Dr. Spencer Reid

This is calm and it’s doctor! F | UK | 32 | Gublersexual

[yesiamagenius7]

💀𝒞𝓇𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝑀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎

📽️𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝐹𝓇𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓎 & 𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓉 𝟤𝟢:𝟢𝟢 𝒢𝑀𝒯

🔪𝒥𝑜𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒿𝑜𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓃

Now hosting on Fridays!! 👇🏻👇🏻

🍿https://discord.gg/QwXt4Vb2wm

[winniethewitch11]

The Boyfriend Hypothesis | Spencer Reid & You | Chapters' index

Summary: “And what are you planning to do? The wedding’s in a month. You think you can find someone by then?” Garcia asked.

“It’s not just that. I need to bring a man better than hers.”

At that moment, an idea lit up in your mind.

“Reid. Be my boyfriend. Please.”

You’ve always had a rivalry with your cousin — and now, she’s getting married first. You can’t show up alone. So, in a moment of pure desperation (or genius), you ask the most unlikely person to play the role of perfect boyfriend: your brilliant, awkward, infuriating co-worker, Spencer Reid. What could possibly go wrong?

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, rom-com, coworkers to lovers, fake-dating, slight slow burn, spencer wears glasses, angry love confession, coming on age, family rivalry, spencer is a gentleman

🖊️ Chapter 1: The Proposal

🖊️ Chapter 2: One Month to Go [part 1]

🖊️ Chapter 2: One Month to Go [part 2]

🖊️ Chapter 3: The Wedding

🖊️ Chapter 4: The Boyfriend Hypothesis

[skrimscramspiral]

I enjoy cm quite a bit, my favs are Dr. Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia. (Probs gonna draw her)

I’m so tired, gn (◞_◟)

[hargreeves-duncan]

Spencer Reid who realises that you really, really like it when he rambles

warnings: SMUT - MDNI, p in v, oral m!receiving, no mention of protection, reader loves her hot nerd boyfriend

Live On Air is broadcasting all week long! Requests are still open. For more information and more stories, click here! 📺

Spencer notices everything.

It’s simply the way his mind works. He’s spent the better part of the last decade training himself to pick up on the little things and it’s made him very good at what he does.

But when it comes to women, there are still plenty of things that he doesn’t pick up on.

Especially when it’s late in the evening and he’s over at your place, the two of you watching some medical drama with far too many inaccuracies for him to ignore.

He’s on what feels like his twentieth “That’s actually…” of the episode but you couldn’t tell anyone what he had been saying, even if they held a gun to your head.

There’s just something so effortlessly sexy in the way that he can correct the logistics of an on-screen surgery without even a stutter. Or how he’ll tut to himself whenever they recite a made up illness to up the stakes.

A big brain has always been your weakness. And your pupils are blown wide as you stare — not at the tv, but at him.

And Spencer doesn’t even notice. Not when you trail your fingertips over his thigh or even when you absentmindedly press a kiss to his shoulder.

He might glance over at you, but he gives you no more than a second’s notice, before he’s turning back to the screen as he huffs, “And the craziest thing is that they have researchers for this kind of thing but…”

It isn’t until you’ve managed to creep into his lap that Spencer looks at you fully, cupping your cheek, “You seem… are you okay? Am I talking too much?”

His eyes flick down to where you’re pressed against him, then back up to your face.

You shake your head, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, “Mm-mm. Keep talking.”

Something about the way you say it makes him swallow. Hard. So he does keep talking. And he doesn’t get more than a few sentences out before you’re kissing him, grinding down against his slacks.

His words are coming out stuttered now because this was not the evening he thought he’d be having when you suggested a cosy night in.

He tilts his head back against the couch, muttering a quiet, “Oh my God.” under his breath.

But the second he’s stopped rambling, you stop grinding and he’s whimpering and you just smile sweetly at him until something in his brain clicks.

The talking.

And suddenly he’s racking his brain for every other time you’ve reacted like this and kicking himself for not noticing sooner when you’d drooled over his cock the night he’d helped you finish up your dissertation or how fast you’d pulled him into a supply closet when you’d come back from sick leave to find out Spencer had finished up all your reporting for you.

And for once, boy genius, Spencer Reid feels like the stupidest man alive and now he just won’t shut up.

Not when you’re kneeled on the floor between his legs, eyes locked onto him as you wrap your lips around the head of his leaking cock. Nor when you’re on top of him, tits bouncing and sweat gathering along your skin as you ride him with more fervour than he’s ever seen. He’s reeling off every little fact he can think of to get you off on his brain.

One thing is clear, Spencer Reid is not going to be shutting up anytime soon.

[yesiamagenius7]

[esote-rika]

WIRED TOGETHER

Summary: You want to build a cyberdeck. Spencer knows someone who can help, but doing so means meeting one of his friends from the FBI, and convincing her of your 'relationship'. Contents: 4k words, FLUFF, prof!reader with glasses, no use of y/n, fake relationship, misuse of engineering and programming terminology (sorry lmfao), PENELOPE GARCIA CAMEO A/N: PENELOPE MEETS PROF!READER CAN I GET AN AMEN. The thought of Spencer holding a screwdriver is so fucking hot to me ndfksf. No clue if any of my cyberdeck talk is coherent, I watched three tiktok videos and made up some bullshit. Takes place after I Don't Even Dare... but before Black Tie. ➳ Save the Date masterlist

"You have a degree in engineering, right?"

Spencer blinks, setting his mug of coffee down before he nods.

"Why's this relevant?" he eyes the pile of 19th century research spread across your side of the table in the cafe as if he's already calculating how to link those two topics. It's not unusual at this point—you've found ways to discuss subjects that seem even more unrelated. But the structural integrity of 19th century buildings and their textual symbolism isn't what you're worried about right now.

"I'm just curious if you still remember like, the basics and stuff."

He looks affronted. "I've got an eidetic memory."

"I know, but your current field of expertise isn't exactly about electrical engineering, is it?"

"I hold a PhD. in engineering, I would still know more than a regular person."

"Okay then," you say, opening your phone for a photo. You hand it over to him, curiousity sparking your tone, "Can you explain what a cyberdeck is and how I'd go about building one?"

He pauses and stares at the photo of a cyberdeck on your phone. His mouth drops to an 'o' like he's about to spout his usual trail of facts, only to reconsider.

"A cyberdeck?" his face twists as if the word burns on his tongue, "Like the computers they use in cyberpunk games?"

"Uh huh. How would someone make one in real life? A functional one."

"I wasn't even aware it's something people made. Doesn't it seem counterintuitive, when there are laptops and phones that are programmed to do the same thing?"

"Yeah, but people make it for all sorts of reasons. To practice programming, have their own storage and avoid clouds."

"Why are people avoiding clouds?" he glances out the window, confused.

"Not literal clouds, Spencer, storage clouds. On the internet."

He frowns in distaste and hands your phone back to you.

You laugh. "Okay, Dr. Troglodyte, I get it you hate modern technology. But you did just say you're an engineering grad, so I'm wondering if you could help me build one. A cyberdeck, not a cloud. I already have some of the parts, you know, it's recommended—"

"I wouldn't know the first thing about it."

You look at him in disbelief. "But you just said—"

"I know, I know," he winces like it pains him to admit defeat, "Admittedly, my engineering skills might be… underutilized after decades of focusing of criminal psychology. Why do you want to build one, anyway?"

"For Melissa's wedding. A personalized gift, have it programmed to have pictures and music, maybe have well wishes they could read."

His face softens. "That's very sweet of you."

"Thanks." You laugh, looking at the rustic, cyberpunk mini-computer pictured on your phone. "It's a little impractical and I'm not even sure I could make one on time, so I did get them something from their registry. But giving a stand mixer to your best friend of over a decade doesn't really scream special, you know?"

Spencer nods, face now lined with focus. "You say you've gotten the parts?"

"Yeah. There are explanations and tutorials online, so I probably could figure it out," you shrug, noncommittally, "I just thought it'd be easier if an engineering grad takes a look."

Spencer rubs his temple with one hand, looking as though he's considering it. "I might be able to help, if you give me a few days to read up on it."

You blink. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. No promises, though."

"Okay. I'd appreciate that."

You have absolutely expectations. Not from any skepticism on his abilities—you're certain he'd figure out the mechanics by tomorrow, if he gets a couple of hours free tonight—but because… well, why would he? Spencer doesn't owe you anything.

He might condense the information available so you would have easier instructions, but ultimately, you are convinced you'd have to figure out the cyberdeck yourself.

And you wouldn't hold it against him. Again, he owes you nothing.

Spencer knocks on your office door three days later, during a vacant lull in between classes—a surprise since he usually saves whatever he has to say until you're both seated at the cafe by the end of the work day.

You fling the door open to his suspiciously beaming face.

"Hi."

"Dr. Reid." you say, just to get a reaction.

He shakes his head, cheeks dimpling when his lips press into a thin line. "Spencer."

Just as you predicted.

You grin, letting him into your office and closing the door behind him for privacy. He sweeps his gaze around the small, sun drenched space, before turning back to you, beaming.

"I think I've got a solution to your cyberdeck problem."

You are very proud that your jaw doesn't drop in utter surprise. "You do?"

"But it, uh, might require someone else."

"Oh?"

He pulls something from his pocket—a sheet of paper, carefully tucked—and moves to stand next to you. An entire page of messy, scribbled notes unfold before your eyes and you push your glasses up, trying to get a clearer look.

"See, I broke it down to the bare necessities—parts, programming, and the actual construction. If you've got the parts ready, I could help you with the construction," he says, pointing at a rough sketch of what seems to be a circuit board, labeled with the basic parts required to run.

You're happy he's explaining this to you. His handwriting is undecipherable, which tells you he did this in one of his hyper-focused moments. Sharp scrawls that taper into nothingness, sentences missing words because his mind is moving too fast for his hand to keep up.

You do not dare comment on that. Not when spent time learning all of this, and offering to help all because you asked him to.

"Okay, but where does this 'someone else' come into this?"

"I have no clue how to do any of the programming part." he looks at you expectantly, as if he's waiting for you to reveal some secret computer programming knowledge.

"That makes two of us."

He chuckles. "That's fine. I know someone who does."

Ah. That's how this mystery person comes into play.

"And would they be willing to help with this?"

Spencer nods, though he looks a little nervous. "I think she would be."

She?

"This isn't an ex, is it?" you say, a little bit mortified. Partly from the thought of meeting his ex, and partly at the sharp sting that lances through your chest at the very idea of Spencer Reid having an ex.

Ridiculous. You aren't even his real girlfriend.

"What?" his voice squeaks, "No, no, it's a old friend of mine from the FBI."

The FBI? You feel your eyes bugging out of your head. "Oh my god? Why would an FBI agent help with something so… silly?"

Spencer shakes his head. "It's not silly, it's actually a rather interesting process. It's an application of the fundamentals of engineering, mixed with computer science. Besides, Penelope loves this sort of thing, it'd be like a fun assignment for her."

Penelope. What a pretty name. Penelope, wife of Odysseus, clever and endlessly faithful. Your mind fills with images of navy blazers and crisp folders, someone equally sharp as Spencer, and maybe more severe in her presentation.

"I could call her. We could probably meet with her, complete the thing over a weekend." he continues, handing the page of notes to you, "But if you don't want to do that, you can keep this, and we could do it, just the two of us."

Just the two of us. You shut down the part of your brain that wants to linger over the implications of that.

Spencer stands beside you, patiently waiting for your response.

"If… if we ask for her help, what will we say? You know, about… this," you gesture between the two of you vaguely.

This Penelope is neither part of faculty, nor is she invited to the wedding. There is no need to keep up the fake relationship around her, but telling her would also technically break one of the rules: no one can know about the arrangement.

"We'll just have to keep up the act," Spencer replies quickly, clearly having already thought this part through, "You've already posted something online, right? There's a huge chance Penelope will see that, if I so much as mention you."

Your heart is in your throat. Fooling the people at the university is one thing; your colleagues don't really know either of you, and they never pry in the name of professional courtesy. The wedding will be another test, but at least it's only for a weekend, and most of the people will, hopefully, be too preoccupied by the bride and groom to scrutinize your relationship with Spencer.

But pretending to be a couple in front of his friend? Someone from the FBI?

"You think we can fool an FBI agent?" you ask, voice weak from the mere thought of it.

Spencer winces, looking apologetic. "It's—yeah. Think of it as our ultimate test. If we can fool Penelope, then that wedding will be a breeze."

"Oh my god."

"We don't have to! Like I said, I'll help you with the cyberdeck by myself if you want, we'll figure out the coding stuff when we get there."

It's sweet, how earnest he is about this. He doesn't have to, but you're learning that Spencer likes helping, and it isn't a crime to accept it.

On top of that, this Penelope must be amazing, if she's anything like Spencer. No doubt she'd figure out how to make the cyberdeck work like an actual computer better than you ever could.

Besides, you've been pretending to be Spencer's girlfriend long enough for it to feel semi-normal, anyway. How hard can it be? It's just another audience. Like he said, Penelope could be the ultimate test of your acting skills.

And it would just be a really cool gift. Enough to earn back the brownie points you'd lost after declining to be part of Melissa's entourage, like she'd always wanted.

"No, we can… we can ask your friend for help. I think we'll be fine." you answer finally, resolutely.

Spencer nods. "I'll call her later.

A warm, sunny day is exponentially becoming rare, but the sun is beaming bright on you and Spencer that weekend. The air smells crisp, a perfect day to be outside.

However, you are standing side by side outside an apartment building, and waiting for Penelope Garcia to buzz you in. From your shoulders hangs a backpack full of the rudimentary parts and an old laptop, while you know Spencer has tools in his satchel—screwdrivers, electrical tape, and copper wiring.

It feels almost like high school. Coming over a friend's house to work on a project, minds full of ideas and hands clumsy with youth. Despite your nerves, you feel your lips curling into a smile.

The apartment entrance buzzes open. Spencer lets you go in first and you walk gingerly up the steps, nerves humming like a live wire. You've never met an FBI agent before. Well, besides Spencer, but you're sure he's an exception to most things so he really can't be your point of reference to anything.

Would she be nice? Serious? Would she look at you with quiet judgment, wonder why she's spending her time helping you make something so frivolous?

You gulp as Spencer knocks on a door, a kind, reassuring smile on his face.

What you don't expect, in all the time you spent worrying about today, is a perky blonde wearing a deep green sundress and a matching cardigan would be the one to greet you. Twin rose barrettes hold back her blonde curls, and at least three necklaces are wound around her neck.

A pair of orange glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and beneath them, twinkling brown eyes that widen when they land on you.

