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 psychology, 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 ❤️❤️
in a world of boys, he's a gentleman ❀ s. reid x reader
in which your night out comes to an end, and your boyfriend has to try to keep your wandering hands off of him.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
genre: fluff
tags: alcohol consumption. reader is drunk. reader is a brat. spencer is so exasperated. but he loves you so bad. age gap probably. suggestive content.
word count: 2.1k
a/n: oh my god i miss having a man to pick me up and love me when im drunk #thisshouldbeme final boss level 1000. simple fun fluff i love when he's nice to us i should do this more often. circa summer 2024 ass title i'm rebuilding spencer reid tumblr brick by brick.
You were never meant to be this drunk.
Truly, you had grandeur plans for it to be a one and done night. Entertain the birthday girl — your best friend — with your presence and take care of her, for it is her night, and then go home and pass out early enough in dark green sheets and the sound of your boyfriend sleeping next to you.
You'd even told him about these plans.
Instead? He's staring down at his phone with a locked jaw, and four different messages from you glaring back up at him. Incomprehensible, if he weren't as smart as he were. If he weren't as attuned to you and your mannerisms down to the way you text. A man who doesn't even like texting, and he's memorised how you do.
Something about him picking you up, maybe, if he wants. Another thing about you finding him pretty. Another with a photo of the — and he quotes — really good vodka coke the bartender made you (he's certain it tastes the same as the last three you mentioned drinking). Finally, a photo of you in the bathrooms, arms around your best friend, grinning at the mirror through your phone, showing off your outfit to him. As if he hadn't memorised, documented, the way the skirt looked on you when you left hours earlier.
When he doesn't reply to a single message, you call him, and endearment for you grows, for he can hear the pout on your lips as you speak into the phone.
"Why're you ignorin' me?" you mumble, which isn't much help considering how loud the world around you is, your voice nearly drowning out.
"I'm not, honey," he says. "I only just checked your messages. I was about to respond."
"Liar. You're ignoring me. You hate me."
"I can assure you I don't," he's amused. He's so stupidly amused, you want to kick him for it. You don't. You can't. Instead, you let him keep sweet talking you out of your predisposed anger. "Are you having a good night?"
"Yes!" you brighten almost immediately. "Did you see the photo I sent?"
"Of your outfit? Yeah, angel. You look pretty," he's practically perfected how to talk to you when drunk. You're oblivious to it, always too intoxicated to register he is extra nice when you're barely able to hold yourself upright.
"Thank you," you reply, and he can hear the fluster. "Look prettier in—in person."
"I know. I saw you before you left, remember?"
"Oh. Yeah," your cheeks heat, and you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. The bricks are a juxtaposing cold against your back. Rough, too. Oddly comforting. "Are you busy? Am I keeping you from somethin'? S'that why you were ignorin' me?"
"No," he replies. "I'm waiting for you to be ready to come home. Is that why you're calling?"
"Mm-mm," you shake your head, giggling to yourself because you remember he can't see that. He doesn't know why you're laughing, but he smiles at it nonetheless. "Jus' wanted to hear your voice. Miss you."
"I miss you too, honey," he says, and you can hear that smile in his voice.
"What're you doin' then?" you ask, staring at the door to the club you had deserted, keeping an eye out for your friends to emerge.
"Reading."
"Reading what?"
"Sofia Petrovna," he tells you, and, as if he can see the way your eyebrows furrow, he adds, "Russian novel by Lydia Chukovskaya. I'll find a translation so you can read it, I think you'd like it."
"You should jus' read it to me right now," you mumble, crouching down to the floor, resting your head on your knees. "Translate for me."
"You most certainly won't remember a thing I'm saying. Where are your friends?"
"In the club. It got overstimulating," you tell him.
There's a pause on the other end of the line, and an excuse about how you can actually see your friends still — you can't — manifests on your tongue, preempting the scolding he's no doubt formulating.
However, two simple, stern — but not too scary — words kill the faux reassurance immediately. "You're alone?"
You hesitate. "...No?"
"Can you go find your friends, please? I don't want you outside alone."
"Yes, sir," you stand back up. His jaw clenches, biting back his reprimand. He doesn't have the energy to lecture you about the dangers of being this drunk alone, and he's sure you wouldn't appreciate it anyways. Or remember it. "I will call you back later! Bye! Love you!"
He continues to hear from you for the two hours following. A photo once you find your friends to assure him you're safe, a mistyped message about how you love him more than anything in the world, another asking if he's mad at you when he doesn't reply. Eventually, you're calling him again, chatter from the smoker's lounge you'd disappeared into loud, but he can faintly make out you asking him to pick you up.
He finds himself in an empty enough street just a block away from the last club you told him you were going to, waiting.
There were people everywhere, just past the corner of the street. Girls with their bags hanging limply down by their calves, fast food paper bags held up to some of their mouths. Never his scene, but he's shown up enough for you since you started dating to know what he's looking out for.
He can see you before you spot him, but when you do, he can't fight the smile at the sight of you brightening up in an instant. Distantly, he hears you call his name, pointing him out to your friends and stumbling towards the car.
"Hi!" you collapse against the passenger's seat door, window open and waiting for you, as you lean into the car.
Recognising the offer for what it was, he leans across the console to kiss you before you can start drunkenly accusing him of not loving you. Or whatever you can come up with to start a baseless, completely harmless argument with him.
"Hi, honey. Good night?" he asks as you finally pull open the door, settling into the seat with a sigh, head nodding as you peel your shoes off of your feet and curl up.
"I think so," you murmur, hair covering your face as you drop your head, and a yawn stretches your mouth open. "I'll tell you all about it t'morrow."
"Can't wait," he muses.
"You never answered me," you then say — which is generous, considering he could barely make out a word — looking over at him. "'Bout if you're mad."
"I wasn't mad," he reassures you. "Just worried. Thought we talked about not being out and alone when you're this intoxicated?"
"Yeah. I know. Sorry."
Tomorrow, as it turns out, follows a quiet drive home for you to collect your thoughts, and his helping hands at removing your makeup and getting you into the shower. A year old promise that he will always force you under the water before bed no matter what protests you come up with.
Now, here you are, rambling his ear off animatedly on the edge of the bathroom sink, as he brushes a wet comb through your hair.
He's listening intently, soaking in every word you were saying about your night out, even if it entirely made no sense to him. Your attempt at stringing together your night's events was poor at best, and he's pretty sure you've re-explained four times that you went into then night with fake names and backstories to try and fool everyone.
"And then we went to... um... I forgot the name. But it was free entry, so we went in, obviously, and this guy bought us drinks because of the birthday sash she was wearing, so that was awesome. That was the vodka coke I sent you, it was so goo—can I have a kiss?"
Your request catches him off guard, and the comb clatters to the basin beside you when his hand drops from your hair.
"Is that all you want?" he hums, leaning forwards. His lips brush against your own, and you smile.
"Yep. Just a kiss," you chirp, slouching your shoulders so you could look up at him with wide eyes you know all too well he can't deny. "Please?"
You just had to ask so nicely, and he was left with very little choice in the matter in the end.
He kisses you for only a second, aiming to pull away and successfully get you into bed before you can take this any further.
Ever so sneaky, though, you catch your fingers into his hair and tug him back into you, legs hooking around his waist to keep him locked. His hips knock the cabinets, but he's distracted by your lips back on his to fully register the hit.
"Honey," he mumbles against your lips. A warning, you think. It sounds it.
You don't listen.
Instead, you inch closer to the edge of the basin until he's forced to roll his hips into yours to push you back, saving you from falling off.
You whine, and the sound has him coming back to reality, deftly pulling away from your lips. You protest, quietly, and he's forced to tangle a hand in your hair to tug your head back, keeping you away from him.
"No," he says, firmly. If you were sober, maybe you'd back down under the demand. Then again, if you were sober, he wouldn't be saying no to you. Instead, his tone of voice only makes your smile widen, and your skin tingle.
"It was just a kiss," you protest, slipping off the sink once he steps back, letting him guide you like a lost puppy back into his bedroom. "Spencer?"
"No it wasn't," he says, hand on your back as he navigates you over to his bed. "We've talked about this."
He sits down before you, and despite the scolding, lets you climb over him into the bed anyways, hips straddling his waist as he lays back on the bed.
"Just a kiss. I promise," you affirm, breath warm against his lips.
He gives in, as he always does, and lets you kiss him again.
Hips square above his, chest pressing on his, fingers ruffling the sheets beside his head. You kiss him until you're out of air, and convinced he's drunk enough on your taste to let you go further.
He isn't.
"Behave," he quips when your hand drops to his waistband, his fingers catching your wrist and lifting it back up. You're too focussed on the way his hand fits around the joint to argue.
"I am," you huff, tilting your head with a lopsided grin. "Didn't do anything!"
"Brat," he pinches your hip, and you squirm, bursting into a fit of giggles. "Go to bed."
"Can't. You've got me caged up on top of you," you jut your chin out. "Maybe you're the problem."
"Yep. Sure am," he confirms, letting his arms around you go slack, just to watch you fall off his chest and to the mattress beside him. "Sleep."
"Or what?"
He pushes air out of his nose, but it's all too difficult to stay frustrated with you when you're staring up at him with the hugest smile on your face. You know exactly what you're doing — and he's just letting you.
He thinks he will forever.
He pauses in choosing a response. "Do you want me to be nice when I wake you up tomorrow?"
"Depends," you study him, eyes narrowing; drunken skepticism. "What's your version of nice?"
"You're a smart girl. Figure it out," he kisses your nose, "and go to sleep."
"Are you being suggestive?" you sit up abruptly, and his palms find comfort in his face, running down it. "Spencer."
"I'm not answering that. Go to sleep, honey."
"I can't. Why would you say that? You're such a tease. Oh my God. I hate you," you moan, dramatically falling back down to the bed, head finding the space between his shoulder and his neck. "Do you promise?"
It's like he knows you're giving up, for his voice has dropped into a drawl, exhaustion he'd been expertly masking coming out as he speaks. "Promise what?"
"To wake me up nicely?"
