Here to Misbehave (Epilogue | S.R.)
Summary: Spencer and Reader (finally) get their happily ever after. A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who tagged along to read this. I will always remember the first series I've ever finished, and all of the people who helped me out along the way. I love you all dearly. Thank you for everything. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Weddings, alcohol, mild exhibitionism, oral (female receiving), penetrative/unprotected sex, Daddy kink, breeding kink Word Count: 7.1k
MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist
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It was a cool, calm Virginia morning. The kind of day that begins with crisp air and perfectly tuned melodies of songbirds that somehow knew how to sing in harmony. The early hours sun cast a comforting glow to few droplets that dripped from the morning glory petals.
Inside the bridal suite, however, things were far from serene. As far away as it could get.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said for what felt like the fifth time of the hour. “How am I running late to my own wedding?!”
JJ, ever the source of reason, tried to placate the disastrous bride with two firm hands on my shoulders.
“You aren’t running late, everything is fine!”
“No, according to Spencer’s very thorough itinerary—" I tried to cut in, only to be drowned out by the shrill command of none other than Penelope Garcia.
“Do not let Reid be a bridezilla! If anyone is going to be the bridezilla by proxy, it’s going to be me. I have waited too long and planned too hard for him to ruin this for me!”
The silence that followed was palpable. The Freudian slip went unnoticed for a few more seconds, until the silence was broken by a half-hidden snort from the other blonde who’d been trying to calm me down.
“I mean… ruin it… for you. Of course, for you,” Penelope whispered in the least convincing way, “Because I’m definitely not using your wedding as a chance to live out my luscious, extravagant daydreams from my dollhouse days… or anything.”
“Right. Of course not.”
Before that conversation could get any farther away from us, the front door opened to reveal two significantly less frenzied women carrying bags with odd clinking sounds that could only mean one thing.
“We brought more wine!” Emily sang, barely making it to the table before she began to pull out the goodies tucked away in brown paper bags. The woman trailing behind her was patient enough to set them all down before she began to unpack.
“Good timing, too,” Tara remarked as she finally caught sight of me. “Looks like you all need it.”
I hadn’t even needed to say a word before a champagne flute was in my hand. I downed half the contents just as quickly, although I savored the taste for a few seconds longer. I let the carbonation tickle my cheeks and tongue, and I used the faint taste of ethanol to bring me back to another day.
I could almost feel the bass, the pulse of the music reverberating through the floorboards beneath my feet. I could smell sweet, ethanol-tainted breath as our faces nearly met just for him to ask why I would kiss him.
My mind swarmed with memories of each time that I’d kissed him after that. There were too many for me to focus on just one, and I hadn’t wanted to, either. I wanted to feel enveloped and lost in everything good my mind could conjure.
“You look beautiful,” Alex said. The woman chuckled a bit when I jumped, but promptly took a seat beside me while she poured us both another drink.
That time, I opted to sip, instead. The morning was young, after all, and I hadn’t wanted to blur the memories too badly. Even just the thought of looking back on this day with rose-tinted nostalgia made me smile. The dopey, lovesick look was enough to earn another soft, warm sigh from the older woman.
“He’s going to be so happy to see you. I’d say more than usual, but we all know that isn’t possible.”
“Thanks. I’m so stressed out,” I said with a few awkward chuckles. “There’s so much going on and I feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions and I’m no help with any of them.”
“And the one person you desperately want to see is the one person you’re not allowed to,” she aptly noted.
While her point was valid, I got the feeling she’d just wanted to remind me about who would be waiting for me at the end of the aisle. It had worked, too, as her plans usually did.
With a more lighthearted laughter, I added, “To be fair, breaking social norms has always been a running theme in our relationship.”
At first, Alex only gave a knowing nod. It wasn’t until she had scanned the room twice before she leaned closer and whispered, “Could still be today, too.”
“What?”
“I’m just saying…” she drawled, dragging out the words and waving a nonchalant hand in the air around us. “No one is looking right now. Not even me.”