"Oh my gosh, you're even prettier in person!" she squeals, and before you can react, she's enveloped you in a tight, lily-scented hug. "Hi! I'm Penelope, you can just call me Pen, oh my gosh, Reid, why did you wait so long to introduce her?"

Beside you, Spencer laughs. "It's great to see you as always, Garcia."

Penelope pulls away and holds you at arms length, surveying your appearance. You've dressed more casually today, dark jeans and an even darker sweater in case building this cyberdeck gets messy, and you feel the urge to tell Penelope you aren't always so glum-looking.

"It's nice to meet you," you say instead, telling her your name even though you're certain she already knows.

"You too! Come in, you guys, this is so fun! I haven't seen Reid in a while." she pouts and throws a glare at Spencer, mock angry, "I thought you'd forgotten all about us."

"Of course not," he chuckles, "I've been busy, and I'm sure you have too."

"Thank you for squeezing this in, really." you say.

Penelope waves a perfectly manicured hand dismissively. "Please, I'd cancel everything if it meant meeting Spencer Reid's girlfriend."

The word is squealed, laced with genuine giddiness. To be honest, it seems like Penelope is incapable of hiding or faking her emotions. Everything is felt, and worn like another accessory.

You can't help but return her smile, even though the girlfriend title stings with guilt. You're lying to this sweet woman who's welcoming you into her home and doing you a favor.

"I appreciate it," you follow her deeper into her apartment. It is far nicer than yours, spacious and well lit, large enough to be divided into rooms. She leads the three of you into the kitchen, where she's set up a workspace on the large table.

"Nonsense! I'm more than happy to help. Programming can be so fun, but sadly all I do is use it to fight evil. Which is all well and good, obviously, but you're doing me a favor too, by letting me in on this." Penelope says, turning on one of the many laptops on the table. "Now, refreshments are on the counter, and I must ask you to keep them there. Liquids are banned on the dining table, I'm sure you both understand why."

She points to the kitchen counter, where an array of pastries are sitting pretty, right next to a large pitcher of iced tea. You feel yourself melting at her hospitality, feel the anxiety melting with dramatic gesture from Penelope.

You place your bag on one of the chairs, quickly taking out your own things. You've brought an old laptop, hoping to salvage it for parts, but you also managed to order a single board computer online, as well as an unused SD card, and an old tablet's LED screen.

Seeing them all arranged on Penelope's table fills your with a sense of excitement.

This cyberdeck might actually come out well.

"I'm guessing Spencer told you what I was hoping to make?" you say, watching her monitor turn on. Spencer has wandered to the other side of the room, surveying everything with an analytical eye.

"Yes, he said you wanted a cyberdeck that would specifically store and flash the pictures of the wedding on loop, is that right?"

You nod, "That's right. But I wanted it to be like a noir movie, you know? I was planning to house it in this."

You pull out last thing in your backpack, the one causing majority of the bulk—a vintage cigar box made of polished oak. "Is this practical, or would it overheat?"

"Don't worry about overheating, we can always attach a cooling system!" Penelope reassures you, "Anything else you want, besides the aesthetics?"

"Maybe store messages and play music? If that's possible."

"Honey, we're building a computer, anything is possible!" Penelope grins, taking the old laptop you'd brought, "Is this something we can use?"

"Yeah, I fucked up the screen about a year ago," you reply with a laugh, "I meant to give it away for parts, but never got around to it."

"Good thing you didn't." she says. She points at Spencer, "And you, my favorite genius, have to open it up so we can pick it apart for parts. Grab a screw driver and get to it."

Spencer seems unfazed by being bossed around. With a smile, he grabs the smallest available screwdriver, flipping over the laptop and dutifully studying the tiny screws.

Penelope sits by your side as Spencer works, taking the single board computer you've brought for this project and hooking it up to her own laptop.

"While he does that, let me walk you through the program I made for you." Penelope says, clicking around her screen until an application opens. It looks like an old timey, black and white movie, complete with the elaborate framing and fonts.

Your mouth drops. "You made this?"

"Uh huh." Penelope says cheerfully, like it's no big deal. She clicks on a 'start' button and pictures of cute baby animals flash onscreen, "Obviously, these are just placeholders. Once you insert your own SD card into the circuit, it'll be filled with pictures you chose."

She walks you through another function, clicking on a music icon. "We can either hook up a music app on here, or download clips individually and add them to the memory card."

"Oh, but I didn't bring a speaker." You say.

"That's fine! The old laptop probably has one, once Spencer gets it open, we'll connect it to this circuit and see if it works." Penelope reassures, going through the rest of the menu settings, showing you things like slideshow timing, button mapping, startup animations, and the codes you'll need to modify them through Python.

You try to pay attention.

You really, truly do.

Unfortunately, there's two things against you: you don't know the first thing about computer programming and Spencer is sitting directly across the table. Working on the laptop. Distractingly.

He's rolled his sleeves halfway to his elbows. Your eyes fall to the veins on his hands—familiar by now, after so much perfomative hand holding—and follow them up the newly exposed skin. Pale forearms which are, surprisingly, corded with lean muscle. Strands of hair are scattered across, turning golden when sunlight hits it. You take it all in greedily.

Everything Penelope's saying goes in one ear and leaves out the other as he disassembles the laptop, slim fingers carefully twisting the screws off. A small crease forms between his brows as the motherboard is exposed, a complicated, technological maze. He looks focused. Happy, eager to solve a puzzle despite his supposed disdain for tech.

You catch bits and pieces of Penelope's spiel.

"...and if we allocate more memory to the media partition—"

"Mhm," you nod.

"… I'll make it so this button barks when it's pressed."

"Okay."

Penelope stops talking.

You barely notice the silence that settles, eyes fixed upon Spencer as he gingerly unscrews the battery, and takes it from the laptop's shell. You watch as he leans down for a closer view, peeking at what remains of the circuitry, his free hand twiddling with the screwdriver in absentminded dexterity.

He looks… serene. Intense, but somehow relaxed.

It's a good look on him.

"...Sweetie."

You jump and turn to Penelope, wide eyed and nodding profusely. "Uh huh, that sounds great."

"I didn't say anything." she giggles, twinkling eyes darting between you and Spencer.

A laugh escapes, shaky and thin. "Right."

Her lips twist into a smirk, knowing and sly. She leans in and nudges your shoulder with hers. "Honey, I know you're dating, but if you keep looking at him like that, then I'm gonna start feeling like a third wheel."

"Looking at him like what?"

"Like you wanna jump across the table and straddle him!" she replies, hushed and giddy. Your face feels like it's been set on fire, but she goes on, "Listen, I'm not going to judge. In fact I'm happy the Mighty Professor's found someone."

"The Mighty Professor?" you repeat, because that feels like the most neutral part of everything she'd said. Everything else feels too loaded.

At the nickname, Spencer glances up. "Yeah?"

"I can't believe you actually answer to that."

His mouth parts, as if he's ready to defend himself, but only ends up chuckling sheepishly.

"She doesn't know about your nicknames?" Penelope gasps dramatically, "The Good Doctor? Boy Genius? Pretty Boy?"

"Pretty Boy, huh?" you grin at him, taking pleasure in the way pink blossoms over his dimpling cheeks.

"I didn't choose any of them." he protests, carefully disentangling what looks to be the laptop's sound system.

"I can't believe you never told her, though. They're so cute, half of those were given by Morgan." Penelope says. She reaches forward and takes the small speakers from him. With a decisive movement, she begins to fit it into the circuit for the cyberdeck.

"She has her own nickname for me," Spencer mumbles.

You resist the urge to hide beneath your palms when Penelope gasps, excited.

"You do? Tell me, what is it?"

"Dr. Four Eyes," you wince, gesturing at your own spectacles, "You know, for the irony."

Penelope looks delighted as she types more codes into her laptop. "That is adorable. You two are adorable."

"I think we did it." You whisper later that day, as Spencer drives you home. The cyberdeck, the gift you had thought too far fetched, sits balanced on top of your knees, complete with a rustic brass handle and gleaming hinges.

The three of you had spent a great portion of the day fitting the parts together and designing the shell—Penelope had made such quick work of the applications and programs that the handiwork became the most time consuming part. Now you have a functioning, personalized cyberdeck decorated in a way you know both Melissa and her fiance would love.

Spencer glances at you, smiling soft and warm. "The cyberdeck, or convincing Garcia?"

You chuckle, remembering the giddy looks Penelope kept throwing at the two of you. She seemed so certain, had even extended an invitation for you to hang out with her after today.

"Both, I guess."

"We did." he sounds proud, relaxed. Outside, the darkness is dotted with the lights from windows and streetlamps, converging into streaks as he drives.

"It was… easier than I expected." you admit, tracing the intricate brass handle to abate the restlessness. "Convincing her."

"Was it?"

"Yeah. I don't know, I thought we'd have to lay it on thick, you know. Throw in kisses or something."

He looks over with a crooked grin, the one that has your words twisting and tripping together before they can leave your mouth.

"You want me to kiss you in front of my friend?"

"No, that is not what I meant."

"I know."

"But we'll have to eventually." God, of all the moments, why would you say that now? When you're physically stuck in a space with him, unable to escape the weight of his eyes. You glance out the window, avoiding another one of his inevitable glances.

"Why not right now?" his voice sounds light, forcibly so.

"Stop teasing me." you huff, and his laughter fills the car, easing the tension. You take your glasses off and murmur, "Don't you feel bad? She's so sweet and we basically lied to her."

Spencer's laughter dies down, and the silence that follows is heavy. Not uncomfortable, per se, but thick with the knowledge of your shared deception. With the knowledge that this wouldn't be the last. That Penelope is just one of many.

But then:

"It's not all a lie." he murmurs.

You risk a glance at him. Through the haziness, he sits stiffly and refuses to meet your eye.

You spend the rest of the ride in contemplative silence, trying to piece together what he could possibly mean.

Thank you deeply for reading, please reblog if you enjoyed!

➳ more prof spencer x prof!reader fics here!

[yesiamagenius7]

Pinterest just alerted me to these wtf! Someone has actually made these 😖

[cherrygarcia-07]

Creature Comforts // Spencer Reid🧸

synopsis: at your first sleepover at spencer’s apartment you find yourself being introduced to his most special friend- his childhood teddy bear.

pairing: spencer x gn reader

genre: fluff!

wc: 1.7k

notes/tags: new established relationship, cosy domestic spencer, had to rewatch the instincts & memoriam for literally the tiniest details ever (agony), little sad tidbits about his childhood with some canon and made up aspects :3 he loves his mother so much and hes so soft and sweet and cute and

masterlist // pls reblog if you enjoy it rly helps promote the fic!

———————————🧸————————————

“Oh, could you grab my pyjamas please?” Spencer called from the bathroom through a mouthful of toothpaste. “In the drawer.”

“Sure.” You called back, a little giddy.

Things were still new between you and Spencer, with this being the first time you’d ever stayed the night. There was a buzz in the air, both of you excited like teenagers at a slumber party over popcorn on his sofa. You’d spent the evening watching movies, your legs slung over his lap and his hand cradling your knee, until you both began to feel your eyelids grow heavy. You’d shuffled into his bedroom, only for you to spark back to life once a realisation hit you. This was a whole new stage of domesticity for you both.

You’d parked yourself on the edge of his mattress, holding yourself back from swinging your legs as you bit back a grin. You’d been picturing him in his pyjamas, a soft shirt and baggy pants so different to the usual crisp ironed silhouette of his work clothes. You wondered what his hair looked like in the morning, tousled from his pillow as he tried to sleepily smooth it back. Butterflies danced in your stomach as you pictured waking up beside him, seeing his flushed cheeks and hearing his lazy morning rambles inches away from you as you lay anchored to his chest.

With a hop, you sprung up from the bed, practically skipping over to the drawers across the room. With a flourish you pulled one open, eager to see what he slept in. Oh, you sighed, wrong drawer. Your lips melted into a small smile as you took in a mountain of colourful socks, oddly unorganised compared to the rest of his bedroom. Stripes and polka dots in every colour piled on top of neons and silly cartoon pictures, a set of ‘days of the week’ socks each highlighting a different star in the Big Dipper catching your attention the most.

You were sliding the drawer closed when you caught a glimpse of something in the back, poking out between two pairs of dinosaur socks. Something brown and fluffy, two beady glass eyes staring up at you.

“Who’s your friend?” You asked, leaning against the bathroom doorframe. In your hands you held an old, well-loved teddy bear. Its fur was a little matted with age but still soft in its little brown curls, and on its chest sat an embroidered comet with its threads surprisingly still mostly in tact.

Spencer’s eyes widened in the mirror, his cheeks turning red almost instantly. “Where did you find that?” He tried to feign indifference, but his voice wavered.

“Stashed away in your sock drawer.” You turned the bear over in your hands so that he was looking at you. Were you just getting tired or did its eyes look sad? “What was it doing in there?”

“No idea.” He shrugged, moving to take it from you. “Must’ve forgotten he was there.”

Cocking a brow at him you hid the bear behind your back, trapping him between you and the doorframe and out of Spencer’s reach. “He?”

“It.” He corrected himself. You brought the bear forward, gazing down at his little face as Spencer brushed past you into the bedroom. His little glass eyes definitely looked sad.

“‘He’ implies an identity.” You said, following Spencer as he perched on the edge of the mattress. “He’s clearly important. Why were you hiding him from me?”

“I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you to think I was-” he paused, brows creasing as he searched for the right word, “uncool.”

You smiled at him, a little loose and sappy. This was the man who first said hi by complimenting your edition of Great Expectations that he saw peeking out of your bag on the subway. The same man who called his mother before your first date to ask her what flowers he should bring you. He once took you to a chess tournament and commentated on every match with low whispers in your ear, sprinkling in a handful of sassy comments and tutting about moves he believed to be, what he called, ‘idiotic and completely incomprehensible’. ‘Uncool’ wasn’t even a word that came to mind.

“I think he’s very cool.” You shifted closer until your knees were touching, the bear resting in your lap as you toyed with him. “What’s his name?”

“Carl.” Spencer answered fondly, finally allowing a boyish grin to grace his face.

You nodded in recognition. “Sagan.” It made perfect sense. You recalled him telling you a childhood story about him making a salt model of the universe, intended as a birthday gift for his hero. You were pretty certain he could work Carl Sagan into any conversation given the opportunity.

“Well thank you for formally introducing us.” Propping the bear up with your hand, you tilted his head sadly to the side. “He must hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Spencer frowned.

“Oh, I bet he does. I bet he was thinking who is this mean, mean person I’m being shoved into a dark, scary drawer for?” The bear’s head bobbed in your hand as you jostled him like a puppeteer until your boyfriend reached over, taking him from your hands. He was gentle, handling his little best friend with a carefulness you’d only ever seen reserved for you. His gaze was loving, suddenly belong to a much, much younger version of him.