"If you're good and go to sleep now, yes."
"Pinky promise?" his eyes are now closed, but you still search his face with keen interest. He smiles. He can feel it.
"Pinky promise," he affirms, and he finally — finally — fully relaxes as he feels you curl into him. "Goodnight, honey."
⋆⭒˚.⋆ locked in limbo - spencer reid x bombshell!reader
⟢ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 an unsub locks you and spencer reid in a utility closet. turns out the lack of personal space is significantly more dangerous than the unsub
⟢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 MINORS DNI +18 readers inability to take ANYTHING seriously, reader is just a girl and spencer is just a man, spencer says sorry (like a lot), two flustering rambling messes, two horny mf, just a tad (a very small amount) of unintentional dry humping!!, reader is stubborn as hell, spencer gets a boner, an almost kiss!!!, they are so awkward, avoidant reader (it’s seriously an issue atp)
⟢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 3.4k
⟢ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 okay so this isn’t smut smut (i promise we’ll get there) but hey, at least things are getting somewhat heated (I PROMISE NO MORE SLOW BURN DONT HATE ME) and oh how i would love to be locked in a closet with spencer reid
𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
the old warehouse on the outskirts of richmond was supposed to be a quick sweep.
you and spencer had been sent to check the upper-level storage rooms for overlooked evidence while the rest of the team worked the main floor.
the building was a maze of narrow hallways and half-collapsed shelving units, the air thick with dust and the faint metallic tang of rust. every step echoed a little too loudly against the concrete.
“you know,” you said, flashlight sweeping lazily across rusted beams overhead, “for a guy who thinks my iced coffee is a personal attack against humanity, you’re being suspiciously quiet about the unsub’s very obvious symmetry obsession.”
spencer turns to you, eyebrow cocked in a way that he usually did. you continued. “every victim posed the exact same way? i mean come on, that’s some virgo-level control issues.”
spencer huffed a laugh behind you. “i’m not quiet. i’m thinking. and statistically, people with obsessive-compulsive traits often gravitate toward symmetrical patterns as a way to impose order on chaos.”
“mhm. virgo behavior,” you corrected.
“its psychology.”
“aw,” you looked over your shoulder with a grin, “not into zodiacs? tragic.”
you squinted looking at the grime across the floors. “should i assume you’ve also been secretly judging the organization system on my desk this entire time?”
“your desk isn’t organized,” he replied easily, stepping closer to peer into the next room beside you. “it’s aesthetically pleasing in its disorder. like a jackson pollock painting with coffee stains.”
you laughed, low and bright, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls. “that almost sounded like a compliment.”
“it was,” he said without thinking, and the sincerity in his voice made your steps falter for half a second.
“you’re too kind,” you pushed open the door to a small utility closet, flashlight cutting through the darkness.
“this looks promising,” you muttered, shining your flashlight toward old electrical panels and dusty shelves. “if i were hiding evidence, i’d definitely pick the world’s creepiest janitor closet.”
you stepped inside first. spencer leaned in behind you, trying to angle around your shoulder for a better look.
then—
a violent shove slammed into spencer’s back.
he stumbled forward with a startled curse, his body colliding with yours hard enough to knock you against the far wall. your flashlight flew from your hand, clattering uselessly somewhere near your feet as the metal door slammed shut behind him with a deafening clang.
for a chaotic second, everything was noise and motion — spencer caught himself at the last possible second, hands bracing hard against the wall on either side of your head to keep from crushing you beneath him. your skull knocked lightly against concrete, a sharp sting blooming at the base of your neck.
“ow— shit.“ you muttered.
an emergency light overhead flickered weakly to life, washing the tiny room in dim orange light.
suddenly there was nowhere to look except him.
so everything went still.
barely inches away, chest rising hard against yours, breath warm across your face. one of his thighs had ended up wedged between yours during the impact, pinning you more effectively than the wall behind you ever could. his hands were still planted on either side of your head, fingers spread against the concrete.
neither of you moved.
your pulse slammed violently against your ribs.
you could see every detail this close. the faint freckles scattered over his nose. the way his lashes cast shadows against his cheeks under the flickering light.
his lips parted slightly as he caught his breath.
god.
spencer swallowed hard. his voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.
“you okay?” he asked quietly.
you couldn’t help but notice his voice came out rougher than usual.
you opened your mouth to answer and realized, horrifyingly, that your brain had stopped functioning somewhere around the moment his body hit yours.
“i uhm—” your throat felt dry. “yeah. i just hit my head a little.”
the tension in the tiny space was suddenly unbearable.
spencer shifted immediately at your answer, trying to pull back and give you room, but there was no room.
the movement only made his chest brush yours harder, and the contact sent a humiliating wave of heat straight through you. he reached behind him blindly for the handle and tried it.
locked.
his jaw tightened slightly as he rattled it harder. “it’s jammed from the outside.”
you could hear footsteps retreating calmly down the hallway outside. not rushing. just leaving with a type of ease that frustrated you.
“okay,” you muttered, forcing your voice to steady. “so fortunately he’s not trying to kill us. he just wanted us contained.”
spencer nodded automatically, agreeing with you and already pulling out his phone. unfortunately for the two of you, it had no signal.
of course the thick concrete walls and old wiring blocked everything.
the closet was barely big enough for both of you standing shoulder-to-shoulder. your back stayed pressed against the wall while spencer practically folded himself around you trying not to crowd you more than he already was.
“great,” you sighed. “exactly what i needed today. trapped in a fricking broom closet ”
despite everything, spencer let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“i’m sorry,” he said immediately after, earnest enough to make guilt flicker in your chest. “i should’ve checked the door positioning before i—“
“reid,” your voice softened despite yourself. “it’s not your fault.”
the problem wasn’t the closet.
the problem was that your body apparently had no interest in cooperating with your common sense anymore.
because spencer was close. so close you could feel every breath he took. so close that if you tilted your head even slightly—
no. nope.
absolutely not.
your brain scrambled uselessly while your body betrayed you in increasingly horrifying ways. every inch of you felt hyperaware—the heat radiating off him, the smell of cedar, coffee and him clinging to his sweater. the solid weight of him braced around you.
your back threatened to arch toward him on instinct alone.
which was deeply, deeply unhelpful.
spencer looked just as wrecked. he could smell your perfume— that soft vanilla and something warmer, almost spicy, that always lingered on your skin.
he could see every mark and freckle on your face, the way your lips were slightly parted, glowing underneath the overhead lights with remainders of gloss as you tried to steady your breathing.
he cleared his throat abruptly.
“the, uh, average person can survive in an enclosed space this size for approximately four to five hours before carbon dioxide levels become dangerous, so statistically we should be—”
“reid,” you groaned immediately. “if you start quoting survival rates at me right now, i will find a way to strangle you in this closet.”
his cheeks flushed instantly. “right. sorry.”
the silence that followed was thick.
god, he was close.
you shifted slightly, trying to create even an inch of distance between you, and your hips brushed his by accident.
spencer inhaled sharply and your own breath caught hard enough to hurt.
both of you froze.
“sorry,” you muttered too quickly, nerves making your voice sharper than intended. “little difficult to maneuver when I’m trapped with someone who’s basically built like a tree.”
“i’m trying to give you space,” he said helplessly, visibly flustered. “there just… isn’t any.”
he looked pretty when he was overwhelmed.
and that realization nearly killed you on the spot.
“try your comm again,” you said quickly, words spilling too fast now. “i’d like to believe the team notices when we disappear.”
“i already did.” his voice stayed low. “no answer.”
great.
you tipped your head back against the wall with a quiet thunk, staring at the ceiling like divine intervention might suddenly appear and save you from yourself.
your hands stayed clenched tightly at your sides because if you let yourself move, even a little, you weren’t entirely convinced you wouldn’t do something catastrophically stupid.
“are you claustrophobic?” spencer asked softly after a moment.
“what?” You blinked at him. “no.”
he hesitated. “you just seem nervous.”
heat climbed violently into your face. “i’m not nervous.”
his expression shifted immediately into something quietly skeptical.
you groaned softly. “this is just the least personal space I’ve had with another human being in a while so obviously i’m—“
you couldn’t find a word to finish that sentence that wouldn’t put you in an even more uncomfortable spot. but his mouth twitched faintly, which was somewhat reassuring.
“sorry,” he murmured again.
you forced yourself to look anywhere except directly at him, but it didn’t help much when he was practically surrounding you. his sweater brushed your arms every time either of you breathed too deeply.
you squeezed your eyes shut, seemingly in pain. you muttered something under your breath, glaring toward the locked door like it had personally ruined your life.
“how long has it been? have they not noticed we’ve been missing for, like, an aggressively concerning amount of time?”
you shifted your weight again, trying to ease the ache creeping into your legs from standing twisted into the world’s worst position for what felt like an eternity.
unfortunately, the movement dragged your hips lightly against spencer’s thigh.
heat shot straight up your spine.
fantastic.
“let me get to the door,” you said quickly, already trying to maneuver around him before your brain could fully process the sensation. you just needed to get out.
spencer visibly tensed. “i don’t think that’s physically possible with our current positioning—”
“negative nancy,” you muttered.
you pressed yourself flatter against the wall, attempting to slide sideways past him. the closet immediately punished you for the attempt.
there simply wasn’t enough room.
every movement created friction somewhere— your thigh brushing his, your hips accidentally rolling against him as you tried to twist around his taller frame. the confined space forced your bodies together no matter what you did.
it was unbearable and the worst part was that your body was reacting to it.
“come on,” you insisted, leaning your back more firmly against the wall “try to balance off the wall here. if i can just twist a little—”
soencer stammered. “i don’t think—”
every tiny point of contact sent another humiliating spark through you, heat blooming lower in your stomach in a way that made you want to scream.
“seriously,” you muttered under your breath, still trying to shimmy around him, “this would be significantly easier if you weren’t so goddamn—“
spencer sucked in a sharp breath. his hand shot out beside your head, fingers gripping the metal shelf hard enough for his knuckles to go white.
“can you stop moving?” he asked.