I turned to confirm her thoughts and was surprised to find that it was true. The briefest reprieve was bound to end at any second, and I felt my heart start to race before she’d even said it.
Then she did.
“If you were to make a run for his suite… who would stop you?”
“Really?” I whispered back, already gathering my wits before I asked again, just to be sure, “You think I should?”
Alex was no fool. She’d seen my bouncing feet and the fire in my eyes, and she knew that she had been right to think that nothing would be able to stop me once I’d made up my mind. But there was no judgment in her eyes — only a recognition of a pure kind of love and anticipation that couldn’t be broken down to any one narrative.
“It’s not my wedding day,” she mumbled with a sarcastic little shrug.
Then, she held out her hand to accept my flute, and I was gone. With the wind at my back and my husband on the other end of the hall, I didn’t even hesitate. My feet didn’t falter once, carrying me straight to a door propped open to reveal the heavy scent of cologne and hairspray. I could hear his laughter on the other side of the wood, and the handle was within my reach.
I had almost made it.
Then Derek Morgan had to go and get in the way.
“Alright, alright, back it up,” he ordered through laughter and with a firm yet gentle hand pressed on my shoulder. “I know you love to break rules, but Penelope made me doorman for a reason.”
“You really want to pick a fight with me? On my wedding day?”
He did not respond with words. Instead, he began to shoo me back with his other hand until I surrendered. I only took one step back, but it was enough of a victory for him to grin like a damn cat that got the canary. The sight made my blood boil, the competitiveness and playful territorial nature of our relationship coming to a head on the last day we were on somewhat equal footing.
“I know you know me, Derek Morgan,” I warned, “I know you know better than to stand between me and my husband.”
“He’s not your husband yet, Princess,” he teased.
The anger inside of me bristled. I bit down on my tongue to prevent more colorful language from slipping through. I glared at the man and tried to find whatever inane insecurity might eat at him the most, and I was fully prepared to weaponize it to get what I wanted.
But then, from the other side of the door, I saw a mop of brown hair peek through the cracks.
“Actually, we had a courthouse ceremony a few weeks ago, just the two of us, in case something happened and we had to miss this ceremony,” Spencer explained.
He probably would’ve had a more thorough story planned, but that never came to fruition, either. The second the door had opened wide enough to accommodate me, I was already through it. Like at another hotel years before, I nearly tackled the poor man to the ground in my haste.
But we were both older and wiser, now, andSpencer was ready to catch me before we both fell. A few things would never change, though; like always, when we came together it was in a flurry of laughter and kisses that would slowly become more involved until we really ought to stop.
It was that point that Derek accepted his defeat, throwing his hands into the air with a heavy sigh.
“Hopeless. And selfish!” he chastised. “Penelope is going to kill me, you know?”
Despite his cries, however, Derek knew better than to fight the two of us together. Because the second that he’d touched me, the rest of the world ceased to exist. All that mattered was the sound of his excited heart trying to find my own amongst bone cages and soft flesh.
Spencer held me as tight as he could without crushing me, burying his face in my hair enough that it was barely audible to anyone else when he asked, “Hey, little girl. Are you having a good day?”
“I hate your stupid itinerary,” I whined into the crisp, pressed shirt that I was certainly going to ruin if I cried. Somehow, I held back the tears. Most likely due to the fact that Spencer’s arms were around me, and his hands were busy drawing comforting patterns wherever they could reach.
“I know,” he sighed.
And after a few soft, calming moments later, I continued, “I don’t hate you, though.”
“I don’t hate you either,” he promised, “Not even a little.”
It turned out that it was exactly what I’d needed. Just a few blissful seconds of a pocket universe where no hatred existed. It was only the two of us, an eight-limbed, two headed monster with no intentions of ever being anything else again.
I could’ve stayed like that forever, and I wouldn’t have complained. But fate, and the itinerary, had other plans in mind. The first in the cool, albeit joyful tone of Aaron Hotchner.
“I should’ve known that I would find you two breaking rules.”
