call too girly, but he made a detailed chart with you on whether Jess or Logan was Rory's soulmate in Gilmore Girls. You married him for him. For the way he loved you in a way you thought was only possible in fairytales.
“Spencer,” you breathe out shakily as his eyes lock onto yours, looking impossibly soft. “I don’t even know how to describe how I’m feeling right now. I love you. I love you so so so much. I can’t believe you asked Penelope for my pinterest board. I can’t believe you even remembered me mentioning it. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“Of course I did…I love you,” he smiles gently as he tugs you closer, his hand wrapping round your waist. “I’m going to be doing things like this for you forever. It’s the least I could do. You are the most incredible girl in the entire universe,”. He smirks as he leans his forehead down to touch your own. “And that's saying a lot because the universe is actively expanding and actually the rate at which it’s expanding is accelerating which means—”
“Wait,”. He suddenly stops and takes a breath. “I’ll tell you about galactic redshift later because I’m getting too distracted by how you look in this dress,” His lips slightly turn up as his voice lowers. “And how much I want to see it on the floor.”
You can feel your face heat up for like the ten thousandth time today and you groan, pushing a strand of hair back behind your ear.
“You can’t keep saying these things,” you pout and he quickly leans down to press a quick peck to your lips. “I can’t help blushing. I think I have a chronic blushing problem.”
He laughs as he picks you and gently sets you amongst the flower petals on the silky bedspread, putting the basket on the floor before tossing his suit jacket aside.
“Chronic implies that it's long lasting which in this case I think is ideal,” he kisses your forehead in between words as he sits beside you on the bed. “You look too cute blushing— I don’t ever want it to go away.”
You giggle until his lips brush yours and every other thought melts from your mind. He kisses you so gently at first, like you’re porcelain on the verge of shattering. One of his hands reaches up to cup your face, while the other one settles on your waist—contentedly drawing little circles into the fabric of your wedding dress with his thumb. You sigh against his mouth as every nerve ending in your body seems to spark to life all at once.
At your sigh, his breath hitches and his tongue slowly slips into your mouth at the given opportunity. The hand that was against your cheek slides to cup the back of your head as he gently lowers you to lay back against the pillows. Your hair splays out, and he raises up from your lips to stare down at you adoringly.
“My beautiful wife,” he breathes out as his eyes trace your every feature. He lowers his lips to barely brush against yours once more. “My gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”
Before tears of emotion could fall from your eyes, he's kissing you again, and you can feel how much of himself he’s putting into it. He’s kissing you like your lips are what will save him from an incurable disease. Your wedding dress is twisted and flowing around the both of you, and his hands slide under you to fiddle with the delicate buttons on the back.
He raises his head once again and smiles at you, and everything that is outside of the little bubble the two of you created disappears.
“Can I take this dress off baby?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Yes please.”
“Your wish is my command,” he winks and you giggle, amazed at the way he can turn everything from serious and deeply intimate to funny, and yet still make the silliest of things romantic. “Sit up a little for me, angel.”
You obey him and his soft voice without question. His long fingers begin to attempt to unhook each button. Keyword… attempt.
He huffs with a slight pout as his nimble fingers fail to get a grasp on even the first button.
“I have an IQ of 187 and yet these buttons seem to require one even higher. Why are they so tiny? I mean they're beautiful… but Vera Wang certainly doesn't design with efficiency in mind.”
“You should send them a letter.”
“Haha… very funny,” he pouts again as he finally manages to unhook the first one. “I have half a mind to.”
Suddenly his face brightens and his eyes get that twinkling look again.
“I have an idea,” he grins as he leans down towards the buttons. “Kisses for good luck.”
You smile and start to giggle again until you feel the press of his lips to each button through your dress. The butterflies come to life in your stomach again and begin to fly in dizzyingly fast circles.
“There we go,” he murmurs as his lips brush each button and somehow…they unbutton as he tries his hand at it once more. “Told you. Kisses are good luck. Scientifically proven now.”
“You don’t believe in luck,” you whisper as his fingers unhook the last of the buttons.
“I do when it comes to you,” he breathes out as he gently pulls the sleeves of your dress down your arms, and lays you down to pull it off the rest of your body.
Damn, you’re blushing again. And you don’t think it will ever go away as long as Spencer is alive to make you feel this way.
Once the dress is all the way off, you hear Spencer's breath catch, and you look up at him shyly through your eyelashes. You were in wedding lingerie, that this morning your bridesmaids giggled and complimented as they helped you dress. The lingerie was white and lacy, delicate edges against your skin.
“You,” he leans down to kiss you between each word. “Are..” Kiss. “So…” Kiss.” Pretty…” Another kiss.
“Do you like it?” you murmur, stealing another kiss as he lifts his head once more. “I wanted to look pretty and special for tonight.”
“Like it?” he blinks like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “Angel…like is too insignificant a word for how I feel about you in this. Like… is used for saying you like a drink or dessert. Like…is a widely disproportionate word for how I feel about you. I feel like love is even too small to describe it.”
He exhales and leans down to kiss the lace of the bralettes edge, murmuring sweet things that you could barely make out.
“Hey,” you murmur as you reach for the buttons on his white dress shirt. “I can’t be the only one half naked.”
He grins as he raises his head, and now it's your turn to fumble with buttons.
“Here,” he whispers, as his larger hands cover your shaky ones and begin to help undo the buttons on his shirt. Once he reaches the end, he shrugs off the shirt and tosses it on the floor, not caring where it lands.
You let out a soft breath as he lets you gaze upon his chest. He was so handsome, so pretty. He wasn’t built with bulging muscles or a wide chest. Instead, he was built especially for you. He was lean yet defined, strong without being crushing.
You didn’t have any words so you said the only thing that really mattered.
“I love you, Spencer Reid.”
He leans down, and right before his lips meet your own you catch the mist that begins to cloud his eyes.
“I love you,” he murmurs as he kisses your lips and then begins trailing his own lips down your neck.
“I love you,” he repeats again as his lips latch onto that special spot on your neck, the one he's studied thoroughly and knows it’ll make you squirm. Your hips slightly arch to meet his as he sucks and gently bites at the skin, marking you as his own. You can feel the length of him, a not so subtle hardness pressing against you.
You let out a whiny whimper and you can feel his smile spread across his lips as he keeps kissing his way down to your lace covered breasts.
He kisses all around the lace edge and then reaches both hands up to cup them, marveling in how they fit within his palms.
You whine again as he gently squeezes and begins to knead them, the sensation shooting down between your legs.
“These are so pretty,” he mutters in a low voice as he stares at them. “So perfect for me, look at how they fit in my hands.”
“Oh…god,” you let out in a breathy little moan, the feeling and the sight of him playing with your breasts causing the damp patch on your panties to grow even damper.
“Mm-mm,” he tuts gently. “I don’t think a deity is making you feel like this right now baby.” He grins as you let out another soft little whimper. “Who’s making you feel this way right now? Cmon…you can say it.”
“Spencer!” you cry out as he rolls his hips against yours while he continues playing with your breasts, the friction causing a delicious pleasure to flood your senses.
“Thats it angel,” he whispers against your lips with each slow roll of his hips. “Good job… I knew you could do it.”
The praise he lavishes you with goes straight to your core, while he simultaneously reaches around to unhook the lacy bra, this time his fingers not fumbling at all. As it falls off he stares once again for a moment, before lowering his head to attach his lips around one peak while his hand paid attention to the other breast so it wasn’t neglected. He gently sucks and laves his tongue over it causing an exorbitant amount of high pitched noises to leave your lips.
He detaches for a moment to gaze up into your eyes.
“Is this good, angel? Do you want me to keep going or do you want something else?”
“It's so good,” you manage to choke out as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “But can…can you use your mouth and fingers on me?”
Of course, your cheeks pinken again and he grins.
“Where do you want them baby?”
“You know where.”
“Uh-uh” he shakes his head, trying to hide the slight smirk that begins to form across his face. “I need you to say it. Do you think you can do that, huh? Tell me where you want my fingers and mouth. I need to know exactly.”
“I want them…down there,” you manage to squeak out.
He sighs as he shakes his head again.
“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific, beautiful girl,” he crawls down the length of your body. “‘Down there…,’” he leans down, his breath ghosting above your knee, “could be anywhere.”
He presses a kiss to your kneecap and then the side of it as you pout.
“Did you mean down here?”
“No…”
He grins and brushes a kiss to your inner thigh.
“Then did you mean right here?”
“Spencer!” you whine again, looking down at him petulantly.
“Tell me where, angel. Use your words,” he whispers looking up at you with soft eyes this time. “You can say it, it’s just me. I’m your husband. Don’t be embarrassed.”
You inhale softly, swayed by the love in his tone and the truth of his statement.
“Can you use your fingers and your mouth…” your eyes duck down as your voice gets incrementally lower with every word that escapes your lips, “on my…on my pussy?”
Your voice comes out in the softest shyest whisper on the last word, but he still smiles gently.
“Of course baby,” murmurs and inches up a little bit to play with the little lace bow at the top of the edge of your panties. “Good girl, I’m so so proud of you for saying it.”
He presses a kiss to the bow, his lips skimming the lace and his fingers brushing over the wet patch that was increasingly becoming wetter.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he says in a low tone, with a hint of pride. He begins to slowly inch the panties down your thighs and legs, like he was unveiling the most precious treasure in the world. “Look at you…” he breathes out, “so pretty and perfect. My wife. Made just for me.”
You let out a breathy little gasp as his long fingers part your folds. He lowers his head so that his warm breath ghosts against your clit, and you whimper as you helplessly squirm. As you looked down upon his head between your legs— his hair fell in front of his forehead making him look even more handsome in the low lighting.
He swipes his thumb against your aching clit, making you cry out as he relieves some of the tension. Your hips jump and he laughs softly and then...
“Oh—” you gasp as his head finally lowers and he flicks his tongue against your clit, his hands gently holding your hips down in place. “Spencer I— ah!”
He continued licking at your clit, and then gently sucked at it, raising a high pitched sob from your throat. You could feel him alternate between flicking his tongue and suckling, the combination leaving you squirming and whimpering under his touch.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more pleasurable, he gently slipped a finger inside of you, moving it very slowly at first, and then finding a comfortable pace after he felt your walls adjust around him.
“Spencer it feels—” your words were cut off by the moan that you couldn’t help.
“Yeah baby, I know…it feels so good, I know,” he murmurs as he looks up then leans back down to suckle at your clit again. “You don’t have to say it, just let me keep taking care of you.”
He continues to pump his fingers in you, adding a second one— then a third when he feels you’re ready. You could hear the obscene sound of your wetness as he licks and moves his fingers in and out, curling them until he hits that spot inside you. That spot that he knows will send you to the highest of heavens.
“Spence…mm..” you whimper. “M’close.”
He doubles down his efforts, but what sends hurtling over the edge of your orgasm was his whispered ‘I love you’ against your clit.
You shake and tremble through the waves of pleasure as he continues between your legs, licking and sucking as you ride out your orgasm.
When you finally lay panting, he presses one last quick kiss to your clit, the sensitivity making your hips slightly buck again and a soft whimper to leave your mouth. He makes his way back up to look into your eyes.
“Hey,” he breathes out. “Are you okay?”. His eyes search your own. “You did so well, looked so beautiful.”
“I’m good,” you whisper shakily, looking into his adoring gaze. “I…wow.”
He smiles gently and begins covering your forehead and cheeks in soft pecks.
“Do you want a hug?” he says softly, looking back up into your eyes.
“Yes please,” you whisper, wanting so desperately to be in his arms before he enters you again.
He lights up, and pulls you into a hug, his lips brushing the top of your head.
“I love you so much,” he hums out, rubbing your lower back.
“I love you too,” you whisper back into his bare chest.
He holds you tight for another minute, whispering soft ‘I love yous’ ever so often.
“I’m ready,” you whisper against his chest and he knows exactly what you mean.
He kisses your forehead and sits up, beginning to slide his boxers off. You watch in soft adoration as they fall to the floor, and his pretty cock comes into view. You’ve never thought a cock could be thought of as pretty, but Spencer has proven you wrong time and time again.
You reach out to wrap your hand around it, but he gently catches your wrist in his own hand and holds it away.
You begin to speak but he gently shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes.
“I want to make love to you now,” he breathes out as he eases you back onto the bed. “I want to be inside you and if you…touch me now…I might not last.”
When you're laying flat against the pillows again, his hands come up to hold onto yours beside your head. His eyes lock onto yours and you can feel all the love he has for you in his gaze. The emotion builds and builds in the silence until a lump forms in your throat and suddenly your eyes are stinging.
“Hey…hey,” he exhales, pressing his nose to yours, as you feel a drop of water make its way down your cheek. “Don’t cry, angel. I love you so so much. I’m right here. We’re married now,”. He swallows and now you can see that he’s on the verge of tears too. “You’re…You’re my wife now.”
He quickly swipes at his eyes before reaching back down to interlock your fingers again. He kisses each salty tear away with the aching tenderness that makes your heart squeeze.
“I love you so much,” you breathe out as he reaches down to position the tip of himself against your entrance.
“Love you back…my perfect girl…my wife,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead gently, then sweetly pecking your nose. “Ready, baby?”
You nod, unable to speak, because if you do you might start crying again.
He gives you the most gentle, the most impossibly sweet smile before he begins to sink into you. You squeeze his hands tight as he presses deeper slowly, taking his time to savor the first moment you are connected as husband and wife.
You gasp as he goes as deep as he can go, his cock kissing the most inner parts of you. His forehead pressed against yours, and his eyes were closed. This was it. You felt every emotion spiral through you, both of your souls swirling and dancing around each other, connecting in the most intimate of ways.
“God…” he breathes out, his voice trembling. “I love you with everything I am. You feel so good around me. You’re a perfect fit, like always. I don’t–...I can’t—,” he chokes out, taking another breath before continuing, “Every part of me belongs to every part of you.”
A tear rolls down your cheek, one that you both don’t bother brushing away.
“I’m your girl forever,” you say shakily. “I want to be like this always. I never… I never want to be without you, Spencer,” You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer, his chest, pressing against your own. “You’re my other half.”
He swallows back the lump in his own throat, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he smiles softly and kisses your forehead.
“Us forever,” he whispers into your ear, then draws back to lock eyes with you, as he begins to thrust slowly. “It’s you and me.”
You gasped as his cock brushed against the most innermost part of you again and again. Every part of you was connected to every part of him. Each slow stroke sent sensations throughout your whole body— echoing into your bones. You clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into his bare skin as he made love to you.
“That’s it, angel,” he whispers into your ear. “You’re doing so well. There you go,”. He looked at you with the kind of reverence one would show a religious landmark. You were the temple that he worshiped at.
His thrusts remained slow but deep as he looked into your eyes— hitting that spot deep within you that made your whole body tense and clench around you.
“Is that it?” he murmurs, reaching down to rub slow circles on your clit in tandem with his purposeful strokes. He smirks as you let out a high-pitched ‘ah’—hoisting your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. “Yeah… that’s it.”
"You don’t have to be so smug about it,” you manage to choke out between high pitched gasps. “I-oh,” your voice dissolves into the prettiest moan Spencer has ever heard.
Spencer's breath hitched—any confident remark he was about to fire off gone as he felt your walls clench tightly around him again. He gazes at you like you were a miracle that he was somehow lucky enough to stumble into because, to him, you were.
Spencer?” you whimper into his shoulder, as he adjusts your hips so he can hit that glorious spot each time.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Harder…please.”
Spencer's breath stutters at your whine, and you can hear the soft inhale he takes in your ear before he nods, adjusting his weight above you and starts to firmly thrust into you. The sound of the headboard rattling against the wall above you was almost erotic in its own way— knowing that Spencer was putting that much effort into bringing your pleasure that a whole king sized bed could shake.
“You’re so good,” he breathes out as you clutch and cling to him, sensing you nearing the edge. “You’re my wife…my perfect girl.”
He keeps circling your clit, building you up through a steady rhythm instead of quickly trying to get you to your peak. As your body started to tense and tighten, he pressed kisses all over your cheeks and face, light brushes that were so light they felt like a feather caressing your face.
“Baby, I’m close,” you whimper as your hips lift, chasing the friction of his hand as he thrusted.
“I know,” he breathed out, kissing your collarbone. “You’re doing so well. Let me take care of you, I’m gonna get you there.”
As he murmured sweet nothings in your ear, the waves of pleasure grew and grew until they reached their crest— and you shattered around him with a broken moan.
“Spencer!” you cried as your body trembled and he held you so close it almost hurt but you didn’t care.
“Let go baby,” He whispered as he continued with slow strokes as you rode out your orgasm. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. We have this forever.”
You pant softly as you come down, him still thrusting gently trying not to overstimulate you as he reaches his own peak.
“Fuck— baby,” he gasped out as you felt him tense then spill into you. “I love you.”
As you both catch your breath together, you look up into his eyes, a post orgasmic haze hovering around the both of you. Your hand lifts, trembling a bit, and you push the soft curls back from where they were hanging over his forehead into his eyes so you could have a clearer view.
“You okay?” he whispers, studying every inch of your face to make sure there was no lingering soreness. “I went a little harder towards the end there. Was that okay?”
You smile because this was Spencer. Soft and sweet and yours. Always checking in and returning his gentle self after taking control and giving you the most pleasurable sensations you’ve ever felt in your life.
“Spencer,” you breathe out, pulling his head closer to yours to steal a kiss in between words. “That was amazing. Best wedding night ever.”
