Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader
Summary: While dealing with the consequences of her relationship with Spencer, Y/N has some important conversations.
Category: Angst (18+)
Content: Strong language, crying, implied sex
Word Count: 3.4k
MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST
NOTE: We’ve reached the end! Finally! You guys have been so supportive and encouraging when it comes to this series, so thank you! I’ve loved having all our discussions about it, and coming to the end feels very bittersweet. Still, there’s that bonus chapter upcoming to look forward to (though I don’t know when it’ll get done)
I hope you enjoy the end to Summer of Sin. It’s been a pleasure! <3
———
Are you okay?
I’m so sorry.
I love you.
There are more messages in between, but those are the three lines I keep reading over and over again. Even through blurred vision—no thanks to the countless tears that keep welling uncontrollably—I can see each letter pulsating vividly behind my eyelids. They dance on the wall, they float around in the air, and they buzz in the TV like static.
the part right after (bottom left gif) where spencer looks at cat in horror over what he just did (and what he wouldve done if jj hadnt been there to stop him) hits hard.
Summary: Reader finds herself reminiscing on a long gone relationship that she remembers all too well. The image of the woman in the moodboard doesn’t accurately depict “reader” as she is a self insert character. I wanted to include images from the All Too Well Short film that you can find on YouTube (highly recommend if you haven’t seen it yet!)
Warnings: Toxic relationship, implied age gap, an incredibly unhealthy amount of TS references
Word Count: 4700
Paring: Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Angst without a happy ending)
Author's Note: A fic that I thought I would never actually finish. There's an absurd amount of Taylor Swift references. I really hope you enjoy this! And special thanks to my wonderful friend @reidsbookclub for reading and giving me kind words!! This fic has taken me pretty much months to write. I really appreciate all reblogs, comments, and tags!! I hope you enjoy this, it does break my own rule about sad endings, but I think we can all make an excuse for All Too Well.
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ALL TOO WELL
Loving him was like making an oath. I made it my sacred oath to cherish what we had before he tore it all up. It was something rare. We’re just skin and bone, bruised and blue by the love affair that left me on the stairs crumpled up like a discarded scrap of paper. The kind of paper with a messy, half thought out note. Something careless and unimportant. Something long forgotten and stuck in time. Frozen behind glass, a forever winter longing for her summer sun.
I would have been his summer sun. I wish I could have been his only one. But his love was a faithless hoax I believed in. I contorted myself till my bones threatened to snap. I loved him with my entire soul, the same soul that he left covered in dust and fractured in thousands of shiny pieces reflected light onto his soulless eyes. He left me bruised and betrayed, but still begging for his bogus benevolence.
Maybe if I retraced my steps I’d be able to figure out when everything fell apart. If I had to guess, it was our first encounter in the lecture hall. His love burned me to the core, but at least we were electrified. And even now, I can still feel it surging through my veins.
Or maybe not. Maybe I gave myself the sign the moment my lifeless frame cowered away at his empty touch. Maybe I should have reconsidered falling for the face of a traitor disguised as the closest thing to a miracle.
Falling in love with Spencer wasn’t like tripping over a forgotten pair of shoes and catching myself with both of my hands firmly on a chair. Loving Spencer Reid was a full on car crash. It’s a collision that knocks the wind out of me, leaving me with nothing to do, but lick my wounds and hope I’ll make it out alive. The impact should be the part that hurt the most. But it's what comes after that’s the worst. Again and again I’m in that car crash, wondering if I made it out. Constantly trapped in an endless cycle, letting him ruin me over and over again. All for what? Stolen glances in lecture halls? Regretful kisses in elevators? Wearing his cardigan, kissing in his car again? The chance that man that was never mine, might want me to be his?
I remember his voice.
His voice echoed in the lecture hall Professor Reid called his classroom. I was always early to class and he was always running late, meaning every Tuesday and Thursday we crossed paths. Him leaving and me going, even now with the knowledge and wisdom of hindsight on my side it all makes so much sense. But maybe I’ll just allow myself the peace of being a beautiful fool.
He’s much younger than the rest of the tenured staff, making him the object of many students’ affections. I can’t say I blame them, or myself for that matter, even. He’s handsome in a dorky way. And he’s dorky in a handsome way. But there’s so much more to him beneath the surface. I can see in the way his hands grip the strap on his satchel or the way his fingers fiddle as he explains questions to students. But I can see it most in the way he looks at me.
His back was turned towards the white board as he frantically wiped away the messily written words. I’ve heard rumors about him. Young undergrads gushed about how cute he was, teaching assistants swapped stories about his time in a prestigious FBI unit, other professors rolled their eyes at his youthfulness, but even they couldn’t resist the very strange charms of Spencer Reid.
He must have heard me coming in, because Spencer turns around towards the noise. He gives me a tightlipped smile and a friendly nod before turning back towards the white board. I can hear him muttering under his breath. His voice, somehow, is soft yet commanding. There’s something about it that makes me want to hang on to every word he says.
“Do you need some help,” I asked him, regretting it the moment I said it from the way he looked at me. Relief washed over his face as he nodded a silent yes.
“I’m awful at technology,” he admitted, “Are you in my class? I’m usually pretty good with faces and names. And even if I wasn’t, I should remember a face like your’s,” he told me, his thinly veiled attempt at flirting in that moment made me feel special. But now it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I was nothing but a shiny new toy for him to play with and discard when he realized that my reflection needed something to bounce off.