That sound, of a man recently freed from the confines of witness protection and finally ready to see his found family again, was probably the only thing that could have convinced Spencer to let me go in that moment. I had expected as much, so the fact he continued to hold my hand was good enough for me.
“What are you doing here?” he squeaked, still too frozen to do anything but stare.
“Was I meant to miss it, or am I late?” Aaron asked, to which I quickly answered, “You’re late.”
Aaron let out a heavy sigh, which was followed by a burst of air that one might categorize as a laugh. In all actuality, it was Spencer squeezing the life out of him. The man didn’t mind, though. He was all too happy to offer that same kind of calmness and comfort that I had just had the honor of receiving from my husband.
I watched the two of them, barely able to understand the incoherent whispers of happy greetings and disbelief that I’d managed to keep a secret from his this long. I let the delight emanating from Spencer fill the space where his heart had been against my chest moments earlier.
Together, we all enjoyed the long overdue reunion for as long as we could. Then, when the world started to turn again, Luke joined me at my side with frantic eyes and an even more wild voice.
“You have approximately 2 minutes until my girlfriend shows up here, and I would very much like to live, so…” he said in hushed tones like she might be able to hear his bartering, “For my life? Spare me?”
“You’re all terrified of a woman who uses stuffed animals instead of pillows,” I answered through the side of my mouth.
He had come well prepared for my insults. He’d heard the variations enough times and contemplated the perceived weaknesses of Miss Penelope Garcia, and he knew just what to say to explain how terrifying a woman wearing cat ears could be.
“Exactly,” he muttered with growing volume, “She doesn’t even need regular spinal support. She’s indestructible!”
He had a point.
“Fine. I’ll go,” I caved, much to his relief. As he started to usher me back to the door, we both glanced back to see the childlike joy still radiating off my husband. And although I smiled, I offered one final warning to the man torn between his duty as a groomsman and a partner.
“You better tell him to be more excited to see me walking down the aisle than Aaron.”
“Will do,” he laughed.
I almost thought to bolster the threat, a brief flash of worry crossing my mind as I made my way back to the exit. But then Spencer looked up and saw me, standing in a nightgown, a robe, and slippers. I knew it in his eyes, that he was acutely aware that he was seeing the woman that he loved by a different name for the last time.
His hand raised in a tiny half-wave, but the smile on his face spoke the words we had managed to forget to say.
I love you, he’d said with teary eyes and trembling hands.
I love you, too, I answered.
I’ll see you soon, I wanted to say, but we both knew it could never be soon enough.
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I am, first and foremost, a man of science. Since a very young age, I have believed that there are few things in this world that are sure. Even the most basic of fundamental principles have changed through the years. Things that we once thought to be common sense turned out to be nothing but the false, unsubstantiated arrogance of man.
I hesitate to say that any one thing is definitive or true. When it comes to my future, I am even more of a skeptic than usual. But there was one thing that remained true through it all.
I was meant to be with her.
Most days, it felt more like an inevitability than a hypothesis. Unlike my usual drive to disprove the obvious, I did nothing but bask in the joy that never ceased to exist when she was beside me. For once, I did nothing to fight happiness when the universe rewarded me with it.
It was a simple, yet recklessly brave thing, to simply accept that I had the privilege of loving a woman who happened to love me back.
Granted, her typical expressions of love were always unique and at times confusing — I was finally starting to believe Derek when he told me that people pull on pigtails when they like you — but at some point over the years, I had learned her language. It was as natural to me as English.
That was why, of all the people in the room, I had been the most nervous when the procession music started playing. My heartbeat was masked by the playful prancing of the others, but it did nothing to calm the frantic organ.
There was only one person in the world who would be able to appease the demands of a lovesick heart in that moment. The moment that I had been waiting for my whole life, the one that I often thought would never come for me.
My life started to flash before my eyes, growing ever quicker until it arrived on that fateful night. The first time that I laid eyes on her, lost in the sound of deafening music and the sea of bodies. Her eyes called to me from so far away that it seemed downright almost impossible to feel as close to her as I had.