He presses another peck to your lips, then raises his head to look into your eyes with a silly smile forming on his lips.
“Best wedding night ever?” he laughs, poking the tip of your nose. “This was your only wedding night ever.”
You giggle as you reach up to poke his nose back.
“Yeah, but in my imagination if I had ever had any other wedding nights, this would be the best.”
He caught your wrist before you could poke his nose again, and a slow smirk spread over his face before kissing your forehead over and over again.
“I guess we just have to get married over and over to each other so we can have more wedding nights and do a comparison of all of them,” he smiles as you begin to giggle again, warmth from the sounds of your laugh spreading throughout your chest. “That way I can run a statistical analysis.”
“Only you would suggest analyzing our wedding night for science,” you smile as he continues pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead.
He smiles as he leaves one more peck on your nose, before rolling off you and standing up.
“Where are you going?” you pout, the warmth that had been present only seconds ago now gone cold.
He smiles as he reaches down to stroke your hair.
“I am going to get something to clean you up,” he whispers, “and then…we’re going to order so much room service.”
You perked up immediately.
“Room service? Can we get whatever we want?”
He laughs as he comes back with a warm washcloth, sitting beside you on the bed again.
“Whatever we want, angel,” he says softly as he leans down to gently clean you between your thighs. His touch was so soft, wiping away whatever remained and soothing any lingering soreness.
After he finished and quickly disposed of the washcloth, he lay back beside you and you immediately found yourself back in his arms— like you were two opposite ends of a magnet.
“I love you,” he murmured against your forehead. “My lovely, perfect wife.”
You looked up from your cocoon in his arms, and met his eyes, overflowing with adoration.
“I love you too,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering as you tried to force yourself to keep them open— not wanting this night to end quicker than it had to.
“Hey,” Spencer breathed against your forehead, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes, “you can go to sleep…I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. We have tomorrow like this, then our honeymoon… then forever.”
Your stomach flipped again at the mention of forever, as his breath warmed your ear. You were plastered to him, like you were an extension of his body.
“Don’t let go,” is the only thing you come up with to whisper back, because if you tried to say more you might start crying from emotion like earlier.
He immediately shakes his head, like even the notion was absurd.
“Never ever” he whispered back with one final sleepy kiss to your forehead.
You fall asleep mid mumble of ‘I love you’, and he just smiled against your forehead, squeezing even tighter.
You didn’t have to finish the sentence. He already knew. You had forever to say it again, anyways.
****
hiiii! i hope you guys enjoyed, this took me like a wholeee day to write! if you liked it pretty please like and reblog! it would mean so so much to me!
u + me = <3
pairing: spencer reid x fem! reader
summary: the most beautiful day of your lives is coming to a close, but your wedding night is about to begin. spencer shows his love to you by setting up the most beautiful room— and giving you the pleasure you deserve.
content warning: mdni 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, fluffy wedding night lovemaking (like sickeningly sweet), softdom! spencer reid, a little bit of nipple play, multiple orgasms, lots of pet names usage (angel, beautiful, baby, good girl), married couple, mentions of longer hair and white wedding dresses, creampie (i hate this word omg), sweet aftercare, no use of y/n
w/c: 5.4k words!
genre: smut, fluff
a/n: soooo welcome to my triumphant return. life kinda got crazy and i didn't want to force myself to write but now that it's summer...ideas have been coming to me. i pictured like season 7-9 spencer but you can imagine any season. this turned out way longer than i thought but i'm so proud of it! can you tell the olivia album inspired me? :)
Spencer's fingers were entangled with your own, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in soft little circles. His brown eyes were shining in adoration as you looked up to meet his gaze, the elevator hum a distant noise in the background— a soundtrack to the beginning of the most anticipated night of your life thus far. He had been looking at you this same way since you walked down the aisle hours ago, like you were something sent from the divine. Just thinking back to that moment, that white dress still flowing all around you, you felt a familiar lump rise in your throat. You were his, and he was yours.
“Baby,” he murmured, searching your eyes and reaching his free hand up to cup your cheek. “You okay? Your eyes went all misty for a moment.”
Damn it. Now you want to cry again, not tears of sadness, no– but in pure joyful emotion. You had married a man who noticed even the slightest change of your eyes or or an off breath.
“I’m more than okay,” you manage to whisper but it comes out more like a choked out wobbly breath. “I just– the way you're looking at me. The way you looked at me. I’ve never felt so much love.”
Spencer leans down to press his forehead against yours as the elevator steadily climbed to the hotel's top floor, the warmth of him flooding your system.
“I love you,” he whispers firmly. “With everything I am, with every breath I take. I’m so happy you’re my wife. I know you know but I need to tell you it again and again. I can’t stop saying it. I’ll always look at you like this because you’re my love. Every chamber of my heart beats in unison for you.”
Just before you could fully burst into tears at the sweetest words you had ever heard and wash off all the makeup that you had spent hours applying this morning, the elevator beeped and opened revealing a long, elegantly styled hallway.
“Cmon, angel,” Spencer murmured softly, his breath caressing your ear. “I want to show you our honeymoon suite,” He tugs on your hand and you giggle at the way he practically drags you down the hallway like an overeager puppy, stumbling beside him.
When you make it to the door at the end of the hallways, Spencer suddenly stops to face you. You open your mouth to speak and then—
“Whoa,” you gasp as he picks you up, his lean but strong arms sliding under your back and your knees to form the classic bridal style hold. “Baby what are you doing?” you giggle into his shoulder, filled with elation. You’re pretty sure you know what he's doing, you just want him to say it.
Spencer smiles down at you and it feels like the warmth of ten thousand suns shining down on you, and healing every emotional wound that ever hurt you.
“I am carrying my very beautiful bride across the threshold of our honeymoon suite, and then I am going to spend the entire night worshipping her.”
You immediately turn that familiar pretty shade of pink that Spencer loves, still not used to hearing him talk like this—even after all this time together.
“You look impossibly pretty like this,” he smiles as his gaze traces the features on your face. “You don’t even know how much.”
Before you can respond with a doubtful quip disguised by humour, he maneuvers you in his arms so he can push the hotel room door open.
Your breath catches.
“Holy shit.”
His eyes fill with pride and you can feel his spine straightening. The room was absolutely gorgeous. The room was lit, not harshly bright, yet light enough so you could see everything. The large windows had the curtains pulled back to reveal the glistening lights of the city. In the center of the room was a king bed, draped with silk sheets and piled with fluffiest pillows you had ever seen. The sheets were covered with rose petals scattered about, and at the foot of the bed sat a basket filled with champagne and other things you couldn’t make out.
“I called a week ago and asked them to set all this up. Penelope helped me find your wedding pinterest board and I wanted to make tonight special, especially since you planned the wedding so beautifully,” he smiles at your wide eyed expression as he puts you down from the bridal carry and kneels down to remove each one of your beautiful but painful heels that had been pinching your toes for hours. “You do so so much, and I'm not the most creatively inclined but I wanted to do this for you. I know I’m about to show you how much I love you physically but I wanted to show you a different way too. I…I hope you like it.”
This. This is why you married him, you thought as he removed each heel— pressing a kiss to each knee through your dress. Not for his incredible profiling skills, not for his astonishingly high iq of 187, not for his tall stature, or his beautifully sculpted face, or his brown doe eyes or his pretty pink lips or his messy brown locks but this. How much he cared. How he remembered the details, like you offhandedly mentioning your pinterest board. How he didn’t mind sleeping with a nightlight on during storms because he knew you got scared. Every single note filled with a fun fact a day left in your lunch. How he would listen to you ramble on and on about your favorite shows that other boys might laugh and call too girly, but he made a detailed chart with you on whether Jess or Logan was Rory's soulmate in Gilmore Girls. You married him for him. For the way he loved you in a way you thought was only possible in fairytales.
“Spencer,” you breathe out shakily as his eyes lock onto yours, looking impossibly soft. “I don’t even know how to describe how I’m feeling right now. I love you. I love you so so so much. I can’t believe you asked Penelope for my pinterest board. I can’t believe you even remembered me mentioning it. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“Of course I did…I love you,” he smiles gently as he tugs you closer, his hand wrapping round your waist. “I’m going to be doing things like this for you forever. It’s the least I could do. You are the most incredible girl in the entire universe,”. He smirks as he leans his forehead down to touch your own. “And that's saying a lot because the universe is actively expanding and actually the rate at which it’s expanding is accelerating which means—”
“Wait,”. He suddenly stops and takes a breath. “I’ll tell you about galactic redshift later because I’m getting too distracted by how you look in this dress,” His lips slightly turn up as his voice lowers. “And how much I want to see it on the floor.”
You can feel your face heat up for like the ten thousandth time today and you groan, pushing a strand of hair back behind your ear.
“You can’t keep saying these things,” you pout and he quickly leans down to press a quick peck to your lips. “I can’t help blushing. I think I have a chronic blushing problem.”
He laughs as he picks you and gently sets you amongst the flower petals on the silky bedspread, putting the basket on the floor before tossing his suit jacket aside.
“Chronic implies that it's long lasting which in this case I think is ideal,” he kisses your forehead in between words as he sits beside you on the bed. “You look too cute blushing— I don’t ever want it to go away.”
You giggle until his lips brush yours and every other thought melts from your mind. He kisses you so gently at first, like you’re porcelain on the verge of shattering. One of his hands reaches up to cup your face, while the other one settles on your waist—contentedly drawing little circles into the fabric of your wedding dress with his thumb. You sigh against his mouth as every nerve ending in your body seems to spark to life all at once.
At your sigh, his breath hitches and his tongue slowly slips into your mouth at the given opportunity. The hand that was against your cheek slides to cup the back of your head as he gently lowers you to lay back against the pillows. Your hair splays out, and he raises up from your lips to stare down at you adoringly.
“My beautiful wife,” he breathes out as his eyes trace your every feature. He lowers his lips to barely brush against yours once more. “My gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”
Before tears of emotion could fall from your eyes, he's kissing you again, and you can feel how much of himself he’s putting into it. He’s kissing you like your lips are what will save him from an incurable disease. Your wedding dress is twisted and flowing around the both of you, and his hands slide under you to fiddle with the delicate buttons on the back.
He raises his head once again and smiles at you, and everything that is outside of the little bubble the two of you created disappears.
“Can I take this dress off baby?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Yes please.”
“Your wish is my command,” he winks and you giggle, amazed at the way he can turn everything from serious and deeply intimate to funny, and yet still make the silliest of things romantic. “Sit up a little for me, angel.”
You obey him and his soft voice without question. His long fingers begin to attempt to unhook each button. Keyword… attempt.
He huffs with a slight pout as his nimble fingers fail to get a grasp on even the first button.
“I have an IQ of 187 and yet these buttons seem to require one even higher. Why are they so tiny? I mean they're beautiful… but Vera Wang certainly doesn't design with efficiency in mind.”
“You should send them a letter.”
“Haha… very funny,” he pouts again as he finally manages to unhook the first one. “I have half a mind to.”
Suddenly his face brightens and his eyes get that twinkling look again.
“I have an idea,” he grins as he leans down towards the buttons. “Kisses for good luck.”
You smile and start to giggle again until you feel the press of his lips to each button through your dress. The butterflies come to life in your stomach again and begin to fly in dizzyingly fast circles.
“There we go,” he murmurs as his lips brush each button and somehow…they unbutton as he tries his hand at it once more. “Told you. Kisses are good luck. Scientifically proven now.”
“You don’t believe in luck,” you whisper as his fingers unhook the last of the buttons.
“I do when it comes to you,” he breathes out as he gently pulls the sleeves of your dress down your arms, and lays you down to pull it off the rest of your body.
Damn, you’re blushing again. And you don’t think it will ever go away as long as Spencer is alive to make you feel this way.
Once the dress is all the way off, you hear Spencer's breath catch, and you look up at him shyly through your eyelashes. You were in wedding lingerie, that this morning your bridesmaids giggled and complimented as they helped you dress. The lingerie was white and lacy, delicate edges against your skin.
“You,” he leans down to kiss you between each word. “Are..” Kiss. “So…” Kiss.” Pretty…” Another kiss.
“Do you like it?” you murmur, stealing another kiss as he lifts his head once more. “I wanted to look pretty and special for tonight.”
“Like it?” he blinks like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “Angel…like is too insignificant a word for how I feel about you in this. Like… is used for saying you like a drink or dessert. Like…is a widely disproportionate word for how I feel about you. I feel like love is even too small to describe it.”
He exhales and leans down to kiss the lace of the bralettes edge, murmuring sweet things that you could barely make out.
“Hey,” you murmur as you reach for the buttons on his white dress shirt. “I can’t be the only one half naked.”
He grins as he raises his head, and now it's your turn to fumble with buttons.
“Here,” he whispers, as his larger hands cover your shaky ones and begin to help undo the buttons on his shirt. Once he reaches the end, he shrugs off the shirt and tosses it on the floor, not caring where it lands.
You let out a soft breath as he lets you gaze upon his chest. He was so handsome, so pretty. He wasn’t built with bulging muscles or a wide chest. Instead, he was built especially for you. He was lean yet defined, strong without being crushing.
You didn’t have any words so you said the only thing that really mattered.
“I love you, Spencer Reid.”
He leans down, and right before his lips meet your own you catch the mist that begins to cloud his eyes.
“I love you,” he murmurs as he kisses your lips and then begins trailing his own lips down your neck.
“I love you,” he repeats again as his lips latch onto that special spot on your neck, the one he's studied thoroughly and knows it’ll make you squirm. Your hips slightly arch to meet his as he sucks and gently bites at the skin, marking you as his own. You can feel the length of him, a not so subtle hardness pressing against you.
You let out a whiny whimper and you can feel his smile spread across his lips as he keeps kissing his way down to your lace covered breasts.
He kisses all around the lace edge and then reaches both hands up to cup them, marveling in how they fit within his palms.
You whine again as he gently squeezes and begins to knead them, the sensation shooting down between your legs.
“These are so pretty,” he mutters in a low voice as he stares at them. “So perfect for me, look at how they fit in my hands.”
“Oh…god,” you let out in a breathy little moan, the feeling and the sight of him playing with your breasts causing the damp patch on your panties to grow even damper.
“Mm-mm,” he tuts gently. “I don’t think a deity is making you feel like this right now baby.” He grins as you let out another soft little whimper. “Who’s making you feel this way right now? Cmon…you can say it.”
“Spencer!” you cry out as he rolls his hips against yours while he continues playing with your breasts, the friction causing a delicious pleasure to flood your senses.
“Thats it angel,” he whispers against your lips with each slow roll of his hips. “Good job… I knew you could do it.”
The praise he lavishes you with goes straight to your core, while he simultaneously reaches around to unhook the lacy bra, this time his fingers not fumbling at all. As it falls off he stares once again for a moment, before lowering his head to attach his lips around one peak while his hand paid attention to the other breast so it wasn’t neglected. He gently sucks and laves his tongue over it causing an exorbitant amount of high pitched noises to leave your lips.
He detaches for a moment to gaze up into your eyes.
“Is this good, angel? Do you want me to keep going or do you want something else?”
“It's so good,” you manage to choke out as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “But can…can you use your mouth and fingers on me?”
Of course, your cheeks pinken again and he grins.
“Where do you want them baby?”
“You know where.”
“Uh-uh” he shakes his head, trying to hide the slight smirk that begins to form across his face. “I need you to say it. Do you think you can do that, huh? Tell me where you want my fingers and mouth. I need to know exactly.”
“I want them…down there,” you manage to squeak out.
He sighs as he shakes his head again.
“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific, beautiful girl,” he crawls down the length of your body. “‘Down there…,’” he leans down, his breath ghosting above your knee, “could be anywhere.”
He presses a kiss to your kneecap and then the side of it as you pout.
“Did you mean down here?”
“No…”
He grins and brushes a kiss to your inner thigh.
“Then did you mean right here?”
“Spencer!” you whine again, looking down at him petulantly.
“Tell me where, angel. Use your words,” he whispers looking up at you with soft eyes this time. “You can say it, it’s just me. I’m your husband. Don’t be embarrassed.”
You inhale softly, swayed by the love in his tone and the truth of his statement.
“Can you use your fingers and your mouth…” your eyes duck down as your voice gets incrementally lower with every word that escapes your lips, “on my…on my pussy?”
Your voice comes out in the softest shyest whisper on the last word, but he still smiles gently.
“Of course baby,” murmurs and inches up a little bit to play with the little lace bow at the top of the edge of your panties. “Good girl, I’m so so proud of you for saying it.”
He presses a kiss to the bow, his lips skimming the lace and his fingers brushing over the wet patch that was increasingly becoming wetter.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he says in a low tone, with a hint of pride. He begins to slowly inch the panties down your thighs and legs, like he was unveiling the most precious treasure in the world. “Look at you…” he breathes out, “so pretty and perfect. My wife. Made just for me.”
You let out a breathy little gasp as his long fingers part your folds. He lowers his head so that his warm breath ghosts against your clit, and you whimper as you helplessly squirm. As you looked down upon his head between your legs— his hair fell in front of his forehead making him look even more handsome in the low lighting.
He swipes his thumb against your aching clit, making you cry out as he relieves some of the tension. Your hips jump and he laughs softly and then...
“Oh—” you gasp as his head finally lowers and he flicks his tongue against your clit, his hands gently holding your hips down in place. “Spencer I— ah!”