“I, that’s very kind of you to say,” I told him. I hoped that the tremor in my hands didn’t give away just how much his words affected me, “But no. I’m a grad student. I have Professor Patel in about ten minutes, I just like to get here early. Ahh, there, Professor, you just need to make sure you keep saving your work. I know it’s a pain,”
“Spencer,”
“Excuse me?” I asked, sneaking a glance upwards at him. He’s so tall, but not imposing like some tall men are. Spencer Reid is tall and very handsome, but the kind of tall and handsome that doesn’t need to boast about it. I’ve concluded that he knows he’s tall and handsome and therefore doesn’t feel the need to tell women just how tall and handsome he is. Or, conversely, he doesn’t care that he’s tall and handsome. Considering that he often had this far away look in his eyes, like his brain was running on overtime all the time.
“Considering that I’m not your professor and that you’ve taught me something, I think you should call me by my name. If you want that is,” he explained as he leaned down to check the progress on the revived document I saved. As he leaned, Spencer rested his arms on the edge of the desk. His rolled up sleeves and quiet timbre of his voice made me want to dive deeper into the gold rush of adrenaline and emotion he made me feel, even in the short time I’ve known him.
Somehow, I could see what’s hidden behind the surface. What’s behind those kind eyes, the kind of eyes with an indescribable color. Sometimes brown, sometimes green. Maybe one day I’ll forget innocuous details like the color of his eyes. When it’s long gone and there’s nothing I can do, maybe for my own sake I’ll convince myself that his green-brown, kind eyes are forget-me-not blue.
Because even though I burned, I hope he’ll never forget me standing there in a nice dress with red lips that match his perpetually rosy cheeks. He’s younger than he seems. Spencer doesn’t look old, but wise.
Other students knew Spencer as Professor. Staff knew him as colleague. But I knew him as Spencer. I convinced myself, in spite of all the signs he must have given me that the Spencer I knew, that the Spencer I would have loved with my dying breath, was the real Spencer. And now, with Spencer-shaped scars surrounding my soul, I’m not sure about much of anything anymore.
“See you Thursday-”
“Y/N,” I said, intercepting what I knew he was going to ask. I’ll remember it forever, the sound of my name on his lips. Even though I’ve only heard it once at that moment, it was my favorite sound. I’ll replay it in my mind, like a film with an ending that tears me up every time I watch it.
It’s also the first time I saw him walk away from me. But certainly not the last.
I remember the way he smelled.
If Spencer sounded like everything good in this world, Spencer Reid smelt like fall.
The autumn leaves fell down like pieces into place. The leaves, some fiery reds and some soft yellows mixed into an unseemly brown. The leaves crunched under our shoes as we walked side by side, hand in hand. I tried to act cool when Spencer held my hand, even though it felt like my heart wanted to burst outside of my chest.
“Come on,” he teases, a strange look of youthfulness on his face, “It’s not that hard, Y/N,” Spencer says, my name on his lips makes my heart erratic. Everything about him makes me erratic. His spicy cologne, the way he held my hand as we walked up the path, the way his jacket fits around my shoulders. Everything about Spencer makes me completely and utterly dazed.
Spencer drags the bike along the path with one hand as he keeps the other interlocked with mine. He looks over at me smiling. He’s beautiful with the sunlight basking behind him. I can get lost in him. Lost in the way his eyes never leave my face, lost in the way his voice says my name like a secret language, lost in all of him that’s only for me. But in reality I never lost him, because I never had him. Somewhere along the line we got lost in translation.
“I’m scared,” I whisper as we walk further and further along the path, “I know it’s silly. I’m nearly 23 and never learned how to ride a bike,” I chuckle, the self-deprecation masked as humor natural to me. Spencer doesn’t laugh. He stops walking to look at me.
“Hey, don’t do that,” he says, nearly making me stumble with his firm tone, “It’s okay to be scared, Y/N. This is new and you can get hurt. But I’m here, to catch your fall. Besides, I brought Bandaids,” he says, eyes twinkling with laughter. I could never quite pinpoint how old Spencer is. Sometimes he’ll laugh and seem like a little kid with glasses, but other times he’ll smile at me and face will flood with lines and crinkles.
“I trust you,” I whisper, trusting myself to trust him with every ounce of my being. I’ll do anything to keep him smiling at me like that. It makes me, in a strange way, feel complete in a way I’ve never been completed. Maybe it’s soulmates or twin flames or just a figment of my worst intentions, but whatever I’ll spend forever wondering if I should have run as I as I could have.
“Alright,” Spencer says, breaking the silence that falls upon us. With Spencer I don’t feel like I have to fill the silence gaps with senseless conversation. When I’m with him it feels like I’m home somehow. I can see a sliver of the little kid with glasses he used to be. Back when he’d crawl into a twin sized bed after weekends spent traveling the world in cardboard box ships and afternoons clutching home lunchboxes in sweaty palms.
He adjusts my scarf around my neck and I can feel his rough fingertips brushing against my skin. I know now that his expired touches will linger longer than I’d want. And I hope that the scarf he can’t get rid of reminds him of me. Remnants of a love affair tainted with his woodsy cologne; the intoxication of needing to be loved so blindly.
It was this woodsy, sage and cinnamon cologne that Spencer wore as he steadied me on the bike with his hands on my waist that’s stayed with me even since I watched him leave.
“I won’t let you fall,” Spencer said to me. He whispered into my ear, making the hairs on my skin stand up at his closeness. I shivered, still not used to having someone as magnetic as him so close to me.
“Promise?” I ventured. Looking back I think that perhaps what Spencer said wasn’t about that bike ride at all. Maybe he was talking to himself. Maybe he was, as his hands melted into my skin and his words warmed my brittle heart, willing himself not to fall in love with me. But I fell, not on what I thought was shared, sacred, special holy ground. No, I fell for him. And broke my bones and lost myself in the process.