“oh my god,” you snapped defensively, glaring up with burning cheeks. “i’m trying to get us out of here.”
you twisted again stubbornly, trying to gain leverage but the slow drag of your hips against his this time was unmistakable.
a small, frustrated sound escaped your throat before you could stop it and spencer’s eyes snapped shut for half a second like he was actively fighting for his life.
“stop squirming,” he said again, rougher now.
“i’m not squirming,” you shot back automatically, even as you shifted again trying to relieve the unbearable awareness crawling under your skin. “it’s cramped in here. what exactly do you want me to do, reid? levitate?”
a quiet, strangled noise left the back of his throat. “you’re moving a lot,”.
you rolled your eyes despite the violent heat climbing into your face. “sorry my existence is inconveniencing you.”
“that’s not what i said.”
“should i stop breathing too while i’m at it?” you rambled on. “might solve the carbon dioxide issue faster.”
“that’s not—” he swallowed hard. “i’m just saying if you could maybe stay still for five seconds—”
you adjusted your stance one last time, trying to ease the ache in your legs. the movement dragged your hips slowly against him again and spencer’s breath punched out of him like you’d physically hit him.
suddenly his hands shot down and landed on your hips, fingers gripping firmly to hold you in place.
“please.” he said, voice cracking lightly “just… stop moving”
you froze instantly, your entire body going still beneath his hands.
your pulse thundered in your ears as you stared up at him. his pupils were blown wide in the dim orange light. his cheeks were flushed deep red, breathing uneven and shallow like he’d forgotten how lungs worked.
and then—
oh.
oh.
you could feel him hard against your lower stomach through his slacks, impossible to misunderstand.
your face went violently hot and for one horrifying second, your brain completely blanked.
fuck.
“oh,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.
spencer looked like he wanted the floor to open and swallow him whole.
“yeah,” he said weakly, staring somewhere over your shoulder instead of at your face.
spencer’s grip on your hips tightened slightly— not pushing you away, but clearly fighting the urge to pull you closer. his fingers trembled against you.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered after a second, mortified. “i can’t really control it. not when you’re—”
the unfinished words hung between you anyway.
you swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of your body. of the slick warmth pooling low in your stomach. of how badly your thighs wanted to press together for relief.
which was a problem.
a massive one.
because now your brain had decided to betray you completely.
now all you could picture was spencer kissing you breathless in this tiny closet. his hands sliding under your shirt. the sound he’d make if you actually moved against him on purpose instead of by accident.
“no— it’s,” you forced out a shaky laugh that died almost immediately. “i mean… it’s mostly my fault.”
spencer made a quiet sound that was halfway between a groan and nervous laughter.
“biology,” you added weakly, because apparently your brain had given up entirely. “its whatever.”
“right,” he breathed. “biology.”
neither of you acknowledged the fact that he still hadn’t let go of your hips. and you definitely didn’t ask him to.
the tension in the tiny room felt almost alive now.
you could see spencer trying not to think about it. trying not to look at your mouth. trying not to pull you closer even though every muscle in his body looked painfully tense with restraint.
a few strands of hair had fallen into your face during all the struggling, sticking annoyingly to your cheek. you tried to lift your arm to fix it and immediately hit the limitations of the closet again.
“jesus,” you muttered. “there’s hair in my face.”
you awkwardly attempted again to tuck it back.
“this is ridiculous,” you rambled nervously. “how are we supposed to survive in here if i can’t even move my own arm—”
spencer shifted carefully. “you’re not going to be able to—”
“i can sure as hell try.”
he looked at you then with that familiar expression— equal parts exasperated and weirdly fond.
very carefully, spencer pulled back just enough to free one hand from your hip. then, slower than necessary, he reached up and tucked the loose strands behind your ear. his fingers brushed your cheek gently in the process.
everything inside you stopped.
your thoughts. your breathing. your pulse.
all of it.
spencer’s expression had gone strangely focused, like fixing your hair required his full concentration. his fingertips lingered near your ear a second too long before sliding lightly along your cheekbone.
he could feel your gaze fixated on him, causing him to look down at you.
your eyes had gone wide, pupils blown dark in the dim emergency lighting. your lips were slightly parted, chest rising too quickly beneath him.
spencer’s mouth parted slightly too.
his hand lingered, cupping your cheek and letting his thumb caress your cheekbone. your faces were so close you could feel his breath fanning over your face.
your skin was prickling with heat that had nothing to do with the confined space and everything to do with the way he was looking at you.
your fingers twitched helplessly at your sides before curling into the front of his sweater instead, gripping the fabric tightly like you needed something solid to anchor yourself to.
you didn’t pull him closer. you didn’t push him away. you just held on, breath shaky, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs.
spencer’s eyes darkened immediately at the feeling. his gaze dropped to your mouth again, lingering this time, no longer pretending he wasn’t looking.
his thumb stilled briefly against your cheek before slowly tracing the edge of your lower lip.
what caught you so off god was how badly you wanted him to close the distance. how badly you wanted this.
holy fuck.
not casually. not experimentally. not as some reckless impulse you could laugh off later.
you wanted him. you wanted to close the distance and forget every reason why you shouldn’t.
spencer’s breathing had turned uneven now, shaky against your mouth as his hand slid carefully from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair.
he leaned in slowly, like he was giving you time to stop him.
his forehead rested against yours first, noses brushing softly together. your eyes fluttered half-shut and just as he got an inch closer to close the space between the two of you— the door to the closet was violently yanked open.
bright flashlights flooded the tiny space, blinding you both. multiple voices shouted at once.
“fbi! hands where we can see them!”
“step back! now!”
you and spencer jerked apart like you’d both been electrocuted.
his hands vanished from you immediately.
your back slammed hard against the wall as officers flooded the doorway, guns drawn before realization hit their faces.
the world came crashing violently back into place. your heart was pounding for an entirely different reason now. panic surged through you sharp and immediate.
What the actual fuck?
you had almost kissed him. on a case. trapped in a closet. while he was hard against you and you were internally losing your mind over it.
the officers quickly lowered their weapons once they recognized the two of you, apologizing while helping clear the doorway.
you stepped out on shaky legs, immediately smoothing down your shirt and avoiding spencer’s gaze entirely.
he looked just as wrecked— cheeks burning, breathing uneven, one hand still hovering like he didn’t know what to do with it now that it wasn’t touching you.
you forced a shaky, too-bright smile at the nearest officer, falling back into your usual confident persona like armor, even as your legs felt unsteady beneath you.
“perfect timing,” you joked weakly. “we were just running out of oxygen and conversation topics in there.”
morgan appeared moments later with emily close behind him, both looking alarmed.
emily’s eyes flicked between you and spencer immediately— your flushed cheeks and slightly messy hair, the way neither of you were quite looking at each other.
“you guys okay?” she asked carefully.
“yeah,” you answered much too fast. “totally fine. turns out being shoved into a utility closet by an unsub is surprisingly inconvenient. very little leg room.”
morgan’s eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down, then over at spencer, who was standing a few feet away, still visibly rattled. “you look flushed, you sure you’re ok?”
you laughed too loudly. “hot box situation. divide air supply by two and apparently everybody starts suffering.”
“we were trying not to suffocate,” you continued quickly, gesturing vaguely toward spencer. “reid spent the entire time calculating carbon dioxide levels.”
your gaze flicked involuntarily to spencer again. he was already looking at you— eyes dark, expression unreadable, cheeks still faintly pink.
the second your eyes met, something electric crackled between you. you looked away first, swallowing thickly.
“you’re sure you’re okay?” emily asked again.
“absolutely,” you said brightly. too brightly. “just a very sweaty team-building exercise. ten out of ten. would not recommend.”
morgan snorted, but his attention shifted toward spencer now.
“you good over there, pretty boy? you’re awfully quiet.”
spencer cleared his throat immediately and adjusted himself in a way that hit the front of his lower body.
your face went hot all over again at the realization.
“i’m fine,” he said carefully. “just glad we’re out.”
the words were simple, but the way he said them— low, a little strained— made your stomach twist.
you could still feel the ghost of his thumb against your lip. still feel his hands on your hips.
emily glanced between both of you one more time before speaking carefully. “hotch wants a debrief in twenty. you two okay to head back?”
“yep,” you answered instantly, already walking toward the exit before anyone could look at you too closely. “totally good. let’s go.”
you started walking, but you could feel spencer’s eyes on your back the entire way. the tension between you hadn’t disappeared when the door opened— if anything, it had followed you out, thicker and heavier than before.
because now you knew exactly what would’ve happened if you’d had five more seconds alone with him.
and if you let him get any closer than he was already getting, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to push him away again.
you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love masterlist
words: 4k+
warnings: fem!reader, drinking, swearing, throwing up, no specific season but lowkey boyband reid is who im imagining because i love that look, some lines follow the song cause i just had to its so peak
summary: After multiple failed dates and horrible guys and talk with JJ, Emily, and Penelope, you now have new expectations, that oddly sound like your co-worker
a/n im so tired and my head hurts please enjoy
"I think that guy was on drugs."
The three girls across from you looked up at you as you sat down in front of them. You placed your drink on the table, making yourself comfy in the booth your friends had claimed. They were nursing drinks of their own, and knowing them, gossiping to their heart's content.
"Which one?," Emily asked, looking over at the bar you were just at, "was it the blonde?"
You nodded your head taking a sip of your drink. You started to explain how he came up to you, spewing the usual round of bullshit guys said to you.
"Was he at least funny?" JJ joked.
"No, and when I rejected him he said I looked poor."
The three intoxicated girls all giggled at your words, making you slightly laugh too.
"You know, it's a new year, a new you," Penelope said, and immediately you knew she was going to give you some crazy advice, "and I think you should start that new you off with a new year's kiss."
You snorted at her suggestion, downing the rest of your drink.
"Wait, I thought you were still with that guy," JJ questioned, definitely not remembering his name.
You rolled your eyes, "No," you answered, "I blocked him."
"Wasn't he the one you were raving about like last week?" Emily asked.
You let out a sigh, "Unfortunately."