I’d never told her how I’d tried to hide. I didn’t want to admit to her that my first instinct upon seeing a creature as beautiful as her look in my direction was to run as far away from her as I could. But be it fate, luck, or instinct, the two of us had found each other again.
Looking back now, it was a silly memory. I couldn’t tell if I was ashamed or proud to say that our dynamic had never really changed from the absolute idiot of an FBI agent all but pinned against brick by a girl who wielded nothing but a sharp tongue and quick hands. I would be a victim to them for the rest of my life, and I was all too happy to surrender.
Some part of me had known. That was the only explanation for why my body reacted like both sides of a magnet when faced with her presence. I kept her away because I knew that she was dangerous. She represented everything I’d never had; a peace, serenity, and unconditional affection that I would forever crave to continue.
She was… terrifying, and beautiful, and everything I’d ever wanted or needed. Everything I could ever dream of; the only existence in the infinite realities that I would want to exist in.
I wished I could tell her all of that now, but my heart was so full that it threatened to choke me.
The beginning of the end began. The final song that I had trained myself to react to like Ivan Pavlov’s canine friends. I kept my eyes closed as I turned my attention to the sound of silence. I waited until I heard the fabric of her dress move, and the sound of soft, happy gasps filled the air. I waited until my eyes had already begun to fill with tears and my lips trembled under the weight of the waiting.
Then, only when I was sure that she would be able to understand just how happy I was to be the one on the other end of the aisle, I opened my eyes to find my future.
The second that our eyes met, the rest of the universe started to disappear. Aaron’s arm around hers grew tighter, but her hands were still just as quick as the day I’d met her.
She tried to take her time, God bless her soul, but she couldn’t wait. I saw no reason to make her.
She’d only made it about halfway down the aisle before she gave up any remaining semblance of patience. With her dress gathered in her hands, she ran to me until she crashed into me at full speed.
I caught her, only barely, but enough. I stumbled enough to draw giggles from the people who’d gathered to watch us. I had enough in my arms not to care.
I had my entire world, my future, and the rightful owner of my heart.
To her credit, she kept her composure fairly well from that point on. I could tell by the smile plastered on her face and the tightness of her pinky around mine that she would attribute her newfound patience to some kind of diffusion of temperament. She would be wrong, though. I had never felt such a sense of urgency in my life.
I was so ready for them to say the final words, to end this existence and begin a new one where I was legally and socially recognized as the half of her that I’d always felt that I’d been. I mouthed the words along with him, counting down the syllables until it was over.
And then, he broke script.
“Before we get to the big finale, the bride has prepared something to read to her groom.”
Whatever I thought he’d say, that was the furthest thing from it. The words were so strange and foreign to my ears, that it took me an embarrassingly long time to process it. But when I turned to the woman standing beside me, I knew that I had nothing to fear. Not even a little bit.
“She has?” I asked, just to be sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“Sure did,” she said, letting her tongue sneak between her teeth (no doubt to alert me that I should, in fact, be at least a little bit scared).
But I wasn’t.
“Go ahead,” I urged, instead.
I was immediately met with her body bumping into mine and a laughter spilling from her lips.
“Give me a second!” she cried.
I gave it to her freely. With a knowing smile and shaky breath, I promised her the rest of the life that I had left. I would do anything to hear her, even at the cost of my own voice like the naive girl from Hans Christian Anderson tale.
But luckily, I didn’t have to give her anything but the continued use of my hand, which she held onto for dear life as she began with one simple word.
“Spencer,” she said.
She looked up at me as if to ask for my permission to continue, but she found nothing except the fullest adoration and pride. That was enough.
“From the moment I met you, I knew that you would be a very important person in my life. I didn’t quite foresee this, although I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that you did.”
I could see flashing lights in her eyes, the amalgamation of everything, both beautiful and disastrous, that guided us to where we were. I saw tears that were caught in each other’s hands. Words smeared against skin already starting to wrinkle from few too many smiles.
I saw her as she was now, as she had been, and all the ways she would come to be.