“Promise,” Spencer whispered, in what, at the moment everything I wanted to hear, but furthest from the truth, “I’m going to let g and all you have to do is pedal and, well, not crash,” he added, the layer of dorky humor bubbling to his mind-numbingly attractive exterior.
“Okay,” I shouted, nervous as he let me go. My waist felt empty without his hands resting against my body. I could hardly hear him as I pedaled down the winding path.
The blaze of colorful autumn leaves rushed past me. In a way, I felt like I was soaring through the sky, flying above the trees. If I strained my ear, I could hear Spencer shouting in the close distance. I broke hard and planted my feet firmly on the ground. Spencer, beaming with what I desperately hoped was pride, jogged towards me.
“I did it!” I exclaimed, allowing myself to be proud of my grossly overdue accomplishment. Spencer’s warm smiling filled my cold soul.
“That’s my girl,” Spencer said. He kissed me on my forehead, holding my face in between his two hands. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get swept away by Spencer. I’ll do anything he says if he says it with his hands. I’ll betray myself a million little ways for the scraps of affection he’ll toss my way.
In that moment, with him holding me close, kissing my face, and calling me his, I knew that it was far gone. I knew that Spencer Reid had ruined me. And, even now, I think I liked it. Because, at least for a little while, I was his.
I remember the way he touched me.
“Are you even real?” I whispered into the blue soaked bedroom. It was neat and tidy. Spencer had books scattered around the room, some are under faux plants, some are collecting dust tucked away in the corner.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer asked. He pushed stray pieces of hair behind my ear. His lyrical smile plucked my heartstrings.
“It’s just,” I started, doubting myself, doubting what we had, even then, “it’s just, sometimes I feel like I made you up,”
He didn’t say anything after that. He just kissed my forehead as he slipped out of his crumpled bed. Spencer turned around to face me. He extended his hands, giving me an excuse to touch him again. And I’ll take it every time.
“Dance with me?” Spencer asked. The question barely slipped from his tongue before I clamored from the bed. His flannel shirt, engulfing me in his scent, slipped from my shoulders.
I nodded yes, marveling at how beautiful he looked in the deep blue hue that drowned the bedroom. The warm yellow light from the bathroom forms a halo behind his angelic face. Maybe I should have known that my eclipsed sun had a deceptively crooked halo. But I was blinded by his heavenly touch that I missed the hellish aftermath it put me through.
We swayed together, my face pressed up against his chest. We danced with the bathroom light illuminating the flaws we tried to hide from each other. He kissed me like I’ve never been kissed before. I believed his empty promises because I craved his even emptier touches. They felt real in the moment. His calloused fingertips brush over skin that begs for his attention.
I don’t think I was ever a religious person. Maybe it was the idea of pledging belief in the intangible that never sparked something in me. I may not believe in much, but I did believe in Spencer. Even though he burned me, bruised me, betrayed me, his faithless love is the only hoax I believe in.
It was moments like that, frozen in time, that I hoped hard enough that what we had could last forever. He held my cold body close to his, drawing shapeless shapes over my bare skin. Bashful and shy, when he blushed at my delight over his childhood photos I saw the tiniest sliver of the little boy with glasses that slept in a twin sized bed. I wonder, looking back, if his bed is cold without me now. If he regrets telling all about his past like the thought his future was me.
I remember he left. When I felt so cold and lifeless and empty with his hands all over me. For a man that couldn’t say he loved me, he certainly touched me, kissed me, worshiped me like he did. I suppose, now, it was just a false love, worshiped at a false altar with a false prophet chanting my name.
I miss his hands, warm and big, that burned into his flannel shirt he let me wear. Just like Spencer’s baited breath is the only soundtrack I want to dance to, his borrowed touches are the only touches I care to feel.
I remember how it tasted when he left me.
The buttercream icing was too sweet. It was so thick that I felt like I had to swallow three times before I felt like I could breathe again. I was on borrowed time. It was only moments before my winning smile would give way to the painful frown that I hid so gracefully.
I remember it all too well. Standing there in my party dress with red lipstick missing the only person I cared to see. I guess, looking back, I felt unmoored as I watched my friends dance under the mirrorball without the pain of being unloved.
The sweetness gave way into bitterness as the night matured. It became harder and harder to play the part of the ever-shiny jewel. I remember that I started with passion at the mirrorball high above my head. I wondered if I started long enough I’d be able to see my own reflection materialize before me. I wondered too, against my best intentions, that if I hoped enough he’d show up too.
It was hard to be at a party when all I felt like was an open wound. And what you don’t know is how much harder it is to heal that wound when the only one that could fix it couldn’t be bothered to show up.
Glitter littered the floor, along with empty bottles and expired laughter. Alone, I sat on the hardwood floor wondering if my borrowed time with Spencer had finally turned sour. It would be a lie to say that I couldn’t have seen this coming. But it would be a lie that I’d like to ignore. Instead, I’ll pick up the rose colored glasses to watch our ill-fated illicit affair in irresistible rose blush.
Lost in the memory, I almost missed the frantic knocking at the door. Standing there, looking like hell, Spencer leaned against the doorframe. If I liked myself more, I would have kicked him out. But I didn’t, I thought I loved him more than life itself. I suppose now I loved him enough to justify hurting myself. And maybe, if Spencer loved me in return he would have known to not string me alone for entertainment.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, unable to speak to him in a potent tone. All I wanted was to jump into his arms, even if it would kill me.