"Didn't he have the cool car and the big fancy apartment?" Penelope added, continuing to sip on her drink.
"He did," you said, nodding, "but, he also had intense mommy issues and I think he was a narcissist."
All three of them made a face, making you regret your decision even more.
"That's just a double homicide," Emily commented as she finished her drink, "I'll be right back."
She then got up and walked towards the bar to get another drink. You would've asked her to grab something for you if she hadn't walked off so fast, leaving you with just Penelope and JJ. You looked across the crappy dive bar to see Morgan being his usual self, talking to a group of random ladies. Hotch and Rossi had decided against going out with you guys and instead opted for an early night, retiring at the hotel. Spencer decided to spend some time with his mom before they had to return home, which the team respected.
"Who stands out to you the most?" one of the girls in front of you asked.
"What?" you said, entirely confused as the alcohol was starting to get to you.
"Well we have to get you a New Year's kiss," Penelope said, "so who here do you like the most."
"Why are you so set on me having someone to kiss?" you questioned, "what about yourself?"
Penelope just waved you off, "I already have my eyes set on someone," she said, making eyes at someone at the bar.
"Well good for you, but I'm not into that right now," you told her.
"Oh, come on," she whined, "there has to be at least one person here that you want to talk to."
You shook your head, "Nope, the guys here are just as bad, if not worse than the ones back home."
"But it's Vegas," she argued.
"Meaning?"
"You don't have to remember them and they don't have to remember you."
"That's comforting," you joked, "I just don't think my future husband's at this bar in Vegas."
JJ shrugged, "You never know, I mean I met Will in Louisiana, that's a long way from home."
You shook your head, "Yeah, but that was different, you didn't meet him in some trashy bar where he was drunk out of his mind like all the idiots here."
"Fair point," JJ said.
Penelope's face and shoulders dropped, no doubt annoyed by your lack of optimism, but before she could voice her feelings someone interrupted you guys. None of you had noticed, but Spencer had entered the bar and made his way over to your booth.
"Hey," he said meekly, confusing all of you as to why he was here.
"I thought you were with your mom," JJ said.
"I was, but she was having a bit of a rough night and I decided to join you guys and let her settle," he explained, picking at the strap of his satchel.
You looked up at him, feeling an ache in your heart for him. You knew about his relationship with his mother, and the guilt he felt for not visiting her often. You knew him having to leave her early was weighing on him. He looked over at you, taking in your appearance. Most of the time he saw you, you were in your work clothes, or something more casual when the team hung out outside of work. But, he'd never seen you in an outfit anywhere near what you were wearing now. You had on a rather flattering mini dress that Penelope had begged you to wear, since in her words, you only experience your twenties once. If your brain wasn't so fogged you would've swore Spencer's ears started to turn slightly red as he looked away from you.
"I'm gonna go talk to Morgan," he said, swiftly turning in the opposite direction.
You were opening Reid's appearance would change the subject, but immediately Garcia was back to her current mission.
"Alright, back to Operation: New Year's Kiss."
You rolled your eyes playfully, "That's still not happening."
"Come on, humour me here," she begged.
"You know this will be easier for you if you just give in," JJ told you.
"God, it's like bargaining with the devil," you complained.
"The devil might work hard, but I work harder," Penelope said giggling.
You just shook your head, hoping if you just played her game a bit she'd give up.
"Alright, so what are your standards?" Penelope asked, getting straight to the point.
"My what?" you questioned, already over this.
"Me personally I like them tall, sculpted, handsome," she said, listing her type, "and I love me some chocolate thunder."
"Garcia, I don't know what my type is," you told her honestly. You didn't dwell on your expectations that much, instead liking to decide on a person without narrowing your list down to a certain group.
"You have to have some sort of standards?" JJ said.
You shook your head, "Not usually."
"That's where your problem is, sweetheart," Garcia said, "you need some good ol' standards, and some high ones at that."
You let out a small laugh, "I don't have any clue what they would be."
"Start simple, what do you like from a person?" Penelope asked, watching you intently.
You thought about it for a moment. Obviously you had your basic standards, someone kind, someone nice, maybe funny if applicable, but never had you narrowed them down so thoroughly.
"I like someone nice," you said with a shrug.
Garcia just scoffed at you, "That's so basic, everyone deserves someone nice," she said, "don't you have a dream person in mind?"
You just shrug, running your finger around the rim of your empty glass. This conversation would be so much easier with a full drink.
"For example mine is-" Penelope started, but you cut her off before she could finish.
"If you describe Morgan one more time I'm going to chuck this glass against my head."
JJ let out a loud laugh at your threat, enjoying the banter between the two of you.
"Alright, alright," she mumbled, "you have to have something more specific than that."
"I don't know," you said with another shrug, "I want someone that treats me like a person, and calls me back, and shit," you admitted.
"That's a start, what else?"
You thought about it for another moment before answering, "I want someone that actually remembers my birthday, or the day we met, or even where we met."
The girls across from you leaned forward as you rambled on about more things you thought of.
"A guy with a real job would be great. I'm so tired of getting approached by these guys with some stupid "startup business" that's either just some scam, or ripoff of something that already exists. Or, those guys that say they're going to be the next Hemmingway or fucking Kurt Cobain. Do you know how many future "musicians" and "authors" I've met that act like they should be treated like some god," you spat out, getting more irritated the more you thought about all the things you hated.
"You ladies look like you could use some shots," Emily said, interrupting the conversation as she placed a tray of shots down. You had no hesitation drinking one of them and then another. You waited for the other to take, but JJ only took one and so did Emily. That left two that Penelope decided you could have. You knew you shouldn't be drinking that much, but tonight warranted it.
"So what'd I miss?" Emily asked, sitting down next to you.
"She's spilling her guts about her type," JJ said, pointing at you as you continued to speak.
"I want a guy that can actually decide things, you know. No, I actually don't want to pick where to eat, why can't you just pick? You should know my favorite places anyway, why's it so hard? You know what else I hate, I hate guys that hate what I like. Too bad you don't like my music, I like it. If I want to listen to fucking the Ramones, or The Smiths, or Fontaines D.C., or god forbid I want to listen to the entirety of Tick, Tick, Boom, then why shouldn't I, even if they don't like it?"
"What's that?" JJ and Emily asked, confused to the last thing you mentioned.
"It's a musical," Garcia whispered to them.
"Oh God, she's lost it," Emily murmured, watching you continue on your rant.
"Indecisive guys are just so unattractive. So are dumb guys, that's a standard of mine actually. I want a guy with a degree. Maybe even two. No, he has to have at least two actually, and a stable job," you said.
"Amen, to that," Emily said, raising her glass to you.
"I want a guy that wouldn't mind if I made more than him. Or, a guy that doesn't have wandering eyes. I want someone who doesn't coddle me, but can take care of me if I need him too. He shouldn't be afraid of me getting sick, or even going out and having a good time if I want to. And, I like a guy that reads a lot actually. And I'm just going to say it, I want a guy that's at least slightly nerdy."
Emily had been listening intently to what you liked, and a thought was starting to form in her head. She glanced at JJ and Penelope to see if they were picking up the same thing she was, but they were too busy paying attention to you.
"I want a guy that will watch all the Star Wars movies with me, or The Lord of the Rings, those are good movies. It'd be great if he didn't make fun of me for collecting comics I liked and call me a child and say I was collecting children's books," you exclaimed, thinking back to that one annoying guy that called your comic books childish, but thought modern art was the epitome of high art.
"What about looks?" Emily asked, trying to point you in the right direction to answer her suspicion.
You thought about it in record time, quickly diving into what looks you liked.
"Brown eyes are ten times better than blue, blue eyes freak me out. And blonde guys are pure evil, I like brunettes better anyway. Someone who dresses well would be great. Why would I want to walk out the house with someone who looks a mess?"
The more you kept talking the more Emily smiled as you proved her hypothesis correct. She couldn't wait to debrief this with JJ and Penelope, who she hoped were having the same thought as her.
"And is it bad to say I like a tall guy? And I don't mean some guy that's like 5'6 and swears he's tall and "basically" six feet. No, I want an actual tall, tall guy," you said, making the entire table try not to laugh, "also, glasses, glasses are so hot. I don't know why guys don't wear glasses. Contacts are a scam created by the government to make women not have hot nerdy guys with glasses, and LAISIK is part of that too."
You officially had your entire table in fits of giggles to the point their ribs hurt. Your drunken self was hilarious to them, especially when you talked about your expectations for a guy.
Once the three of them had finished laughing, and you'd calmed down a bit, Morgan came over to your table.
"Any of you fancy a game of darts?" he asked, already acting overconfident, "unless you're too scared to play me."
"In your dreams, I could beat you one handed," JJ said.
Everyone knew how good she was at darts and to not challenge her unless you wanted to be beaten.
"Don't get too overconfident," JJ said, standing up to leave the booth.
Penelope followed as she said, "When you lose don't come crying to me," to Morgan who slung his arm around her.
"I'll see you guys in a second. I'm gonna grab another drink," you said, heading back towards the bar.
"You sure that's a good idea?" Emily teased.
You waved her off, continuing to make your way to the bar. The second you left Emily looked at JJ and Penelope.
"Okay, am I crazy or was her type basically Reid?" she asked the other girls who immediately glowed at her words.
"I'm not the only one that thought that," Penelope exclaimed.
"I thought she was trying to tell us something with how exact her description was," JJ joked.
"So, what do we do with this information?" Emily asked, hoping they would pick up what she was putting down.
Penelope looked at her, giving her the classic Penelope look, "Are you saying we should play Cupid?"
"I'm not not saying that," Emily said, "besides you were the one that said she should get a kiss at midnight."
Penelope let out a squeal, excited by the thought of her two favorite people being together.
"We don't even know if he would be interested, and besides she's wasted and has no clue about anything," JJ pointed out.
"You're right," Emily admitted.
Penelope deflated a bit, "Yeah, but I mean whatever happens, happens, right?"
The other two girls agreed, deciding to move onto a new topic as they made their way over to watch JJ kick Morgan's ass at darts.