He continued licking at your clit, and then gently sucked at it, raising a high pitched sob from your throat. You could feel him alternate between flicking his tongue and suckling, the combination leaving you squirming and whimpering under his touch.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more pleasurable, he gently slipped a finger inside of you, moving it very slowly at first, and then finding a comfortable pace after he felt your walls adjust around him.
“Spencer it feels—” your words were cut off by the moan that you couldn’t help.
“Yeah baby, I know…it feels so good, I know,” he murmurs as he looks up then leans back down to suckle at your clit again. “You don’t have to say it, just let me keep taking care of you.”
He continues to pump his fingers in you, adding a second one— then a third when he feels you’re ready. You could hear the obscene sound of your wetness as he licks and moves his fingers in and out, curling them until he hits that spot inside you. That spot that he knows will send you to the highest of heavens.
“Spence…mm..” you whimper. “M’close.”
He doubles down his efforts, but what sends hurtling over the edge of your orgasm was his whispered ‘I love you’ against your clit.
You shake and tremble through the waves of pleasure as he continues between your legs, licking and sucking as you ride out your orgasm.
When you finally lay panting, he presses one last quick kiss to your clit, the sensitivity making your hips slightly buck again and a soft whimper to leave your mouth. He makes his way back up to look into your eyes.
“Hey,” he breathes out. “Are you okay?”. His eyes search your own. “You did so well, looked so beautiful.”
“I’m good,” you whisper shakily, looking into his adoring gaze. “I…wow.”
He smiles gently and begins covering your forehead and cheeks in soft pecks.
“Do you want a hug?” he says softly, looking back up into your eyes.
“Yes please,” you whisper, wanting so desperately to be in his arms before he enters you again.
He lights up, and pulls you into a hug, his lips brushing the top of your head.
“I love you so much,” he hums out, rubbing your lower back.
“I love you too,” you whisper back into his bare chest.
He holds you tight for another minute, whispering soft ‘I love yous’ ever so often.
“I’m ready,” you whisper against his chest and he knows exactly what you mean.
He kisses your forehead and sits up, beginning to slide his boxers off. You watch in soft adoration as they fall to the floor, and his pretty cock comes into view. You’ve never thought a cock could be thought of as pretty, but Spencer has proven you wrong time and time again.
You reach out to wrap your hand around it, but he gently catches your wrist in his own hand and holds it away.
You begin to speak but he gently shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes.
“I want to make love to you now,” he breathes out as he eases you back onto the bed. “I want to be inside you and if you…touch me now…I might not last.”
When you're laying flat against the pillows again, his hands come up to hold onto yours beside your head. His eyes lock onto yours and you can feel all the love he has for you in his gaze. The emotion builds and builds in the silence until a lump forms in your throat and suddenly your eyes are stinging.
“Hey…hey,” he exhales, pressing his nose to yours, as you feel a drop of water make its way down your cheek. “Don’t cry, angel. I love you so so much. I’m right here. We’re married now,”. He swallows and now you can see that he’s on the verge of tears too. “You’re…You’re my wife now.”
He quickly swipes at his eyes before reaching back down to interlock your fingers again. He kisses each salty tear away with the aching tenderness that makes your heart squeeze.
“I love you so much,” you breathe out as he reaches down to position the tip of himself against your entrance.
“Love you back…my perfect girl…my wife,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead gently, then sweetly pecking your nose. “Ready, baby?”
You nod, unable to speak, because if you do you might start crying again.
He gives you the most gentle, the most impossibly sweet smile before he begins to sink into you. You squeeze his hands tight as he presses deeper slowly, taking his time to savor the first moment you are connected as husband and wife.
You gasp as he goes as deep as he can go, his cock kissing the most inner parts of you. His forehead pressed against yours, and his eyes were closed. This was it. You felt every emotion spiral through you, both of your souls swirling and dancing around each other, connecting in the most intimate of ways.
“God…” he breathes out, his voice trembling. “I love you with everything I am. You feel so good around me. You’re a perfect fit, like always. I don’t–...I can’t—,” he chokes out, taking another breath before continuing, “Every part of me belongs to every part of you.”
A tear rolls down your cheek, one that you both don’t bother brushing away.
“I’m your girl forever,” you say shakily. “I want to be like this always. I never… I never want to be without you, Spencer,” You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer, his chest, pressing against your own. “You’re my other half.”
He swallows back the lump in his own throat, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he smiles softly and kisses your forehead.
“Us forever,” he whispers into your ear, then draws back to lock eyes with you, as he begins to thrust slowly. “It’s you and me.”
You gasped as his cock brushed against the most innermost part of you again and again. Every part of you was connected to every part of him. Each slow stroke sent sensations throughout your whole body— echoing into your bones. You clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into his bare skin as he made love to you.
“That’s it, angel,” he whispers into your ear. “You’re doing so well. There you go,”. He looked at you with the kind of reverence one would show a religious landmark. You were the temple that he worshiped at.
His thrusts remained slow but deep as he looked into your eyes— hitting that spot deep within you that made your whole body tense and clench around you.
“Is that it?” he murmurs, reaching down to rub slow circles on your clit in tandem with his purposeful strokes. He smirks as you let out a high-pitched ‘ah’—hoisting your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. “Yeah… that’s it.”
"You don’t have to be so smug about it,” you manage to choke out between high pitched gasps. “I-oh,” your voice dissolves into the prettiest moan Spencer has ever heard.
Spencer's breath hitched—any confident remark he was about to fire off gone as he felt your walls clench tightly around him again. He gazes at you like you were a miracle that he was somehow lucky enough to stumble into because, to him, you were.
Spencer?” you whimper into his shoulder, as he adjusts your hips so he can hit that glorious spot each time.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Harder…please.”
Spencer's breath stutters at your whine, and you can hear the soft inhale he takes in your ear before he nods, adjusting his weight above you and starts to firmly thrust into you. The sound of the headboard rattling against the wall above you was almost erotic in its own way— knowing that Spencer was putting that much effort into bringing your pleasure that a whole king sized bed could shake.
“You’re so good,” he breathes out as you clutch and cling to him, sensing you nearing the edge. “You’re my wife…my perfect girl.”
He keeps circling your clit, building you up through a steady rhythm instead of quickly trying to get you to your peak. As your body started to tense and tighten, he pressed kisses all over your cheeks and face, light brushes that were so light they felt like a feather caressing your face.
“Baby, I’m close,” you whimper as your hips lift, chasing the friction of his hand as he thrusted.
“I know,” he breathed out, kissing your collarbone. “You’re doing so well. Let me take care of you, I’m gonna get you there.”
As he murmured sweet nothings in your ear, the waves of pleasure grew and grew until they reached their crest— and you shattered around him with a broken moan.
“Spencer!” you cried as your body trembled and he held you so close it almost hurt but you didn’t care.
“Let go baby,” He whispered as he continued with slow strokes as you rode out your orgasm. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. We have this forever.”
You pant softly as you come down, him still thrusting gently trying not to overstimulate you as he reaches his own peak.
“Fuck— baby,” he gasped out as you felt him tense then spill into you. “I love you.”
As you both catch your breath together, you look up into his eyes, a post orgasmic haze hovering around the both of you. Your hand lifts, trembling a bit, and you push the soft curls back from where they were hanging over his forehead into his eyes so you could have a clearer view.
“You okay?” he whispers, studying every inch of your face to make sure there was no lingering soreness. “I went a little harder towards the end there. Was that okay?”
You smile because this was Spencer. Soft and sweet and yours. Always checking in and returning his gentle self after taking control and giving you the most pleasurable sensations you’ve ever felt in your life.
“Spencer,” you breathe out, pulling his head closer to yours to steal a kiss in between words. “That was amazing. Best wedding night ever.”
He presses another peck to your lips, then raises his head to look into your eyes with a silly smile forming on his lips.
“Best wedding night ever?” he laughs, poking the tip of your nose. “This was your only wedding night ever.”
You giggle as you reach up to poke his nose back.
“Yeah, but in my imagination if I had ever had any other wedding nights, this would be the best.”
He caught your wrist before you could poke his nose again, and a slow smirk spread over his face before kissing your forehead over and over again.
“I guess we just have to get married over and over to each other so we can have more wedding nights and do a comparison of all of them,” he smiles as you begin to giggle again, warmth from the sounds of your laugh spreading throughout your chest. “That way I can run a statistical analysis.”
“Only you would suggest analyzing our wedding night for science,” you smile as he continues pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead.
He smiles as he leaves one more peck on your nose, before rolling off you and standing up.
“Where are you going?” you pout, the warmth that had been present only seconds ago now gone cold.
He smiles as he reaches down to stroke your hair.
“I am going to get something to clean you up,” he whispers, “and then…we’re going to order so much room service.”
You perked up immediately.
“Room service? Can we get whatever we want?”
He laughs as he comes back with a warm washcloth, sitting beside you on the bed again.
“Whatever we want, angel,” he says softly as he leans down to gently clean you between your thighs. His touch was so soft, wiping away whatever remained and soothing any lingering soreness.
After he finished and quickly disposed of the washcloth, he lay back beside you and you immediately found yourself back in his arms— like you were two opposite ends of a magnet.
“I love you,” he murmured against your forehead. “My lovely, perfect wife.”
You looked up from your cocoon in his arms, and met his eyes, overflowing with adoration.
“I love you too,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering as you tried to force yourself to keep them open— not wanting this night to end quicker than it had to.
“Hey,” Spencer breathed against your forehead, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes, “you can go to sleep…I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. We have tomorrow like this, then our honeymoon… then forever.”
Your stomach flipped again at the mention of forever, as his breath warmed your ear. You were plastered to him, like you were an extension of his body.
“Don’t let go,” is the only thing you come up with to whisper back, because if you tried to say more you might start crying from emotion like earlier.
He immediately shakes his head, like even the notion was absurd.
“Never ever” he whispered back with one final sleepy kiss to your forehead.
You fall asleep mid mumble of ‘I love you’, and he just smiled against your forehead, squeezing even tighter.
You didn’t have to finish the sentence. He already knew. You had forever to say it again, anyways.
****
hiiii! i hope you guys enjoyed, this took me like a wholeee day to write! if you liked it pretty please like and reblog! it would mean so so much to me!
HEADLOCK : ch. 4
chapter four : and you look half dead half the time
masterlist my ao3!
pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader
summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.
wc : 15k
tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, electric shock, switch!spencer, switch!reader, blood, gore, lots and lots of spit, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, squirting, multiple orgasms, choking, forced orgasms, face-sitting, angst, talks of pregnancy, broken bones, unhealthy conversations about SA, two extremely traumatized people trying to survive, bittersweet ending.
authors note : here she is!!!! at long last, the final chapter of headlock <3 the amount of support for this fic has me so incredibly grateful, i hope the ending lives up to expectations <3 please let me know if there's any spelling or grammar problems, this chapter kind of got away from me and my brain has been fried by the editing process lol
★
The BAU had a pretty serious reputation.
Highly skilled, highly specialized, and highly exclusive.
You had a plan. Once you graduated from the academy you would get yourself assigned to a nearby field office, something in Virginia. After a few years in the field, once you prove yourself, you will go directly to Quantico and meet with the unit chief, in person, to show how serious you are about being a profiler.
Half of your class had similar ambitions but you were serious. You already had your degree in psychology and with your abilities you could be a useful asset to their team.
You have the drive and the ambition to make it happen, you’re certain.
So imagine the look on your face when SSA Aaron Hotchner approached you one day after class.
Your hands trembled when you shook his.
Your head was spinning, you caught bits and pieces of what he was saying.
“Highly recommended by your professors… Jason Gideon’s retirement… fresh new faces… good influence on the rest of the team… specialty in forensics.”
You nodded along, and thanked him profusely when he handed you a business card and told you to call him when you graduated.
And suddenly, a quick six months later, you were stepping out of the elevator and into the busy bull pen. Straightening the blouse you’d spent the last two weeks agonizing over.
You had a duffle bag full of clothes and toiletries, just as you’d been instructed to bring. And you’re large over the shoulder purse, filled with anything and everything, prepared for anything your first day could possibly throw at you.
You were going to be a profiler, the best profiler the BAU has ever seen, and you’ll be damned if you let anything get in your way.
People shuffled around you, heads down in their files and phones as you weaved through them until you reached Agent Hotchner's office. He hung up the phone when you opened the door and stood to greet you. Telling you how happy he was that you accepted his offer. (As if you could ever say no.)
“Let’s introduce you to the team, and then I’ll show you to your desk. Everyone's been briefed on your arrival and I’m sure they’re all eagerly awaiting an introduction.” He gave you a practiced, professional smile as he led you out of his office and back into the bullpen.
You followed closely behind him as he took you down a hallway, stepping into a side room you were met with a wall of screens and two people crowded around them.
“Allow me to introduce you to Agent Garcia and SSA Morgan.” He had urged you inside as you stared in awe. You’re familiar with both of them.
Penelope Garcia, originally on the FBI’s watchlist, was arrested and offered a deal to avoid prosecution by joining the team instead. She’s a prolific hacker, she’s practically famous online.
And of course you’re familiar with the shockingly handsome man beside her.
Derek Morgan, seasoned member of the team with a focus on obsessional crimes and explosives.
You know the whole team like the back of your hand and right now you feel like a fangirl at a meetup event.
“Wow, it is- it’s so nice to meet you.” You held your hand out, relieved to be met with a handshake from both of them.
Reserved but optimistic.
They’re open to the idea of you, they just aren’t sure yet.
You’ve been practicing your profiling.
You exchanged pleasantries, nodded and laughed when it was appropriate. All of the things you promised yourself you would do to keep your cool.
After a few minutes of small talk you followed Hotch out of the room, to a different office where you meet Agent Jareau.
Jennifer Jareau, media relations and police liaison.
Also notably, drop dead gorgeous.
And she couldn’t have been sweeter. Complimenting your outfit as your face burned hot as the sun.
You run into your next introduction in the hall on the way to the bull pen.
“This is SSA Prentiss.”
Oh, you know who she is.
Emily Prentiss. Linguistics expert, with a specialty in terrorism and counter-intelligence. Her mother was a relatively notable U.S. diplomat.
You must be smiling like an idiot when you shake her hand.
You continue following behind Agent Hotchner, feeling like a kid in a candy store as you return to the bullpen.
“And of course, saving the best for last, your deskmate, Dr. Reid.” Agent Hotchner leads you to an empty desk, directly adjacent to the young man who has his head in a book.
You’re more than familiar with him.
Dr. Spencer Reid, the youngest person ever recruited for the BAU. You’ve heard that he can read 10,000 words a minute. He has an eidetic memory, and an IQ of 187. You had a friend who met him once at a lecture, she told you that he’s a staunch germaphobe.
When he looks up you know you’re done for.
Sharp angled features, accentuated as he tucks his hair behind his ears.
His wide hazel eyes size you up as he closes his book.
“I figured as the youngest members of our team you would get along well enough to share a desk. I’ll leave you to set up your space, we’ll meet in the conference room in an hour.” You watch as Agent Hotchner returns to his office, leaving you alone with Dr. Reid.
“It’s so nice to meet you.” For the first time you don’t offer up your hand, you just smile at him. “Let me know if you like the desks a certain way or if I set anything up in a way that bothers you at all.” You take a few things out of your purse and place them carefully on the large wooden desk. A framed picture of you with some friends from the Academy, a few trinkets from home to fill the space, and several notebooks and pens.
“You look a bit young for the BAU.” Spencer leans towards the little glass partition between you.
“Not as young as you were when you started, what was it, twenty three?” You’re thrilled that he’s even talking to you, even if you’re being a bit overeager. Your friend had told you he was a little awkward if not outright abrasive.
She hadn’t told you he was so pretty.
“Twenty two actually, what else have you heard about me?” He fully stands and moves to lean on your desk as you rock back in your chair, his eyes wander across your desk, you can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to profile you.
“I heard that you have three PHD’s, you got your first when you were only sixteen, and you’re working on a fourth. You have an eidetic memory, and an IQ of a hundred and eighty seven, and you can read ten thousand words a minute.” You ramble without thinking about it, hoping in the back of your mind that you aren’t scaring him off.
“It’s actually twenty thousand.” His eyes lock onto your face now, clearly gauging your reaction.
“Really? Do you really actually retain the information?” You give him a smile and are remarkably pleased when he returns it.
“As far as I can tell.”
“How was your last deskmate?”
“I didn’t have one, Hotch says I have a personal space problem.” He looks a bit abashed at that, you’re surprised he even admits it so plainly.
“Was there no other spot available?” You look around the room, sure every desk is full but there are several clumps of three and four, you could have joined a different group.
“There definitely were, but he seems convinced that I can be more sociable.”
“If you want me to, I can probably move my desk to a different clump.” The last thing you want to do is upset one of your team members on your first day.
“I wasn’t trying to imply-” His cheeks and ears burn red. “Hotch is right, it’ll probably be good for me to make a few friends.” Hesitantly he held his hand out to you.
Your smile practically doubles in size as you shake it.
“It’s nice to make your acquaintance then, Dr. Ried.”
“Likewise.”
★
You decide not to tell Spencer what you talked about with Peter.
It would only serve to stress him out. That’s what you tell yourself at least.
When you wake the red door is shut and locked once more, which puts you both on edge. What could possibly be waiting for you once it’s opened? Instead of stewing on it too much you spend the morning wrapped in Spencer's arms, enjoying a moment of normalcy before whatever the day brings crashes down upon you.
Normalcy.