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that, Carl.” He murmured, voice tender. His fingers hovered over his fur, the familiar softness transporting him somewhere else.

You’d never quite seen this look on his face before. Spencer was someone who often acted older than he was, desperate to be seen with the sense of maturity he thought he ought to carry. There were always cracks in his mask, of course, he was far too passionate about things to keep it hidden for long. Whenever he was rambling, especially about something- for lack of better words- nerdy, there was that twitch of his lips that often gave way to a bright grin, that little glimmer of excitement in his eyes as his words poured from his brain faster than his mouth could keep up. It was almost that look you saw on his face now, but quieter. Gentler.

“How long have you had him?” You asked softly as his fingers moved to trace the embroidery on the bear’s chest.

“Since I was eight. He was the only toy I kept when…” He trailed off, flashing you a small smile, weaker than the one he wore earlier, before continuing. “I never could outgrow him.”

“Who could? Look at his little face.” You cooed, staring at the bear’s glass eyes once more- significantly less sad-looking in Spencer’s hands. “Where’d he come from?”

“Science museum gift shop.” He chuckled, face lighting up at the memory. “My mom took me. They had an interactive astronomy exhibit I’d been desperate to go to- not that I said anything. She found a flyer for it in my room and for my birthday she surprised me. It’s one of my favourite memories with her. We didn’t get many days out like that.”

His voice trailed off, his thoughts going with it. The room you were both in disappeared before his eyes, rearranging itself into the bedroom of his younger years. Toys were a scarcity, limited to models he’d made himself. They’d been replaced long ago by notebooks, pages and pages of poems and songs copied out to calm his mother. He’d told you about it once briefly, how he did it to soothe her paranoia. There was no time for toys when he was growing up so fast, but still in his small hands he held Carl. When he was too fretful to fall asleep, his door cracked open enough to hear Diana down the hall, his bear stayed awake with him. When he came home from school late and the sky outside the window was black, he had someone to confide in.

It was less and less often that he got good days with his mother, but Carl served as a reminder for every single one, most of all that day at the museum.

“I guess you could say he’s my oldest friend.” Spencer smiled with an embarrassed laugh, clearing his throat as he tried to steady his expression.

“Well, I’m very honoured to finally meet him.” You reached out, shaking his little paw between your fingers. “I take it he doesn’t usually live in your sock drawer?”

“No, no- he takes the left side of my pillow usually. Sometimes he sits at my desk when I’m working.” He wrinkled his nose, debating whether he should say more. “He, uh. He sits on the other side of the board when I play chess by myself. He’s pretty good at it.”

You laughed, feeling your cheeks ache as you leaned into him and propped your head on his shoulder. You’d been prepared to see him in his pyjamas, you were working up to being prepared to sleep in the same bed. What you hadn’t been ready for was meeting your boyfriend’s teddy bear. If it was even possible you loved him even more now, heart swelling as you pictured him coming home to his little roommate. Did he talk to him about his day? Tuck him in before he left for a case? Does he miss him when he’s away?

“You know I have a childhood bear too?” You said, your voice lazy as your cheek melted into the fabric of his shirt. “You’ll have to bring Carl over sometime, we can have a double date.”

Spencer’s shoulder shook beneath you as he laughed. “Yeah, I think he would love that. It’s about time.”

He turned his head to look down at you, and you tried your best to meet his eyes from your perch. His face looked so soft, relaxed in a way you rarely got to see. He was always at his most beautiful like this, completely unguarded, the mask that etched a crease between his brows and a frown on his lips comfortably lifted and leaving him looking impossibly young. You lifted your head, pressing a gentle kiss to his warm, flushed cheek.

“I can’t wait.” You smiled, rising to your feet and extending a hand to him. “Now come on. I am desperate to see your pyjamas.”

“I still don’t understand your infatuation with this.” He sighed, shaking his head fondly. But still he took your hand, letting you pull him up before following you as you skipped over to the drawers once more.

-

[mistiemoon]

Crawling back to you.

Spencer reid x roommate fem!reader

Summary: After a night surrounded by his colleagues at the bar, you come to the conclusion Spencer actually wanted to end things with you, what you don’t know is that Spencer’s just trying to figure out how to tell you.

Warnings: 3k words 18+ MDNI, porn with little plot, fluff, unprotected p in v, soft!dom spencer, he eats you out like his life depends on it, couch sex!! Missionary and cowgirl.

Part One - Part Two.

You shouldn’t have gone tonight. 

Spencer asked you if you wanted to go out with him and his colleagues tonight and there was no way you could say no. 

You liked his team. They each found a way to make you feel comfortable. When you first met his team you were apprehensive that they wouldn’t be at all friendly or, quite frankly, human considering the job they all did. But like most things in your life it turned out to be the complete opposite. 

They were funny, and a delight to be around. The girls always included you in conversations and the boys always made sure you had a drink.

You weren’t sure if they ever knew about your…..situation with Spencer. You knew for damn sure he wouldn’t have told them, not out of ashamedness, because Spencer has never made you feel as if you are something to hide, but more out of awkwardness and out of respect for his private life. 

But you couldn’t be sure, they were profilers after all. Over the months they must have noticed the lingering touches on your waist as he moved past you, the way he would look at you first if someone made a joke to see if you found it funny, how he would just look at you with longingness. 

If they didn’t put two and two together before, they most certainly did now Spencer wasn’t doing those things. 

Since Spencer ended things with you, there was no such thing as a gentle touch, a warm look from across the room. Now it was replaced with something that appeared cold, indifferent almost. 

You knew better, better than his whole team if you had to put money on it. Spencer wasn’t acting uninterested in you all of a sudden because he was, rather, the opposite. 

In his mind, none of this was linear, you don’t go from strangers to roomates to friends, to fuck buddies to possible lover. 

The whole thing confused him so much that he needed time. Not time away from you, but time to think away from sex. If you were constantly fucking like bunny rabits there was no time to assess his own thoughts. 

The whole night, he sat opposite you. He spoke to you here and there, lighthearted conversations like it had been for the past two weeks. But you could always feel the elephant in the corner, looming over the both of you. The tension was so thick it felt like two opposite sides of a magnet being held apart, slowly threatening to collide with all the words left unsaid between you two. 

There were only so many times you could sit near him and catch his eyes before it all got too much. You both longed to be together, but him and his stubbornness was forcing you to be apart. You expected a few days of his contemplation, not two weeks. 

So much time had passed that you concluded that you must’ve been wrong. He wasn’t in love with you. You thought you knew how his brain worked, and how quickly he would be able to organise his thoughts and feelings and diagnose himself with being hopelessly in love with you. When he didn’t come back home one day and confess his love, you simply expected it to be the next day instead. 

Until tonight, you sit opposite him realising that no such confession was ever coming your way, feeling rather sorry for yourself, upset that you thought you knew better. 

You announced to everyone that you were getting tired and you were going to head home. You wished everyone a goodnight and left. 

They must’ve known that was strange, considering you always left with Spencer, not only because you lived together, but because by the end of the night, you were both itching to get home and rip each other's clothes off. 

You pulled your coat tighter as you started your walk home, the cold air biting the tip of your nose. You approached one particular alley, stopping to look down it. 

You remembered one night when you and Spencer left early, laughing and running down it, tipsy and full of joy, when he stopped you both and pulled you in for a kiss, cupping your head in both of his hands. 

You continued on for barely thirty seconds before you heard your name being called from behind you. 

You turned to see Spencer half jog to catch up with you, his warm breath curling in the cold air. 

“Why did you go?” He asked once he reached you. 

“I couldn’t sit there and pretend nothing’s changed Spencer” You replied, looking at his battered converse. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I know i’ve been distant with you” He shifted his weight between his feet, speaking so quietly you could barely hear him. “I just needed time to think” 

“You’ve had two weeks, that's a lot of thinking” You huffed, your frustration seeping out. “Perhaps it was wrong of me to initiate….. whatever this is the way I did. And I apologise, I never wanted to lose your friendship.”

“You haven’t!--” Spencer started. 

“-Spencer, don’t you see?” You spoke over him. “There's no way we could ever go back to being friends after this. I care about you far too much to be your friend and pretend none of this ever happened” 

“I don’t want–” 

“No Spencer, I understand. I misunderstood the situation differently than you–”

“No–” He tried to interrupt. 

“--Yes” You cut in right away. You were too exhausted to hear him try to appease you with pity you didn’t deserve. 

“-Will you ever fucking let me finish?” He interrupted you quickly, his voice low and gravely, with the slightest hint of passion laced between each word. 

You hated how much that turned you on. Now was not the time. You clicked your neck to ease some of the newfound arousal simmering under your skin. 

“I don’t ever want to be your friend again. Because I’ve been trying to find the words to try and describe the way I feel about you. But there are none. There will never be any words in any language that gives justice to the feelings I have for you” He near shouted, his hands clenching at his sides.

“You plague my mind and heart, It’s been torturous to be near you and not be able to hold you. I see you in our home and all I curse myself for not being enough of a man to tell you I've made a mistake” 

He continued, taking one fractionally small step closer to you. “So yes, I would hate to be your friend too, because it would kill me to just call you my friend when I love you” 

The words hung between you, impossibly still. Spencer swallowed hard, like even saying them had stolen the air from his lungs.

“I told you we couldn't do this anymore because every time we end up in my bed...” He paused, searching for words that refused to come. “...you leave, and suddenly I'm supposed to act like the love of my life didn't just walk back into the room next door” 

“You smile at me the next day like nothing happened, and I smile back because I don't know what else to do. So I thought if I stopped... if I put some distance between us... eventually I'd stop wanting more.” 

He got closer to you to the point where you were sharing the same air. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes, his to match. 

“Instead, all it did was prove that it was never about sex. I need all of you, I can’t run from that anymore” 

He tipped his forehead onto yours, inhaling shakily. You finally put your hands on his waist beneath his coat, feeling him immediately melt beneath your touch. 

Neither of you spoke. Spencer's eyes fluttered closed for the briefest moment, almost as though he'd finally allowed himself to rest. 

One hand slid from beneath his coat, climbing slowly over the buttons of his shirt until your fingertips rested against his jaw. He leaned into your touch instinctively.

"You made me think..." Your voice cracked. "You made me think you regretted me."

His face fell immediately. 

"Never." The answer came so quickly there wasn't even room for thought. "Not once."

You searched his face, looking for even the smallest trace of doubt, there wasn't any, there never had been.

Your thumb brushed over the faint stubble along his cheek, running along his lower lip and jaw before pulling him closer towards you so his lips could finally meet yours. 

His hands found you immediately, cradling your face with such devoutness it almost made you cry all over again. What started off as the purest of kisses, gentle, small touches of lips turned into something much heavier. His teeth catching your bottom lip before sucking it hard, pulling a soft moan from your throat. 

His hands trembled against your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks while his fingers threaded into your hair, gripping tight as if he was terrified you'd disappear.

You pressed your body flush against his, feeling the rapid beat of his heart through his shirt. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers working at his buttons near his waist with shaking urgency until you could slip your palms inside and feel the heat of his skin. Spencer groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your tongue as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he was trying to crawl inside you.

"Fuck," he gasped against your lips, breaking away only long enough to breathe before diving back in. 

His tongue curled around yours, slow and filthy, while his hands dropped to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You could feel him getting hard against your hip, his cock straining against his pants as he ground forward instinctively.

"I love you," he whispered between kisses, the words spilling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I love you, I love you, I love you." 

“I love you too,” you said back, overlapping with his declarations, each punctuated by another desperate kiss, his mouth moving to your jaw, your neck, sucking marks into your skin before returning to your lips like he couldn't stay away.

“Lets go home” You manage to say in between kisses, your voice broken and hoarse. 

He nodded quickly, grabbing your hand, almost tripping on his own feet in his haste to get home. 

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, as you walked, his hands slipped from where they rested under your coat around your waist to your ass, squeezing as you walked, pulling you in for another kiss. 

You shamelessly would retaliate, stroking his erection through his slacks as you kissed him, each whine going straight to your core. 

The door barely clicked shut before Spencer had you slammed against it, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that rattled the frame. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of your mouth while his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. You could feel his cock straining against his pants, thick and insistent as he ground forward, desperate for friction.

"I need you so much, I can't wait," he growled against your mouth, already working at your shirt with shaking fingers. The fabric tore slightly as he yanked it over your head, but neither of you cared. 

His mouth found your neck immediately, teeth scraping down to your collarbone while his hands fumbled with your bra clasp. When it finally gave, he groaned in relief, palming your breasts roughly before his mouth descended to suck one nipple between his lips.

Your hands were just as frantic, tearing at his shirt until buttons scattered across the floor. You shoved it off his shoulders and went for his belt, yanking it open and shoving his pants down. His cock sprang free, heavy and leaking, the head already glistening. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking from base to tip, and Spencer bucked into your grip with a broken moan.

"Bedroom," he managed, but the word was barely out before he was lifting you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you deeper into the apartment, his cock pressed hot and hard against your stomach. 

He made it as far as the couch before dropping you down and climbing over you, his mouth finding yours again as his hands worked your pants off with desperate urgency.

The moment you were bare, Spencer dropped down your body and spread your thighs wide. He looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes before lowering his mouth to your pussy. His tongue dragged slowly from your entrance up to your clit, tasting how wet you already were for him. The first long lick made your hips jerk, and Spencer groaned against your folds like he was starving.

His tongue circled your clit with firm, wet strokes before dipping lower to push inside you. He fucked you with his tongue, thrusting deep and curling to catch every drop of your arousal. His nose pressed against your clit as he worked, creating friction with every movement of his head.

Your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the strands as he licked and sucked at you. Spencer was relentless, alternating between broad flat licks that covered your entire slit and focused attention on your clit that made your thighs tremble around his head. He sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips, flicking his tongue against it rapidly while two of his fingers teased your entrance without pushing inside.

"Spencer," you gasped, your back arching off the couch as he worked you over. He responded by pressing his face harder against you, his tongue pushing deeper into your pussy as he tried to taste every inch of you. 

Your hips rolled against his face, grinding your pussy against his mouth as he devoured you. Spencer let you use him, his tongue staying flat and still while you rode his face. Every movement dragged your clit against his tongue, building the pressure inside you until you were shaking with need.

He moaned as you did, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh, adding another layer of sensation as he went back to work. His tongue pushed inside you again, fucking you with deep, wet strokes while his nose bumped your clit with every thrust.

You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building in your core as Spencer worked you with single-minded focus. The sight of him between your thighs, face buried in your heat, was almost too much to handle.