You weren't having as much fun as the other girls, as you didn't even make it to the bar before feeling like you had to throw up. You quickly darted to the bathroom, easily skipping the line by gagging multiple times on your way there. You threw yourself into the first available stall, puking your guts out. When you finished and walked out to wash your hands a girl asked if you were good to which you nodded. She offered to walk you out to your friends, but you declined, thanking her.
You quickly collected yourself, deciding to continue on your original task of getting another drink. You reached your limit and you were already way past it. Tonight was an exception though. You'd recently dumped that guy that you unfortunately actually kind of liked, and then you had to work a grueling case. Not even to mention that it was New Year's Eve and you were in some dingy Vegas bar, which basically meant you had to get insanely trashed.
You stumbled up to the bar ordering your drink. Before it was done, some random guy tried to say something to you, but you decided to ignore him. The second your drink was put on the bar you grabbed it, making your way over to your friends.
Some random song was playing that you could half hear as you pushed through a group of people. You watched as people joined in for a round of darts, and somehow you found yourself among them.
A round or two really wasn't going to hurt you. Usually you were pretty good sober, or at maximum a bit tipsy, so how bad could you be when you were basically completely gone. Turns out it was pretty bad. You managed to hit the wall once, and stumbled into random people multiple times. It didn't help that you felt a pair of eyes on you the entire time, but you couldn't fully blame your poor performance on that. When you almost hit someone during your last turn your dart privileges got taken away by Morgan for everyone's safety, including your own.
You went over by the wall where Penelope had been standing, rooting for JJ as she continued to win over and over again. You stood there for a bit before you realized your drink was completely empty. Deciding to get another one, you turned around quickly, accidentally knocking into someone.
You started to apologize when you looked up at who it was. He was apologizing too, making sure you didn't drop your glass as it tumbled out of your hands.
"Shit, sorry Spencer," you said, trying to gather your words, "I should've been paying attention."
"It's fine," he said, clearing his throat, "are you okay?"
"I'm fantastic, why?"
"You don't seem fantastic," he said, building up the courage to say his next words, "you're drinking more than normal and you've looked kind of sad all night."
"I'm just enjoying myself," you argued, not wanting him to know that deep down you wanted nothing more than to be home right now, wallowing in your own home, "I'm having fun, I promise."
Spencer looked down at you, his hand on your arm to keep you stable, "Please don't lie to me," he said, his voice as low as it could be over all the noise in the bar.
"I'm not-" you started to argue before getting cut off by yourself gagging again. You tried to hold it in, but instead turned to the nearest trash can puking your guts out again. Apparently, your body couldn't handle more alcohol than you'd already put in it.
You pulled your head out the trash can, groaning a bit. You felt hands let go of your hands as you lifted up your head. You fixed your hair a bit before turning around to see Spencer behind you.
"Let me take you back to the hotel, please," he said, his voice a bit desperate.
Sober you would've been disgusted for vomiting in front of him, and having him hold your hair back for you. Sober you would've also known immediately that he was just trying to help you, but drunk you had a very different mindset. You started to fight against his hold on you, but you were so weak you could barely move.
"I-I'm, f-fine," you tried to argue, but gave up.
"Come on," Spencer said, guiding you out of the bar. Usually, he would've told the team he was leaving and said goodbye, but right now he was too focused on you to care.
The next thing you knew you were in a taxi on the way back to the hotel. Before you could even blink you were through the lobby and at your door. Spencer was fumbling for your room key as he looked through your small purse.
"You have your key, right?" he asked, looking up at you.
You thought for a moment before shaking your head, "No, I gave it to JJ to give back to me."
Spencer's shoulders dropped as he tried to think. You were propped up against the wall, trying not to slide down it, or fall down in general. You hated being one of those stumbling drunk girls, yet here you were. Not in your right mind and locked out of your room.
"Here," Spencer said, guiding you a few doors down, "you can stay in my room till JJ gets back."
He unlocked the door, turning on the light as you stepped in. You groaned a bit, not used to the light. You felt hands on your arms, guiding you to the bed. You sat down, kicking off your shoes, wanting to go to sleep.
"Do you want something to change into?" Spencer asked, clearly nervous as he stumbled over his words.
You couldn't get yourself to speak, and instead resorted to just nodding. You could hear Spencer riffling around in his bag before pulling something out.
"I don't usually wear these, but I keep them just in case," he said, handing you some clothes.
You took them as he helped you stumble your way to the bathroom to change. You looked at what you were given, a pair of sweatpants that were too big for you, but were clearly old since they wouldn't have fit Spencer either. You assumed these were clothes he put in his bag eons ago and just never took out. The other article of clothing was an old sweater of his you hadn't seen him wear in years.
You threw on the too big clothes as you took the jacket you didn't realize had been placed on your shoulders. Spencer must've placed his blazer over you to keep you from freezing at some point. You smiled at how thoughtful he could be. You left your dress in the bathroom along with the blazer as you stepped out of the bathroom.
Spencer was sitting on the bed waiting for you to come out. He had a bottle of water in his hand that he offered to you. You drank some of it before laying down on the bed. Spencer swiftly shut off the lights for you.
"If you need anything just tell me," he said, his voice soft as he lowered himself to your level. You could feel one of his hands softly stroking your hair, soothing you a bit.
"Lay down with me, please?" you asked before you could even register your words.
"What?" Spencer said, flustered by your request.
"I don't want to fall asleep alone," you mumbled.
Spencer let out a sigh, "You're not thinking straight," he told you.
"Please," you begged, really not wanting to fall asleep alone. It was comforting knowing there was someone right next to you.
"Only until JJ gets back," he told you as you felt his hand leave your hair.
You tried to mumble an 'okay', but the words never left your lips. You felt the mattress dip to your right as Spencer laid down next to you. You turned over facing him, your eyes still shut. You were both still for a moment before you felt his hand reach your hair. You relaxed more at his touch, eventually falling asleep in Spencer's bed.
***
BONUS (because I'm so nice lol)
"Where'd {Name} go?" Penelope asked to no one in particular as she tried to look for you.
"I don't know, I thought she was with you?" JJ said as she walked over to Penelope, now done with her game of darts.
Morgan and Emily followed behind her, getting asked the same question immediately.
"Wasn't she standing with you?" he questioned, quickly scanning the bar for you.
Penelope shook her head, now asking the strangers within her vicinity.
"Hi, sorry, have you seen my friend?" she asked, starting to describe you. Unluckily, the people shook their heads. Emily and JJ did the same, but had the same misfortune.
Luckily though, before Penelope could panic too much, someone tapped her on her shoulder.
"Sorry, but were you looking for someone-" she asked, describing you perfectly.
"Yes, that's her, do you know where she is?" Penelope asked frantically.
"I saw her leave with some guy a little bit ago," she told them.
"Who?" Emily quickly asked, hoping you didn't leave with some sketchy guy.
"I don't know, but they looked like they knew each other," she told them, "he was pretty tall, brown hair I think, and he was dressed rather nice, he gave her his blazer before they left."
The entire team felt a weight lifted off their shoulders the second they knew it was Reid you left with.
"Thank you," JJ said as the girl left.
Just as quickly as they felt relieved they immediately realized what had happened.
"I didn't even realize Reid was gone," JJ said, slightly guilty she didn't notice.
Morgan shrugged, "His mind's been somewhere else all night, he wouldn't even notice when I left him to get a drink."
There was a beat of silence before Penelope finally said what they were all thinking.
"Are we just not going to mention the fact that they left together?"
"I mean there's many reasons for that," JJ suggested, not even buying her own words.
"But it’s a bit suspicious with everything she said," Emily added.
"What'd she say earlier," Morgan asked.
"She was describing her type earlier and basically described Reid," Emily told him.
Morgan's expression changed to one of shock, "Well, hopefully everything's going well," he joked, making everyone chuckle.
"Maybe she will get that New Year's kiss after all," Penelope said with a laugh.
you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love masterlist
I'm still trying everything
to keep you looking at me.
-mirrorball, taylor swift
₊ ⊹
summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again
cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence
tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap
a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!
read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)
this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Spencer is a really good boyfriend.
Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.
He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.
He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.
But you still worry.
All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.
“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”
A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”
The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”
“More like uptight.”
“Dad—“
“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”
Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.
You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“
“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”
(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)
Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”
“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."
You don't dignify his words with a response.
"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."
"It's not funny."
"Don't be like that--"
"Goodbye."
You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.
The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.
Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.
But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.
You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.
Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.
You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.
So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.
This, of course, is easier said than done.
It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.
But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.
But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.
You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.
"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."
"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."
He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.
It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?
When is it all going to end?
--
Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.
JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."
That little voice comes back.
Too much too much too much too much too much--
"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.
JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."
You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.
Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.
You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.
Be better. Try harder.
You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.
--
You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.
"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"
A little stab of ice in your stomach.
"I don't know. I think it's nice."
"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."
You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.
A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.
--
The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—
That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.
That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.
But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?
--
You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.
It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.
You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.
You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.
--
The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.
You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.
It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.
He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.
Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—
"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"
"Yes?" You croak.
His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.
Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.
"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"
"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.
He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.
You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.
"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."
He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."
"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."
He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"
You freeze. "What do you mean?"
He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.
"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."
Your finger's twitch at your sides.
His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."
He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.
Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.
The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.
"My parents think you're going to leave me."
Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"
"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."
"But that's not your fault."
You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"
You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.
I'm not easy to love.
"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."
"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."
He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"
You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"
"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."
His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."
He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."
The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.
"Maybe."
"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"
Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"
A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."
That makes you look up. "Really?"
He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."
"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"
"When did you go to the vet's—"
"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."
He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.
"What do I do now?"
"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."
"What?"
You're so close your breaths are mingling.
"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."
"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."
His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.
"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."
You laugh. "I do not swoon."
"You will."
He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.
It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.
--
Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.
He also starts needing you a bit... louder.
It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.
Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.
"Don't you have work to do?"
"Either finished it or it can be done later."
You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.
He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.
"Your hair smells good."
"Like what?"
"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."
You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.
"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"
"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."
He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.
--
Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.
You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.