Is this what normalcy looks like now? Is this what your life will be like outside of here? You aren’t sure you could live without him after all this, and you have to imagine he feels the same way.
He’s certainly gone to extremes to show you that.
“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do after the team finds us?” You take his hand in yours, examining the burnt stumps of his fingers as you break the silence.
“Probably go to a hospital, and then a dentist.” He doesn’t pull away, letting you trace shapes mindlessly against his palm.
“Well yeah, obviously. Aside from the obvious things, what will you do first?” You turn to look at him, despite everything he still smiles at you.
“I haven’t given it much thought, I’m more focused on getting out of here first.”
“Just play along, please?” You groan.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’ll do first?” He leans forward, bumping his forehead against yours.
You have to think about it for a moment.
“I want to get my nails done. I was putting it off before all of this and now I definitely need it. Just the longest, most extravagant mani-pedi they offer.” Looking down at your hands now there’s blood under your nails, and your wrists are raw and bruised.
“Then I imagine the first thing I would do would be sit in a salon waiting room until you’re done.” You aren’t sure if he’s joking or not and thinking too hard about it makes your head hurt so you change the subject.
“What was the first thing you did after you were kidnapped by Tobias Hankel?” It’s probably too personal of a question but at this point are there really boundaries between the two of you?
You know you haven’t crossed a line because he answers without hesitation.
“I took a long shower, like two hours long. I just stood under the water, they had sent me home alone and I just wasn’t sure what else to do.” He pauses, chewing his lip as he thinks. “I felt alone for a long time after that.”
You wonder if that’s how you’ll feel. That’s probably how you’re supposed to feel.
Except you aren’t alone.
You have him.
It’s funny, you’ve known him less than a year but right now it feels like you’ve always been together. You hardly remember life without Spencer.
“What happens when we leave here?” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them.
What happens to us?
That’s the real question on your mind.
“I guess we go back to work, that’s sort of what everyone does when something like this happens. Everyone pretends it didn’t happen.” He sounds… hurt.
You have a hard time swallowing his words.
Something like this.
Like this is something you’re expected to go through.
“Are we going to be okay?” Your brain feels like it’s becoming more and more scrambled, the line between performance and reality is starting to blur and you can’t help but wonder if he’s been acting this whole time.
He really seems to stop and think about his answer.
“I think so, I think you and I will be more than okay.”
Whatever that means.
You’re starting to get a headache so you decide to focus on his wounds to distract yourself, taking your time to examine his hand properly and then his mouth. The bleeding from his gums seems to have stopped completely which is great news. The corners of his mouth are stained red from residual bleeding overnight but he seems to be doing as good as you can hope for.
“How does everything feel?” You ask as you release your grip on his jaw.
“I… don’t really know, physically I feel a little off, nothing I wouldn’t expect to feel all things considered. Mentally, I’m mostly worried, yesterday was out of place for the usual content he’s had us make. So I have no idea what to expect today, he could regress if he didn’t like it, if he did like it we might see some escalation.”
Hands-on.
That’s the term he used.
“Well-” You start but close your mouth the second you hear the crackle of the intercom.
“Hello, my stars, I am thrilled to see you are more talkative today.” There’s an excited edge to his voice that makes you immediately uneasy. “I continue to be amazed by your performances. Yesterday did not go exactly as I had imagined yet I was still awestruck by some of your choices.”
“We weren’t exactly given much of a choice, were we Peter?” When Spencer speaks up you’re a little surprised by his continued attitude with your captor, especially considering the soft spoken conversation you’ve been having.
“Dr. Reid, you may think me a villain but I have given you everything you have ever wanted. You should be thanking me.”
Even Spencer, who has a response to everything, doesn’t have a response to that.
“Regardless of your rudeness, I have a present for the two of you. Behind the door you will find a delightful surprise, and with it a promise that you won’t have to hear my voice again for quite some time, maybe ever. I have decided our communication may be better across different mediums. And of course you know that if you do not comply you-”
“Will be separated, or shot, or whatever it is you feel like today, got it.” Spencer is quick to find his voice again, what has gotten into him?
He’s a lot of things but he isn’t this. Interrogative, sure. Analytical, always. Brazenly aggressive? Never.
“Oh doctor, you really are in some kind of mood today. That is fine, you are entitled to that mood after the performance you gave us yesterday. What a twist.” The door creaks open and neither of you moves, you aren’t in any rush to see what gift is waiting for you. “I have been thinking, yesterday your performance was… enchanting. I keep asking myself what made it so special and I think I found my answer.” He says every word as though he is the most important person in the world, saying the most important sentence anyone has ever heard. “You two hardly need directing, you just need a motive to perform, and you do positively captivating work. So, for the foreseeable future I will cease all specific requests, let us see what you can do. I think your motivation will become abundantly clear rather fast.” He makes a horrific swallowing sound, as if he’s salivating at just the thought of what’s about to happen. “I want to be dazzled, and I think this is how I get the best show possible from you both.”
“So you aren’t going to be giving us any instruction at all? We’re just supposed to do whatever we want?” It’s your turn to speak, voice cracking as you do because that’s almost worse, at least with specific directions you had plausible deniability for all of this. That all changes if you’re calling the shots.
“No my sweet flower, I still have my expectations. You both have your… habits. Things that I enjoy, and things that I do not. I would like to put an end to some of your less desirable habits, and pave the way for more preferable ones. So no, you will not have free reign, but I also know that with a little slack on the leash you might do some of your best work. Now go, enjoy your gift. You may not hear from me again, but know that I am always watching you, angel.”
For what might be the last time, you hear the click of the intercom. There’s a twisted finality to the sound, followed by the creak of the door opening.
“So we’re supposed to just make up a scene?” You turn to Spencer as he gets to his feet. Watching as he makes his way across the room, when he pulls the door open you see a little pink gift bag on the floor, complete with glittery tissue paper sticking out of the top.
He picks it up apprehensively before bringing it back to you. When he hands it to you it’s heavier than you expected for such a small bag.
“I assume it’s for you.” The bravado he had when speaking with the unsub has fizzled out now that you’re alone again.
You move slowly as you pluck the tissue paper out of the bag. You can’t make out the contents so you flip the bag and dump them out onto the blanket.
And you immediately recognize what it is.
Two collars fall out of the bag, both with a thick chunk of black plastic attached to them with two silver prongs poking out. Accompanied by two little padlocks.
You look up at each other in sync, with the same wide eyes, a silent understanding happens in your shared look.
Here’s the motive to perform.
Neither one of you wants to do this, obviously, but you both take one in your hands regardless. What choice do you have? For seemingly the first time since you arrived in this terrible place, you don’t even bother to think of a way to get out of this. There is a complete acceptance within you that this is simply another thing that you must do.
It isn’t a great feeling, but there’s an odd comfort to it.
You don’t need to think of a way out of this because there isn’t one, there’s nothing you can do about it so why upset yourself over nothing.
Spencer must have come to the same conclusion as you because he picks up one of the collars with a resolute look, wrapping the thick nylon band around his neck. You watch as he carefully positions the prongs against his throat and closes the latch, scooping the lock up and with his fingers he snaps it shut before he loses his nerve. Sealing his fate.
Taking a deep breath he looks at you, almost expectantly.
Okay.
Your turn.
Your hands are trembling as you lay the length of the collar out flat. After a few deep breaths, you wrap it around your throat, feeling the cold, sharp metal of the prongs. Your hands are still shaking like a leaf in the wind as you close the latch, dropping the padlock in the process.
“Here, let me help.” He takes the prongs, adjusting them to a different part of your neck. “We want to avoid the carotid artery.” He murmurs before picking up the lock and clicking it shut, sealing your fate as well.
You stare at each other once more, now with matching accessories.
“So I guess we should just…” God, you don’t want to say it out loud, even if it isn’t something you’re necessarily dreading. But now, with the threat around your throat you don’t have much of a choice.
“Probably, I imagine he isn’t exactly feeling patient now that we have them on.” His eyes roam over your body like he isn’t sure of what to do, as if you haven’t already done this. Finally he leans in, one hand cupping your cheek as he kisses you. He’s so gentle with you, slow and intentional. It feels so natural to be touched by him, like you were meant for this. Maybe this won’t be so bad, if it’s just having sex until the unsub is satisfied you can handle that. When his fingers comb through your hair your entire body seizes.
The two of you both go rigid against each other, it feels like your body is being stabbed with a million frozen needles, an endless icy pain that seeps into your bones. Your spine straightens and you feel like you’re being puppeted as you twitch. After a few agonizing moments you collapse against each other.
“That can’t possibly be a standard shock for a dog collar.” You gasp the words out as he nods.
“We need to try something else.” You look him over as he speaks, the flesh under the prongs is red, you’re sure you have a mark to match. At least it wasn’t enough to leave you with a burn, yet.
“Clearly.” Your head is spinning, you can’t actually be expected to think clearly right now? All you can think about is the possibility of another shock happening at any moment.
“So we try a different approach, do you think he’s just generally looking for rough intercourse or does he want something more blatantly violent? I just don’t think this is actually that efficient of a communication method. We have no-” Spencer’s ramblings are cut off as you both seize up again.
The shock lasts much longer than this time, your jaw clenches tight as you try to breathe. You can feel the electricity running through every inch of you, for a moment you swear your heart skips a beat. That can’t be good.
You don’t know much about the dangers of electric shock. But Spencer does, and he looks terrified.
His expression is enough to make you throw yourself at him the second you have control of your body again. Knocking him backwards onto the floor.
“No more talking.” You mumble against his mouth as you bite his bottom lip. You don’t know what you need to do to make the shocks stop but talking about it certainly isn’t going to help.
There’s a moment of hesitation from him and you just know he’s fighting the urge to ask if this is okay. That’s the last thing you need right now, stopping to ask if you're alright with this will undoubtedly end with another shock.
“Come on.” You murmur, taking his hand and guiding it between your legs.
Thank god that seems to be permission enough for him as he slips his hands past your waist band, any shame you felt a few short days ago has long since gone out the window. Based on the way he whimpers when his fingers press against your folds you’re certain he’s in the same boat.
Gone is a sense of shame between the two of you, if this is your normal you might as well enjoy it.
“Just do what you want to do, it’ll be better for both of us.” You press your forehead to his, gently rocking yourself against his hand. After everything you’ve been through at this point it’s hard to believe his fingers are still hesitantly hovering above your entrance.
You can practically hear his internal monologue in your own head.
Prior consent doesn’t count as consent in future situations. Especially when you’re being coerced by electric shock, We’ll do whatever you’re most comfortable with, even if it means getting shocked until our hearts simultaneously explode.
His erection is actively poking your hip right now and he’s still looking at you like he’s waiting for the okay.
The collar might not not be motivating enough for him but it certainly is for you, you know exactly what the unsub wants to see.
He wants to see all the things you want to do to the man staring up at you slackjawed right now.
You bring your hand up to his face, squeezing his jaw, you force his mouth open wider, staring in his eyes as you spit into his mouth. You raise your eyebrows at him, daring him to react as his eyes manage to go even wider.
Self proclaimed germaphobe Dr. Reid looks at you, and swallows.
You really are the exception to his rules.
Finally he swipes two fingers against your clit, being electrocuted might have left you feeling tense and paranoid but his touch has all of that melting away.
Thank fucking god.
His fingers slide across the length of your cunt, he hums when he feels the wetness pooling at your entrance. He never pushes into you, only teases your hole until you’re keening against him.
Hovering on all fours above him you’re sure you’re a sight, panting like a dog for more.
Your noises only serve to egg him on. Using your wetness as a lubricant he focuses on your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut, almost instinctually rocking back and forth against the heel of his palm. He doesn’t seem to be in any rush, rubbing lazy circles against you until your legs shake so bad you’re worried you’ll crumble and fall down on top of him.
“Can I get on top now?” The sound of his voice makes your eyes snap open as you nod eagerly. Holding onto your hips he flips you over so your positions are reversed. You lean back, waiting patiently for his hand to return to your cunt. When he doesn’t you whine.
You’re rewarded with his fingers looping around the sides of your panties, yanking them down until you're bare before him.
“Open your mouth.” His tone isn’t demanding, more like a plea.
So you do just that, and when you meet his eyes you hardly even see Spencer anymore.
Gone is the sweet boy you share a desk with, he has been replaced by something hungry and tragic.
He’s just like you now.
Sick.
He leans down until your lips are almost touching, he isn’t as confident as you were but he still spits into your mouth without hesitation. Pulling back to watch. When swallowing his breath hitches. His fingers pull on the hem of your camisole, pulling it up until it’s over your arms and your head.
He takes a moment to just stare at your chest in a way that would usually make you cover yourself up. Instead you just let him. Squeaking in surprise when he leans down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, making obscene sounds in the process. His tongue swirls around it for a moment before he starts dragging his tongue back and forth, letting his teeth lightly graze against the sensitive bud, never actually biting down. Alternating between sucking and lapping at your nipple until it stiffens into a peak. When he’s satisfied he switches to your other breast, repeating the process. When he pulls away to admire his work your nipples are swollen and both of your tits are slick with spit.
The sight is enough to make him bite his lip in a weak attempt to stifle a whine.
You’ve all but forgotten about the collar around your neck as he starts to bend your knees up towards your stomach. You're caught off guard when he keeps pushing until your legs are pointed straight up with your feet over his shoulders. Turning his head he kisses your ankle before gently biting the skin there. You’re positioned in a way that his clothed cock rubs against your core, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. Just when you think he’s about to pull his boxers down he stops.
He opens his mouth and you just know his dumb ass is about to ask if you’re okay with this, so you kick the side of his head and glare at him as his mouth snaps closed. He nods, at least the part of his brain that uses his critical thinking skills still works.
You both know the unsub doesn’t like when he asks you for consent, you don’t know or honestly care why. He can ask you if you’re okay a hundred times a day when you get out of here.
There’s another moment's pause from him, and if looks could kill your glare would put him six feet under.
“For gods sake, Spence, just fuck me.” You hope you don’t sound too mean but he doesn't seem bothered, quite the opposite.
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
You feel a rush of relief when he kicks his boxers off, his cock stands at attention, the poor neglected thing is already leaking, leaving his tip shiny and slick.
He wraps his arms around your legs, holding you like a vice as he lines himself up and slides into the heat of your cunt.
It stings just as much as it did the first time but you revel in it this time. Who cares about a little pain anymore? You just squeeze your eyes shut and groan. He likely doesn’t even hear the edge to your groans over his own breathy moans.
He doesn’t give you as much of an adjustment period this time either, his hips are already rocking back and forth. Whether it’s for fear of being shocked or simply because he can’t help himself is unclear.
He holds your legs firmly in place, ankles thrown over his shoulders as he pistons in and out of you. Both of you are reduced to whimpering messes in a matter of minutes as you feel the all too familiar tightening of the knot in your stomach.
Boy genius can’t be far behind you based on the sporadic nature of his thrusts. You’d say that happened fast but you’re in no position to judge, not when your breath is catching in your throat with every thrust. He knows your body surprisingly well because you can tell he’s holding out for your orgasm before his. His quick, sloppy thrusts become focused. Shallow, just the right way to slide against that sweet spot before slamming into your cervix until the knot snaps.
You clamp down on him, the force of which draws a string of whimpers past his lips as he scrambles to pull out, coming on your stomach. You watch the way his jaw tightens, and his cock twitches, admiring the sight before you lean back. Taking a few deep breaths as you try and collect yourself. He slumps over next to you, in a similar state.
He plants a kiss on your shoulder before pressing his forehead against yours.
Your eyes are starting to flutter shut when your back arches. A strangled cry leaving your throat as you feel a quick shock is delivered to your body. Spencer spasms onto you, his fingers twist around his collar, pulling uselessly.
It’s a mercifully short burst of electricity this time but still enough to make you sit up straight.
“What did we do wrong?” Your voice is hoarse.
He looks troubled, more troubled than you’d expect, even after all that.
“I-I’m not sure, I guess we just have to try again.” So rare is it to hear Dr. Spencer Reid sound unsure.
“Okay, fuck, okay.” You’re trying to think back over everything you just did. He didn’t shock you the entire scene until the end so he clearly didn’t have a problem with the contents of the scene. You’re a mess of scrambling limbs as you both smash your lips together once more in an attempt to avoid any form of reprimand. “Let’s try something else.” You grumble against his lips.
You’re racking your brain for ideas, clearly he’s doing the same but it’s edged with a panic. If you choose the wrong thing you risk another shock. How much would it take to stop your heart?
Focus.
He didn’t like what you just did, okay, do something else. Do something different.
Does he want more talking or less?
More participation on your part, less on Spencer’s?
Rougher?
Meaner?
Without the unsubs direct commands Spencer isn’t as sexually dominant as he originally had to be, maybe the unsub wants that dynamic to be included in every scene.
You can do that.
Happily.
First things first, you need him to be as naked as you are.
You climb into his lap, straddling him as you push him back so that he’s laying back once more. Yanking on the hem of his shirt until you’re able to pull it off of him, tossing it aside you drag your hands up and down his torso.
God he’s pretty.
Somehow even prettier with a collar around his neck.
Don’t think like that.
Grinding down against him you can feel his cock already swelling again.
“You get hard so easily.” You grab his jaw, noticing his stubble for the first time. How long have you been here?
“I thought you said no talking.”
“Well that didn’t work out so well, I’m trying something different. Do you not like it?”
The dumb look on his face makes you forget about the collar for a moment, it makes you forget about the room you're in, and it makes you forget all about Peter Hill. All you can think about are ways to make him keep making that face.