Spencer seemed to sense how close you were getting. He doubled his efforts, his tongue working your clit with rapid flicks while he sucked the sensitive nub between his lips. Two fingers finally pushed inside you, curling against that spot that made your vision go white. He pumped them in time with his tongue, creating a rhythm that had you crying out his name.

The combination of his moans, his fingers, and his relentless tongue pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you in waves, your pussy clenching around his fingers as you came with a broken cry. Spencer didn't stop, his tongue gentling but still working as he licked you through it, tasting every drop of your release.

Even after you came down, he stayed between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to your sensitive pussy. His tongue made lazy circles around your clit, avoiding direct contact as you twitched and shuddered from overstimulation. 

His fingers slipped out of you slowly, and he brought them to his mouth to suck them clean while maintaining eye contact.

"I love how you taste," he said, voice hoarse. He pressed one more kiss to your clit before climbing up your body, his hard cock dragging against your thigh as he settled between your legs.

His mouth found yours in a deep kiss, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. The evidence of what he'd done to you was all over his face, his chin still wet from your arousal. Spencer didn't seem to care, kissing you like he was trying to devour you whole.

"Need to be inside you," he groaned against your lips, his cock pressing against your entrance. He pushed forward slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank into your wet heat.

The stretch was perfect, your body still sensitive from his mouth. Spencer buried himself to the hilt with a shaky groan, his forehead pressed to yours as he fought for control. "So fucking tight," he breathed. "God, I love you."

He started moving with long, deep thrusts that had you gasping beneath him. Each stroke dragged his cock against your sensitive walls, hitting spots that made your toes curl. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he fucked you with desperate intensity.

"Missed this," he panted against your neck. "Missed being inside you." His thrusts grew harder, more urgent, the couch creaking beneath you with every movement.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as he pounded into you. The new angle had his cock hitting your cervix with every thrust, the sensation bordering on too much but exactly what you needed. Spencer's hand found your clit again, rubbing tight circles that had you seeing stars.

You came with a cry, your pussy clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Spencer followed right after, burying himself deep as he came with a broken moan of your name. You could feel him pulsing inside you, filling you with hot spurts of cum as his whole body shook with the force of his release.

Even after, he didn't pull out. He stayed buried inside you, kissing you slow and deep while his hands stroked over your skin with trembling tenderness. 

"Never letting you go," he whispered against your lips. "Never letting anyone take you from me. You're mine. All mine."

Spencer shifted slightly, his softening cock still inside you as he adjusted your position on the couch. He pulled you closer, arranging your bodies so you were half on top of him, his arms wrapped around you protectively.

"I truly did miss you. I want you to know that, not just sex. I missed all of you " he said quietly, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. "What happened before... being apart... it nearly killed me. I don't want to do that again. I can't pretend I don't need you."

“I missed you too, but you don’t need to anymore. I’m all yours, Spencer, I always have been” 

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and strong. The apartment was quiet around you, the only sounds your breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside. 

Spencer's hand moved to your hair, stroking through the strands with gentle fingers. 

His cock twitched inside you, already starting to harden again as he held you close. The sensation made you shift against him, and Spencer groaned softly at the movement. 

"I can't get enough of you," he admitted. “I’m already getting hard again” he smiled against your lips. 

You rolled your hips experimentally with a smirk, feeling him grow harder inside you. Spencer's grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. 

"Good, because I’m still not done with you "you say, your voice still rough from your earlier cries. The words scrape against your throat, raw and honest. "Two weeks without you is far too long." Your fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble that's grown in since this morning.

The words seem to unlock something in him. Spencer's hazel eyes darken, the brown and green swirling like storm clouds. In one fluid motion that surprises you with its strength, he flips you both over. The world tilts, and suddenly you're straddling him on the couch, his body beneath yours, your knees sinking into the cushions on either of his hips.

"Then take what you want," he said, his hands settling on your hips. His eyes were dark with renewed desire, watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

You started moving slowly, rolling your hips in circles that ground your clit against his pelvis. Spencer's cock was fully hard again, thick and hot inside you as you worked yourself on him. His hands guided your movements, helping you find a rhythm that had both of you breathing hard.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained. "Show me how much you missed me." His words send heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You pick up the pace, bouncing on his length with increasing urgency. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, a rhythmic slap that marks your tempo. His dick fills you completely, stretching your pussy with each downward thrust.

Spencer sat up to meet you, his mouth finding your breasts as you rode him. He sucked one nipple between his lips, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak while his hands gripped your ass. The new position had him hitting different angles inside you, his cock dragging against spots that made your vision blur.

You could feel another orgasm building, the pressure coiling tighter with each movement. Spencer's hand moved between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that had you gasping. The dual stimulation was almost too much, pushing you closer to the edge with every thrust.

Your orgasm crashes through you with devastating intensity, your pussy clenching around him as you come with a broken cry. Waves of pleasure roll through your body, making your toes curl and your back arch. 

Spencer holds you through it, his hands steady on your hips as you shake and tremble above him. Your vision whites out, all sensation narrowing to the points where your bodies connect.

He followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing inside you as he came with a groan of your name. You could feel him filling you again, his cum mixing with your own wetness as he held you close through his release.

This time when you came down, Spencer carefully lifted you off his cock and arranged you both on the couch. He pulled a throw blanket over your bodies, tucking it around you with gentle hands. His arms wrapped around you, holding you against his chest as your breathing slowly returned to normal.

"Stay with me tonight," he said quietly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "In my bed I mean,. I don't want to wake up without you again." The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tight, and you pressed closer to him, seeking his warmth.

"Of course," you promised, and felt him relax beneath you. “Also, we might need to discuss who’s bedroom we will be moving into” 

Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Mine, obviously. There’s more space I have a bigger bed” 

“Okay. As long as we can have my plants and other trinkets in there” You say, tracing absent shapes on his bare back. 

“I think I can manage that” He smiled, flicking his nose against yours.

“I love you” You whisper. 

Being in love with Spencer didn’t feel new, as somewhere along the way, between the shared bedroom walls, movie marathons, takeouts and mind boggling sex, you had both already fallen in love. 

Love had woven itself into the ordinary, into the books you shared, into the photobooth pictures of the pair of you on the fridge, into the mugs left in the sink because you knew he’d use them again. 

You had recognised it long before you found the courage to name it. Spencer had simply been slower to see what had been right in front of him.

He hadn't fallen in love tonight, He’d simply realised that you'd been already living inside it all along.

a.n. I finally finished a series - well done me ! I lowkey loved writing this style of series, there is no plot at all but I wanted to write something that you don't really need to read part to follow along. TAGLIST - @sweet-t33a @unlikelylovebarbarian @cocoabears @cryingoblivioneden @haydenssweetheart @sabbiabbydabbywabbie @moonz33 @pinkpantheris @throughmylifetimesiwatchtheworld - Please let me know if you'd like to be added!

[mistiemoon]

Revelations

Spencer reid x roommate fem!reader

Summary: despite saying it was the last time, you crawled back into Spencers bed again, needing to completely claim him as your own.

Warnings: 3k words 18+ MDNI, porn with little plot, soft!dom reader, sub!spencer he eats you out like a man starved, blowjob, unprotected p in v, kinda fluff and angst if you really squint.

Part One - One Last Time.

You got home around midnight, unlocking the door as quietly as you could, placing your bag down and shimmying off your shoes, kicking them vaguely off to where they lived. 

After spending your evening surrounded by your friends gushing about how in love they are whilst you had to sit in silence, only speaking to congratulate yet another engagement or couple event - had you feeling dangerously lonely. 

You stared at your bedroom door for a moment, before your eyes traitorously drifted towards Spencers. You told him after last time that it really was the last time you’d end up in his bed. 

He had just smiled and agreed, but the pair of you knew that inevitably either one of you would come crawling back. And after the evening you had, you felt that you deserved a little pick me up. 

Decision made, you opened the door slowly. You expected him to be asleep, but instead you were met with Spencer reading, his back resting against the backboard, the room only illuminated by the lamp in the corner of the room. 

He didn’t say anything, just watched as you walked to the stand at the end of the bed, his eyes greedily taking you in, sweeping up and down. 

You kept your eyes fixed on his as you slowly started to peel your top off your body over your head, throwing it on the ground with little regard. 

Spencer sat his book aside, his eyes never leaving yours as he sat up a little straighter. 

You tucked your thumbs under the waistband of your skirt, pulling it down antagonisingly slowly. Spencer swallowed and his eyes widened as it hit the floor with a small thump. 

Despite seeing you naked on numerous occasions, he never seemed to take it for granted. He always looked at you like it was the first time. 

You carried on until you were completely bare in front of him, taking your hairclip out to allow your hair to fall free. Spencer's hands flexed at his sides momentarily. 

You crawled towards him deliberately slowly, your hair falling over one shoulder.  His hand came up to touch your arm, you swatted it away. 

Leaning in close to his face, your lips inches away from his, you whispered. “Are you going to be good for me?” 

“Yes” he stammered out, voice thick and shaky. Nodding as he spoke. 

You loved when Spencer took the reins, when he pounded into you and made you cum over and over again, but it took little real investigation to know that this side was within him. You saw it in the way you would grip his hair, bite him, stick your thumb in his mouth. 

“Good boy” you say. “Lie flat” 

Spencer listened to your command with no obligation, sliding down the headboard and resting his head on his pillow. 

You made your way further up his body until your knees sat either side of his head, his hands automatically resting on your thighs. You put one hand on the headboard, the other threading through his hair. 

Spencer didn't hesitate. He surged upward, his tongue darting out to swipe a long, wet stroke all the way up to your clit. You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling his head firmly against you. 

He began to lap at you with a feverish pace, his tongue flat and broad, tasting every drop of your arousal. He groaned into your folds, the sound vibrating through your entire body, as he used his lips to suck your clit into his mouth, pulling and swirling it with a rhythmic intensity.

You arched your back, your hand gripping the headboard for leverage as he worked. He was thorough, his tongue flicking rapidly against your most sensitive spot while his hands squeezed your thighs, anchoring you to him. 

He was eating you like he were starving, his nose buried in your scent, making wet, sloppy sounds that filled the quiet room.

You could feel the tension building in your lower belly, the familiar coil of an orgasm tightening. As you felt the first wave of your climax hit, you pushed yourself down harder against his face, muffling his moans with your wetness. 

You shuddered, your internal muscles pulsing violently against his tongue as you came, a loud, unrestrained moan escaping your lips. Spencer didn't pull away. 

Even as you trembled, he continued to lick and suck, cleaning every drop of your come from your skin with a devotion that bordered on worship.

Once the tremors subsided, you slowly lifted yourself off him, leaving him breathless and glistening. You looked down at him, a smirk playing on your lips.

You reached your hand down between both your bodies to rub his cock through his boxers. He whined, leaning forward to try to kiss you. 

Tutting, you leaned back, sly smile on your face. “Nuh Uh” 

You slipped your fingers underneath his waistband and pulled them off quickly. Leaving his cock aching and twitching in the cool air. 

You watched him squirm beneath you, his hips twitching instinctively as you avoided the very thing he was craving. Every kiss you pressed into his inner thigh or the soft skin of his hip made him gasp, his breath hitching in a desperate rhythm. He was a taut string, vibrating with a need so intense it was almost tangible in the air between you.

Finally, you looked up at him, your eyes hooded, seeing the sheer agony of desire etched into his features. His cock was fully erect, a thick, pulsing vein running along the side, leaking a bead of pre-cum that glistened under the dim light of the lamp.

Without a word, you leaned in and swiped your tongue along the length of him, from the base all the way to the head, groaning at the taste of the salt and musk of him. 

Spencer let out a strangled moan, his head slamming back against the pillow, his fingers curling into the bedsheets.

You opened your mouth and took him in, sliding your lips over the head of his cock with a wet, sloppy sound. 

You didn't just suck; you focused your attention on the sensitive underside, the frenulum, flicking your tongue rapidly against the most nerve-dense part of him. 

You swirled your tongue around the rim, creating a vacuum of heat and moisture that made him shudder violently.

"Please," he whimpered, his voice a broken rasp.

You ignored his plea, increasing the pace. You took him deeper, your throat tightening around him, while your tongue continued to tease and lash at the underside of his shaft. 

Spencer was losing it. His thighs trembled, and his hips began to buck upward, driven by a primal urge to thrust into your mouth. But as soon as he moved too much, you paused, pulling back just an inch and giving him a warning look. 

He froze instantly, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and glazed. He stayed still, enduring the exquisite torture of your mouth, his hands gripping the comforter so hard his knuckles were white.

You went back to work, becoming even more precise, using your tongue to work in small, frantic circles on the underside, driving him closer and closer to the edge. He was twitching now, his entire body humming with tension, his breath coming in short and jagged. 

Just when he was teetering on the edge, you pulled back completely with a smirk. Releasing him with a soft, wet pop. 

Spencer's eyes remained completely screwed shut, his hips shifting and twitching, trying to fight back his orgasm. You had never thought he had looked more beautiful. You wanted to end his torture, but you didn’t. You both knew the end result would be better off if you prolonged. 

“You can only come when I tell you you can” You say as you straddle his lap, placing your hands flat against his chest. 

He whined at your words, but nodded anyway. You took his hands and placed them above his head.

“Don’t move your hands. If you do, I’ll have to punish you” 

The words that left your mouth surprised you. Being this horny apparently turned you into some sort of succubus. Perhaps your version of Spencer's Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. 

You angled your hips just right, so his cock rested at your entrance. You pushed down until only his tip entered, leaving it inside for one brief moment to pull back. You repeated this process until Spencer was a blubbering mess beneath you, whining and twitching with impatience. 

His hands still remained above his head throughout it all, you rewarded his good behaviour with a kiss and finally sinking down all the way to the hilt. 

Your head lazily rolled all the way around as you groaned, feeling impossibly full from him. He was always the perfect fit, nothing could ever compare. Perhaps that was one of the reasons no matter what you said, there would never be a last time. 

You stayed still for a moment, savoring the friction and the sheer heat of his cock buried deep inside. Spencer let out a sound that was half-sob, half-groan, his chest heaving beneath your palms. His eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide and glazed with a mixture of desperation and devotion. 

He looked like he was on the verge of shattering, his entire body vibrating with the effort of keeping his hands pinned above his head.

"You're so... fuck, you're so tight," he gasped, his voice trembling.

You smirked, leaning forward so your breasts brushed against his chest, your hair falling like a curtain around both your faces. "Am I, Spencer? Do I feel good?"

"Yes... please... god, yes," he whimpered, his hips giving a small, involuntary twitch upward.