“It’s your birthday,”
“It was,” I replied. I spat the words through my teeth, hating the way that Spencer’s intelligent eyes and warm hands made me want to forgive his indiscretions with a nonchalant wave and a pained-masked smile. I’ve found myself bending with Spencer. I bent when I met his friends, lost in their world of children and spouses and opinions on fancy bottles of wine. I bent when I pretended not to love him in front of colleagues at university banquets. I bent when I swallowed my sorrows when he didn’t show up that night.
If I bent anymore, my bones would break in half. And, somehow, standing there in my party dress with my lips painted in red lipstick, I knew that Spencer wouldn’t be around to mend them.
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Spencer said, maybe saying out of obligation more than truth, “I got caught up in something and I just…”
“Save it,” I told him as I turned on my heel to clean up the bottles that lay forgotten on the floor, “I get it. You’re too important and special and wonderful to be bothered with my frivolous friends and their frivolous parties,”
“You know that’s not true,” Spencer retorted, letting the half deflated balloon fly up to the ceiling, “You’re overacting, Y/N,”
“I’m overacting?” I shouted, feeling the last eight months of swallowing my words threaten to come back with a vengeance in my throat. I can still recall the way the weight of him festered inside of me. Like a wine stain that I can wash away, no matter how hard I scrub.
“Yeah and you’re acting like a spoiled child. It’s embarrassing,”
The sweetness is gone. The bitterness is washed away by something else entirely. I think I prayed that night. I prayed that the floor would swallow me whole. That I wouldn’t feel the way my eyes burned with tears. That I wouldn’t fight that all too familiar lump in my throat. That I wouldn’t have a tremor in my hands that I couldn’t shake. I prayed to feel nothing, because, in that moment I felt everything. Everything came back to me. The stolen touches in empty classrooms, the bike ride with the autumn leaves that crunched under our feet, the countless silent nights when I memorized the color of his eyes. I’ll remember it all, all too well.
“I embarrass you?” I asked him, wondering if the break in my voice breaks him too. I hoped it did. I hoped he realized that because I loved him so, hearing his words of ridicule broke me in return.
“Look, Y/N. You’re young. You’ve just got a lot of growing up to do-”
“I embarrass you?” I repeated, waving my hands in the air to wash away his words, “Do you even love me back?”
I never hated the silence. I thought I could hear it in silence. I thought that if I listened hard enough, I’d hear it in the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the way he loved me.
“Y/N,” Spencer said, talking to me like I was petulant child with a wild imagination, “Come on,”
“No, Spencer. You don’t get to tell me to come on. You don’t get to minimize what we had. You don’t get to call the narrative when it suits you. You have to call it what it was,” I shouted at the top of my lungs, not caring that the entire apartment complex was privy to our fallout.
“You’re making a big scene out of nothing,” Spencer retorted, running his hands through his hair as he looked at the floor, “I think you’re drunk and tired and confused,”
“I loved you,” I whispered, stepping so close to him that I could see the way his skin crinkled around his eyes, “I loved you with every fiber of my being. I remember it, Spencer. I remember what we had, I remember how you loved me,”
“Please,” Spencer scoffed, his annoyed tone hurting more than an angry one ever could, “I’ve…we’ve”
“You kept me like a secret, Spencer. But you…you were an oath to me. You were everything I ever wanted. I was everything I ever wanted to be with you,”
“I think…I think we’re done here,” Spencer whispered, tucking my hair behind my ear one final time, “Maybe, Y/N. Things could have been different if it weren’t for time. Maybe if we were closer in age. Yeah, maybe it could have been different,”
And that. And that made me want to die.
I should hate Spencer. I should hate him for stringing me along, making me believe that he loved me back. I should hate him for ruining me. But that’s the thing. It’s so sick how much I don’t hate him. It’s sickening how much I still love him. How can I hate him when I love him? But what is loving Spencer if it makes me hate myself?
Watching him in the rearview is like watching a silent movie with characters that are achingly familiar. Tragically beautiful and doomed fall apart. I can see us, twin flames, lost in the memory watching what we had slipped into a moment of time. I’ll come to hate it. Time, not Spencer.
In hindsight, I knew I should have seen the signs. The way he’d look over his shoulder in public, or the way he'd come to me after cases, when the dark of night was a twisted veil that covered our sins. Tragic and fated to fall apart. It’s sickly Shakespearean with a mix of old Hollywood. But in the movies, he’d love me back and wouldn’t push me away when the sun peaks in through the blinds.
I’m not sure of many things anymore. I’m still trying to pick up the pieces of my fractured soul. When our souls parted, I fell apart. It was like a part of me fell apart at the seams when our souls parted. When he turned his back on my and darkened my wistful daydreams. When he turned my blissful ignorance into scorned apathy.
I can see us, even now, dancing in the star-drenched dead of night. Our quiet heartbeats and the steady hum of the refrigerator are the soundtrack to a bruising illicit affair. I can feel Spencer’s words, drunk on the idea of me, as we waltzed together in step. I can’t do that anymore, but all of it reminds me of him. It’s hard to dance when all you feel like is an open wound. It’s hard to feel anything when you feel nothing. It’s hard to move on from something that wasn't much of anything.
We all want to be the main character in someone's love story. Desperately, we’ll cling to this notion of happily ever after and look longingly into the distance for a 35mm camera to capture the magic that unfolds. I suppose that we’ll learn too late that we’re not the star, shiny bright and never dull. We’re lackluster. We’re dented. We’re nothing like was promised.