“This is fine.” He mumbles.
“You do all the work every time Spencer, you must be tired by now.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He really does sound tired. Maybe not from this exactly, but in general.
“Maybe you could let me take care of you this time?” You tuck a strand of hair away from his face as he continues to nod.
Assuming that the unsub might see Spencer as a surrogate for himself this would be a wise course of action. Seeing you as the dominant, more active, participant might be exactly what he wants. Maybe the reason you were shocked was because he could see how hesitant Spencer was, maybe he just needs to see one of you taking the lead.
That’s the only reason you’re doing this.
Certainly not seizing an opportunity.
Your panties have long since been discarded so it’s relatively easy to reach back and grab his cock, lining him up with your entrance as you sink down onto him. You’re typically concentrating and rolling your eyes into the back of your head when he first enters you, but right now you get a perfect view of his face.
Mouth open in an ‘O’ as his eyes flutter shut, a pornagraphic moan slipping past his lips. This is already so much better.
Once you’re fully seated on his cock you fight the urge to grind against him, instead you just watch his face, the way his features twist and contort in pleasure.
“Do you like it when I spit in your mouth?” You do your best to keep your tone sultry, more condescending than actually caring about the response.
You’re met with a frantic nod and you nearly lose your resolve when he opens his mouth.
This is better than any romance book, sexy movie, or porno you’ve ever seen.
You want to take a picture, since that isn’t an option right now you settle for burning the mental image into your brain before you give him exactly what he wants. You hover over him, letting a line of spit fall from your mouth to his. His cock twitches inside of you simultaneously. You don’t dare take your eyes off of him as he swallows again.
So fucking good.
He’s too good. Maybe this is what you should have been doing all along. He never needed to be in charge, this is a million times better than any show you’ve put on. If Peter wanted a star he’s got one right here. Licking his perfect pretty lips.
Batting his eyelashes at you like his cock isn’t lodged in your stomach.
“I wonder what else you like?” You don’t even say it for the camera, that was forgotten the second he opened his mouth and presented his tongue to you.
He doesn’t have a response, just that pretty, dumb look. Is this what it’s like for him? Watching you come apart so easily, you completely understand his ridiculous torture metaphors now, this is fucking torture in the sweetest way humanely possible.
You don’t know what possesses you to do it but you tentatively at first, you wrap your fingers around his throat, careful to avoid the bulky part of the collar. It’s a move made mostly for show. But when you’re met with a frantic, impatient, nod, you squeeze.
His hips rock upwards immediately, fucking into you, instinctively your grip tightens around his throat as if you can steady yourself. It only makes him buck into you harder. He splays his hands out across the tops of your thighs, nails digging into your flesh, leaving a trail of crescent marks in his wake.
The room fills with the sounds of curses as you let your head fall backwards, so much for doing the work, Spencer’s doing most of the work as he continues to fuck up into you. You briefly let your hand slip off his neck, his hand catches your wrist, holding you against his throat as you wrap your fingers back around it.
“Fucking- shit, oh my god.” His brows furrow together as he whines, you’ve never heard him curse so much before.
He angles his hips off the floor, grinding the base of his pelvis against your clit until you’re seeing stars. You’re definitely squeezing too hard but he won’t let your wrist go and your body is too tense from the pressure building in your stomach. Based on the sounds he’s making you’re sure he doesn’t care, his eyes are basically rolled into the back of his head at this point anyway.
“So fucking good, Spence, oh my fucking-” Your voice trails off into a moan as rolls his hips up against you just so. The goal was to focus on him but he seems hell bent on making you come, so much so that he doesn’t even bother thrusting into you. He just keeps angling his hips against yours in any way he can to put pressure on your clit. And you reward his efforts every time by tightening your grip.
Once again your orgasm hits first, before you’re ready for it and before you’ve recovered from your first orgasm. He forces it out of you. And in return you brand your handprint across the front of his throat. Your vision is blurring white as you cry out. Your chest heaves as you gasp, fighting, keeping your eyes open as you stare down at your pretty boy.
His cheeks are bright red as he sucks in a breath, you’re about to start riding him in earnest, it’s the least you can do. But before you can he grabs the back of your head, forcing your lips onto his as his tongue presses against yours. You start to groan his name but he swallows the sound when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. Just like that with a stutter of his hips you feel his cock jerk inside of you as he comes, spilling out around the base of his shaft as he makes a mess out of both of you.
The corners of his eyes are damp when you look at him, you can’t help but kiss him there, moving to his cheek, and then his forehead. You both stay silent, a palpable tension replaces the lust in your cloudy mess of a brain as you wait to see if it was enough. The energy in the room shifted completely.
You can’t imagine a world in which that wasn’t adequate.
Yet somehow, it wasn’t.
You fall forward, letting your forehead rest on the cold cement as you feel the burning against your neck. From your throat down to your fingertips, you can feel the white hot fire burning you from the inside out. It lasts long, too long. It feels like the prongs are boring holes straight through your throat and out the other side.
When it finally relents Spencer's fingers are pulling on your collar.
“What’s wrong?” You mumble, your visions a bit blurry as you struggle to sit up.
“I need to adjust the prongs, we’ve got burns now and we don’t want to keep hitting the same spot or it could become necrotic.” You don’t really comprehend what he’s saying but you sit still so he can do whatever it is he’s insisting on. “Okay, now can you do mine?” He tilts his chin up as he nods and you adjust his collar as well.
The sight of his burn snaps you out of your stupor.
A gnarly red and white blister has formed under the prongs, it hurts just to look at but the sting on your own neck reminds you that you have one to match.
The smell of burnt flesh floats in the air around you.
Once you’ve adjusted his collar as he instructs he leans in and kisses you, pushing you back until you’re the one laying down this time. When he starts to pepper kisses down your chest and stomach until he’s between your legs you squeeze your thighs together. You cannot deal with another orgasm right now.
“No.” You’re firm as he gives you those ridiculous puppy dog eyes.
Good luck saying no to that look.
“I’m serious Spencer, no. Get back up here and stick your dick in me so we can give this another try.” You’re fried. Mentally, physically, literally.
“Just you this time, sweetheart.” You groan as he kisses your inner thigh. Your hands tangle in his mess of hair, pulling too hard, even though it doesn’t seem to affect him. “I can’t go again, I need a minute. For someone my age the average refractory period is between thirty minutes to an hour and considering I've already gone twice in a row I’m gonna need a moment before I’m ready to go again. Since you are someone assigned female at birth you don’t have a physiological refractory period so by process of elimination this is what we have to do.”
All you can do is glare at him.
“I don’t know exactly what counts as a scene but I’m pretty sure it’s an orgasm. And it can’t be mine.”
“Spencer.”
“Look, I think I figured out what we have to do, just let me test my theory.”
He buries his face in the crease of your thigh, dragging his tongue across your skin.
“Well at least tell me!”
“You aren’t going to like the answer.” He mumbles into the meat of your thigh as he sucks a mark into the skin before turning towards his main target. “I’ll try to get this done as fast as possible.”
Your poor overstimulated clit is where he settles his mouth. Flattening his tongue against you as tries his damndest to get you there.
And god it feels good.
He worships your cunt, his tongue writes prayers against you as it darts back and forth. You see god everytime he jams his tongue into you, as if he can effectively fuck you with it.
It feels so good.
But you’re too scattered. The last shock was different, demanding. And it’s left you genuinely afraid. You’re too on edge to come right now. Your body is tense in all the wrong spaces and even with his face buried between your legs all you can think about is the burn mark on both of your necks.
“I- I can’t Spence.” It’s too much, too much of a good thing, especially when you aren’t any closer to an orgasm.
“That’s just not true, you’ve done it before you can do it again.” He’s out of breath as he rests his head on your thigh.
You whine, kicking your leg weakly in an attempt to knock him away from you.
“Get on top.” If that’s his solution he clearly isn’t listening to you.
“What?”
“Sit on my face.” He says it like it’s the answer to all of your problems but you can’t imagine more stimulation is going to be the answer when your entire body is on edge.
“Spencer…”
“Please?” He whines, sounding like he might honest to god cry if you deny him this. “It’ll be better for you I promise.” He says it like his dick isn’t starting to harden just at the thought. Unfortunately you need him hard for what you’re sure will be round four when this inevitably doesn’t work. Until you figure out what Peter wants you need to prepare yourself for a long day.
What if this is what he wants?
What if he just wants you to fuck each other until you pass out? Until your body simply can’t handle it anymore.
You don’t get long to dwell on the thought because Spencer’s laying down beside you.
“Sit on my face, now. Or he’s gonna shock us again.” You’re getting tired and it honestly isn’t worth the fight. Especially when he’s staring at you so eagerly.
“Fine.” You grumble as you sit up on your knees, throwing your leg over his head so you’re kneeling above him
“Just relax, I’ll do everything, okay?” It’s remarkable that he can sound so sure considering the circumstances.
You aren’t sure if you can relax in this position.
Your knees shake, and you struggle to hold yourself up above him. You just want to lay down but he wraps his arms around the backs of your thighs. In one swift motion he yanks you down so you’re sat in earnest on his face.
“Jesus, Spencer.” You lean forward, tangling your fingers in his hair to steady yourself. Scraping your nails against his scalp in the process.
You’d feel worse about how you might be hurting him if he wasn’t already moaning into your cunt, the vibrations only serve to tighten your grip on his hair.
He isn’t as focused, instead he alternates between your clit and your now dripping hole. When his tongue is on your clit it feels like you’re being forced to sit on a vibrator. He darts his tongue back and forth against you, occasionally twisting his head to the side so he can breathe. Whenever that happens you’re rewarded with the stubble on his cheeks and chin against your sensitive nub. You can’t decide if it feels good or bad at this point. He pokes his tongue against the rim of your fluttering hole and you're in an even worse position. You’re dealing with the sensation of that combined with the bridge of his nose knocking against your clit.
You hate that he was right, this is working.
You don’t have any choice other than to let it work because his arms are wrapped so tightly around your thighs you couldn’t lift off of him if you tried. Not that you would, you’re riding that precarious line between discomfort and pleasure now that makes this so much more bearable then you’d expected.
If you had the capacity for embarrassment right now you’d be horrified by the wet sucking noises he’s making, instead you let your head fall backwards as he forces you closer and closer to your breaking point. The tightening in your stomach is inherently different than it usually feels, the muscles in your face twitch as you focus and chase that sensation.
Almost uncontrollably, your cunt flutters around nothing and you feel a gush between your legs, Spencer doesn’t let up for a second as you come.
“Oh my fucking god.” You straighten your knees as you manage to pry his tongue off of your clit. You’re gonna have a permanent crease between your eyebrows after this, your face has been scrunched up so long. “Spencer stop-” You roll off of him, laying flat on your back beside him, the blankets are soaked.
You’re gasping for air as you wait for the next shock. But Spencer clearly has other plans as he sits up next to you, shoving your legs apart once more, one of his hands pushes your thigh up towards your stomach.
“We can't stop, we have to go again.” The bottom half of his face is shiny and slick.
When he slides his fingers against your swollen clit you shove him away.
“No- I’m done. I need a break, just a few minutes.” You feel like you might cry.
“We don’t have a few minutes, we need to do this right now. Then you can take as long of a break as you want.” He sounds so sure.
“Promise?”
“I promise, please, just trust me.”
Frantic and jittery, he strokes himself. His free hand slotting back between your legs, much gentler this time.
“You don’t even need to do anything, just lay here and I’ll take care of it. Promise, I promise.” He mumbles, careful not to use too much pressure as you continue to fight the urge to shove him away.
Any precision he usually has is gone completely by now, replaced by sloppy circles against your clit as he jerks himself off. When you whine at the friction he spits into his hand before returning to your clit. He holds his other hand out in front of your chin, wanting the same for himself. You spit onto his palm, earning yourself an breathy groan as he uses it to properly fuck his hand.
It becomes abundantly clear that he isn’t trying to make you come again, if anything he’s simply touching you for his own gratification. And you’re thankful for it, if only one of you needs to have an orgasm to count as a scene you’re happy to sit this one out. Your clit buzzes, hypersensitive to every uncontrolled stroke against it. He whimpers as he ruts against his hand, hips stuttering as he makes a sound between pain and ecstasy.
His eyes squeeze shut as a filthy whine leaves his lips, forehead slick with sweat as his head falls backwards. You can see the veins in his neck straining as he has what you're sure is a rather uncomfortable orgasm, spurts of come are added to the mess between your legs.
Neither one of you dares to move. You’re waiting, convinced you’re about to be shocked at any moment.
But you aren’t.
Spencer was right, thank god.
He collapses beside you and the room fills with the sounds of your haggard breathing.
“How did you know that would work?” You finally break the silence, still struggling to catch your breath as he rolls over onto his side to face you.
“I didn’t, it was a lucky guess.”
You sit straight up, looking offended.
“You promised.” You try not to sound shrill, since he did technically fulfil his end of the deal.
“I know, I’m sorry.” You can’t stay mad at that sheepish half smile. How is he still managing a smile after everything you’ve been through?
“I mean, I guess it’s fine since you didn’t technically break your promise. How did you figure it out?” You lay back down on your side so you’re face to face.
“The collars are meant to be used for ‘fixing bad habits.’ I eventually realized that that meant training.”
“Training?”
“Like training a dog.” He grimaces. “When we do something wrong we’re shocked, when we do something right we aren’t. What he’s essentially doing is training us to do what he wants unprompted.”
“So that he doesn’t even have to ask.”
“Exactly, I have to assume that the goal would be that eventually we would be having sex the majority of the time. He said he isn’t going to speak to us anymore so it’s safe to assume he plans on using the collars as his only communication.”
“How much would it take to kill us?” Your voice shrinks as you ask the question that’s been picking away at the back of your mind.
“Electricity? It’s hard to say. It’s less about the voltage and more about the current, any amount of voltage to a human heart could be fatal. But the human body has an inherent resistance to electrical current. It’s a really tricky concept because without sufficient voltage the current would be unable to travel through the body regardless. The closest thing to an answer that I can give you is that nine volts with enough current would typically be considered enough to deliver a lethal shock.” His hands start to move in that familiar way they do when he’s lost in an explanation.
“How much do you think our collars emit?”
He hesitates before he speaks again.
“The average dog collar emits three to nine volts with a low current but it’s safe to assume that based on the feeling of the shock, and how it courses through our entire bodies, that he has modified them to have a stronger current.”
“So it could kill us.”
“Yes, it’s possible.”
“So we should do everything in our power to not risk another shock.”
“Yes, that would be wise.”
“So we let him… train us?”
“I don’t think we have much of a choice in the matter.”
There isn’t much more you can say about that. What other options are there? That’s the question you’ve been asking yourself since you were taken. What else could you possibly do?
“What happens when we’re trained?”
“I think we just have to hope it doesn’t get to that point.”
You know the answer, he does too. If it works then you both become obedient pets, fucking each others brains out non stop until your hearts stop.
“So from now on when we wake up we should just have sex until we’re sure he’s satisfied?”
“I guess.”
★
The next morning when the lights come on you do just that.
You wake up to sloppy kisses, rolling over almost instinctually onto your belly as he tugs your panties down. You lay prone as he kisses down the length of your spine before sucking a mark into the skin. And another, and another, and another. You bury your face in your pillow, letting out a series of low moans. His knee spreads your legs as he slots himself between your thighs.
And you’re happy to let him.
He comes buried in your pussy, but not before his arm twisted around to the front of you and ripped an orgasm from you.
“Should we go again?” You turned to whisper, worry biting at the edges of your voice.
His hands on your hips guide you on top of him, once you’re straddling him he pulls you into a lazy kiss.
“I don’t know if I can right now.” He murmurs, almost cracking a smile. “Besides, I don’t think it’s about doing it multiple times, it’s about doing it unprompted."
“Okay, we can just do this then.” You wrap your lips around his bottom lip, lightly sucking.
It’s easy to get distracted by him, everything about him is distracting. But you’ve had an idea on your mind for sometime and you need to find a way to bring it up without drawing attention to it.
“Do you remember when Tobias Hankle saved your life?” He stiffens up a bit at the name but he nods.
“I couldn’t forget it if I tried.”
“Why do you think he did it?”
“He wasn’t a bad person, he was just a person in a bad situation, he never had a chance to be anything else. He was a victim of his circumstances.”
“I wonder if we could be saved the same way.” You murmur it against his jaw, hoping it’s loud enough to be heard and quiet enough to not be picked up by a microphone.
“I don’t think that would save me, not this time.” He picks up on what you mean immediately, his fingers comb through your hair as you kiss his cheek. You brush your lips against his stubble.
“It might save me.”
He flips you both so he’s on top, where his lips can’t be read by anyone looking down from above.
“It hurts.” His lips connect to your throat, kissing across the line of bruises. “You would have to stay completely silent and still.”
“I can handle it.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then we do this.” Your hand trails down his body until you can palm him through his boxers, a small part of you is pleased to find he’s already hard. “We do this forever, until we’re old and grey.” He moves up your jaw, biting your earlobe before breathing his words out against you.
“I could seriously hurt you.”
“Then do it right, put those three PHD’s to work. Do it hard enough to prove that it’s real, and soft enough that you don’t break anything.”
“That’s a really dangerous line to ride.”
“We won’t get another chance. Make it real.” It’s the last thing you say to him before you go back to kissing him in earnest.
Turns out he can go again.
★
How many days has it been?
It can’t have been more than a week since you were taken, you’re sure of it.