"You wanna know something cool?"
"You know it,"
"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."
"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"
"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."
"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."
"Should we get dinner afterwards?"
"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."
"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."
--
Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.
You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.
He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.
"Should I move?"
"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."
Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.
--
It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the t.v, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the screen.
You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.
"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.
And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.
And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.
"I love you."
He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.
Spencer finds himself sulking around in jealously for the first time after you regrettably tell him you have plans for the night. When surprising him with your presence later, Spencer realizes just how badly he missed you while he was away.
pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smuttttt...... (18+ pls pls) tags: Whiny & desperate Spencer, he's just very eager to please. virgin Spencer, munch!spencer, head (fem!receiving), coital takes place on Spencer's pretty Persian rug, jealous Spencer, fingering, heavy make out session, nipple play, handjob, panty sniffing, Spencer's POV! Dirty dirty dirty wc: 5.3k a/n: I've written "Spencer" so many times it doesn't sound like a name anymore. I saw this tweet and was inspired to write something related to the carpet picture. That's all. I don't even think of you that often.
Cold water washes over Spencer's tired eyes and rolls slowly down his wrists to the bottoms of his sleeves (that he rolled up to avoid getting them wet, annoyingly) as he frantically tries to wash away a strange sour feeling in his gut.
Upon looking into his mirror he gazes over the 5 o’clock shadow he’s garnered over the few days spent away in a small town in Delaware. He pulls in his lips and rubs over it with his finger tips. He doesn’t have the energy to shave it right now.
Spencer is currently harbouring a bit of a sourpuss persona, he knows this well. The team had wrapped up the case quicker than expected, leading him to message you as soon as he could about heading back to D.C. and seeing you again.
To his dismay, when he got off the plane and checked his crummy silver Nokia, that you’ve giggled at a fair share of times, the response he receives from you is… that you’re… busy?
Something about a group of friends at a late night cafe/bar getting together, he didn’t read all of it, pouting so much that he just closed his phone. Spencer is aware you had these plans before he asked to see you. Spencer is aware that he’s back from Delaware earlier than expected. Yet he’s still over his sink, face wet and cold, grumbling about your social life.
The two of you have been together for a couple months now, it’s extremely new, he knows you wouldn’t drop everything upon his arrival, but the whole plane ride home he imagined your ideas around hanging out once he got back. He got his hopes up too high.
He begins to reflect a bit, maybe a better word would be spiral, as he wanders back into his bedroom and unpacks his go bag. I shouldn’t be feeling lousy right now, he thinks. We’ve been dating for 2 months and 3 days, he had missed your two month anniversary while he was away. He couldn’t even text you that day because he was too busy. Should he even text about anniversaries like that? He’s so new to this he has no clue.
Considering your dating timeline now he starts to worry. He’s inexperienced, almost completely… no, yeah, actually completely. He sighs.
You have been over twice, by all the beautiful luck he might have fostered in a past life, he has had the spine-tingling honor to have made out with you those two times as well. After a handful of museum and bookstore dates, even visiting your apartment once, the first time you shared a kiss was when he was showing you Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Cercle Rouge, attesting it was substantial to the gangster film genre.
When he felt your eyes against the side of his face during the best part of the film, he took a double take at you, seeing an unreadable expression in your eyes. He cringes at the memory of his confusion.
“Th-this part is really good… Pierre’s use of cinematic synecdoche here is perfectly timed compared to–”
You had leaned in closely and started kissing along his jaw as he fumbled through the rest of his explanation till he tapered off into a whimper that was sealed with a kiss planted on his lips. He even reached to the coffee table in front of him while you were kissing to pause the movie, not wanting you to miss anything.
Spencer groans a bit at the memory, a little embarrassed, he now would recognize the signs you were displaying easier. He’s jealous of his past self, having you to himself so unabashedly. He’s jealous of his past time spent with you and he’s jealous of your friends right now who are hearing your laugh and smelling your perfume all night.
He sighs and flops down on his back to his bed. Spencer does not feel jealous often. He feels completely rotten and out of sorts. He thinks, maybe if he would’ve kissed you more suavely that first time you would’ve dropped your plans now. Maybe if he translated the French into English for you in a more sultry voice you’d skip out on a coffee with your friends. Maybe–
Spencer hears a faint knocking on his front door. He looks over at his alarm clock, 12:12 a.m., hm. He’s hallucinating for sure. Like a lonely old man who hears his late wife’s voice in the dark of his haunted halls–
Another tentative knock.
He leaps up from his bed and races over to the front door with his legs moving so fast he feels like he’s in Looney Tunes. His heart starts pounding as he looks through his peephole to see a small blurry version of you shifting on your feet. He scrambles to unlock his door and swing it open.
“Hi!” You smile at him, smelling like strong coffee mixed with whatever lactonic and spicy fragrance you usually wear that curls his toes. You step forward and give him a hug, your arms wrapping around his neck. This springs him into action, wrapping his arms around your waist he mutters out a “wow” against your shoulder. Like he just won a sweepstakes.
You pull away a bit, but Spencer's arms stay around you. “Is it okay I’m here? You never responded to my texts.” You give him a shy smile and he realizes as he was grovelling he didn’t open his phone again after you said you had plans for the night.
“Yes! Yes,” he clears his throat… be suave. “Of course. Um. Was just thinking about you, ha. Come over whenever. Yea. Even if I say I’m busy, come over still, haha.” Shit.
“Ah. Okay, noted. I missed you too, Spencer.” You giggle a little at him and walk into the apartment, leaving him to shut the door behind you. “What were you thinking about?” You muse.
“Ummmm. Le Cercle Rouge.” Spencer clears his throat again. IQ slashed to 60.
“The Le Cercle Rouge incident, right.” You laugh again and look over at where he’s standing with a blank face. “Oh. Are you sure it’s okay that I'm here? I know I said I was busy, so I’m sure you’re ready for bed now, especially after the case. Did that go well?” His blank expression has made you nervous, he notices, though he was just considering again the feeling of his neck being kissed for the first time in 24 years.
“Please stay. A while, too. I’m not tired.” A pause with long eye contact. “The case went surprisingly well, hence the early arrival.”
The curve of your lip pulls up in a smirk and he sees he’s convinced you fully now. You bend down and unzip the sides of your brown high rise boots, leaving you in your black tank top, skirt, and now kneehigh socks that create a monochromatic wet dream for Spencer. Though this isn’t a dream, he shakes his head from side to side to get rid of the distracting thoughts.
“Good.” You sit down fully on his red carpet now, trying to pull your last boot off. “You know, you were a really short walk from the coffee shop, I’m surprised you’ve never been. As soon as you texted you were back I kept trying to slip away as politely as possible.” You talk while struggling with the shoe.
Spencer takes a deep breath in and meets you on his carpet, sitting on his knees to pull the boot off of you, which was incredibly easy. You were pretending to struggle with it on purpose. Once removed, he sits back against his heels and pushes your knees together by your ankles.
“You walked?” He mumbled back. He would’ve picked you up. He should’ve just checked his phone, told you to have a good night like a proper boyfriend.
“Mm, like five minutes. No worries.”
“Its midnight- I. I can always pick you up.”
You whined your response, “But you weren’t answering your phoneeee.”
Spencer rubs his face with his hands, covering his smile a bit and feeling his skin heating up. “I’m very glad you showed up anyway. Even if it scares me you walked alone this late,” he glances at you leaning back against your hands, knees still pulled together. “You look very pretty.”
“Really? Thanks. I thought so too. About you, I mean. You’ve got a little 5 o’clock shadow right now, you look really handsome.” You smile and let out an airy laugh. Spencer subconsciously rubs his face again. He’s not sure when these jittery feelings will go away, if they ever will. One compliment from you and he’s feeling a blush coming from inside of him stretch over to his skin.
He remembers his petulance earlier, his flair for the dramatics. Whining over people other than him seeing you, cursing his past self for awkward conversations, so he leans over onto his hands and knees and kisses your lips.
You hum against his lips, knees together against one of his sides, happy at Spencer's first time initiating a kiss between you. You sit up off of your hands now so they can cup his face and pull him firmer against you. Taking one of his wrists from where he’s planted on the floor to the other side of you, you guide him to slowly hover over you.
Spencer can’t help but let out a tiny noise, a moan, against you as his palms dig uncomfortably into his carpet. He feels you lean back against your elbows and swing one of your legs to the other side of him. Now, you are pressed flat against the carpet, legs on either side of his waist. Spencer slowly moves so he’s on top of your frame, elbows crowning your head.
Both times Spencer has had the pleasure of tasting you like this you have been straddling him on his couch. This is the first time that he’s been able to lay on top of you and feel his hip bones dig into you and your legs around him.
Woah. Your legs are wrapped around him, just like how he’s dreamed of having you in his bed. Legs squeezing helplessly around him as he buries himself in you. Feeling your chest against his as you arch up into him. He lowers one hand to trail it up from your shins covered in your knee highs that make him faint to your hip.
He pushes his crotch down a bit from where it was against yours, making it so the hard-on he’s now sporting is against the floor now. He remembers the visceral feeling of you kissing his neck. Immediately he’s moving down to return the favor. What starts in soft kisses escalates quickly to sucking and laving against your skin, face buried into the source of his wildest dreams, your perfume.
Your hands are carding through his hair right now, nails scratching at him softly and he has to position himself a bit closer to the ground now to rub off some built up tension his cock is begging for. This is usually where you part.
Face buried in your neck he’s smelling your intoxicating scent and moaning against the skin. He feels like a wild animal smelling a pheromone filled scent gland. Spencer realizes briefly where he is and pulls up from your neck to stare down at your face.
Hair haloing around you, you’re feverish and pressed against the Persian rug he spent his first big paycheck on. You have a bit of mascara smudged under your eyes and the lamps scattered around his living room are highlighting you in a way so beautiful he moans out again softly. No friction, no kissing, just by looking at you.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he traces the line of your neck up and down softly with the tips of his fingers. “I almost drowned in my sorrows before you knocked on my door.” He leans back down and chuckles against the skin of your neck.