“Because you are as brilliant as you are kind,” she said, and I wondered if she could feel my heart aching, in the best way, with every word standing between the two of us. A bit ironically, she chuckled, “You are as patient as you are funny, and as strong as you are... Well, actually, we’ll get back to that one.”
Everyone joined her to laugh, then. Myself included.
“Still, despite your adorable stature, you have never failed to pick me up when I’ve fallen. So much more often than I could ever offer in return.”
My heart stopped entirely, then. I heard the shaky, shame-tainted timbre, and my grip around her pinky became relentless. Determined to object the only way I felt capable.
But that girl just shook her head with a knowing smile, as if I’d proven her point.
“And I know that’s probably never going to change. There is so much that you do for me that I’ll never be able to replicate. I’ll never be able to fully pay you back for the way that you have loved me over the years. But…”
Her voice cracked, taking with it any sense of decorum that remained. My hands, tired of being so far from her, reached out to hold her. My thumbs tried to catch tears without ruining all the hard work she’d done to look as she did then.
I wanted to tell her that I would have been her husband no matter how she looked. That I had seen enough of her to know that I would never find her to be anything but perfect. But I saw the pain, the rawness of her throat and the vulnerability in her whisper.
“But I promise you…” she said, barely making her way through the words but needing them said, nonetheless. “I will spend every day of the rest of my life… trying to make up the difference.”
My body acted without my permission, forcing all else out of the way before I found her again. Our lips met, aided by salty tears and sweet laughter. The ordained minister was all too happy to skirt the rules, not even bothering to grant me permission to do what I was destined to do.
Although I heard the crowd, each individual voice of everyone we’ve ever loved cheering us on, I couldn’t find it in me to care about anything but getting in those last few, final words.
“There is nothing you have to prove to me,” I urged the girl, my wife, as I held her as tight as I could without breaking. “I already love you, and I always will.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
And, in that rare way, I knew it to be definitive and true.
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I hadn’t really ever been the kind of person to fantasize about my wedding day. Or at least, it didn’t seem that way when I’d been flanked by Penelope and Spencer during the planning. The number of spreadsheets and repurposed evidence boards made even the worst bridezilla seem relatively calm.
But now that the day had come, and the ceremony had passed, I allowed myself one moment of peace and quiet to consider where I was. I walked through the bridal suite, drawing my fingers over discarded robes and bits of bouquet that hadn’t quite made it to the main event.
It was a strange, but soft moment. A realization that everything I’d been through led me to that moment, there in the present, surrounded by so many diverse tokens of love. It wasn’t in my nature to get misty eyed at the thought, but I did. After chuckling to myself at how soft I’d become, I allowed myself the patience and understanding that I’d gone through enough bad tears.
I deserved at least a few more of the good ones. As they fell to stained lips, I cherished the taste of salt that carried no bitterness. Only love in its purest state.
Then, as if a message from the universe, my husband’s hand wrapped around my waist with all the care and stealth in the world.
“Could I help you out of this, Mrs. Reid?” he hummed as he dragged his knuckles against the side of my first of two dresses for the evening.
“That sounds nice.”
“Which part?” he teased.
If it had been any other day, I wouldn’t have crumbled at the implication. I would have fought him harder and made him beg. But in that moment, alone on our wedding day for the first time, I couldn’t help but to melt further into his embrace. I did, however, provide him with a colorful nickname.
“Arrogant prick.”
Despite the insult, Spencer’s hands remained relentless. He quickly gathered as much of the skirt as he could, all while his mouth buried itself against my neck. I laughed, not just from the tickling, but because it was so very like him to want to have me before I managed to switch into my reception dress.
“That’s no way to talk to your husband, Mrs. Reid,” he reprimanded playfully.
“And you should know better than to expect your wife to behave.”
“Funny you say that,” he chirped, his tone taking on that warbling sound that accompanied his highest states of joy. “I happen to know a number of ways to make you behave.”