You didn't let him move. Instead, you gripped his shoulders, pinning him further into the mattress, and began to move. You started slow, lifting yourself just enough to let the head of his cock slip out before slamming back down, burying him to the hilt with a wet, slapping sound.

The rhythm was deliberate and punishing. You weren't just fucking him, you were claiming him, even if you had no right to do so. 

Every time you descended, you felt him pulse inside you, his cock swelling even further as he fought the urge to thrust back. You could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his abdominal muscles were locked tight, his body a coiled spring of pure sexual frustration.

"Keep those hands still, good boy," you whispered, your voice a low, sultry command.

You increased the pace, your movements becoming more frantic and primal. You began to grind your clit against the base of his shaft, seeking your own pleasure while driving him further into the red. 

Spencer was no longer just moaning, he was making guttural, animalistic sounds. He was right on the edge, his breathing coming in ragged, desperate hitches. You could feel him twitching inside you, the tell-tale signs that he was seconds away from blowing.

You felt your own orgasm building, a tight coil of heat in your belly that threatened to snap. You leaned down, biting his earlobe hard enough to make him yelp, your voice a commanding hiss.

"I can feel you, Spencer. I can feel how badly you want to cum for me."

"I do... I'm... I'm right there... please!" he begged, his voice breaking.

You paused abruptly, freezing your hips mid-stroke, leaving him suspended in the most agonizing moment of anticipation. You looked down at him, seeing the sheer desperation in his eyes, the way he was practically vibrating beneath you.

"Not yet," you whispered, a cruel, beautiful smile on your lips. "I didn't tell you that you could."

You shifted your weight, lifting your hips. You reached up, grabbing his wrists and dragging his hands down from above his head, guiding them with a firm grip until his palms were pressed flat against the underside of your thighs.

Slowly, you fell forward, pressing your chest flush against his, your skin slick with sweat and heat, feeling of his racing heart hammering against your own ribs. 

Spencer froze for a second, his breath hitching. He knew the rules, but the placement of his hands was an invitation he couldn't ignore. He began to move, his hips bucking upward in slow, agonizingly deliberate thrusts. 

Because he was already balanced on the edge of climax, he was moving with cautious, trembling precision, terrified that one too-deep plunge would shatter his control and send him over the edge.

You had planned this perfectly. By giving him the physical means to drive himself into you, you had increased his torture. Now, the responsibility of his restraint lay entirely in his own muscles, and you could feel him shaking under the pressure. 

He was no longer just a passive recipient of your pleasure; he was fighting his own body, struggling to maintain the pace you demanded while his cock pulsed violently inside your tight, wet walls.

"That's it," you whispered into the crook of his neck, your voice thick with desire. "Slow... just like that. Don't ruin this by rushing."

Spencer let out a broken sound, a whimpering groan that vibrated through his chest and into yours. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, anchoring you to him as he pushed up again, the wet, squelching sound of your pussy gripping his shaft filling the air. He was gasping for air, his eyes squeezed shut in a mask of pure, concentrated ecstasy and desperation.

He was fighting for every second, his hips twitching with the instinctive urge to slam into you with everything he had, but he held back, terrified of the punishment—or the loss of your approval. You could feel the pre-cum leaking from him, lubricating the friction as he continued to grind upward.

You arched your back, grinding your clit hard against the base of his cock, your own climax beginning to ripple through you. You loved the way he was struggling, the way he was completely at your mercy even while he was the one doing the thrusting.

"You're doing so well, Spencer," you breathed, your voice a teasing caress. "So close... I can feel you trembling. Do you want to let go? Do you want to fill me up?"

"Please..." he sobbed, his voice barely a whisper, his hips giving a sudden, sharp jerk that nearly sent him over. "Please, I can't... I can't hold it..."

“Make me cum and you can,” 

Spencer gasped, the words barely leaving his lips before his restraint snapped.

The slow, agonizing torture was over. He clearly didn't care about the rules anymore; he didn't care about the permission he had been begging for. He must’ve been able feel the tremors racking your body, the way your internal muscles were beginning to squeeze his cock in rhythmic, desperate pulses. He knew you were right there, balanced on the same edge as he was, and the realization triggered something primal in him.

With a guttural groan, Spencer stopped the cautious movements. He gripped your thighs with bruising force, his fingers digging deep into your skin, and began to buck upward with violent, unrestrained power.

The change in pace was electric. The slow grinds were replaced by hard, slapping thrusts that drove his cock deep into you, bottoming out with a wet, heavy thud every single time.

He was fucking you with a desperate, starving intensity, his entire body shaking with the effort. He wasn't just seeking his own release anymore; he was hunting for yours. He drove himself into you harder and faster, his cock rubbing aggressively against your G-spot and grinding into your clit with every upward surge.

"Come for me," he groaned, his voice raw and commanding, a sudden flip in the power dynamic as he focused entirely on your pleasure. "Fuck, you're so tight... just come already!"

You let out a loud, piercing scream, your head falling into the crook of his neck as the friction became unbearable in the best way possible. The sheer force of his thrusts was overloading your senses, pushing you past the point of no return. 

Your walls clamped down on him, tightening around his shaft with violent contractions that nearly sent him over the edge instantly, but he pushed through it, determined to see you shatter first.

He hammered into you one last time, a deep, punishing plunge that just near hit your cervix, sending a massive electrical shock through your entire nervous system.

Your orgasm ripped through you in waves of blinding intensity, your pussy gripping his cock in a series of tight, rhythmic spasms that sucked him deeper into your heat. You collapsed against his chest, sobbing and shaking, your body vibrating with the aftershocks of a massive climax.

The moment you peaked, Spencer lost every shred of control he had left. The feeling of your orgasm clamping around him was the final straw. He let out a choked, animalistic sound and gave one final, powerful thrust, burying himself as deep as he could possibly go.

He stiffened, his back arching off the bed as he finally exploded. You could feel the hot, thick ropes of his cum pulsing violently inside you, filling you up with wave after wave heat. 

He groaned loudly, his eyes rolling back in his head as he spent himself completely, his cock throbbing inside you while he shuddered in the grip of a long-overdue, crashing release.

Re remained inside of you as you stayed laying on top of him, his hands tracing indistinct shapes on your back softly.

Spencer gently squeezed your behind, the touch was a stark contrast to the bruising grip he’d had on you just moments ago. You leaned up, your skin still flushed and humming, just enough to lock eyes with him.

His gaze was soft, the pupils still blown wide from the rush of endorphins, filled with a complicated devotion. He reached up, his fingers grazing your cheek with a lightness that felt almost sacred, and slowly pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

In that quiet look, the realization hit you again.  He had systematically ruined every other man for you. No one else knew the exact rhythm of your body, the precise way to push you to the edge, or how to surrender to you so completely. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

The silence was broken by a voice that sounded frayed, barely a whisper.

“I can’t do this again,” he said quietly.

The words landed like a physical blow. For as long as this had been going on, it had always been you playing the part of the one trying to walk away, with Spencer simply agreeing, both of you knowing you were lying. 

You had spent months in a cycle of desperate returns, crawling back to each other the moment the distance became unbearable. Hearing him be the one to draw the line hurt deeply, a sharp ache in your chest that mirrored the fading throb of your orgasm.

But as you looked at him, the pain shifted into a sudden, crystalline clarity.

Slowly, you pulled away from him. The sudden absence of his heat, the loss of him filling you, left you feeling cold and exposed. 

You leaned back in, pressing your lips to his in the smallest of kisses. In any other context, it would have felt like a final goodbye, a closing of a chapter. But here, it felt like reassurance. It was a promise whispered without words.

You stood up and walked out of his room, the door clicking softly behind you.

As you moved down the hallway, the smile remained on your face.

Despite the finality in his tone, you knew Spencer better than he knew himself. He wasn't pushing you away because he wanted you gone; he was pushing you away because the hunger had evolved into something he could no longer control. 

He was terrified of that truth, you knew it was only a matter of time before he realized it too.

a.n I couldn't not write again for these two. There's something so sexy about everything left unspoken 🫦

TAGLIST: @sweet-t33a @unlikelylovebarbarian @cocoabears @cryingoblivioneden @haydenssweetheart @sabbiabbydabbywabbie @moonz33@throughmylifetimesiwatchtheworld @pinkpantheris

-Mistie x

[mistiemoon]

One Last Time

summary: you know you shouldn't sleep with spencer, he is your roomate after all...yet you both can't stay away... pairing: spencer reid x roommate fem!reader warnings: 1k words 18+ MDNI, porn with no plot, unprotected p in v, soft!dom spencer, brief fingering, kinda forbidden love if you squint (god i'm awful at warnings, you fuck okay?) (any series spencer is applicable, picture used does not necessarily depict fic spencer)

Part Two Here - Revelations

“This really is the last time” You told Spencer whilst his hands tightened in your hair. His lips attached to the sensitive part of your neck.

“Sure it is” He mumbled against your jaw, his hot breath making you feel weaker at the knees. 

You said the same thing to him a week ago. Both of you knew this wasn’t going to be last time. Ever since you came home slightly tipsy and horny, seeing Spencer walk out of the shower with his towel hung low around his hips, hair messy and wild, your brain said fuck it and removed his towel and sunk onto your knees. 

The next morning he approached you as you were cooking breakfast. Didn’t say a word, just slid his hand in your hair behind your head and kissed you like you were the air he breathed, before picking you up and putting you on the counter, taking off your shorts and proceeding to eat you out like you were his last meal. 

You both knew if you were fucking that day as soon as you woke. It would be in the air, the slightest imperceivable shift in the atmosphere of understanding that would lead to the both of you ravishing each other on the sofa before you even said one word. 

Today was one of those days. He walked out of his bedroom, looked you in the eyes and you knew. Nothing needed to be said as it was apparent in the way he looked at you. 

Spencer's hands were holding you up by the back of your thighs as he walked the both of you to his bedroom, kicking the door with his foot, all without breaking the kiss. His colleagues said he was uncoordinated, you failed to see where they came to this conclusion. 

He placed you down on the bed, his body sliding in between your legs instantaneously. The heels of your feet rubbed down the back of his calves as your fingers twisted in his hair. 

You palmed him through his thin boxers, his hips jutting forward to chase the friction, moaning against your mouth. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip before your tongue glided in. 

Spencer’s cock twitched under your palm, already half-hard and thickening fast as you rubbed him through the thin cotton. He ground down harder, letting you feel every inch of him swelling against your hand while his tongue pushed deeper into your mouth, hot and insistent.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear and yanked them down in one rough tug. He didn’t waste time, two thick fingers slid straight through your folds, finding you already slick. He circled your clit once, twice, then pushed one finger inside you, curling it deep as his thumb kept working that sensitive spot.

He pumped his finger in and out, before sliding in another, the wet sound of it filling the room. His free hand shoved your shirt up, exposing your chest, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing the stiff peak while his fingers kept fucking you.

You arched up into him, legs spreading wider around his hips. Your hand slipped inside his boxers and wrapped around his bare cock, stroking him from root to tip, thumb swiping over the leaking head. Spencer groaned into your breast, hips jerking forward into your fist.

He pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean before shoving his boxers down just far enough to free himself. The thick length slapped against your inner thigh, hot and heavy. He lined himself up, rubbing the head through your wetness a few times, then pushed in with one steady thrust until his hips met yours.

Spencer didn’t give you time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the bed creaking under the force of his thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his cock all the way in, the head hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. Your nails dug into his back as he buried his face in your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin while he pounded into you.

“Still think this is the last time?” he growled against your throat, voice strained as he kept driving into you. His hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit in tight circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The wet slap of skin on skin grew louder, your pussy clenching around him every time he bottomed out.

He shifted his angle slightly, grinding down harder on each stroke, and your orgasm hit fast—your whole body tightening as you came around his cock, pulsing and squeezing him. Spencer fucked you through it, pace never slowing, chasing his own release while you trembled beneath him.

Living with Spencer was like living with Dr Jekyll, the composed, kind and well mannered man who asked how you were. Sex with Spencer was Mr Hyde, the man who ignored all reasoning and fucked you until your legs were sore. The polarity between the two was a mental whiplash to decipher. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.  

He drove into you quicker now, the sound of skin on skin slapping in the otherwise silent room, eyes interlocked. Mouths inches apart as you shared the same air. How could something be so intimate with so little words shared between the two of you? You didn’t know, you didn’t care. 

His cock hardened within you, you squeezed your walls tighter in response. He thrusted hard once, twice, three times before he spilled into you with a low groan, dropping his head onto your forehead. You interlocked your feet at his hips, keeping him locked in place. 

You saw the second Mr Hyde left and Dr Jekyll returned, his eyes changing from dark brown, almost black to light honey hazel. Lust changing to tenderness. He rested on his elbow as he pushed one strand of hair away from your face. 

You did the same, moving one curl away from his eyes, tucking it gently back into place. It was only then did you realise that this really should be last time, not when he’s looking at you with so much admiration you don’t know what to do with it. 

But you know there will never be a last time. 

a:n I got horny so I wrote this to make me feel better :) might make this into a short fic series with no real plot, just an excuse for me to write smut -Mistie xx

Taglist (comment if you want to be added): @sweet-t33a @unlikelylovebarbarian @cocoabears.

-Mistie xx

[sweet-t33a]

tense - spencer reid

summary: they say love is the most powerful drug there is, and when it comes to spencer reid, you're shown just how powerful addiction is. you try to ignore your feelings for your fellow profiler, but as the days pass, your feelings get harder and harder to ignore... until one night, you can stand it no longer

genre/tags/CWs: there is plot, and it follows the same morbid qualities as a REAL CM episode, so there are heavy mentions of suicide, murder, rape, abortions, the foster system, evisceration, organs, hostages, threats, knives, blood, dead bodies. now onto the fun stuff. SMUTSMUTSMUT, porn WITH plot, dom!Spencer, sub!reader, squirting, no physical description of reader besides female anatomy, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, breeding kink? how did that get in here, reader and Spencer both have repetitive habits mentioned OFTEN, DIRTY talk, like filthy, like nasty, maybe ooc Spencer dialogue but I can picture him saying it all, coworkers to lovers, workplace romance, nothing bad happens to Spencer or reader!! they are safe!!, this is NASTY so read with caution

a/n: this is based off the dom!reid x sub!reader workplace romance request I got! not every request I get will be this long I just like ate it up so hard, so thank you anon for your gorgeous freaky mind giving me ideas, and I am SO SORRY I FORGOT IT WAS ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, my freak pervert brain took hold of my writing reigns... forgive me

w/c: 8.7k (WHOOPS)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

They say that there are three main chemicals that manufacture the feeling of initial attraction in the brain: dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine. That there’s a million factors that can contribute to the attraction you feel towards your fellow man. Childhood development, proximity, subconscious pattern recognition– all of these things make up the scientific explanation for why one person becomes more enticing than the next. All of this, you knew. But none of it could save you from devolving into madness when it came to Spencer Reid. You were a professional, someone with standards. You’d attended- and subsequently obliterated expectations at- the FBI academy. You had years of field profiling experience under your belt. And yet, Dr. Spencer Reid seemed to reduce you down to one thing:

Needy.