Without the daily presence of the unsubs voice everything starts to blend together. Wake up, have sex, stare longingly at each other as you talk about nothing in particular until you either have more sex or are shocked into doing so.
Out of habit, you start crawling on top of him before you’re even fully awake every morning.
Just like the unsub wants.
Just like you want.
That line starts to get blurry and the thought scares you, so you choose to ignore the nasty little voice in your head.
After another long day you curl up against him, grateful for the dim lighting the evenings provide for you.
“Do you think he’s won?” You whisper into the darkness, you’re certain the unsub must be asleep at this point, you’ve been awake so long. He has to sleep eventually.
“What do you mean? I’m sure the team is still looking for us.” He holds your face in one of his hands, an action that is starting to feel familiar to you.
“Yeah, but look at us.” You motion at yourself dramatically. “He did it, we’re just animals now, doing whatever he wants and now we… we enjoy it, all we do is have sex. He won.” You notably haven’t been shocked in some time.
“I don’t think that’s how we should view it.”
“How else are we supposed to look at it then?”
“We… take comfort in each other, despite the things he makes us do, we still-” He stops abruptly, swallowing loudly before continuing. “We still care for each other, that means we’re still human.”
“He doesn’t even have to tell us what to do anymore, Spencer. We just do it.” Your voice cracks, this whole situation has made you insufferably emotional.
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.” His thumb traces little shapes against your cheek.
“How much of this is real?” You hate how needy you sound.
“All of it’s real. All of this has happened and is continuing to happen.” He tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him.
“You know what I mean, Spence.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He looks at you like he feels bad for you and you hate it.
“Why didn’t this happen organically? Why did it have to happen here, where it was forced?” The words are clunky as they force themselves out of your mouth.
“I think it would have happened organically, eventually. I can’t count the amount of times I almost asked you out.”
“Then why didn’t you? I would have said yes.”
“I realize that now but I just couldn’t be sure.” How the fuck could he be unsure? He’s the most intelligent man you’ve ever met and you certainly weren’t subtle.
“I was obsessed with you.”
“You were nice to everyone.”
“I was extra nice to you.”
“You never realized that I liked you either.” He scoffs.
“Yeah, but I’m not a genius.” You poke him gently in the chest and he cracks a small smile.
“We could still do that, go out. When we get out of here.”
Could you?
It’s hard to imagine a world where you sit across from him in a restaurant after all of this.
Before this? Sure, you spent plenty of nights imagining it. You would style your hair down, and wear mascara. And you’d wear one of your dresses, something he’d never seen before that showed off your shoulders and legs. He never got to see that at work, you wanted to wow him.
Now he’s seen it all, and he seems pretty pleased with it but you aren’t exactly fantasizing about a little italian restaurant with him these days. Not when you know what awaits you after dessert.
Could you sit across from him, eating complimentary bread out of a basket, talking about the weather? Your relationship seems to be pretty far beyond that at this point.
“Maybe.” You murmur.
“Maybe?” His voice hitches up as he cocks an eyebrow at you. “If you turn me down for a date after all of this I’m quitting my job and moving as far away from Virginia as possible.”
“I’m not saying that- I’m just saying… I don’t know. Can you really see us going back to normal after this? Just acting like this never happened, we start dating and- and what? We hold hands everywhere, we go out to dinner, go to the movies, we act like a normal couple? I just don’t think we’re a normal couple, Spence.”
“We don’t have to be a normal couple, I don’t want to be a normal couple. We can be a couple that gets takeout and only watches movies at home because we’re scared to go outside. We can be disgusting with our public displays of affection, just to show everyone that they could never understand the devotion we share. Instead of dates we can stay in bed and I’ll show you every night just how much I want to be with you, I don’t care. We can do whatever you want to do, as long as it’s done together.” He sounds like he’s already made the decision for you and honestly, you’re glad. He makes it sound so easy.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean it, whatever you want.” He plants a kiss between your brows before resting his chin on the top of your head. “That also means that if we get out of here and you want nothing to do with me I’ll respect that choice.”
“You’re an idiot.” The absurdity of the idea makes you laugh.
“You have that effect on me.”
There’s a beat of silence where you simply enjoy the feeling of his arms around you before you bring up the question that’s been quietly building up in the back of your mind.
“Do you think it’s possible I’m pregnant?” You don’t feel too different but you have to ask. With the amount of unprotected intercourse you’re having it’s entirely possible. Spencer only pulls out half the time, it doesn’t seem like something he’s even concerned with. Yet when you look at him now he looks pale.
“I- I hadn’t even thought about that. I guess I just assumed we’d be out of here by now, I hadn’t considered the possibility.” So rarely does he sound as unsure as he does right now.
“What do we do if I am?”
“We… handle it. We can handle it.”
No you can’t.
Not when there’s no end in sight. Imagining giving birth in this tiny room with only Spencer to help you makes your blood run cold.
“Maybe we should handle it before it becomes a problem.”
By putting your plan into motion and getting the hell out of here.
What other choice do you have? You’ve all but given up on the team at this point, and you know he has too. Even if neither one of you wants to say it.
“If you’re ready for that.” You can tell purely based on his wary tone that he knows exactly what you mean.
“I’m ready.” You hope he is too. You’re only gonna get one shot at this, and if you fail there might not ever be another chance at getting out of here.
★
This is it.
Hopefully you’re as good of an actress as the unsub seems to think you are.
Okay.
You’re dead.
Your heart stopped, probably from all the electric shocks, it makes perfect sense.
You aren’t sure if Spencer’s awake yet, but you can’t check. You try to recall the original videos you watched on the jet of the victims. You don’t remember the quality being that good, there were multiple angles but they were all grainy. Hopefully the quality is poor enough that they can’t pick up the tiny movements of your chest as you try to stay completely still.
After what feels like hours Spencer finally sits up beside you, mumbling a greeting to you before going quiet. He whispers your name, when you don’t respond he shakes your shoulders before repeating your name louder.
“Sweetheart, wake up.” You’re doing everything in your power to keep your breaths shallow, keeping your chest as still as possible. “Come on, time to get up.” You aren’t the only one putting on a show, the panicked lilt of his voice is exactly what you asked for. Dejected and frightened.
His fingers slide under your collar, pressing against your pulse point. You know he feels the beat of your heart but the hitch of his breath says otherwise.
“No, no no no.” His voice is barely a whisper as he presses his ear to your chest.
You’re both caught off guard when a shock is delivered to both of you. You grit your teeth immediately, it takes every ounce of strength you have left to not react. You let your body twitch, keeping your face free of any reaction to the best of your ability. It’s a full ten seconds of electricity through your veins, when it finally stops you fight the urge to take a deep breath, instead returning to your brief little inhales and exhales.
You don’t dare to open your eyes but you can hear Spencer struggling to get back up. Your entire body feels fried and you’re almost thankful for the excuse to stay laying down.
You can hear him sniffling, his hands are on you, locked together over the center of your chest.
Just like when Tobias Hankel saved him.
You brace yourself as he begins chest compressions, a steady rhythm against you. It’s exactly as you’ve been trained, hard and consistent, when performing CPR you should be pushing in at least two inches. He’s certainly doing that, you want to wince in pain but manage to resist when he stops, carefully opening your mouth with a hand on your chin before locking his lips to yours. He pinches your nose shut, when he blows the air you’re eternally grateful when he breaks the seal between your lips and lets the air escape instead of forcing it into your lungs.
You make sure to let your chest rise regardless.
After one exaggerated breath he sits back up and returns to the compressions, his own breathing is shaky and you can hear him gasping, scared little sounds. You count each agonizing slam against your chest, a small whimper escapes your throat when you feel a sharp pain in your ribs. He doesn’t relent, when he hits thirty on the dot his mouth is back on yours, your cheeks are wet this time when he pulls back, when he returns to the chest compressions each one sends a jolt of pain directly to your ribcage.
“Come on, please, please, just wake up.” His voice trembles and it’s clear now that he’s crying. “Please I can’t do this without you, I can’t do anything without you, please, wake up for me, please sweetheart.” He’s a rambling mess, his voice a strained whine.
You aren’t the only one acting like your life depends on it.
There’s no more shocks, and no voice over the intercom. Just the two of you putting on the performance of a lifetime, praying that this works.
With each push you feel the pain in your ribs grow sharper and more focused on the left side of your body.
You don’t know how many rounds of compressions you do, eventually you go numb, you briefly wonder if you’re actually dying as Spencer sobs over your body. Maybe you really did die, and these are your last moments in your body.
Eventually he stops. His body folds forward, his forehead resting over your heart.
“I’m so sorry, I should have kept you safe, I should have protected you.” His body trembles against you as he scoops you up holding your limp body in his arms.
When do you call it quits on this?
You don’t have a plan for if this doesn’t work, do you just sit up and act like everything’s fine?
“Just wake up, please, I love you.” His voice is so soft and vulnerable.
That almost makes you open your eyes.
Instead you stiffen up at the sound of the door creaking open. You don’t dare move now, not when you’ve already come this far.
You can feel Spencer's body go rigid against yours as foot steps cross the room.
“I- I never wanted her to get hurt. I never meant for this to happen.” You recognize the voice as Peters immediately, even without the crackling robotic tone of the intercom. “Oh god…” You can’t help but finally open your eyes to stare at him.
He’s so… ordinary.
Mid to late thirties, white, balding, polo shirt and khakis. He’s crying, his head is in his hands as he whimpers. You don’t get a good look at his face before Spencer is on him.
You’ve seen Spencer in the field before, this is nothing like that.
Any of the calculated, deliberate restraint he usually exhibits goes out the window as his hands grip his shirt collar, his fist slams into the side of his head. Peter stumbles, falling onto his back, staring up with a look of horror as Spencer kneels over him.
You watch, frozen as his fist connects to your captors face.
Again, and again, and again, and again.
You watch as his face goes from a terrified expression to a smashed mess of flesh and teeth. He struggles for a little while, weakly clawing at Spencer's chest, but it does nothing to deter him.
At one point Peter looks at you, both eyes so swollen they’re barely visible. You hear his garbled voice.
“Please.”
Spencer grabs him by the jaw, forcing him to look back towards him. You think back to something he said.
“He doesn’t get to touch you, he doesn’t get to talk to you, he doesn’t get to breathe your air.”
He really meant it.
All for you.
He remains deadly quiet as he slams his fist into him until he stops twitching beneath him. His knuckles are split, but it’s nothing compared to Peter's face. He doesn’t even look like he used to be a person.
Just a lump of gore with teeth.
Because he loves you.
There’s a moment of silence where Spencer’s chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, your own heart racing as you stare at him, sitting up and clutching your ribs. Eventually his fingers wander down and into the pockets of what remains of Peter Hill. Tossing his wallet to the side before carefully setting a cell phone beside the corpse.
Finally he turns, a splatter of viscera coats his face and torso.
And you know all he can see on your face is the hunger behind your gaze.
He has the same look in his eyes.
Pupils blown, encompassing the rest of his iris.
No amount of therapy is ever going to fix you after this.
“You did it.” You whisper as he sits up, crawling over to you as he holds your face in his blood smeared hands.
“It was all you, you did so well.” He kisses your cheek as he tucks your hair behind your ears.
The logical thing to say right now would be ‘let’s get out of here.’ The logical thing to do right now would be to run out the now open door and scream until someone, anyone, comes to help you. Instead you turn your head towards his hand and kiss his palm.
“Tell me that you meant it.” You whisper.
“Every word.”
You slide your hand up and across his chest, making your intentions pretty clear as you lean forward to catch his lips in a kiss. Gentle and sweet to start, eventually becoming something with more fire behind it. He’s the one to pull away first.
“You’re hurt.” His hand traces over the back of yours, leaving a slick trail of red.
“It isn’t too bad. I promise.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” He lifts your top to examine your ribs, you doubt anything's broken.
It’s probably just a fracture.
Probably.
It isn’t important right now, nothing is as important as the look in his eyes.
“Say it again.” You pull your shirt down, lifting his chin so he focuses on your face instead of your potentially broken bones.
He knows what you want, he always knows what you want.
“I love you.”
“Again.” You mumble, unable to take your eyes off of him.
“I love you.”
And you know it isn’t for the cameras, it isn’t fearing punishment, it isn’t to keep you safe.
He says it for you, just for you.
You grab the collar of his now stained shirt and smash your lips against his. He devours you, all consuming and possessive with every lap of his tongue and every nip of his teeth. His hand is sliding up your leg, you don’t bother being as subtle as you shove your hand down the front of his boxers, you’ve never been as pleased as you are right now to find that he’s already hard. He groans into your mouth and you happily swallow every one. When his fingers graze against your inner thigh you gasp, the sharp intake of breath makes you wince as you yelp. The pain in your rips taking all of your focus as well as his. He immediately pulls away from you.
“Hospital first, everything else later.” His tone is firm and you know it’s a command for himself as well as you.
You whine for a moment but when the stabbing pain in your ribs continues you give it up, letting him help you to your feet. He practically carries you as you limp beside him, but not before taking the blood stained cell phone in his hands.
Past your makeshift bed, past what’s left of your captor, past the red door, and through the hallway to the door at the end that’s now swung open.
You’re both faced with a ladder.
As you’re forced to climb up the rungs you’re less convinced your ribs are just fractured. You whine with each step up.
When he lifts the latch climbing out into the sun, he’s quick to turn around to help you up and out. Once you’ve managed to fully exit the bunker with what you hope is minimal damage you’re left standing barefoot in a suburban backyard. White picket fence and all.
He kicks the hatch closed and you can see that the top of it is made to look just like patchy grass, blending right in with the rest of the yard. The rest of the team never would have found you here.
You stay behind Spencer as he walks towards the front yard, your hand locked around his.
You aren’t really sure what you’re supposed to do now, outside of the basement you suddenly feel small compared to the rest of the world.
Spencer's hand never leaves yours as he flips the unsubs phone open, dialing the number without looking at it as he brings it to his ear.
“Garcia, can you get a trace on this number?” He says it so casually, like it’s any other day.
There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line until you hear a quiet voice.
“Spencer?”
He hesitates, almost as if he isn’t sure.
“Yeah.”
She starts to speak again but you don’t have a chance to hear what she says as he clicks the phone shut, tossing it onto the grass in front of you both.
In the unforgiving light of the sun you get a really good look at him.
He looks awful.
The dark circles that seem to be permanently under his eyes have practically doubled in size. His jaw is lined with a sprinkle of stubble and god he looks thin.
Of course he always looks thin but now he’s thin.
And none of that even touches the fact that he’s still actively bleeding out of the gashes that decorate his knuckles. When you look him in the eye you can see he’s sizing you up as well.
You’re certain you’re as much of a sight as he is.
A perfect pair.
You stay standing, you’re a little worried that if you sit down you won’t get back up. You thought it was the morning but it looks more like evening, people pass in cars, slowing down at the sight of you and neighbors step out onto their porches.
It isn’t long before you hear sirens. But it isn't the police that pull up first, it’s a black SUV, followed by an ambulance. Hotch and Morgan rush out of the car, guns drawn. You don’t have to tell them he’s already dead, one look at Spencer and they both holster their weapons.
The way Morgan looks at you makes you nauseous.
You’ve seen him look at corpses in a similar manner, scowling like he arrived at the scene a few minutes too late. Hotch seems to sense his reluctance, directing him towards the house. He’s all too happy to get away from you.
You’re glad it’s just Hotch.
He doesn’t try to embrace you, and he does his best to keep his expression neutral, even if it’s obvious he’s profiling you both right now.
You zone out, focusing on the dozens of cop cars that come screeching down the street. Spencer and Hotch are having a conversation but you can’t focus on it when you’ve got half the Seattle police force storming the little blue house. Several of them stop in their tracks, gawking at you.
To be fair, you are standing out on the lawn in panties and a tank top.
A paramedic tries to lead you away from Spencer as he continues to talk with your unit chief, he stops abruptly as you let out a sob that catches you by surprise, a little hiccuping sound as they put an arm around you and try to take you away from him.
Spencer reacts before you can even say his name, yanking you backwards as he shoves the paramedic to the ground. Standing in front of you defensively.
Everybody freezes. Hotch, the other medics, even the cops.
You feel everyone's eyes on the two of you as you cling to Spencer's arm. You want to say something, anything, but your tongue lay uselessly in your mouth.
Hotch is quick to help him to his feet, apologizing profusely as he puts a hand on the paramedics shoulder. You can hear him whisper under his breath.
“I think it’ll be best if we don’t try to separate them.”
When he approaches you his hands are out where you can see them and he speaks softly.
“Reid, we need to get her checked out, from the way she’s walking I would imagine something is probably broken.” You recognize his tone of voice. It’s how he talks to victims on a case once they’ve been rescued. Technically that’s what you are now. “You can go with her but you need to get checked out too, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
You squeeze his arm, turning to look at him as he nods.
Hotch escorts you both to the ambulance, when they lay you down on the stretcher Spencer stays by your side, silently watching, with his hand always holding yours.
As they examine your ribs someone takes a look at Spencer's fingers, you take the opportunity to finally try and speak.
“How long were we gone?” You don’t recognize the shaky, soft voice that leaves your mouth.
You have seen him smile a single digit number of times since you joined the BAU, right now he gives you a sympathetic smile. Like he’s looking at a wounded animal.
“About three and a half weeks.”
That catches Spencer's attention.
“How is that possible?” He pulls his hand away from the doctor looking him over as he comes to sit beside you on the edge of the ambulance. “We couldn’t have been in there for more than a week.”