I managed to escape from his grip for just long enough to turn around to face him. My husband was quick to correct the dress as it fell to cover me again. Once again, he found my hips underneath the fabric and helped hoist me onto the table behind us.
He didn’t remove his hands, instead making good use of their placement to begin to remove the frilly, fragile underwear that I’d hardly expected to make it through the day. Spencer, however, did not break them as I thought he might. His motions were precise and careful as he guided my legs until the fabric fell away.
When he joined me again, with his nose touching mine and our breaths intermingling to create a cocktail of champagne and enthusiasm, I asked the question that had been on my mind ever since he’d mentioned the word.
“Why would you ever want me to behave?”
“Maybe… I don’t,” he sighed in surrender. We’d both known it was the truth.
His usually competitive spirit was dampened, though. Or maybe distracted was a better term. Deftly fidgeting with the strip of lace wrapped around my thigh, Spencer’s breath began to shake with a desperation that made my heart stutter just as hard.
“I thought we agreed we weren’t doing a garter toss?” he asked once he’d worked up the nerve.
“We did,” I confirmed.
Dragging his lips over mine, but continuing to entertain his fingers, he whispered, “So what’s this for, then?”
“You,” I said without any hesitation.
When I felt his smile against my cheek, I had to follow suit. Although I knew I’d be losing sight of those eyes soon, I couldn’t pretend that I hadn’t dreamed of this exact scenario the moment I began looking for garters.
Just as he pulled away, Spencer shared a few magical words.
“Well, I’d hate to disappoint the bride.”
And then he was gone, disappeared under the swaths of fabric as I broke out into a fit of giggles. I could feel his breathy laughter just as well as I could hear it. My legs wrapped around his shoulders on instinct, betraying the words I forced myself to say because I knew I would feel guilty if I hadn’t.
“We don’t have a lot of time before we’re meant to be there,” I groaned just as his teeth caught the fabric.
“They can go on without us,” he mumbled with a full mouth.
The sensation of his lips against my inner thigh was causing a flood of endorphins that felt all-consuming. I couldn’t see, breathe, or speak. The room was filling with a haze of haloed lights that began and ended with his tongue.
“B-But… the itinerary,” I strained, nonetheless.
Once the garter was far enough down, Spencer let gravity carry it the rest of the way to my ankle. He apparently hadn’t wanted to stray too far, although his ascent back up was leisurely as could be. Every few inches, his lips would pause to leave marks from feverish kisses that became more involved as he got closer.
“Fuck the itinerary,” he growled when he’d arrived where he’d wanted to be. “I want to take my time with my wife.”
With that, his mouth came to rest between my legs. There would be no further commentary or protest from me that did not come in the form of wanton moans. My own hands scrambled among the fabric, trying to find him in the mess.
For all his talk about taking his time, he seemed perfectly happy ushering me along. His tongue, as deft and unforgiving as the first night that I’d met him, lavished every bit that it could reach. His fingers, too, joined in the carnal praise.
I could almost hear him laugh as I rifled through the skirt, and as much as I wanted to join him, I couldn’t. All I could feel was the way that he still knew how to break me down in a matter of minutes. I thought of the first time he made his way down my body with a promise that I’d never leave unsatisfied.
He had been right. That day was no exception.
The sounds and smell of sex were far more intoxicating than the champagne. The setting alone was enough to make even the smallest touch feel like fire.
“Spencer,” I purred.
He hummed in response, the vibrations like sparks and gasoline. My husband obviously sensed my impending undoing because his movements became faster until it was all lost among the unending, lustful bliss.
“I can’t,” I panted. “Don’t stop.”
As usual, he obeyed. He flattened his tongue until it moved in tandem with his fingers, which drew long strokes against my walls. Each time, I shuddered until my muscles gave in entirely. My head dropped back and my hands, still searching all this time, finally connected with his hair just before the euphoria hit me.
There was no stopping it; no muting of the pleasure he provided. But through it all, I never once stopped thinking of not just how wonderful he was in that moment, but in how he had spent years memorizing every part of me. How he had never once stopped, how he only became hungrier each time he succeeded.