Spencer was a, too, a professional. He was a man of incredible intelligence and excellent at profiling. Which is why you were such a problem – because you would have moments where you were anything but subtle about your attraction. You’d gaze at him with utter lust during debriefs, bite your lips and bat your eyes at your desk after a conversation. You weren’t outright sexualizing him, nor were you openly flirting. But with his expertise in body language, you might as well have been stripping him right there in the bullpen. 

It drove him crazy.

Spencer had a reputation of composure, but you were driving him over the edge. He noticed. Every time you lost your composure, he noticed. And you knew it, too. You felt a little ashamed, like a schoolgirl with a crush, you were inconsolable when it came to your absolute desperation for your unit’s resident genius. 

-

You were on a case now, and you and Spencer had been sent together to meet with the medical examiner. There was an unsub targeting women who had given up their children for adoption, eviscerating them before dumping them in lakes unweighted. You decided to drive, hoping that the details of the case and the attention the road demanded would keep your mind from wandering. You were capable of being normal around Spener- in fact, you would consider him a very close friend. You’d talked for hours in the past, but as of late your tolerance for surrogate hookups had expired, and your vibrators simply weren’t enough, so being around him was becoming difficult.

“Do you think we’re looking for a child abandoned by their birth mother?” You asked, thumb fidgeting with the wheel as you drove.

“It’s definitely a possibility. There’s so much rage in the kills, at least as much as we’ve seen in the photos. The unsub could see himself as a sort of vigilante for children who were unwanted,” he replied. “In the year 2005, there were at least 146,172 finalized adoptions across the United States– children are given away every day. The question is, why now? What stressor would make the child start killing years after they were presumably given up?” You were silent, thinking about everything you knew about the foster care system and what happened to kids when they outgrew their placements. Finally, you arrived, parking fairly close to the door of the morgue. As Spencer exited, you turned to grab your jacket from the back seat. It was a brisk day, and you knew morgues weren’t known for their warmth, either. When you went to reach for your door handle, you found that Spencer had come to open it for you. You flushed slightly.

“Oh, thank you! I could have gotten it,” You said, and he shrugged. 

“It’s the chivalrous thing to do. Actually, did you know that while door holding was popularized by knights in the Victorian Era, Greek men used to carry their wives on their shoulders to prevent them from dirtying their clothes?” He asked, offering you his hand as you stepped out. You felt distinctly princess-like, and could easily get used to Spencer taking care of you, opening your doors, opening your legs…

You blinked hard before looking to meet Spencer’s gaze. You were blushing, and Spencer tensed, ever so slightly. He licked his lips before turning his head towards the door. He had dropped your hand, and you immediately put it in your coat to make up for the loss of his warmth. “That’s really interesting, Spencer,” you said, and meant it. 

When you met with the M.E. she began to describe the victim’s injuries. “She died from loss of blood, a class three hemorrhage from this slash to her throat. She was found in a lake, which explains these notches here– the environment began to deteriorate the body right before it was found, probably from something in the water that was hungry enough to approach.”

Spencer’s face wrinkled in confusion. “So she didn’t die from the evisceration? Was it done postmortem?” 

The medical examiner paused. “My guess? It occurred very soon after the throat was slashed. However, it would only take about 2 minutes to die from blood loss after a gash this deep, so there’s a chance the victim was still alive, but they definitely wouldn’t have been conscious. After about 15 seconds, she most likely passed out.”

You sighed. “So not quite torture, but still an extremely violent way to kill. Was there any signs of sexual assault?” The woman shook her head. “There is something to note, however. Though a lot of the internal organs were damaged during the evisceration, there was extensive injury to the uterus, gashes not aligning with the other cuts.”

Spencer nodded curtly. After a few more questions, you both made your way out. The details of the case fresh in your mind, you wanted to discuss with Spencer before you forgot anything. 

“No sexual assault and a water burial points to a female unsub, but the cause of death was so extremely violent and messy. If there was no sexual motivation, this unsub would have to have incredible amounts of rage and privacy to attack in this way,” You mused, and Spencer nodded, casually going to open your door before you got the chance. You again were caught off guard. You’d been sent alone with Reid before, and never had he acted this way. It was a small change in behavior, but noticing changes in behavior was your job. You gave him a small smile before climbing in. Something heated in your core, and butterflies fluttered in your abdomen. You took a deep breath before Spencer entered the car, trying to keep your composure. This was going to be a long case. 

-

When you and Spencer returned to the police station, you met with everyone and began to relay your information. There was very little difference in the appearances of the women, the MO consistent with every kill. Forensic countermeasures, no witnesses at the dump site, and no apparent connection between the victims besides the obvious physical resemblance and the fact that they all had kids put into the system. That was, until Garcia called. “Hey, Babygirl. What do you have? You’re on speaker.” Said Derek, setting his phone on the table. 

“Hey sweetness. I did what you asked, and there’s no links romantically between the woman, so no sharing baby daddies over here. All three women had their cases sealed as no-contact, but I didn’t want to come up completely empty handed– so I did some more looking and I think I found out how the unsub is targeting his victims.”

Spencer cut in, raising his hand. “Actually, Garcia, when we visited the medical examiner, we floated the theory that the unsub is a woman due to the apparent lack of sexual interest and mode of disposal.” 

Garcia let out a small gasp, “Oh, that is not good.” 

“Why?” Spencer asked, face scrunched.

“Because all three victims attended support groups for women who put their children up for foster care.” 

You stiffened, and your mouth dropped slightly. 

“Oh, my god,” You said. Everyone looked at you as you placed your hand on the table. “She’s killing herself.”

- 

After realizing the unsub was targeting women who represented herself, the team decided to do more research into why the woman would attack others instead of actually killing herself. 

“Guilt for leaving the child is the most obvious option, but it doesn’t make sense that simply putting the baby up for adoption would have triggered her like this. She likely knew that she wouldn’t be able to care for the baby upon finding out she was pregnant. But if she’s stable enough to recognize that something about her situation makes her an unfit mother, then it feels like we’re missing a part of what’s triggering her. She cares enough for her child to try and give it a good life that’s not with her. That doesn’t sound like someone who is capable of this level of violence.” Emily mused, and you nodded. 

Spencer came up beside you, standing behind your chair. Your hair went on end as he joined the conversation, hand resting on the chair only an inch away from the back of your neck. You imagined him resting his hand on your neck instead, snaking it around to the front and squeezing while he directed your gaze upward. You swallowed hard and sat up straight in your chair. Spencer looked down at you from where he stood for only a moment, and you worried he could read your mind. He smelled good, you could tell from his proximity. He was so intoxicating, and no matter how hard you tried, your mind couldn’t find its way back to the conversation. You nodded as if you were listening, but his looming presence had you nervous, paralyzed. He had that effect on you– he was your greatest distraction. Once you registered that he had finished speaking, you stood abruptly and said, “Excuse me,” you muttered, before cutting beside him and making a beeline for the coffee pot. 

Spencer’s brow furrowed, and Emily quirked her head. “Is she okay…?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Spencer admitted, “But I’m gonna find out.” 

You grabbed a styrofoam cup and decided to pour some water from the cooler. You breathed deep– your feelings for Spencer were becoming suffocating. You stood from your bent position at the spout when you felt a hand on the lower-middle of your back. You startled, and almost spilt your water. You held your heart and felt it twist when you met the ever-enveloping gaze of Spencer Reid. 

“Oh! You- you scared me.” You said, looking down at your cup, but Spencer moved to include his face in your line of sight.

“Hey, are you okay? You’ve been acting strange… you space out a lot and you’re back to biting your lips. Is there something on your mind?” He asked, eyes slightly darkening before he slipped his voice in a lower, softer tone. “Someone on your mind?” 

Your eyes went wide and you bit the inside of your cheek to make sure you weren’t having another dirty work dream. But lo, this was real. 

“Spencer! Why would you ask me that? I’m fine,” You said, but Spencer cocked his head.

“That wasn’t a no.” He stated simply, his furrowed brow catching your attention. His thinking face was something you’d always admired— but now his quizzicality was turned on you, and it made you sweat. You quirked your head slightly and narrowed your eyes. Two could play this game. 

“Why do you care?” you asked, turning the question on him once more.

Spencer blinked and he wet his lips. Before you could give him the chance to reply, you pressed him again. “You’ve been licking your lips. It’s a nervous tick. You did it when you held my door, too. Were you nervous then, Reid? Do I make you nervous?” You asked, a challenge in your eyes. Despite your brave face, your heart was pounding and you felt heat gathering below your belt. You wanted him to take you by the lips and work your biting attitude out of you. When he didn’t reply, you let yourself smile like you’d won.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to do this here, hm?” You said, and Spencer’s gaze darkened. Just as you went to walk away, Spencer moved his hand from your back to your arm, grabbing your tricep and stopping you in your path. 

“You’re right. We’ll finish this later.” He said after he moved close to your ear before walking ahead of you back to the conference room the team had posted up in. 

Oh, fuck.

-

That night when you got back into your hotel, you turned and closed the door behind you as quickly as you could. You panted heavily and closed your eyes. The rest of the night there were no further developments in the case, and you all felt defeated. More than that, every time you were in a room with him, you felt Reid’s eyes burning a hole into the back of your head, always watching. You felt like a deer in headlights, trapped in wait. You pushed off the door and threw your go-bag onto the bed, searching frantically for the item you had most shamefully added within the last few weeks.

A small pink mini-wand. It was the quietest toy you could find, and you were paranoid of your coworkers somehow hearing you fucking yourself over the sexy genius none of them knew you wanted. Or, you thought none of them knew. All of the members of the BAU had suspected your feelings for months.

You threw your clothes off your body, stripping down into your underwear and walking to the bathroom to turn on the shower. The toy was waterproof, thank goodness, because you were aching to take care of yourself and didn’t want to wait until you were showered to do so. After taking off the rest of your layers, you stepped inside, feeling the warm water trickle down your body. You clicked on the wand, and gingerly pressed it to your throbbing clit. Unfortunately, you heard a noise that made you jump and hurriedly turn it off. 

It was knocking, on your door. You groaned and turned off the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping yourself before angrily going to see who it was. You left the toy on the bed, just around the corner from the door, out of sight. You looked through the peep hole and blinked in surprise when you saw it was Spencer. You adjusted your makeshift cover before cracking the door just so. “...Yes, Spencer?” You asked, pinning him with a look of annoyance as he noticed your distinct lack of real clothes. 

“We just got to our rooms, and you’re already naked?” He asked, and your face flushed red. It was as if he knew that a shower was only half your motivation, like he could see the hot pink vibrator waiting for you just out of sight.

“You make it sound so weird! I was in the shower. What do you want,” you said, less like a question and more of a statement of annoyance.

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “But your hair isn’t wet?”

You rolled your own and glared. “I had only just got in before someone came knocking on my door, apparently just to bother me. Goodnight Spencer.” You went to close the door in his face. “Wait,” he said, jamming his foot in the frame before you could close it. 

You groaned and opened it again. “Spencer, what is it? I’m literally naked. Let me close the door.” 

It was his turn to pin you with a look. “If you were literally naked, I wouldn’t be standing out here.” 

Apparently, Spencer didn’t recognize the innuendo in his statement, or if he did, he refused to amend it– he just let out a heavy sigh while your mind ran wild with the musings of what he could have possibly meant by that. 

“I have a theory about why the unsub started killing surrogates,” he said, and you blinked. “I started thinking about the reasons most women put up their children in the first place. Poverty, indifference, drug use-” You cut him off. “Spencer! If you need to talk about this so badly, come inside. I don’t like standing here in just a towel.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief and gave you a look that said, ‘Finally.’ You moved aside and began to walk over to the room when you felt a jolt of panic shoot through you. In your frustration and anxiety to get out of the doorway, you managed to forget you left your very neon pink toy square on the bed. You let out a yelp and tried to reach for it before he noticed, but it was too late. You panicked, and began mumbling.

“AH! I’m sorry- sorry that’s- I was just.. It’s just, it was just in my bag I wasn’t-” Your ramblings were cut off by Spencer stopping you.

“Hey! It’s- it’s fine! I don’t care!” He said, looking at the wall, giving you time to put it away. “Approximately 52.2% of the American female population have used a vibrator in their lifetime…and about 45% of American men, it’s normal! I- not that I’d care anyways.” he said, and you felt the hair on your arms stand up. The thought of Spencer using a vibrator, or using one on you… You coughed and turned to face him.

“Um. Thanks. Sorry. One second,” you said. You moved to the bathroom to change into the pajamas you had laid in there earlier, leaving Spencer alone in the bedroom. Your face was red and hot, and you felt something between embarrassment and lust fill your chest.

While you were in the bathroom, Spencer had his back turned to the bathroom door, biting his lip and trying to will away his growing erection. Of course you brought a vibrator on this trip– you were trying to kill him. After the little stunt you pulled earlier, he’d spent the rest of the day trying to forget about how soft your skin was, and how badly he wanted to take you back to his room and show you exactly why he cared if someone was on your mind. When he heard the door open, he turned to face you and prayed to every god he’d never believed in that he didn’t have a noticeable boner. 

“Okay, so.. I was.. Thinking. About why children are put up for adoption. And then it dawned on me– most women who’ve been raped but don’t want to abort will give up their child.” You nodded, now distracted by his credible hypothesis.

“It’s a good start, but that still doesn’t explain why she’s killing now. Unless…” Spencer cocked his head, hanging on your words. “Reid, what percentage of rape victims are revictimized in their lifetime?” 

Reid paused, before squinting. “Sixty-six percent, why?” “Spencer. What if she was revictimized, and impregnated again?” Spencer's arms jolted in realization. “The thought of having to carry another child to term that she’d have to let go might have been too much, but she might be unwilling to kill herself because-” “Because she’d be killing the child in the process.”

“And that’s why she’s killing the surrogates!”

You and Spencer both immediately went to leave, and you grabbed your badge and gun as you beelined for Hotch’s hotel room. You practically ran down the hall, reaching his door and rapidly knocking. Hotch answered, still in his suit from earlier in the day when you and Spencer both blurted out, “We know why she’s killing surrogates.”