“Based on what we saw in the videos he was depriving you of sleep. He kept you awake for long periods of time and let you sleep for short bursts.” He almost looks like he’s about to put a hand on your knee but he thinks better of it when his eyes dart towards Spencer. “Garcia is in the process of recovering all of the footage, we promise we will keep it as private as possible, the rest of the team will not have access to it.”
Three and a half weeks.
“Where’s the rest of the team?” It’s like Spencer can feel how stressed you are as he tries to change the subject.
“They had to return to Quantico.” He looks ashamed of himself as he says it. “We negotiated a deal to keep Morgan and myself on the case for an extended period of time but everyone else needed to return to work.”
“How much time did you have left?” You say it before you can stop yourself.
How much time before you abandoned us completely?
Not that it mattered, it wasn’t the team that saved you.
“We had another week and a half.” You have to give it to Hotch, he doesn’t try to lie to you. You only nod in response, squeezing Spencer's hand before he can say something he regrets.
The paramedic poking at your ribs tells Hotch that they need to get you in for an x-ray as soon as possible, there aren’t any signs of internal bleeding yet but that could change at a moment's notice.
You wish he’d talk to you directly, it makes you feel like a child when they don’t address you.
★
You can see them through the glass.
Emily, Morgan, J.J, even Penelope.
You can also assume what he’s telling them. Usual protocol for someone in the state you’re in is to ease them into interactions with loved ones. At the very least you don’t have to worry about all of them running in here at once.
“We could be in worse shape.” Spencer mumbles from across the room. You refused to be in separate rooms, instead you stand opposite each other in your shared room. Neither one of you is ready to lay down, not after the day you’ve had, you’re too jittery.
He’s right, you really could be.
There aren’t words for the amount of relief you felt when they told you that your urine test came back negative for pregnancy. Your period was likely late because of the stress your body was under. Sure, having his baby wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but in those circumstances? You don’t know how you’d ever live with conceiving a child in those conditions.
Spencer narrowly avoided sepsis, his gums were in bad shape, he’s on an IV drip of a pretty strong antibiotic. They said there was nothing that could be done for his fingers other than eventual cosmetic surgery to try and reconstruct the ends into something other than a smashed, burned mess. And of course he had several fractures along his knuckles.
You did in fact have a broken rib, and two fractured ones. Spencer wasn’t happy to hear that but he never once expressed any upset towards you. You’re pretty sure you could kill someone in front of him and he wouldn’t so much as bat an eye.
And now you’re here.
Your stomach and chest are covered in bandages, his hands are in a similar state. Both sentenced to bed rest for quite some time.
You cringe at the sound of the door opening as Emily steps into the room.
She pulls you into a hug that you struggle to return.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” She whispers as you hear her sniffle.
You aren’t, but you nod anyway.
“Me too.”
“We have the best nursing staff assembled to do your kit, everyone is female. I can stay with you or I can wait right outside the door.” She gives your hand a squeeze and you instinctively pull away.
“What kit?” You’re hyper aware of how shrill your voice sounds, it makes Spencer stand up straighter across the room.
“The rape kit.” Her expression softens and she speaks like she’s scared you’ll run away like a frightened animal.
You scoff.
“I don’t need a rape kit.”
“We really think you should, hon.” She takes a step towards you and you lurch backwards, Spencer is quick to cross the room to stand beside you, angled imperceptibly between you and Emily.
“I don’t need a rape kit.” You say it more firmly this time, enough to catch the attention of the rest of your team in the hall, Hotch steps into the doorway as you look back and forth between them. “I wasn’t raped.”
A hush falls over the room.
“Maybe we could talk alone, you might be more comfortable-” Emily starts to walk towards you but Spencer steps forward, stopping her in her tracks.
“I’m not going anywhere without Spencer.” You accentuate your point by grabbing his arm and pulling closer.
“No one is saying that this is his fault.” Hotch doesn’t step into the room, he speaks in that steady even tone of his. “You are both victims in this situation, we just need to assess the extent of your wounds.”
“They already did.” You wish they would all stop looking at you like you’re made of glass.
“With wounds of this… genre, it’s best that we get them checked out immediately, we have up to ninety six hours to-” Hotch starts again in that painfully gentle tone, like you might shatter into pieces if he speaks too loudly.
“The answer is no. You can’t do it without my permission, and I’m saying no.”
“I really think we should talk about this privately.” You glare at Emily when she speaks again, you’d always considered her to be your closest friend in the BAU. Now you feel on edge around her, around everyone.
“I said no.” You hiss.
“You can’t legally force her into any testing without her explicit consent.” Spencer finally speaks, measured and authoritative. His tone reminds you of Hotch’s.
It makes Emily flex her fist, they both stare at each other until Hotch steps in between them.
“And we have no plans to do any tests without her permission, if she doesn’t want the kit then we won’t do one.” You can tell Hotch is desperate to deescalate the situation.
“I wasn’t raped.” You repeat yourself, watching as the entire room flinches as you say it.
Including Spencer.
No one has anything to say to that.
“I think I’d like to be alone.” You manage to steady your voice as you glare at them. Hotch is the first to step out of the room, when Emily reaches the doorway she turns back.
“Let’s go Spencer.” The second the words leave her mouth your hand squeezes his. Her eyes dart down as she catches the movement, when her gaze returns to your eyes her expression is devastating.
You don’t want their pity.
Yet they seem resilient in their attempts to shove it down your throat.
“We’ll talk to you all tomorrow. I’d like to sleep.” Your words are the final nail in the coffin.
You are a we now.
An us.
When you’re with Spencer you are alone. Without another word he helps you into your bed before pushing his own bed against yours. Neither one of you speaks as you lay down, you simply hold hands until you feel his breathing become even and steady, the all too familiar indicator that he’s fallen asleep. You take the opportunity to slip into the bathroom. When you flip the lights on you finally know why everyone keeps staring at you. You make Spencer look good in comparison.
You don’t recognize the terrified woman in the mirror. She looks like she survived something much worse than being trapped in a basement for a month.
So much of your skin is covered in bruises.
If he didn’t leave a bite mark or a hickie somewhere he squeezed you so tightly he left handprints. His grip hadn’t felt that tight in the moment.
You look straight out of a horror movie.
A shell of who you once were.
Your hair is still damp from when you had taken a shower earlier, pulling it away from your face while looking at your neck. Dark purple splotches cover your throat, spreading down your clavicle. A line of blisters and burns decorate your neck.
You feel like a monster. No wonder everyone looks at you like you survived something horrifying. Maybe you did.
You flick the lights off after just a few seconds, you don’t want to look at the creature staring back at you anymore.
When you step back into the room and he’s sitting up, and he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“C’mere.” His voice is thick with sleep as he motions you towards him. You climb into his bed, smoothing his hair down with your hands. “You’re so pretty.”
“You’re delusional.” Your voice sounds like your own again when it’s just the two of you. Not the trembling quiet voice that seems to come out when anyone else is around.
“So, so pretty.”
“Everyone's been staring at me like I’m a ghost.”
“They’re staring because they’re jealous. They can’t believe that you’re so pretty and you’re all mine.” Ang god, you believe him. Forgetting all about the monster in the mirror. He could tell you the sky was pink and that grass was blue and you’d believe him right now.
“I love you.” He wipes a tear from your lash line with his thumb.
“I love you.” You don’t doubt that for a second.
★
Everything is different now, how could it not be?
Neither one of you could have guessed how your time in the bunker would affect you in the long term.
You both go back to work after a mandatory three month sabbatical. You avoid field work, opting to work from a desk most of the time, no one ever questions the choice. And Spencer always takes the stairs when you come in to work, he says the elevator makes him nauseous.
You moved out of your studio a week after you left the bunker. The single room space you once found cozy now made you feel like you were suffocating. Besides, neither of you slept well when you were apart, it just made sense to move in with him.
Instead of the flowy and light pajamas you used to wear you now sleep in long sleeves and layers, even if it means waking up covered in sweat.
Spencer never falls asleep before you, most nights you wake up to find he’s wrapped himself so tightly around you it’s impossible to get comfortable. You never complain, it doesn’t bother you.
You don’t go to girls' nights anymore and Spencer never takes up Derek’s offer to grab a drink. When there’s the occasional team bonding trip to the bar you both go, never separating your hand from the others.
The picture on your desk of your friends has been replaced with a photo of you and Spencer at your cousin's wedding. The trinkets that once sat under your monitor suddenly seemed silly, eventually they ended up shoved in the back of a drawer. You don’t need them anymore; your deskmate always makes sure you have fresh flowers to brighten up the space.
Instead of being charmingly awkward Spencer’s been described as a bit more blunt and offputting than he used to be. And fine, you aren’t as bubbly as you used to be. You have every right to act the way you do. You still find him plenty charming.
Sure, you miss your friends. You miss spending your lunch breaks trying new local restaurants with Emily, and you miss long nights spent in Penelope's cave working on a case. And maybe you miss early morning trips to the gym with Morgan. But those things aren’t an option for you anymore. You try to be away from him but you can’t, it’s like you’re addicted. If you spend too much time apart you start to break down, hyperventilating until you find your way back to him.
You’d feel worse about it if he wasn’t just as bad.
Maybe worse.
The first time you interrogated an unsub after your sabbatical Spencer had burst into the room and Morgan had to put him in a headlock to stop him from strangling the unsub.
They don’t look at you the same anymore.
Hotch looks at Spence like he’s dangerous.
Morgan doesn’t joke around with you anymore.
Spencer made Penelope cry on your first day back.
And Emily looks at him like he’s holding you hostage.
You don’t care what they think. They didn’t save you, Spencer did. And you’d much rather have the ring that’s around your finger than a cuff around your wrist.
They just don’t understand your relationship, they couldn’t. None of them know what it’s like to be loved like this.
All that matters is that you’re happy, even if they don’t seem convinced.
You aren’t a normal couple.
And you don’t want to be.
★
a/n : i really hope y'all enjoyed headlock <3 <3 follow @holymolynotifications for future fic updates!!
u + me = <3
pairing: spencer reid x fem! reader
summary: the most beautiful day of your lives is coming to a close, but your wedding night is about to begin. spencer shows his love to you by setting up the most beautiful room— and giving you the pleasure you deserve.
content warning: mdni 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, fluffy wedding night lovemaking (like sickeningly sweet), softdom! spencer reid, a little bit of nipple play, multiple orgasms, lots of pet names usage (angel, beautiful, baby, good girl), married couple, mentions of longer hair and white wedding dresses, creampie (i hate this word omg), sweet aftercare, no use of y/n
w/c: 5.4k words!
genre: smut, fluff
a/n: soooo welcome to my triumphant return. life kinda got crazy and i didn't want to force myself to write but now that it's summer...ideas have been coming to me. i pictured like season 7-9 spencer but you can imagine any season. this turned out way longer than i thought but i'm so proud of it! can you tell the olivia album inspired me? :)
Spencer's fingers were entangled with your own, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in soft little circles. His brown eyes were shining in adoration as you looked up to meet his gaze, the elevator hum a distant noise in the background— a soundtrack to the beginning of the most anticipated night of your life thus far. He had been looking at you this same way since you walked down the aisle hours ago, like you were something sent from the divine. Just thinking back to that moment, that white dress still flowing all around you, you felt a familiar lump rise in your throat. You were his, and he was yours.
“Baby,” he murmured, searching your eyes and reaching his free hand up to cup your cheek. “You okay? Your eyes went all misty for a moment.”
Damn it. Now you want to cry again, not tears of sadness, no– but in pure joyful emotion. You had married a man who noticed even the slightest change of your eyes or or an off breath.
“I’m more than okay,” you manage to whisper but it comes out more like a choked out wobbly breath. “I just– the way you're looking at me. The way you looked at me. I’ve never felt so much love.”
Spencer leans down to press his forehead against yours as the elevator steadily climbed to the hotel's top floor, the warmth of him flooding your system.
“I love you,” he whispers firmly. “With everything I am, with every breath I take. I’m so happy you’re my wife. I know you know but I need to tell you it again and again. I can’t stop saying it. I’ll always look at you like this because you’re my love. Every chamber of my heart beats in unison for you.”
Just before you could fully burst into tears at the sweetest words you had ever heard and wash off all the makeup that you had spent hours applying this morning, the elevator beeped and opened revealing a long, elegantly styled hallway.
“Cmon, angel,” Spencer murmured softly, his breath caressing your ear. “I want to show you our honeymoon suite,” He tugs on your hand and you giggle at the way he practically drags you down the hallway like an overeager puppy, stumbling beside him.
When you make it to the door at the end of the hallways, Spencer suddenly stops to face you. You open your mouth to speak and then—
“Whoa,” you gasp as he picks you up, his lean but strong arms sliding under your back and your knees to form the classic bridal style hold. “Baby what are you doing?” you giggle into his shoulder, filled with elation. You’re pretty sure you know what he's doing, you just want him to say it.
Spencer smiles down at you and it feels like the warmth of ten thousand suns shining down on you, and healing every emotional wound that ever hurt you.
“I am carrying my very beautiful bride across the threshold of our honeymoon suite, and then I am going to spend the entire night worshipping her.”
You immediately turn that familiar pretty shade of pink that Spencer loves, still not used to hearing him talk like this—even after all this time together.
“You look impossibly pretty like this,” he smiles as his gaze traces the features on your face. “You don’t even know how much.”
Before you can respond with a doubtful quip disguised by humour, he maneuvers you in his arms so he can push the hotel room door open.
Your breath catches.
“Holy shit.”
His eyes fill with pride and you can feel his spine straightening. The room was absolutely gorgeous. The room was lit, not harshly bright, yet light enough so you could see everything. The large windows had the curtains pulled back to reveal the glistening lights of the city. In the center of the room was a king bed, draped with silk sheets and piled with fluffiest pillows you had ever seen. The sheets were covered with rose petals scattered about, and at the foot of the bed sat a basket filled with champagne and other things you couldn’t make out.
“I called a week ago and asked them to set all this up. Penelope helped me find your wedding pinterest board and I wanted to make tonight special, especially since you planned the wedding so beautifully,” he smiles at your wide eyed expression as he puts you down from the bridal carry and kneels down to remove each one of your beautiful but painful heels that had been pinching your toes for hours. “You do so so much, and I'm not the most creatively inclined but I wanted to do this for you. I know I’m about to show you how much I love you physically but I wanted to show you a different way too. I…I hope you like it.”
This. This is why you married him, you thought as he removed each heel— pressing a kiss to each knee through your dress. Not for his incredible profiling skills, not for his astonishingly high iq of 187, not for his tall stature, or his beautifully sculpted face, or his brown doe eyes or his pretty pink lips or his messy brown locks but this. How much he cared. How he remembered the details, like you offhandedly mentioning your pinterest board. How he didn’t mind sleeping with a nightlight on during storms because he knew you got scared. Every single note filled with a fun fact a day left in your lunch. How he would listen to you ramble on and on about your favorite shows that other boys might laugh and call too girly, but he made a detailed chart with you on whether Jess or Logan was Rory's soulmate in Gilmore Girls. You married him for him. For the way he loved you in a way you thought was only possible in fairytales.
“Spencer,” you breathe out shakily as his eyes lock onto yours, looking impossibly soft. “I don’t even know how to describe how I’m feeling right now. I love you. I love you so so so much. I can’t believe you asked Penelope for my pinterest board. I can’t believe you even remembered me mentioning it. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“Of course I did…I love you,” he smiles gently as he tugs you closer, his hand wrapping round your waist. “I’m going to be doing things like this for you forever. It’s the least I could do. You are the most incredible girl in the entire universe,”. He smirks as he leans his forehead down to touch your own. “And that's saying a lot because the universe is actively expanding and actually the rate at which it’s expanding is accelerating which means—”
“Wait,”. He suddenly stops and takes a breath. “I’ll tell you about galactic redshift later because I’m getting too distracted by how you look in this dress,” His lips slightly turn up as his voice lowers. “And how much I want to see it on the floor.”
You can feel your face heat up for like the ten thousandth time today and you groan, pushing a strand of hair back behind your ear.
“You can’t keep saying these things,” you pout and he quickly leans down to press a quick peck to your lips. “I can’t help blushing. I think I have a chronic blushing problem.”
He laughs as he picks you and gently sets you amongst the flower petals on the silky bedspread, putting the basket on the floor before tossing his suit jacket aside.
“Chronic implies that it's long lasting which in this case I think is ideal,” he kisses your forehead in between words as he sits beside you on the bed. “You look too cute blushing— I don’t ever want it to go away.”
You giggle until his lips brush yours and every other thought melts from your mind. He kisses you so gently at first, like you’re porcelain on the verge of shattering. One of his hands reaches up to cup your face, while the other one settles on your waist—contentedly drawing little circles into the fabric of your wedding dress with his thumb. You sigh against his mouth as every nerve ending in your body seems to spark to life all at once.
At your sigh, his breath hitches and his tongue slowly slips into your mouth at the given opportunity. The hand that was against your cheek slides to cup the back of your head as he gently lowers you to lay back against the pillows. Your hair splays out, and he raises up from your lips to stare down at you adoringly.
“My beautiful wife,” he breathes out as his eyes trace your every feature. He lowers his lips to barely brush against yours once more. “My gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”
Before tears of emotion could fall from your eyes, he's kissing you again, and you can feel how much of himself he’s putting into it. He’s kissing you like your lips are what will save him from an incurable disease. Your wedding dress is twisted and flowing around the both of you, and his hands slide under you to fiddle with the delicate buttons on the back.