Spencer’s ears must have been burning from the thoughts (as well as my thighs clamped around the poor old man’s head), because he wasted no time returning to me once my body settled back to its normal, albeit trembling state.
“Hmmm,” he pondered, inspecting my blissed out, smitten smile with something more powerful than simple admiration. “Someone must be in a good mood today.”
“Yeah, so what if I am?” I scoffed. “You’d think my husband would be more grateful that I’m easy to please.”
Whether it had been the sarcasm dripping from the words, or the fact that I’d continued to smile through them all, Spencer just couldn’t let it go. I heard his belt buckle coming undone, but my eyes were locked on his. I found that spark, the playful yet twisted competitiveness that landed us in a halfway decent hotel bed.
The same one that led us here.
“Oh, you are anything but easy to please,” he corrected as kindly as possible. “I just happen to be very good at it.”
My retort died on my tongue, replaced with a sharp inhale as I felt the head of his cock slip past well-loved folds. Aided by the fruits of his labor, he slid into me with very little resistance.
It still felt like home. Our bodies melded together so effortlessly that it was impossible to find where he ended, and I began. I hadn’t wanted to, either. I wanted to share myself with him however I could. I wanted us to be consumed within one another like colliding stars, always seeking something brighter.
Then, as if he’d read my mind, my husband sighed into my ear.
“God, this never gets old, does it, little girl?”
His question was punctuated with a rough thrust that sent me further away from him than he would have liked. But it was no matter; he simply pulled me back again. He held me there, groaning as he tried to find a way to go deeper, to lose himself in me just as I’d begged him to.
But it wouldn’t have been me, the love of his life, if I hadn’t made the obvious joke.
“Not as old as you,” I mumbled.
I wish I could say that I regretted it, but I hadn’t. In fact, I quite liked where it landed me. Spencer’s nails dug into my hips, marking ten perfect crescent moons that I’d wished could be permanent.
He pulled me all the way to the edge of the table, stopping me from falling back by grabbing as much of my hair as he could without risking ruining the work that had gone into it.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
A chill ran down my spine, forcing it to arch forward. But Spencer did not move — not yet. He waited, his fingers in my hair growing tighter until I followed his directions.
Then, once I was looking at him with fresh tears in my eyes and a pout on my lip, he forced himself even further into me. He bottomed out inside of me, pressing hard against the end while still tugging my head farther back. I never once looked away; I refused to close my eyes because I wanted to please him more than anything.
“Say sorry,” he continued once he realized I wouldn’t do it on my own.
It was an easy instruction. A simple thing to do.
But he should’ve known better than to think I’d take it lying down.
After a few more moments of torturous silence and an unrelenting pressure between my legs, I let the three words spill from my lips with as much desperation and pity as I could muster.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
I actually saw Spencer’s pupils shift. I watched them pulse like waves that flowed through his whole body until he couldn’t help but continue his pace, slow and purposeful with each thrust.
“Fuck, don’t do that,” he begged. “You almost made me come.”
Giggles abound, I didn’t even try to stop my body from tensing around him with each motion. My legs drew him in until we came together in short bursts of powerful movement.
“Do it, Daddy,” I dared that brilliant, beautiful man.
His hand in my hair fell gently, floating down to cup my burning cheek. He held me as tenderly as he could during the collision. He tried to kiss me, but neither of us could keep our lips closed for long enough.
We stayed, anyway. We looked into each other’s eyes and basked in the love radiating from us, the undying affection that filled the space that physics demanded to remain. I found him, too, with my own hand against his opposite cheek. My thumb brushed over damp red cheeks. I smiled, unable to contain the multitudes I felt in that moment.
“Do it, Spencer,” I begged. “I wanna make you a daddy for real this time.”
My husband found a way to kiss me then. His lips crashed onto mine, and his whole body tensed as his hips joined mine in bruising, staccato motions. I kissed him back as hard as I could until I felt it. The warmth, love, and relief flooded me unlike ever before. My mouth dropped open, but Spencer continued to litter my face with kisses.