-

The team descended on the scene, previously dreary from a lack of sleep but now pumped with adrenaline. After calling a much bothered Penelope to have her work her technological genius, you asked her to pull records of women who reported being revictimized recently that also recently began prenatal medications. There was only one name: Erika Hawley. Derek led the infiltration, kicking down the door to reveal an empty house, but a lit basement. You called, “FBI! Erika Hawley, come out with your hands up!” 

The basement door remained shut, so it was broken into. In the basement, Erika was found with another woman from the support group, knife to her throat. You put your hands up as you approached.

“Erika… put the knife down. I cannot imagine the amount of pain you are in right now. But Erika, she hasn’t done anything.” You kept your voice calm. Behind you, Spencer had followed, and he had his gun trained on the woman’s head, ready to do whatever necessary to protect you. His heart hammered in his ears as Erika spoke. 

“I can’t take it! It’s not fair!” She screamed, tears running down her face. You looked at her with utter sympathy, and took another slow step.

“Erika… I know you have a good heart. That’s why you feel trapped, right? In your own body, because you’re unwilling to abort your baby. And that’s your choice, and I’m so sorry you have to go through this a second time. But the woman in your arms… is not you. Killing her won’t undo your hurt. Her name is Ashley Sullivan, and she has a family. Erika… It’s time to let her go.” 

Erika’s eyes filled with tears before dropping the knife and releasing the woman from her grasp. As soon as the knife hit the floor, you moved forward and kicked it towards Spencer. When it was out of reach, you handed Spencer your gun and moved to hug the woman. She collapsed into your arms, and you consoled her before gently telling her to turn to be apprehended and reading her her rights.

-

Once Erika was arrested, you flew home the next day to rest before returning to the office the day after to finalize all of your paperwork. What had happened with Erika was devastating, but despite everything that happened, all you could think about was how Spencer came to your room that night. About how he had seen your toy, sure, but mostly about how he had a breakthrough and came to see you. He thought the best thing he could do with this important information… was to gather your opinion because he thought you would be to help.

God, he’s sexy.

Your bedroom was as messy as you had left it before you embarked on the trip, and you decided to clean it some before relaxing the rest of the day. You knew as someone who took the lead in the arrest, you’d have some of the most paperwork to do tomorrow, second only to Hotch. You groaned, and began to put the dirty clothes and strewn about accessories away. Once your room was clean, you grabbed clothes to bring to the shower with you and turned on your CD player. 

- 

When you exited the shower, you went back to your room, and grabbed the very same vibrator from the go-bag you’d set in the corner. You threw yourself onto your bed, still naked and needy. You moved to press it to where you wanted it most, and you whimpered when you felt the sensations on your clit. It was the pressure you’d been desperate for for days, and your hips bucked slightly. You circled around your core, letting yourself give into the fantasies that flooded your mind.

There, in your head, it was Spencer giving you your relief, moving over your clit to coax your orgasm out from you. You moaned, and clicked the button to make the vibrations more powerful. You pictured him: curly hair, beautiful hazel eyes, sweet voice. You pictured him kissing your thighs, your lips. You felt your orgasm quickly build.

“That’s it, just focus. You’ve got this, you’re so pretty… doing so well, there we go…” You bucked your hips into the pleasure. But you found that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t cum. It was agonizing - waiting on a crash of pleasure that never crested. You lay there for an hour, whining and pleading before getting frustrated and throwing the vibe across the room. You didn’t know what was wrong– you’d spend your whole LIFE giving yourself orgasms, and now suddenly, it’s not enough? But really, you did know what was wrong. What you needed. 

In utter desperation, you went to your underwear drawer. You pulled out a purple lace set you’d bought on sale, and put it on.

This was a bad idea.

This was a terrible, horrible idea that could potentially ruin one of the best friendships you’d had in a long time.

…

You didn’t care.

-

You pulled into Spencer’s apartment parking lot, parking and marching into the building– a woman on a mission. You walked into the elevator and pressed the button, hands shaking slightly. The sun was setting, you hadn’t eaten, and you knew what would happen if this went awry. But you were losing it, and if this didn’t go well you’d probably end up ruining things some other way in the coming weeks, unable to do anything but ogle him. You had become well and truly obsessed with this man. He had bewitched you, and you had to do something about it. 

Taking steps so broad you were nearly jogging, you hurried to Spencer’s door, fist raised to knock before you paused– what if he wasn’t even home? What if there was someone inside with him, someone he had kept secret? You decided to take the leap before you could psych yourself out, knocking one, two, three times before taking a step back. Your foot tapped the floor, looking all around the hall. You must have gone completely crazy. 

It was taking too long. Maybe he had looked through the peep hole and saw your face, backed away. He didn’t want you like you wanted him, he didn’t need you like-

“Hello?” Your head whipped to his front door, meeting his beautiful hazel eyes immediately. Your face was red, and terribly, your mind when blank. 

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asked, face twisted in concern. You hadn’t called ahead- at least, he was pretty sure you hadn’t. He was too busy fisting his aching cock to the memory of you to check his phone, lest a new case or some random news article interrupt. He was still hard, using the door to shield his lower body. However, upon realizing it was only you, his worry overtook his consciousness of his boner and he opened the door all of the way to step out and greet you. 

This immediately came back to bite him, as your greedy gaze flicked downwards for just a moment before meeting his gaze again. Then there was something in your face, something hungry and almost primal. Spencer’s tongue flicked across his lips instinctively as he fought his body’s urge for his dick to twitch. 

“Yes. Well- no. Spencer…” You searched for the perfect words. Nothing too straightforward, but you didn’t want to seem aloof. Then, it hit you.

“We have a conversation to finish, yeah?”

-

It was about the cheapest shot you could’ve taken, but somehow, it worked. Spencer opened his door further, stepping aside to let you in. You let out a deep sigh of relief, but before you could figure out your next move, you found yourself boxed into the corner of Spencer’s doorway, his arm trapping you in close to him. You found yourself trembling, but not with fear. You had felt Spencer behind you the night you took down the unsub, and knew he wouldn’t hurt you. At least, not in ways you didn’t want. You looked up through your eyelashes at him, and swallowed hard. 

“You’re right. We do have a conversation to finish,” He said, voice low. “And I’d love a reply from my earlier question, but I think I have a more pressing one now. You could’ve called, texted. We could’ve talked on the plane or the night before we flew home. Your pupils are dilated, your face is flushed. You’re breathing fast and your pulse is…”

Air caught in your throat as Spencer brought a gentle hand to your neck, pressing down slightly. You fought the urge to moan, his proximity making you dizzy. His fingers were warm, and you wanted to take them into your mouth, suck on them while he kept speaking to you in his deep saccharine voice. “At about 95 beats per minute. So tell me; what really brought you here? Because I’m not stupid enough to believe it was just to talk.” 

Spencer’s confidence when he spoke to you had your knees buckling, and he grasped your chin and forced you to keep eye contact. Your brain was slowly turning to mush, but Spencer needed to hear you say it– say what he hypothesized had brought you here. He’s spent the last few months in limbo, wanting you desperately, but caring too much about your relationship — as friends and coworkers – to act on what he could read in your eyes. But you were in his home now, in his territory. He was at his most comfortable now, and he had to hear you say that you wanted him, too.

“Come on,” he cooed, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip. “Talk to me.” 

Your eyelashes fluttered and you let out a soft, breathy whimper. You couldn’t believe this was happening. 

“Spencer,” you started. “You asked me… if I was distracted because I was thinking of someone. You were right. Spence, you’re all I think about. Actually, I can’t think around you– at least, nothing appropriate. And sometimes, I think you feel that way too. But sometimes, I think that maybe… you don’t think about me at all. But Spence…” 

He held on your every word, searching your eyes, begging to see truth in them. “I need you. It’s gotten to the point that I can’t-” Your face burned. You tried to look away, but Spencer turned your head back towards him once more. 

“Can’t what, Angel?” The nickname broke your resolve.

“I can’t cum, Spence,” you whispered, turning your gaze at the ground, simultaneously embarrassed and more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. 

Spencer’s body went completely on edge, and he felt his every nerve buzz to life. His cock ached and strained against his pajama bottoms, and he could wait no longer. He crashed his lips into yours, a beautiful, passionate display of absolute obsession. Kissing Spencer felt like being the most relaxed you’d ever been, while simultaneously being lit on fire. Something ignited inside you, while a smaller beast finally could rest, knowing you were where you were always meant to be— in Spencer’s embrace. You moaned, unabashedly, taking his tongue into your mouth. Spencer’s hands grasped the sides of your head, trying to close any and all distance between you. Your hands grasped onto his shirt, fisting the fabric. You were so happy, you could cry. You’d wanted this for so long. Spencer never wanted the kiss to end– he felt complete when in contact with you. However, his leaking head was now making a pool of precum in his boxers, so he pulled away. You whined softly at the loss of his lips on yours, but then he bent to pick you up, bridal style. Despite his appearance, he was fairly deft, and had a good enough grasp on physics to make lifting you nearly effortless. He looked at you, eyes dark and sultry. There was a promise inside them that had your pussy twitching in anticipation. He took you to his bed, where he put you down into a sitting position. 

“I need you to understand something, angel,” He said, hand coming to the side of your face, brushing it sweetly with his thumb on your cheek. You leaned into the contact, doe eyes meeting his stare intently. “Once we start, it will be extremely difficult for me to stop. The flood of dopamine acts as a filter prioritizing desire over rationale. Not- not that I’d ever do anything you didn’t want. But it will be…” He swallowed thickly, looking to your lips, then back to your eyes. “So, so agonizing. I need you to tell me now if this is really what you want to do, because it might kill me if I have to pry myself away from you.” 

You were putty in his hands. All of his words sounded like the most beautiful melody you’d ever heard. Your hand reached up to grasp the one holding you, and giving in to your earlier fantasy, you moved his thumb over to your mouth to wrap your lips around it. He might as well have been made of sugar, he tasted so sweet. You kept your gaze locked on him as you nodded slowly, swirling your tongue around his thumb. Spencer let out a low sigh before abruptly removing his digit from your mouth and grasping your face, hard. It didn’t hurt, but the command in the action was clear.

“Use your words, angel. Don’t make me ask again.” 

You swallowed. 

“I want this, Spencer. I want you. Please, I need you.”

Spencer smiled a condescendingly sweet smile and tilted his head. 

“Good girl, that wasn’t so hard?” He loosened his grip on your face and moved it to the back of your hair, tangling at the nape of your neck. You let out a soft whimper and titled your head back just so.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that? Anytime I try to get work done and you’re somewhere eye-fucking me in the corner.” Spencer used his free hand to pull the drawstring of his pajama bottoms undone, pulling them down to free his cock. It was red and leaking, covered in shiny precum all over the tip. He took it into his hand, squeezing the base to try and relieve some of the pressure. Your mouth watered and you instinctively went to take it into your mouth, but Spencer’s hand in your hair kept you in place. He began to stroke it slowly, tantalizingly close to you but just out of reach. He tutted and shook his head. “You want to make me feel good? Want to make it up to me for all those nights I had to come home and touch myself to the thought of you?”

You whined, nodding your head as much as you could as he held you. After a few moments of agonizing waiting, he finally smiled and said, “Okay, Angel. Go ahead.”

You moved forward, his hand still on your hair, but allowing you to move freely. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the head of his cock before giving it a soft lick. Spencer let out a soft laugh at your affection in a moment so sensual. “So sweet for me,” he praised, and you giggled before dipping your head to lick up his length from base to tip. He shut his eyes and released a shuddering breath. You opened up to take the tip into your mouth, slowly lowering yourself. He was bigger than anything you’d had before, and you hesitated slightly at the size. He rubbed soft circles into your scalp, and you moaned around him. Spence tipped his head back in pleasure, letting out unsteady whimpers as you sucked him slowly. Your mouth was warm, your tongue dragging on the underside of his dick right along a vein. You felt so much better than his hand, better than anything he'd ever known. You were losing yourself in the motions, almost high on the knowledge you were making him feel good. As if he could read your mind, he began to praise you again.

“You’re doing s-so well,” he choked out, and your clit buzzed with want. You moved faster, your head bobbing in a steady pace that drew his orgasm near. Not wanting to finish so soon, he tugged on the back of your hair again. Unfortunately, you resisted, staying where you were. Drool dripped from your lips, messy from the act. You whimpered, slightly frantic, like the thought of not having his cock in your mouth anymore caused you grief. Spencer was surprised by your defiance, and brought his other hand to your chin, holding you still while he pulled out of your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks when he did so, desperate to get him to stay. 

When he pulled his cock free from your mouth, it was shining with spit and twitching. He’d gotten so close to cumming in your mouth, and he cursed at the loss of feeling. He pinned you with a look. “You think you can decide what you get from me, after the way you’ve been behaving?” He released you, finally, and stepped out of his bottoms fully before taking off his shirt. He looked at you and gave a slight nod of his head. 

“Strip.” He said simply, tossing his shirt in the corner before crossing his room and rummaging in a drawer. He pulled out a box of condoms, and brought them over to his bedside. You were naked when he turned around, and in an instant, you were brought out of the moment at the realization. You were naked, in front of Spencer Reid. You began to nibble on the corner of your lip, and Spencer immediately picked up on your change in attitude. He came to you, and grabbed your waist, admiring your body. Your nipples peaked from the change in temperature. Spencer was nearly breathless, and he told you as much. 

“You’re so beautiful, angel. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to see you like this. Well, actually, I could. I can literally recall every time I've thought about you naked.” You let out a soft laugh and looked at the ground. His change in demeanor was heartwarming. You felt strangely vulnerable to his kindness, feeling your stomach twist in nervousness. 

“Spencer,” You started, and he brushed the hair from your eyes. “Yes, sweetheart?” He said, and butterflies roamed in your gut. 

“After this, will you…” you bit your lip again, then softly smiled, remembering his pointing out your habit. “Do you think you’d want to go on a date, maybe?” 

Spencer felt his heart melt a little before bringing you in for a hug. His hands trailed your back, and his still hard cock pressed against your lower abdomen. 

“I would be honored,” he said, before pressing warm kisses along your neck. You let out a sigh, your hands pressed flat against his chest. He pressed you back so you were sitting on the bed once more, and then had you move so you were lying down the center of the bed. 

He sucked the side of your neck, leaving dark red marks that would surely become a deep purple in the coming hours. He took one of your tits in his hand, squeezing it. He pressed a kiss to your temple, close to your ear, before whispering. 