After all these days, I still dream of being the main character in his love story, but he ripped that paper out letting it lay crumpled on the floor, forgotten and tarnished. Maybe one day I’ll wake up to a fresh page. The crinkles that he abandoned me with will be smoothed out like I’m brand new. What’s passed is the past, prologue in the story of everything.
He persists, preserved in my memory. Time might fly by, but I’m paralyzed by it. I’m still trying to find my old self again, while being scared for what awaits me in my own reflection. Will I see the scars that he left? Will I feel the emotional bruises he left. Will I ever be a fresh page on the desk, writing my love story as I go?
But he keeps my old scarf from that very first week because it reminds him of innocence and it smells like me. He can’t get rid of, after all this time, because he remembers it all too well.
I knew he’d linger on my lips. Slow to leave like the last train from the station. I knew that I’d miss you as the dust settled on my frozen form. I knew that he’d be all over me, and nothing I could do would change what we had. If only, if only Spencer Reid had loved me enough to call it what it was.
maybe spencer and reader not together just yet but maybe she makes him jealous by flirting with someone and he makes her ✨forget✨ any other person ;)
I Want You - Smurph
This was a fun prompt! <3 Sorry it took me a bit to get done... </3
Oneshot
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Word count: 4547
Warnings: jealous sex, rough sex, sort of public sex? Its late and I can't think of the word for when you're trying to be really quiet bc someones right outside the door, angst, emotions, happy ending
You leaned back in your chair as you watched Agent Berkeley sit on the edge of your desk. He had a cocky grin on his face, fiddling with a pen as he spoke. You vaguely felt Spencer’s gaze on you, but fuck him.
“It’s such a beautiful place by the water,” Berkeley told you as you watched him with a sultry smile. “You’d just love it.”
“Oh, I’m sure I would,” you replied silkily, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.
You and Spencer had hooked up one glorious night a few months ago, after being forced to share a motel room during a case. He never brought it up again, so you had no problem flirting with Agent Berkeley and liking it.
Months spent dancing around your continued attraction to that man and having him ignore you left you antsy and twitchy… and unbelievably horny. If Spencer wasn’t going to snap you up and keep you as his, then you were going to find someone else to satisfy you.
“How’s tonight sound?” the SWAT team director asked you, his stupidly beautiful muscles flexing under his tight shirt, and you crossed your legs tightly as you watched them.
“Sounds good,” you purred, squeezing your thighs tighter as he walked away, ignoring Spencer’s annoyed scoff from his desk.
“He’s super hot,” JJ said, leaning forward and putting her elbows on her knees and sighing. “Good God, when you hit that you have to give me every detail.”
“Aren’t those SWAT guys known meatheads?” Spencer muttered, avoiding your gaze and tapping his pen on his desk. His thigh juggled heavily under it, and he swallowed thickly when he looked up and caught your mischievous eye.
“Yeah, but,” JJ laughed, turning to a laughing Prentiss and Garcia, “he only needs to know how to use one thing, and from what I hear, Agent Berkeley knows how to use it very well.”
Spencer stood and headed for the coffee pot, and while the girls were distracted talking about Berkeley’s one thing and what they’d heard about it, you turned your chair to watch him. He glared at you as he poured himself a cup, while you simply smirked and uncrossed your legs.
You knew he caught a glimpse of your panties under your skirt as you recrossed them, because he poured some of the coffee onto the back of his hand. He cursed and went about cleaning himself up, so you turned back to your work and thought about what you were going to wear for your night out with the hot SWAT guy.
A few hours later you stood in front of your mirror, admiring your lingerie and preparing yourself for the night. You had showered, exfoliated and moisturized, your skin dusted with shea butter and vanilla perfume. You smelled like a snack, and you hoped Agent Berkeley would take more than just a bite.
You snapped the waistband of your underwear and grinned. The black lace hugged your curves and accentuated all of your best features. You bit your lip, brushing your hair out of your face and smiling. With the dress you planned to wear, you were definitely getting laid tonight.
Spencer be damned.
The doorbell rang, chiming through your apartment and forcing you to tear your eyes away from the beautiful shape of yourself. It was too early for Berkeley to be there, so you ignored it, figuring it was just a wrong button on the door downstairs. Someone else would get it and let them up to the right apartment.
You slipped on a black satin robe, cinching it tight and plopping down at your vanity. You finished your makeup with precision, then fluffed out your hair to admire yourself again. You looked perfect.
Your night out wasn’t to search for a relationship. That idea had been soured months ago when Spencer took your night together and decided it meant nothing to him. You thought the two of you had something real, something worth pursuing… but you’d been wrong.
Trying to ignore the wave of disappointment, you spritzed yourself with another spray of perfume. You patted it in gently, then stood to go put on your dress, but there was a knock at the door.
You looked at the clock on your nightstand, it was still too early for Berkeley to be there. Then, the knock came again, harder and more insistent. Cinching the robe again to maintain some modesty, you stomped to the door and ripped it open.
Spencer Reid leaned against your doorframe, putting his weight on his forearm as he looked down at you. His pink lips parted as he laid eyes on you. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip as he dragged his gaze up and down your body.
“What are you doing here?” you asked roughly, crossing your arms and glaring at him as he stared at your breasts.
“Don’t go on that date,” Spencer breathed, his chest heaving. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his chest, sweat lingering on his collarbone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked haggard, rushed, nervous.
“Why shouldn’t I?” you asked, leaning on one hip and smirking up at him.
Spencer stepped forward, lingering above you and looking down at you darkly. You swallowed thickly, the heat rushing to your face and chest as the scent of him surrounded you.