He raises his head once again and smiles at you, and everything that is outside of the little bubble the two of you created disappears.
“Can I take this dress off baby?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Yes please.”
“Your wish is my command,” he winks and you giggle, amazed at the way he can turn everything from serious and deeply intimate to funny, and yet still make the silliest of things romantic. “Sit up a little for me, angel.”
You obey him and his soft voice without question. His long fingers begin to attempt to unhook each button. Keyword… attempt.
He huffs with a slight pout as his nimble fingers fail to get a grasp on even the first button.
“I have an IQ of 187 and yet these buttons seem to require one even higher. Why are they so tiny? I mean they're beautiful… but Vera Wang certainly doesn't design with efficiency in mind.”
“You should send them a letter.”
“Haha… very funny,” he pouts again as he finally manages to unhook the first one. “I have half a mind to.”
Suddenly his face brightens and his eyes get that twinkling look again.
“I have an idea,” he grins as he leans down towards the buttons. “Kisses for good luck.”
You smile and start to giggle again until you feel the press of his lips to each button through your dress. The butterflies come to life in your stomach again and begin to fly in dizzyingly fast circles.
“There we go,” he murmurs as his lips brush each button and somehow…they unbutton as he tries his hand at it once more. “Told you. Kisses are good luck. Scientifically proven now.”
“You don’t believe in luck,” you whisper as his fingers unhook the last of the buttons.
“I do when it comes to you,” he breathes out as he gently pulls the sleeves of your dress down your arms, and lays you down to pull it off the rest of your body.
Damn, you’re blushing again. And you don’t think it will ever go away as long as Spencer is alive to make you feel this way.
Once the dress is all the way off, you hear Spencer's breath catch, and you look up at him shyly through your eyelashes. You were in wedding lingerie, that this morning your bridesmaids giggled and complimented as they helped you dress. The lingerie was white and lacy, delicate edges against your skin.
“You,” he leans down to kiss you between each word. “Are..” Kiss. “So…” Kiss.” Pretty…” Another kiss.
“Do you like it?” you murmur, stealing another kiss as he lifts his head once more. “I wanted to look pretty and special for tonight.”
“Like it?” he blinks like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “Angel…like is too insignificant a word for how I feel about you in this. Like… is used for saying you like a drink or dessert. Like…is a widely disproportionate word for how I feel about you. I feel like love is even too small to describe it.”
He exhales and leans down to kiss the lace of the bralettes edge, murmuring sweet things that you could barely make out.
“Hey,” you murmur as you reach for the buttons on his white dress shirt. “I can’t be the only one half naked.”
He grins as he raises his head, and now it's your turn to fumble with buttons.
“Here,” he whispers, as his larger hands cover your shaky ones and begin to help undo the buttons on his shirt. Once he reaches the end, he shrugs off the shirt and tosses it on the floor, not caring where it lands.
You let out a soft breath as he lets you gaze upon his chest. He was so handsome, so pretty. He wasn’t built with bulging muscles or a wide chest. Instead, he was built especially for you. He was lean yet defined, strong without being crushing.
You didn’t have any words so you said the only thing that really mattered.
“I love you, Spencer Reid.”
He leans down, and right before his lips meet your own you catch the mist that begins to cloud his eyes.
“I love you,” he murmurs as he kisses your lips and then begins trailing his own lips down your neck.
“I love you,” he repeats again as his lips latch onto that special spot on your neck, the one he's studied thoroughly and knows it’ll make you squirm. Your hips slightly arch to meet his as he sucks and gently bites at the skin, marking you as his own. You can feel the length of him, a not so subtle hardness pressing against you.
You let out a whiny whimper and you can feel his smile spread across his lips as he keeps kissing his way down to your lace covered breasts.
He kisses all around the lace edge and then reaches both hands up to cup them, marveling in how they fit within his palms.
You whine again as he gently squeezes and begins to knead them, the sensation shooting down between your legs.
“These are so pretty,” he mutters in a low voice as he stares at them. “So perfect for me, look at how they fit in my hands.”
“Oh…god,” you let out in a breathy little moan, the feeling and the sight of him playing with your breasts causing the damp patch on your panties to grow even damper.
“Mm-mm,” he tuts gently. “I don’t think a deity is making you feel like this right now baby.” He grins as you let out another soft little whimper. “Who’s making you feel this way right now? Cmon…you can say it.”
“Spencer!” you cry out as he rolls his hips against yours while he continues playing with your breasts, the friction causing a delicious pleasure to flood your senses.
“Thats it angel,” he whispers against your lips with each slow roll of his hips. “Good job… I knew you could do it.”
The praise he lavishes you with goes straight to your core, while he simultaneously reaches around to unhook the lacy bra, this time his fingers not fumbling at all. As it falls off he stares once again for a moment, before lowering his head to attach his lips around one peak while his hand paid attention to the other breast so it wasn’t neglected. He gently sucks and laves his tongue over it causing an exorbitant amount of high pitched noises to leave your lips.
He detaches for a moment to gaze up into your eyes.
“Is this good, angel? Do you want me to keep going or do you want something else?”
“It's so good,” you manage to choke out as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “But can…can you use your mouth and fingers on me?”
Of course, your cheeks pinken again and he grins.
“Where do you want them baby?”
“You know where.”
“Uh-uh” he shakes his head, trying to hide the slight smirk that begins to form across his face. “I need you to say it. Do you think you can do that, huh? Tell me where you want my fingers and mouth. I need to know exactly.”
“I want them…down there,” you manage to squeak out.
He sighs as he shakes his head again.
“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific, beautiful girl,” he crawls down the length of your body. “‘Down there…,’” he leans down, his breath ghosting above your knee, “could be anywhere.”
He presses a kiss to your kneecap and then the side of it as you pout.
“Did you mean down here?”
“No…”
He grins and brushes a kiss to your inner thigh.
“Then did you mean right here?”
“Spencer!” you whine again, looking down at him petulantly.
“Tell me where, angel. Use your words,” he whispers looking up at you with soft eyes this time. “You can say it, it’s just me. I’m your husband. Don’t be embarrassed.”
You inhale softly, swayed by the love in his tone and the truth of his statement.
“Can you use your fingers and your mouth…” your eyes duck down as your voice gets incrementally lower with every word that escapes your lips, “on my…on my pussy?”
Your voice comes out in the softest shyest whisper on the last word, but he still smiles gently.
“Of course baby,” murmurs and inches up a little bit to play with the little lace bow at the top of the edge of your panties. “Good girl, I’m so so proud of you for saying it.”
He presses a kiss to the bow, his lips skimming the lace and his fingers brushing over the wet patch that was increasingly becoming wetter.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he says in a low tone, with a hint of pride. He begins to slowly inch the panties down your thighs and legs, like he was unveiling the most precious treasure in the world. “Look at you…” he breathes out, “so pretty and perfect. My wife. Made just for me.”
You let out a breathy little gasp as his long fingers part your folds. He lowers his head so that his warm breath ghosts against your clit, and you whimper as you helplessly squirm. As you looked down upon his head between your legs— his hair fell in front of his forehead making him look even more handsome in the low lighting.
He swipes his thumb against your aching clit, making you cry out as he relieves some of the tension. Your hips jump and he laughs softly and then...
“Oh—” you gasp as his head finally lowers and he flicks his tongue against your clit, his hands gently holding your hips down in place. “Spencer I— ah!”
He continued licking at your clit, and then gently sucked at it, raising a high pitched sob from your throat. You could feel him alternate between flicking his tongue and suckling, the combination leaving you squirming and whimpering under his touch.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more pleasurable, he gently slipped a finger inside of you, moving it very slowly at first, and then finding a comfortable pace after he felt your walls adjust around him.
“Spencer it feels—” your words were cut off by the moan that you couldn’t help.
“Yeah baby, I know…it feels so good, I know,” he murmurs as he looks up then leans back down to suckle at your clit again. “You don’t have to say it, just let me keep taking care of you.”
He continues to pump his fingers in you, adding a second one— then a third when he feels you’re ready. You could hear the obscene sound of your wetness as he licks and moves his fingers in and out, curling them until he hits that spot inside you. That spot that he knows will send you to the highest of heavens.
“Spence…mm..” you whimper. “M’close.”
He doubles down his efforts, but what sends hurtling over the edge of your orgasm was his whispered ‘I love you’ against your clit.
You shake and tremble through the waves of pleasure as he continues between your legs, licking and sucking as you ride out your orgasm.
When you finally lay panting, he presses one last quick kiss to your clit, the sensitivity making your hips slightly buck again and a soft whimper to leave your mouth. He makes his way back up to look into your eyes.
“Hey,” he breathes out. “Are you okay?”. His eyes search your own. “You did so well, looked so beautiful.”
“I’m good,” you whisper shakily, looking into his adoring gaze. “I…wow.”
He smiles gently and begins covering your forehead and cheeks in soft pecks.
“Do you want a hug?” he says softly, looking back up into your eyes.
“Yes please,” you whisper, wanting so desperately to be in his arms before he enters you again.
He lights up, and pulls you into a hug, his lips brushing the top of your head.
“I love you so much,” he hums out, rubbing your lower back.
“I love you too,” you whisper back into his bare chest.
He holds you tight for another minute, whispering soft ‘I love yous’ ever so often.
“I’m ready,” you whisper against his chest and he knows exactly what you mean.
He kisses your forehead and sits up, beginning to slide his boxers off. You watch in soft adoration as they fall to the floor, and his pretty cock comes into view. You’ve never thought a cock could be thought of as pretty, but Spencer has proven you wrong time and time again.
You reach out to wrap your hand around it, but he gently catches your wrist in his own hand and holds it away.
You begin to speak but he gently shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes.
“I want to make love to you now,” he breathes out as he eases you back onto the bed. “I want to be inside you and if you…touch me now…I might not last.”
When you're laying flat against the pillows again, his hands come up to hold onto yours beside your head. His eyes lock onto yours and you can feel all the love he has for you in his gaze. The emotion builds and builds in the silence until a lump forms in your throat and suddenly your eyes are stinging.
“Hey…hey,” he exhales, pressing his nose to yours, as you feel a drop of water make its way down your cheek. “Don’t cry, angel. I love you so so much. I’m right here. We’re married now,”. He swallows and now you can see that he’s on the verge of tears too. “You’re…You’re my wife now.”
He quickly swipes at his eyes before reaching back down to interlock your fingers again. He kisses each salty tear away with the aching tenderness that makes your heart squeeze.
“I love you so much,” you breathe out as he reaches down to position the tip of himself against your entrance.
“Love you back…my perfect girl…my wife,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead gently, then sweetly pecking your nose. “Ready, baby?”
You nod, unable to speak, because if you do you might start crying again.
He gives you the most gentle, the most impossibly sweet smile before he begins to sink into you. You squeeze his hands tight as he presses deeper slowly, taking his time to savor the first moment you are connected as husband and wife.
You gasp as he goes as deep as he can go, his cock kissing the most inner parts of you. His forehead pressed against yours, and his eyes were closed. This was it. You felt every emotion spiral through you, both of your souls swirling and dancing around each other, connecting in the most intimate of ways.
“God…” he breathes out, his voice trembling. “I love you with everything I am. You feel so good around me. You’re a perfect fit, like always. I don’t–...I can’t—,” he chokes out, taking another breath before continuing, “Every part of me belongs to every part of you.”
A tear rolls down your cheek, one that you both don’t bother brushing away.
“I’m your girl forever,” you say shakily. “I want to be like this always. I never… I never want to be without you, Spencer,” You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer, his chest, pressing against your own. “You’re my other half.”
He swallows back the lump in his own throat, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he smiles softly and kisses your forehead.
“Us forever,” he whispers into your ear, then draws back to lock eyes with you, as he begins to thrust slowly. “It’s you and me.”
You gasped as his cock brushed against the most innermost part of you again and again. Every part of you was connected to every part of him. Each slow stroke sent sensations throughout your whole body— echoing into your bones. You clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into his bare skin as he made love to you.
“That’s it, angel,” he whispers into your ear. “You’re doing so well. There you go,”. He looked at you with the kind of reverence one would show a religious landmark. You were the temple that he worshiped at.
His thrusts remained slow but deep as he looked into your eyes— hitting that spot deep within you that made your whole body tense and clench around you.
“Is that it?” he murmurs, reaching down to rub slow circles on your clit in tandem with his purposeful strokes. He smirks as you let out a high-pitched ‘ah’—hoisting your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. “Yeah… that’s it.”
"You don’t have to be so smug about it,” you manage to choke out between high pitched gasps. “I-oh,” your voice dissolves into the prettiest moan Spencer has ever heard.
Spencer's breath hitched—any confident remark he was about to fire off gone as he felt your walls clench tightly around him again. He gazes at you like you were a miracle that he was somehow lucky enough to stumble into because, to him, you were.
Spencer?” you whimper into his shoulder, as he adjusts your hips so he can hit that glorious spot each time.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Harder…please.”
Spencer's breath stutters at your whine, and you can hear the soft inhale he takes in your ear before he nods, adjusting his weight above you and starts to firmly thrust into you. The sound of the headboard rattling against the wall above you was almost erotic in its own way— knowing that Spencer was putting that much effort into bringing your pleasure that a whole king sized bed could shake.
“You’re so good,” he breathes out as you clutch and cling to him, sensing you nearing the edge. “You’re my wife…my perfect girl.”
He keeps circling your clit, building you up through a steady rhythm instead of quickly trying to get you to your peak. As your body started to tense and tighten, he pressed kisses all over your cheeks and face, light brushes that were so light they felt like a feather caressing your face.
“Baby, I’m close,” you whimper as your hips lift, chasing the friction of his hand as he thrusted.
“I know,” he breathed out, kissing your collarbone. “You’re doing so well. Let me take care of you, I’m gonna get you there.”
As he murmured sweet nothings in your ear, the waves of pleasure grew and grew until they reached their crest— and you shattered around him with a broken moan.
“Spencer!” you cried as your body trembled and he held you so close it almost hurt but you didn’t care.
“Let go baby,” He whispered as he continued with slow strokes as you rode out your orgasm. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. We have this forever.”
You pant softly as you come down, him still thrusting gently trying not to overstimulate you as he reaches his own peak.
“Fuck— baby,” he gasped out as you felt him tense then spill into you. “I love you.”
As you both catch your breath together, you look up into his eyes, a post orgasmic haze hovering around the both of you. Your hand lifts, trembling a bit, and you push the soft curls back from where they were hanging over his forehead into his eyes so you could have a clearer view.
“You okay?” he whispers, studying every inch of your face to make sure there was no lingering soreness. “I went a little harder towards the end there. Was that okay?”
You smile because this was Spencer. Soft and sweet and yours. Always checking in and returning his gentle self after taking control and giving you the most pleasurable sensations you’ve ever felt in your life.
“Spencer,” you breathe out, pulling his head closer to yours to steal a kiss in between words. “That was amazing. Best wedding night ever.”
He presses another peck to your lips, then raises his head to look into your eyes with a silly smile forming on his lips.
“Best wedding night ever?” he laughs, poking the tip of your nose. “This was your only wedding night ever.”
You giggle as you reach up to poke his nose back.
“Yeah, but in my imagination if I had ever had any other wedding nights, this would be the best.”
He caught your wrist before you could poke his nose again, and a slow smirk spread over his face before kissing your forehead over and over again.
“I guess we just have to get married over and over to each other so we can have more wedding nights and do a comparison of all of them,” he smiles as you begin to giggle again, warmth from the sounds of your laugh spreading throughout your chest. “That way I can run a statistical analysis.”
“Only you would suggest analyzing our wedding night for science,” you smile as he continues pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead.
He smiles as he leaves one more peck on your nose, before rolling off you and standing up.
“Where are you going?” you pout, the warmth that had been present only seconds ago now gone cold.
He smiles as he reaches down to stroke your hair.
“I am going to get something to clean you up,” he whispers, “and then…we’re going to order so much room service.”
You perked up immediately.
“Room service? Can we get whatever we want?”
He laughs as he comes back with a warm washcloth, sitting beside you on the bed again.
“Whatever we want, angel,” he says softly as he leans down to gently clean you between your thighs. His touch was so soft, wiping away whatever remained and soothing any lingering soreness.
After he finished and quickly disposed of the washcloth, he lay back beside you and you immediately found yourself back in his arms— like you were two opposite ends of a magnet.
“I love you,” he murmured against your forehead. “My lovely, perfect wife.”
You looked up from your cocoon in his arms, and met his eyes, overflowing with adoration.
“I love you too,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering as you tried to force yourself to keep them open— not wanting this night to end quicker than it had to.
“Hey,” Spencer breathed against your forehead, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes, “you can go to sleep…I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. We have tomorrow like this, then our honeymoon… then forever.”
Your stomach flipped again at the mention of forever, as his breath warmed your ear. You were plastered to him, like you were an extension of his body.
“Don’t let go,” is the only thing you come up with to whisper back, because if you tried to say more you might start crying from emotion like earlier.
He immediately shakes his head, like even the notion was absurd.
“Never ever” he whispered back with one final sleepy kiss to your forehead.
You fall asleep mid mumble of ‘I love you’, and he just smiled against your forehead, squeezing even tighter.
You didn’t have to finish the sentence. He already knew. You had forever to say it again, anyways.
****
hiiii! i hope you guys enjoyed, this took me like a wholeee day to write! if you liked it pretty please like and reblog! it would mean so so much to me!