You don’t have exactly the same romantic thoughts in mind as you gasp out for the first time since he’s laid on you, “You feel so good against me, Spence. Wanted this so bad,” he stops kissing, breathing lightly against your neck as you continue. “Can’t believe I haven’t pulled you on me sooner.” He’s blinking silently hidden in the corner of your neck. He acts on a whim and bites down lightly against where your neck and shoulder meet and you squeal.
Spencer was not prepared for the blazing eye contact he’d be met with once pulling away to look at you. Your tank top has ridden down, the top of your pink bra showing a bit and your hair is drastically more disheveled than when you arrived. He can feel his heart in his throat. He has to keep making you let out that sound.
You seem to notice his brazen eyeline and you take one hand to pull the neckline of your top down a bit, exposing most of the bra covering your breasts that are only slightly spilling out from all your wiggling. Spencer shuts his eyes like he’s in pain, but he’s actually moving his hips up and away from the floor so he doesn’t come in his pants right then and there.
A completely new and formidable heat spreads over him and into his loins. Never in his life has Spencer trembled with anticipation in this way. His skin is on fire and he’s struck with the overwhelming need to make you the happiest person in this world. He wants to have you shiver and shudder completely against his apartment floor, he wants to hear every moan and grunt until your voice gives out. He wants to fuck you with his mouth.
“Gah-God, baby,” Spencer moves himself away from you so that he’s kneeling between your open thighs, rubbing the outsides of your legs as he looks into your eyes. “My mouth. Um, can I use my mouth?” He lets out a shaky breath at the image.
You bite your lip softly at him, he feels like he just licked the screen on one of those old staticy TVs he used to have. “Use your mouth for what?” You half play coy and half ask in earnest, not wanting to jump to conclusions since you and Spencer have never taken off many layers together.
“I want to use my mouth to make you cum.” His face flushes immediately, your eyes widen in shock. He drags his sight down to where you lay in front of him. Legs spread open and skirt ridden up giving him an obscene upskirt of your underwear for him. Also black. He keeps his eyes there as you reply.
“Yeah. Please, please-” he whips his head up to look at your face again to engrain the image of you unkempt and nodding a desperate yes into his memory. He lightly reaches out between your thighs to briefly feel the bottom of your panties. He’s barely thinking, his first instinct was to gauge how wet you are, to compare it to how you’re going to feel later. You gasp sweetly and he moans in response, untouched, again.
With this searing hot permission Spencer gets hit with a strong pietistic devotion towards you. There is literally nothing in his life that has mattered more to him right now than how the gusset of your panties stick onto you and that his tongue can finally be given the task he has thought about constantly since knowing you.
The anxiety Spencer was expecting as a result of his inexperience is completely overthrown by a perfectly instinctual autopilot setting he falls into. The excitement of making you feel good, you letting him touch you in such a profound way completely overshadows the doubt of his expertise.
Not that he’s completely clueless. Erotica classics hide in his bookshelves, copies of Anaïs Nin’s short stories, the detailed counts of female pleasure derived from biology books, decent sex education stemming from the countless hours he’s poured into literature. He’s fairly in tuned to what generally makes people crumble, he just has to try it out himself.
Spencer starts at the top again. The push and pull between him and eating you out the way he’s craving will have to drone on a little longer as he starts kissing along the exposed skin of your breasts, not wanting to leave anything unkissed. How rude.
You outstretch your neck to him and slide the tank top off yourself, leaving just your pink lace bra that's covering little of your nipples. Spencer fingers the straps briefly while taking in the sight of you. He cannot believe the cosmic circumstances that have led him to this moment.
“D’you like?” you mumble while watching him eye-fuck you. He almost feels sorry for how he’s watching your chest rise and fall but the way his dick is pulsing under the confines of his underwear allows for little words.
In fact, his hips kick a twitch forward at the sound of your voice. A siren song as old as time.
“MmmIwanna,” Okay. Form words. “I wanna-” he pities himself enough to give up on that one and kisses along your chest again.
“Do what you want to. I want to feel you everywhere… I want you to touch me.” You seem to understand his dilemma. A once articulate tongue falls flat in such a frenzied situation.
Spencer palms your tits through your bra properly now while kissing you sloppily. He feels the friction of the lace against his palm and your hardened nipple receiving the rough friction from it as well. He picks up on your whine against his lips and pulls your bra down by the middle of it, exposing your chest fully.
You gasp against his lips and move your tongue against his as a thanks. Spencer lets out a tiny “ah” from the back of his throat when your tongues meet. To regain composure he takes the nipple he was palming through lace earlier and rolls it between his middle finger and thumb, it’s your turn to kick your hips up for friction now.
He decides to lower his hips against yours fully for the first time, desperately searching for that debauching pleasure that he was avoiding earlier. His dick rests nicely under your belly button and you bite his bottom lip when he’s fully settled against you, he feels sort of proud.
Feeling your body completely pressed against him in this way makes him mourn every second he’s been with you and not made you moan in happiness like he is now. Wishing that the pesky virginity he’s carried with him this long will be taken by this angel underneath him right now. His cock twitches against you at the thought of it.
He stops fiddling with the nipple and instead moves to hold one of your hands with his as his other hand moves to rub your neglected nipple. He subtly grinds a long and slow rhythm against where you two are pressed together and you make a curious noise, a full moan caught before getting let out. Nudged in your throat as you hold it in.
Spencer thinks for a moment and smiles at the realization that it sounds almost exactly like how you hold back a laugh in your throat. A small and choked out “hngh” high pitched before its snuffed out. He thinks of any future endeavors where he gets to hear you hold back a laugh in a quiet museum or library from one of his stupid jokes. With this comparison he’s going to be pathetically hard in so many more inappropriate situations now.
“Please, can you please take my panties off.” You mewl gently, almost as if you’re worried he will refuse, and break him out of his thoughts. Spencer nearly forgot how lost in his head he was while methodically rubbing your sensitive breasts and grinding against you.
“Pretty girl, I’m sorry.” He really is, he never wants you to feel so desperate you have to beg for him to touch you, but without interference he could probably sit for eight hours straight playing with your tits to see if you could come from it. He whines out loud at the thought. “I will, of course, I will.”
The feeling of him peeling himself off you feels tortuous. However, it is very much a high risk, high reward scenario when he looks down between your thighs again to see a wetter fabric clad to your hips. Spencer leans towards you, pushes your socks down slightly to kiss the tops of each of your knees. You giggle and he nips the inside of your leg slightly.
It’s dizzying, the experience of pulling your panties down for the first time. Every night where he has sloppily fucked his fist thinking of your smile lines and pretty hands, every evening after you’ve left his apartment well kissed has finally led to this life altering moment.
Your panties have been slid off and he’s got an iron grip on them as he’s staring at you fully exposed, the translucent liquid smudged around your cunt. He’s trying incredibly hard to not push them up to his nose and inhale, he thinks he’s done enough animalistic sniffing and grunting at you tonight. He places them neatly on the couch instead.
“Baby, Spence, you’re a voyeur.” You laugh at his staring gently, he assumes 25% of this experience for you has been watching him stare bug eyed at every inch of skin you’ve surrendered. He lays down flat on his tummy, sucking in air through his teeth as his dick presses against his carpet through his slacks again. “Feel sensitive, that feels like a lot?” You ask softly down at him. He flushes, embarrassed a little that you notice him the exact same way he notices you. Spencer pinches his eyebrows together and nods.
“Feels.. real good though.” He laughs gently at himself as you groan and rest your head back down on the carpet at how sweet he is.
He wraps his arms tightly underneath your thighs to pull your pussy closer to him, your skirt riding up to your belly in the process. He feels you squirm a little under his arms and kisses the skin above your hip flexors softly.
His heart skips a beat when he’s up close to you, a sliver of doubt creeping up along with the immeasurable need to make you feel good. Spencer takes his tongue out and licks a broad stripe up from right below your opening to above your clit. This is more for himself, actually. He wants to taste every single drop you expelled from him kissing and touching you, it’s what he deserves.
Spencer's arms immediately have to resist against your thighs moving shut, using a bit of his strength to keep you open as he does it again. This time he moves his head slightly side to side. The whine he hears coming from your lips makes him take one arm away without thinking to hold your lips open and wraps his lips around your clit.
The open window you get without one arm suspending your leg allows you to close one thigh to the side of his face while the other is still pried open by him. He continues to suck gently, pulls away and lifts up the skin covering your clit, kisses it softly, you let out a pitiful sobbing noise and Spencer sucks your clit again, rolls it between his lips.
You help him out by taking your other thigh away from his face and holding it up yourself. “Wh-who taught you to do this?” You squeak out giving him a sense of confidence he’s been desperately striving for. Spencer cannot bear to part from your cunt to reply so he just hums lowly against you, hoping that you get his message of I daydream about doing this to you every waking moment through the vibrations he’s emitting.
He feels you rock your hips against his face greedily and he smiles a toothy grin against you. His perfect pliant girl, he couldn’t be happier to have your wetness rubbed against his nose as he dives into you.
Wanting to escalate the scenario a bit, he’s internally pleading to feel you cum against his face, Spencer begins to suck harshly and suction onto your clit intermittently. The loud “fuck” you whimper out and how your torso isolates to twist to the side as you keep your hips in place is a good indicator that he’s making you feel good. This is a dream.
“Hh- mmmm” you cry out and Spencer flickers his gaze up to your face. You’re scrunching your face like a sweet bunny and have one hand up and posed above his head, waiting to push him away, the pleasure so strong you have to implicitly prepare yourself to shove him away when it gets to be too much. He moans highly against you.
The hand you had defensively propped up begins to lightly push at his face, he smiles at this, suctions your clit through his lips and runs circles over it with his tongue, your hand falls limply to your side.
“Fingers- ah, fingers!” You manage to gasp out one more plea before sucking your lips in and moaning deeply against them.
You seriously do not have to ask him twice. Being able to feel you twitch and grip around his fingers while he sucks on your clit has him pushing himself against the floor. The bordering on painful stimulation he’s getting from using all his body weight to hump his carpet sends tingles up and down his spine. As you said, sensitive.