“I want you.” His voice was gruff, full of emotion and lust. His eyes were clouded over, shadowed and glassy, and you shivered under the weight of it.
If you couldn’t have him all to yourself, you figured, at least you could have him one last time.
“Prove it,” you whispered, gasping when his hands shot out and pulled your face up to his.
Your lips crashed together as Spencer’s hand tangled in your hair, and a startled moan escaped your chest as he pushed you inside, kicking the door shut behind him. Spencer ushered you in with his tall frame until your back hit the wall with a heavy thump.
“God, what took you so long?” you gasped as he moved on to your neck, nipping and sucking bruises into your skin. His hands dragged down your sides, slipping under the robe and palming your waist as your back arched.
“You piss me off, Y/N,” he growled in your ear, gripping your ass in his hands and hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. You whined as he bit down on your shoulder and pressed his clothed cock against your lace-covered pussy. “You fuck me once and then you expect me to just sit and watch you go out with someone else?”
“Oh, you piss me off, Reid!” you snarled back, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling his head back up to you. You clashed together in a crash of teeth and tongue, Spencer’s body covering yours as he pulled you off and then shoved you harder against the wall. “You fucked me, and forgot about me!”
“Stop talking, okay? You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said as he pulled away breathless, nodding emphatically at you. “Just shut up, stop talking for once in your life.”
“Make me,” you laughed back, your face scrunching up in annoyance. Spencer’s eyes widened, then he squinted deliciously at you, turning sharply and tossing you down roughly on the couch.
You bounced on the cushions as he descended on you. He pushed you up to lean against the armrest, lips attaching again to your skin and biting roughly down your neck and chest. Spencer untied your robe, pushing it open, dragging his teeth between your breasts.
“Take this off,” he said suddenly, sitting up and pawing at your shoulders. “Take it off now.”
You sat up just enough to slip it off, keeping eye contact with him as your pussy began to leak through your panties. You reached behind yourself to unclasp your bra, tossing it off into the ether.
Spencer’s eyes lit up as your breasts bounced, and he quickly ducked his head and latched onto one of your nipples. Your back arched as your head rocked back off the edge of the armrest, and his other hand palmed your tit to tweak and pinch your aching bud.
"Jesus," you gasped softly, clamping your hand over your mouth as he swapped one nipple for the other. Your hips jerked forward, brushing against his crotch. You wrapped your thighs around his waist to pull him closer, grinding your sopping slit against his pants while he groaned as he worked your nipples over.
"Spencer," you whined, pathetically rubbing against him and pushing your chest out.
He pulled his lips from you with a pop , licking them and smiling at you. You reached out and brushed your thumb across his bottom lip, now pink and swollen and wet with spit. His cheeks reddened as you touched him, his pupils blown and chest heaving. As angry as he made you, as frustrated as he'd left you these last few months, you smiled back.
God, he was beautiful like that.
You sat up enough to pull at his belt, making quick work of his fly and reaching inside. Heat coursed through you as you palmed him through his briefs. He was thick, he was long, and by the look in his eyes he was going to fuck you until you couldn't walk.
Spencer made quick work of his shirt while you finished pulling him out of his slacks, sliding your hand up the length of him. Spencer leaned his forehead against yours as you pumped him in your hand, hardly able to get it all the way around him.
“Y/N…” he groaned, his hips thrusting forward with your touch. He kissed you again, the softest he’d done it since barging into your apartment. “I want you.”
“Prove it,” you said again, and the glint in his eye sent a shock of excitement through you. He kissed you again roughly, smearing your lipstick and dragging the red stains with him as he kissed his way down your chest and stomach.
Spencer’s fingers curled around the thin scrap of lace separating you as he nipped the soft skin of your tummy. You watched him, a dirty smirk taking over his face just before he ripped the lace in two.
You gasped, both in anger and desperation as your body shook with the force. Your breasts jiggled and Spencer watched them with his bottom lip between his teeth. He tossed the ruined underwear aside, then reached out and lightly slapped the side of one of your tits just to watch it bounce.
Groaning in annoyance, you lifted your hips up to entice him. His hands smoothed back down your sides, sliding over your hips and resting in the apex of your thighs to hold them open.
“What’s the matter, baby?” he cooed softly, brushing his thumb up and down your aching slit. You watched him with anger even though your pussy dripped with anticipation. He only called you baby when he fucked you.
“I-,” you started, then shook your head, baring your teeth at him. Spencer chuckled lightly, pressing his thumb further into you. He gathered up your slick and brought it back up, swirling your clit with the pad of his finger.
“Tell me,” he baited you, pushing just a little harder and laughing as your head rocked back against the armrest. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Ugh!” you snarled, fingers digging into the cushion as you sat up on your elbows to glare at him. "Fuck you, Spencer!"
“Let me hear you say it, and I’ll take care of you,” he crooned, tilting his head to the side and watching you so sweetly… you wanted to kick him in the face.
But you also wanted to cum, and you wanted that cock inside you again.
“I want you,” you finally relented, your thighs twitching underneath his hands as he grinned wolfishly.
“I know you do, baby.”
Spencer licked his lips, then dove headfirst into your dripping sex. He held your thighs open as they tried to clench around his head, your hands flying into his hair to keep him close.
Spencer’s moans reverberated through your pussy, slurping and sucking up every drop of you as you groaned breathily above him. He pressed two fingers to your entrance, and immediately you fucked down on them, and you swore he smiled against your lips as he started pumping into you.