Anything to be closer, to shower me with enough love to last a lifetime. Enough to sustain life, to bring life anew.
It was so terribly romantic that I couldn’t even bring myself to joke. The laughter that followed was sleepy and unsure, but he didn’t mind.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he joined in. “I, uh… I somehow wasn’t expecting that.”
“Oh, don’t worry. That’s what I wanted to happen,” I said with a sated sigh.
We stayed like that for a little while longer. Spencer snuck his finger around the garter, pulling it back up to my thigh where he fiddled with the lace and recalled memories that had only just passed. I rested my head against his shoulder, feeling the soft beat of his pulse as it finally started to calm.
“So…” I mumbled with a mischievous timbre he couldn’t ignore.
“Go ahead,” he grumbled back.
“Turns out I’m pretty good at pleasing you, too.”
“Yes you are, little girl,” he conceded with grace, knowing it was one of the few final words I was willing to let him have. “Yes, you are.”
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The soft chirping of stubborn insects permeated heavy Virginia air. It still somehow felt light to tired lungs that had finally found a chance to rest after hectic festivities.
Of course, it might’ve had something to do with the fact I was still squeezed into my wedding dress, and my muscles were barely strong enough at this point to lift my head from Spencer’s shoulder. But I hadn’t minded where I was stuck. I would’ve stayed there forever.
“I’m exhausted, but I don’t want the day to be over yet,” I mumbled when the symphony around us began to calm.
“I’ve found that time doesn’t really care what we think,” my husband answered with a saturnine smile that faded further into bliss with every passing second. He turned to me, pressing soft kisses against the top of my head between the words, “But… I wouldn’t be too sad. We always have tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I murmured back, “Tomorrow.”
He offered his own hand, palm up like a promise to never let go. A promise we’d made a few times before that night, but I accepted, nonetheless. The second our fingers interlocked, I felt the weight and anxiety begin to melt away. It soaked through the present like rainwater to sustain thirsty roots.
I pulled my hand away to get a better look at the innocent ring perched in its place. I spun the small band around, thinking of how Spencer once told me about how the world moves. I thought about the moon, the planet, and the sun. I thought of universes upon universes into infinity.
Then I called, “Hey Spencer?”
“Yeah?” he returned.
“I want to go watch Star Trek.”
Based on his reaction, the feeling was very much mutual. A heavy sigh fell from his lips, followed by a kiss unlike all the rest. He pulled me closer and closer until the laughter broke us apart.
Then, he cried, “God, I’m so in love with you!”
His voice echoed, returning to us just before we’d chased one another inside. There was no time to be carried over the threshold. We raced until we were able to strip down and switch to more comfortable attire. The domesticity reinvigorated us just long enough to land us back where it’d all started: Curled in bed together, wondering just how many times we could fall in love with one another all over again.
The first night Spencer and I spent in our marital bed was probably not what others might expect from us. The only kinks to be found were those made up of bobby pins and hair, and the loudest noises we’d made were various types of sleepy laughter. Although, as promised, there was a lot of Star Trek.
We were tangled together, but only in the most innocent of ways. Spencer’s head rested against my chest until the soft, rhythmic thumping led him straight to a dreamland I could only imagine to be remarkably similar to reality.
I, however, stayed up just a little bit longer. I did it out of spite for time and how she never stopped moving forward. I forced my eyes to stay open as the clock sat steady at 11:59.
I dared the time to change. Because as I welcomed the new day, and the many more to follow, I held tighter to Spencer’s hand. I found strength in the simplicity of his embrace; the star-crossed fate of two people finally having found one another among the billions. I remembered that first night, and I laughed to myself as my eyes began to shut.
I let them open one more time, watching as the clock struck 12:01 before I let the voice of Captain Jean-Luc Picard lull me to sleep. In that moment, he reminded me once more of the beauty that can be found when you are finally willing to grant yourself the patience and love that you deserve.
The end.
Thank you for reading ❤️
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(Tell me what you thought of this series here!)
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