Spencer starts by tracing your entrance with his middle finger, he slips in easily just by doing that, your slick and his spit making the intrusion incredibly easy. He wastes no time pulling his finger up against your g-spot and slips in his ring finger alongside it, rubbing slick circles inside of you.
The noises your cunt is making from his incessant sucking and rubbing could probably be heard from any of his neighbors walking by his front door. He gasps hotly at this thought, what are you doing to him? Has he no shame?
You’re riding his face and fingers again, mumbling intelligible sentences. God, his cock hurts.
“Baby, close, don’t stop-” The angelic words fall from your mouth and his ears perk up like an owner saying her dog's favorite words to it. Spencer continues exactly what he’s doing against you and looks up at you again through your back arching.
He can feel you twitching and senses you’re done for. If only he could talk and eat you out at the same time, he wants to call you pretty until tears come from your eyes. You gasp wetly and come all over his fingers.
Your thighs clamp against his head and he lets you do whatever you need to do to his face to get off. He’s rubbing soft and soothing circles against your hips as you hiccup through your orgasm.
You open your mouth as if you have something to say, and close it again, shuddering out a breath of air. Spencer pulls away, he can talk again.
“My good girl, thank you. I mean, you tasted so good… you’re so pretty, my pretty, oh my god-” He’s got a lot on his mind right now.
Spencer watches and follows your movements as you sluggishly sit up to kiss him, moving your tongue against his in an eager display to taste yourself against his lips, he whines again, feeling your warmth against him. When you palm him through his pants Spencer stutters out a pornographic “hnnn”, the friction from his rubbing against the floor has left him painfully needy.
“Can I take your cock out baby?” You ask against his neck. Spencer is aware of the embarrassing uhhuh uhhuh he releases as he scoots back against his couch. You don’t bother teasing him, taking out his red dripping dick from his pants and underwear and you don’t even giggle when it makes a whip sound as it taps against his skin.
He actually has to close his eyes after watching you whine in overstimulation as you collect your come from yourself to use it as lubrication to jerk him off with it. He’s genuinely going to pass out.
With a mouth open to the shape of an “o”, Spencer has an onslaught of tiny gentle noises that fill up the room alongside the skin slapping sound of you jerking him off. You touch the crown of his dick and one of his arms shoots out to brace himself against the couch.
He accidentally grabs your panties he placed on the couch earlier.
Not thinking, he grips onto them and you kiss his cheek. “Want em’?” You tease. “My panties are in my top drawer next time you come over and want to snoop around.” You joke further, a red flush of humiliation covers Spencer's neck and chest. He slowly moves his grip on them over to his nose. Too far gone to have the same self-control he had earlier to set them aside, he finally indulges in taking in your scent.
He’s somewhat expecting more prodding and teasing, but you just continue to kiss over his face softly. He’s so thankful.
There’s no surprise to the fact you have him coming especially fast. Spencer feels his legs twitch and he sets down your panties to kiss you properly as he finishes all over your fist.
As he comes down from this unexplainable high he is struck with such a tender feeling of affection towards you his eyes water. You notice and scoot onto his legs and lap and wrap your arms around him in a hug.
Not letting go until you feel him chuckling against you, you ask him how he feels and he sighs out dramatically. He’s so exhausted now.
You shyly offer to wet-vac his carpet once you guys move to clean yourselves up and he breaks out into a laughter that makes his stomach hurt. You eventually join his contagious laughter at the situation.
Spencer’s suggestion for you to stay a while is accepted with open arms. You spend your first night together wrapped up in each other's embrace. Being back in his own bed with you here settles his mind so gently that within three minutes of his head hitting the pillow he’s out like a light.
In the morning when he wakes up for work he rubs his nose softly all over your face to wake you up. Spencer offers that you stay in his bed and sleep more or he can drive you back to yours before he heads over to work. He ends up driving you home so you can get ready for work yourself. Once you’re back home he finally opens up his phone again from last night to see a picture of yourself you sent on the walk to his apartment last night with the text under it “Had to come see you anyway, hope the doors unlocked mwahaha”.
He finds himself smiling at his missed message all day at work and once he’s seated back in his car to go home later that day he finally finds the “forgotten” panties you left on his passenger car seat when you left this morning.
Spencer flushes then pockets them before texting you that he is in fact not a voyeur or a perv and he did not put your panties in his pocket and he is not asking you to come over again tonight so he can cook you a pasta dinner before he lays you out for him again, hopefully on his bed this time.
A/N: I got inspiration and cooked this up real quick. Also, you guys have to like cause it’s my birthday today (hence the story)! Also, think season 9 Spencer here. Anyways, hope you enjoy and please like/repost if you do!!
Word count: 1.1k
Warnings: Not an ounce of proof-reading, Mentions of suicidal thoughts as a teen (very briefly), fluff, a wee bit of angst if you squint
Summary: You think the BAU has forgotten your birthday, until Spencer changes that.
Celebrating your birthday at the BAU has never been easy. I mean, with every mass casualty and homicide happening every day, it felt wrong to celebrate something as meaningless as a birthday.
Birthdays were always important to you, though. It was like your own federal holiday to celebrate yourself. It was the one day a year you could be selfish. Another year around the sun. It proved you made it, no matter what the world threw at you throughout the year, you made it.
Honestly, Birthdays were still a big deal to you. You didn’t think you were going to make it to be 18 years old, so turning 29 was a huge deal. But you were never one to make yourself a big deal or bring unnecessary attention to yourself. Sure, you had a big personality and definitely liked attention, but you would never mention it being your birthday in front of others.
You especially didn’t want to bring it up, considering the team had an exhausting past 72 hours. The team raced against the clock to stop a serial killer from brutally murdering a 16-year-old girl. It was traumatic and draining.
But now it was over, and the team would be boarding the flight first thing tomorrow morning. That day also happened to be your birthday.
You thought no one would remember, which hurt you, honestly. You made it your duty to make sure every birthday in the BAU was seen and celebrated. You even had every single one labeled neatly in your calendar. All you wanted was to feel the same type of love, to have your feelings reciprocated. But you would just have to settle, which was fine in your eyes.
You sat next to Reid on the plane, in the window seat. Across from you sat Morgan and Hotch. You sat there reading Crime and Punishment. It was a classic that Reid had recommended to you, and you take recommendations very seriously. He would peer over your shoulder to read along with you, but tried to act nonchalant about it. Although he wasn’t very slick, every time there was a mistranslation, he would whisper in your ear the correct meaning.
It wasn’t a big celebration, but having Reid next to your side might’ve been good enough. You had the biggest crush on him for as long as you could remember, as soon as you joined the BAU. You took one look into those deep brown eyes and fell deeply in love. You never believed in love at first sight until that very moment.
You continued to flip the pages, carefully taking notes about the plot so you could have a conversation with Spencer about it later. It gave you an excuse to talk to him.
At some point, Reid had slipped away from his seat next to you and placed himself next to JJ, who was on the other side of the plane talking to Emily. He leaned into her to whisper in her ear, covering his mouth with his hand.
You knew they were close, but you couldn’t help but be jealous. JJ was everything you could never be. She was pretty, athletic, extremely smart, and very sociable. In your mind, you just couldn’t compare.
Your jealousy grew as you watched her smile at whatever he said to her, your eyes staring daggers into her. You hated being jealous of her; she was your friend, but you just couldn’t help it.
“Damn kid, are you okay?” Morgan spoke suddenly, snapping you out of your trance. You noticed him looking at you with concern and amusement. Hotch was also looking at you now, but with the same look he gave everybody.
“What? oh- yes, I’m fine!” you said, trying to make everything seem like it was fine, when it was in reality not fine.
“Right.. okay,” Morgan said, not believing you at all.
He eventually looked away, back at his phone, texting Garcia god knows what. The second he took his eyes off you, you went right back to staring at JJ. Now they were giggling and looking back at you every few seconds, trying to be discreet. But you just couldn’t take it anymore.
You quickly stood up, closing your book. “I’ll be right back. bathroom,” you said as you shimmied past your seat and what used to be Reid’s.
Hotch looked up at you for a moment, but decided to let you be and ask questions later.
You rushed to the bathroom and quickly shut and locked the door behind you. You looked in the mirror and took a deep breath, slowing your breathing down. You looked down, and then back up, tears brimming in your eyes.
‘Why am I so frustrated? It’s not like we’re dating’, you thought.
You took one last deep breath before unlocking the door and walking back to your seat. You held your head down, refusing to look at Reid and JJ as you passed that part of the plane.
You kept walking until you reached your seat, and you froze. Not only was Reid back in his seat from before, but sitting next to him was a birthday cake. Signed “Happy Birthday” in your favorite color.
You stood there for a minute before speaking. You could tell Reid was anxious, trying to see if you liked it or not. Morgan sat with a huge smile on his face, and Hotch had a slight smirk on his.
Surrounding the cake were pictures, pictures of you with the team. A picture of you and Reid. A picture of you, JJ, Emily, and Penelope from a girls' night out. A picture of you and Hotch.
Tears started coating your eyes, threatening to release as you looked upon the cake.
Reid noticed the change. “Oh my god, do you not like it? I’m so sorry, I tried my best, here I’ll get rid of it, I’m so-“, He said as he fumbled with the pictures, trying to pick them up.
Your hand shot to his, gripping it, “No, no, it’s amazing. I love it,” You said, immediately pulling him into a huge hug.
Reid was never a big fan of touch, so when you realized what you did, you immediately pulled away.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to, I was just excited-“ you rambled in his arms until he pulled you back, just as tight.
You sat like that for a long while before you eventually slightly pulled away.
“How did you remember? I hadn’t said anything.” You questioned, surprised that they didn’t forget.
“Hello? Eidetic memory, remember? You mentioned it on November 10th at 3:39 PM while we were talking about Henry’s Birthday.” He beamed back at you.
You looked at his face in awe.
If you didn’t already have a fat crush on this man, you definitely do now.
a/n: If you enjoyed please like and repost!! or maybe even follow if you want to see more <3