“Oh, fuck!” you whined as he started curling and spreading his fingers. Your fists held him by his hair to your clit even tighter as you rode his face and his fingers, the sopping wet sounds of him fucking you only driving you closer and closer to the edge,
Your whole body started to twitch as you draped one thigh over the back of the couch, your other foot pressing hard against the edge of your coffee table. You cried out as his teeth grazed your swollen bud, you orgasm ripping through you as he held you wide open and fucked you with his fingers.
Spencer hardly gave you a moment to breathe as you came down, pulling his fingers from your pussy and shoving them in your mouth. Tears formed in your eyes as they pressed into the back of your throat, Spencer watching you like he was burning the image into his mind forever.
You swirled your tongue around and sucked yourself off him as he gazed hypnotically at you, your eyes meeting and shocking him out of it. Slipping his fingers from your lips, he stood from the couch long enough to toe off his shoes and shuck his pants and underwear.
He pounced on you the second he ripped the last garment off, his underwear hitting the floor somewhere as his hands reached for your face. He kissed you roughly, tongue plunging into your mouth as your makeup smeared further.
He guided himself to your entrance as he kissed you, your legs still spread wide and open just for him. You both gasped as he pressed into you, slowly pumping in and out to stretch you on his thick cock.
“Fuck, so tight,” he grunted, leaning back on his knees to watch himself split you open. You moaned and arched your back, sighing happily as he finally sheathed inside you. "I missed this pussy, baby."
Spencer pumped into you a few more times, watching his dick slide in and out of you. He moved back a little on the couch and pulled you down with him until you laid flat on the cushions before gripping your wrists in his hands and holding them above your head.
“God, look at you,” he grunted, rocking his hips sharply and smiling at the sounds you made. You were already too fucked out to care if he made fun of you for them, you just wanted get fucked until you couldn’t do anything but lie there and take it.
He draped his body over yours, and you wrapped your thighs around him as he kissed you again. His hips rolled long and hard, thrusting in time with his kisses, his fingers bruising your wrists.
He fucked you hard, both of you grunting and groaning with each thrust to your cervix. Sweat poured off you both, your skin sliding together as you clenched around his slick cock.
A knock at the door made you both stop, your lips still pressed together as you both looked up at the door.
“Uh, Y/N?” Agent Berkeley’s voice came through the wood. Your eyes widened in shock and so did Spencer’s… though he had that damned mischievous glint in his. “I know I’m early, one of your neighbors let me up.”
You shook your head as he glanced toward the door, warning him not to say anything. Instead, he thrust into you again, and you couldn’t even cover your mouth since he was still holding your wrists above your head.
You bit down on your lip as he did it again and again, watching you with a wicked grin as your skin turned red and that coil tightened again in your lower belly.
Spencer leaned down and whispered hotly against your neck, “What’s the matter, Y/N? You don’t want Agent Berkeley to see you fucked out with your makeup smeared all over your pretty face?”
“Y/N?” Berkeley's voice came again, “You home?”
You whined with your jaw clenched tightly shut as he slowed his thrusts, rolling his hips languidly and pushing up into your g-spot. He laughed lightly in your ear as one of his hands moved to your clit.
“You don’t want him to come in and see your thighs wrapped around my waist?” When you shook your head and whimpered an unh-uh , he licked a stripe up your neck and grazed his teeth against your ear. “How do you think he’d feel, huh? Seeing me fucking his date?”
You shuddered under the sheer heat and weight of him. He laughed against your skin as he fucked you, your date on the other side of the door as Spencer whispered dirty things to you.
“You still gonna go?” he grunted, his thrusts turning rough again as he started pounding into you. You bit your lips tightly between your teeth, digging your fingernails into the back of his hand as he held them gruffly. “You still gonna let him fuck you when I’m done with you?”
As hot as the thought was, you knew you weren’t going anywhere with Berkeley after this, but Spencer didn’t need to know that. You scratched the back of his hand harder, and he cursed under his breath as he let go.
You shoved him and twisted your body, both of you falling off the couch and landing heavily on the floor. Spencer’s cock impaled you as you landed on top of him, and you let out a sharp yelp as tears burst from the corners of your eyes, despite how good it felt.
"You alright in there?" Berkeley asked politely through the door, knocking again.
Spencer hissed in apology, reaching up to cup your jaw as your mascara streamed down your face.
“Just give me a minute!” you called, surprising even yourself as Spencer’s apologetic smile turned to a shocked jaw drop.
“Oh, okay,” the voice came from the other side of the door.
“What are you gonna do?” Spencer whispered, thrusting up into you for emphasis. “Tell him you were riding dick and that’s why you’re running late?”
You bared your teeth at him again, but instead of getting off of him and trying to hide him, you rolled your own hips. You lifted yourself up on your knees, dropping down on his cock and grinning as he moaned quietly.
Spencer slapped a hand over his mouth, watching you darkly. You couldn’t help yourself, and ripped it from his face and kissed him as you rode him.
“What’s the matter, baby?” you mocked him quietly, planting both hands on either side of his head. The head of his dick pushed up into your cervix as you rode him, leaning down to grin devilishly at him. “Don’t want anyone to know you’re here?”
Spencer growled, sitting up and wrapping his arms around your waist. He moved to lean against the front of the couch, fucking up into you as you rode his cock, tangling your hands in his hair and holding him close.
“I’ll tell him myself,” Spencer hissed, rolling his hips and digging his nails into yours. You clutched him tightly as you tugged on his shaggy curls, that airy feeling in your chest only expanding as you moaned as quietly as you could. “I’ll tell everyone how you came on my cock and my tongue and my fingers.”
Spencer’s teeth dug into your shoulder as he held back a sedated series of grunts, the two of you rocking and humping like desperate animals on your living room floor. Your juices leaked between the two of you, drenching the insides of your thighs and Spencer’s lower belly.
“I’ll let everyone know you like being manhandled, tossed around and told what to do.” His moans turned reedy and high as the coil tightened in your stomach, your gaze going blurry and wet as you twitched and clenched around his thick cock.
“I’ll tell them how you sound when you cum.” Your legs turned to jelly, and you just held onto his shoulders while his cock ground up into you and stretched your quaking walls. “I’ll tell them you begged me for it, and you loved every single second of my dick inside you.”
“I want you to tell them,” you gasped, and the coil finally snapped. Heat rushed through your veins as you buried your face into his neck, biting down on his skin as you shuddered and shook on his cock, surprised by your own admission.
Spencer’s length jerked up one last time, burying himself into you and spilling his hot seed into your cervix. He groaned through clenched teeth as his nails dug into your hips, bruising you and leaving you panting as you held him.
His chest heaved as he clutched you tightly to him. Your sweat began to cool against his skin, unable to unwrap yourself from him, turning stiff and sore as the bruises began to ache.
“You sure you’re alright?” A knock came again, and you startled in Spencer’s arms. Spencer sighed against your chest, finally releasing you from his grasp and leaning back to look up at you.
“Don’t go on that date,” he whispered, watching you intently as you both struggled to catch your breath. “Stay with me, don’t go.”
You watched him, unsure of the weight behind his gaze. He brushed back your hair, his fingers threading through and along your scalp. Tongue darting out to wet his lips, he swallowed thickly as he looked to you so softly, you wanted to kiss him.
You couldn’t take it, so you untangled yourself from him and stood, both of you groaning as he slipped out of you. Snatching your robe off the floor, you tugged it on and cinched it closed. You tried to smooth your hair back as you opened the door just an inch or two to gaze up at Agent Berkeley.
Guilt swelled in your chest as you saw him. He wasn’t wearing his normal tee and tight jeans, but instead had on a nice pair of slacks and a sweater, holding a bouquet of roses and lilies.
“Oh, your makeup…” he said, looking to you with concern. “Are you okay?”
“You know, I’m not feeling great,” you lied with a smile. “Food poisoning, so I’m gonna stay home.”
“I-I can get you some crackers, soup,” he offered, but you shook your head.
“I’ll call you, okay? I need to lie down.” Not completely a lie, your legs were sore and exhausted from riding Spencer Reid’s cock on the floor while your date waited patiently outside. You knew your makeup was running down your face, and you probably looked absolutely ruined.
“These are for you.” Berkeley handed you the bouquet, and you did your best to pull it into the apartment without opening the door further. “Feel better, okay?”
You waved goodbye and closed the door heavily behind you, leaning against it and latching it with one hand while you held the flowers in the other. You glanced over to where Spencer was, but instead of where you’d left him on the floor, he was lounging on your couch, naked as the day he was born and grinning at you.
“He could have at least gotten you something more interesting than Calla Lilies,” he smirked, settling against a pillow and lacing his fingers behind his head.
“More than you ever got me,” you retorted, turning on your heel and heading for your kitchen. You vaguely clocked Spencer standing up to follow you, ignoring him as you opened the cabinet under the sink to pull out a vase.
You went about pouring the flower food and water into the vase, then turned to go to your junk drawer. Spencer leaned against the doorway, watching you with his arms crossed over his chest. You ignored him and grabbed some scissors from the drawer, snipped off the ends of the stems and placed them in the vase.
As you were fluffing them up to look fuller, Spencer’s warmth was behind you again, his hands coming to rest on the counter on either side of you.
“Y/N,” he said in your ear, and it was all you had to keep from jumping.
“What do you want from me, Spencer?” you snarled, turning around to face him. His eyes widened but he didn’t pull away.
“I want you,” was all he said, and you rolled your eyes and pointed toward the door.
“You already had me,” you told him as you glared, “so you can go now.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he said quietly, licking his lips and watching you intently.
“If you wanted me that badly, you would have told me after we hooked up the first time.”
Spencer shook his head sadly, shuffling closer until he had you pressed against the counter. It felt odd, him being naked and you at least dressed in your robe. At least you had a shield for whatever mean thing was about to come out of his mouth.
“I should have told you then, but I got scared,” he whispered, his voice wavering as those beautiful hazel eyes bored into yours. He chuckled bitterly before he continued “I managed to convince myself that you couldn’t want me too, so I ignored you so I could move past it.”
You just watched him, crossing your arms over your chest and trying not to let your chin wobble. Spencer sighed and traced your face with his eyes, as if he were committing you to memory.
“But then I noticed the way you looked at me, how sad you looked when I pretended like I didn’t care if you were there or not.”
You shook your head, “I don’t feel anything for you, Spencer.”
One of his hands left the counter to cup your jaw, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “If that’s really how you feel, that’s fine. I’ll leave, and we can pretend again like this didn’t happen. But I don’t want that, and I don’t think you do either.”
“You don’t know anything,” you grunted, tears welling in your eyes as he sighed sadly.
“Then why aren’t you out on that date?”
“You asked me to stay.”
“Exactly.”
You glared up at him, brutally unsure and more naked than you ever liked to be. But there he stood, absolutely bare and open, ready to pour out pieces of himself if you asked him to.
“You really wanna know why I’m not on that date?” you asked, and he nodded hesitantly, but his hand never left you.
“Tell me,” he breathed, “I want to hear you say it.”
You grinned, and he grinned back, and he leaned in just close enough to kiss you, hovering just in front of you.
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