“Don’t think this means you’re getting out of trouble,” he said, voice low. It was an empty threat, and he knew it. But you didn't have to. He trailed down your body, moving to suck your nipple into his mouth while the other continued to massage the other. Your chest rose as you moved into his touch, and he smiled. His hand moved away from your tit to finally touch where you wanted him the most– where you’d wanted him months. His middle and ring finger pressed in agonizing circles, and you moaned. He dragged his fingers through your soaked pussy, the evidence of your desire collecting on his hand. His middle finger pushed through your folds to gently press into your hole, and you whined loudly. 

“Spencerr…” you mumbled, biting on your knuckle to try and silence yourself. He detached himself from your chest where he was making a fresh hickey to shake his head.

“Uh-uh, let me hear you baby. You like that?” His finger pushed in deeper, curling with expert precision, and he took your hand from your mouth to hold it. The domesticity of the action had you clenching around his finger. When he drew it back, he added his ring finger, both curling and dragging along your insides. Your back arched. 

“The average female g-spot,” he breathed against your skin, now kissing your hand, entwined with his. His pace quickened as he talked. “Is about 2-3 inches inside the vaginal walls, facing the ventral side of the body.” 

He brought his thumb to press onto your clit as he moved his fingers, not doing much but applying pressure, moving it with the rest of his hands as he worked your core. His palm pressed up and he sped up significantly. You were falling apart under his touch. You bucked your hips, allowing yourself to get lost in the sensation of him inside of you. Spencer watched his own movements with intensity, analytical and ravishing.

“When enough pressure is applied to both the Skene’s glands at the opening of the vagina and the g-spot is stimulated, it’s theorized that many people with female anatomy…” You felt a sensation not unlike needing to pee, and opened your eyes, panic and pleasure combining in an absolutely consuming high. You were close, so close, but so was the feeling like you needed to urinate, and you panicked. 

“...Will experience the phenomenon known as ‘squirting’,” Spencer finished, as you reached your orgasm. It ripped through you, your legs spasming violently. You cried out, loudly, screaming his name while he worked you. You squired along his hands, something you’d never been able to do previously. It was unlike the orgasms you’d become accustomed to. While you came, Spencer kissed your hands and spouted praise.

“Oh, good girl, good girl, that’s it… So beautiful,” He muttered. He finally stopped his movements when your body began to calm, your breathing and moans evening. He smiled widely and looked at you. When you opened your eyes, you saw Spencer, pupils completely blown out looking like the king of the world. You panted, brain short circuiting as you attempted to process what had just happened. 

“How…did you know… I could do it?” You asked eventually, while Spencer gently massaged your clit. You were sensitive, but his movements worked to soothe you more than to overstimulate. Spencer shrugged and did his small half-frown, half-smile before speaking. 

“I didn’t. I mean, statistically speaking, only about 5% of women in the western world experience squirting during intimacy. But I’d read about it, and I really wanted to try. I’m just surprised it worked so well.” He said. He moved to spread your legs, slotting himself between them before leaning down to embrace you. “You did such a good job listening to me. Do you want to make me feel good now, baby? I think you earned it,” he said softly, his cock pressing against your now slightly-sore entrance. You looked into his eyes and nodded, and he went to reach for the condoms. You whined out a sound of protest before grabbing his hand. 

“Wait, please- please, Spence, wanna do it raw. I’ve been so good, want you to feel all of me. Wanna feel all of you.” You pleaded, giving him your best begging look. Your other hand reached down, giving his cock a gentle tug before dragging it along your soaked folds. “I want you to cum in me, Spence, I need you to fill me up.” You were kissing his neck now, trying to distract him with pleasure so he’ll give in. 

Spencer’s body and mind stalled momentarily, running statistics of the success of emergency contraception. His breath quickened, and he felt his resolve crumbling under the weight of your absolutely perverted requests. 

“God, angel… how could I say no when you’re begging me so beautifully?” He sat back on his heels, taking his cock from your grasp before aligning it with your entrance. His sticky precum mixed with the fluids from your release, causing his length to slide in completely unbarred. With absolutely no resistance, his dick penetrated your hole completely, instantly bottoming out. Spencer’s mouth gaped, and you clenched hard around the change in pressure, crying out and arching your back. Spencer’s hands dug into your hips, grounding himself. He gently pulled out some, and you felt every inch as it left you, before he rocked back into you with intensity. His tip kissed your cervix, and you felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes in pleasure. Spencer was inside of you. Spencer was inside of you, and he was inside of you raw. Immediately, you became inconsolably cock drunk, only able to think about the man you were completely enveloped by. 

“S-spencer, baby, I- it’s too good, ‘s too much,” you rambled out, and you were vaguely aware of a trail of drool coming from the side of your mouth. Spencer smiled, soaking in the raw power that he had over you, wanting to do nothing but make you incandescently happy. 

“Feels so tight angel, you’re so good…are you my good girl? Gonna make me cum in you?” He asked, blinking fast, your warm walls sucking him in. You moaned at the praise, and bucked to meet his thrusts, wanting more.

“I-I’m your good girl, I’m all yours, wanna be all yours forever,” you babbled, the intensity of his thrusts making you see stars. “Ohmygod, Spence, ‘s so deep,” you cried, and he let out a soft laugh. He took one of his hands and pressed on your abdomen, right where he was fucking into you. 

“You feel me right there baby? Gonna – mh, fuck – gonna cum right in there. You like that, yeah? Dirty girl, want me to- ngh, want me to make it all warm and sticky? You’re filthy for me, just want me inside you so bad, don’t care what I do to you,” Spencer was the one losing it now, a crazed look in his eye as words he never thought he’d say aloud tumbled from his mouth. His moans were coming out broken, like he was about to cry. You felt your orgasm crashing towards you, his nasty words pushing you over the edge. 

“S-spencer! Spence, m’gonna cum, can I cum, pleasepleaseplease,” you babbled, and Spencer’s pace became absolutely punishing. 

“That’s it, you can cum baby, cum with me? Finish while I cum inside you?” He replied, his own orgasm taking over as he rutted inside of you. You saw white as you felt Spencer spill inside you, warm fluid filling you. You cried, tears falling as you felt the most intense orgasm of your life. 

Spencer felt his core tense as he came, bending over and catching himself with his arms, the pleasure nearly making him dizzy. Once you had both finished, the silence settled comfortably. When he was sure he wouldn’t completely collapse, Spencer gently pulled out, his seed spilling out of you and onto the covers. Spence watched in fascination, before laying beside you and pulling you inside close. Neither of you were sure what to say yet, content to lay in the post orgasmic bliss with the person you’d both spent so long chasing. You lay like that for a while, not really knowing how much time was passing. Spencer drew lazy figures onto your back while you nestled in his chest, planting the occasional kiss to his pec. It was after a while that the feeling of Spencer’s cum drying on your body as it mixed with the remnants of your previous release began to itch, much to your displeasure. You lifted your head and met Spencer’s eyes, and a warm smile grew as you saw your feelings reflected in his gaze. There was love there, between you two. Maybe you wouldn’t say it now, but you both felt it. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, unhurried this time. It was soft, warm. You pulled back and brushed a hair from his eye before you spoke. 

“Do you have a washcloth?” You asked, and Spencer’s eyes went wide. 

“Oh! Oh my goodness, yes, of course! I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have made you just lay-” You pressed a hand to his lips to quiet him. You gave him a look and smiled.

“Spence, it’s okay. I didn’t mind before. I wanted to cuddle, and it’s just now bugging me.” 

Spencer gave a grateful smile, happy for your reassurance. You almost couldn’t believe this was the same man who was just fucking you into the mattress, rambling about you being a ‘dirty girl’. It was as if he’d become momentarily possessed by the most lust-filled demon that there ever was. Not that you were complaining. 

Spencer gently rose from the bed and went to the bathroom to grab a warm rag, coming back quickly to hand it to you. While you cleaned yourself, he gathered your underwear and brought you a shirt from his drawer that looked like it was about 5 sizes too big for him. When you quirked a brow at the shirt, he blushed a little before placing it with your underclothes on the bed beside you. He took the rag from you to clean his softening cock before dressing himself.

“I, uh, get overstimulated sometimes?” He laughed to himself before continuing. “Despite what you might now think, I actually don’t often enjoy being naked.” 

You giggled at his joke and grabbed your clothes. He had redressed himself in his pajamas, and sat beside you once you had your panties and the shirt on.

“So…” you drawled. Spencer smiled and his tongue swiped at his lips. You melted a little, the habit now slowly becoming one of your favorites. 

“Would you like to spend the night?” Spencer asked, and your heart soared. You weren’t going to ask, but you didn’t really feel like leaving after this relationship-altering night. “I have takeout menus to a couple places open late, mostly oriental cuisines, and I’d really like it if you stayed. It’s up to you though! I just…” he looked away sheepishly, the statement seeming silly after what you two had just done. “I really like you. I like being around you.” 

If you weren’t in love before, you were head over heels now. You leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. “I would be delighted to stay. I might shower, even though we just cleaned up, I wanna get the sweat and other… fluids… off.” 

Spencer sat up and offered you his hand. “You’re more than welcome to! I’ll grab you a towel, and I’ll change the sheets before we sleep. That is-” Spencer hesitated, making you giggle.

“Yes, Spencer. We will be sleeping together in your bed. Again.” He laughed at your joke and smiled. 

“Right. Yes. Hopefully many more times, if I’m lucky.” You giggled again and sat up. You walked towards his bathroom and he followed, heading to show you where the towels were kept beneath his sink. Before he left the bathroom, he turned.

“Oh! Also, I can go get the emergency contraception, so you don’t have to worry about it.” He offered, blushing again before you cocked your head. 

“Spence, you don’t have to. I mean, I guess you can. But I have an IUD, and it’s nowhere near its expiration.” You smiled reassuringly. “You’re a sweetie, though.” 

Spencer felt a slight embarrassment creep in. You were one of the smartest women he’d ever met, of course you wouldn’t blindly risk pregnancy. “Oh. Right. Uh, sorry. I should’ve asked earlier.” Your smile never faded as you walked back to embrace him.

“Spencerrrr, it’s okay. I promise. You were preoccupied with more important opportunities.” 

Spencer laughed and hugged you back. It felt so nice to have you in his arms, like knowing you were safe there made a certain part of his brain finally go quiet. 

“I’m going to go strip the bed now,” he said, kissing the top of your head. You nodded and began to take off your clothes. 

“Feel free to join me in the shower when you’re done,” you flirted, and Spencer’s replying grin made you happy. 

I could get used to this, crossed both of your minds, excited for whatever comes next.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

a/n: if you enjoyed this please comment or reblog! not because I want this viral, but because it literally brings me the most joy in the world when I hear all of your thoughts. I love talking to you guys and read EVERY single comment I get!

[rygosholic]

okay, if i were to maybe hypothetically write one shot fic and channel my inner 12 year old (who spent all his time on wattpad), what would you guys prefer... do the masses still enjoy x reader fics or nah?

?

x reader / self insert

x fem/masc! original character

Voting ended onJul 18

[yesiamagenius7]

I’m blaming @marril96 for this! And now I’m laughing my head off because it’s accurate af! 😂

[yesiamagenius7]

Because like I had to okay 💁🏻‍♀️💖

[mistiemoon]

The Date

Series MasterList - About Me

Summary: Honey discovers that Spencer is a virgin, despite his best efforts to convince her otherwise. Realising her original plan won't work, she invites him back to her apartment for their first proper 'date'.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU Original Character, Hotch's Personal Assistant, Nicknamed Honey.

Tags: Enemies to lovers, coworkers, Inexperienced!Spencer, Experienced!Reader.

W/C : 6K

Includes: slight fluff, kissing, premature ejaculation (aka Spencer comes in his pants) brief mentions of masturbation.

By the time Spencer let himself into his apartment, the evening had settled into that peculiar quiet only old apartment buildings seemed capable of producing. Somewhere down the hallway, somebody’s television hummed faintly through the walls, accompanied by the occasional muffled laughter, familiar enough that Spencer barely registered it as he slipped his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, hung his coat on the hook beside it and toed his shoes off in the same place they landed every evening. 

His flat looked exactly as he’d left it that morning, books stacked neatly across almost every available surface, papers spread across the dining table in careful piles, yesterday’s mug still sitting beside the sink because he’d forgotten to wash it before leaving for work. Nothing had changed, and there was something reassuring about that.

He loosened his tie as he wandered into the kitchen, opening the fridge more out of habit than hunger before reaching automatically for a bottle of water. Usually, the silence of his apartment gave him room to organise his thoughts after a case, to quietly put everything back where it belonged before sleeping. Tonight, however, every attempt to think about anything remotely productive found itself drifting back to the diner.

By the time Spencer climbed into bed, he’d almost convinced himself the evening had only felt significant because it was new. New situations required additional processing. That was perfectly reasonable. It had nothing to do with Honey specifically, or the way she’d looked at him when she’d offered to help him, or the fact she’d asked how he learnt best before deciding how to teach him. It certainly had nothing to do with the faint trace of her perfume he was almost convinced still lingered on the sleeve of his shirt, although he suspected scent molecules transferring through close proximity was entirely plausible and made a mental note to look into it later.

He stared up at the ceiling for several moments, trying to find a logical explanation for why something so insignificant had stayed with him.

He couldn’t think of one.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“There you are,” Honey announced before she’d even reached his desk, balancing a takeaway coffee in one hand while a stapled report rested beneath the other arm. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Spencer looked up from the file in front of him, unable to stop the smile that appeared almost immediately. It wasn’t polite either, nor the small, restrained expression he usually offered colleagues in passing. It arrived before he’d had the opportunity to suppress it, spreading naturally across his face simply because she was talking to him. 

“…Why are you smiling?” 

Spencer blinked.

“I wasn’t aware that I was.” 

“Well, You were”

Instinctively, his hand moved towards his face, fingertips brushing lightly against his mouth as though checking whether she might somehow be mistaken. She wasn’t. The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it’d arrived.

Honey looked faintly suspicious, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve come over here specifically to tell you that you’ve changed my audit report without asking.”

Spencer glanced down at the report she’d dropped onto his desk before looking back up at her. “I corrected your report. There was far too many spelling and grammatical errors”

“You made it boring, and removed all personality.”

“It was an inspection report, There cannot be any personality.”

“Of course it can.”

“The audit specifically looks into admin processes after we consult on out of state cases. It needs to be objective.”

Honey let out an exaggerated sigh before placing both hands flat against the edge of his desk, leaning forwards just enough to invade his personal space without seeming remotely aware she was doing it. 

Spencer’s attention, much to his annoyance, immediately abandoned the report altogether. He found himself watching the way her eyebrows lifted every time she challenged what he’d said, the tiny crease that appeared between them whenever she thought he was being particularly ridiculous, the animated movements of her hands as she spoke despite still somehow managing not to spill the coffee she’d been carrying since walking into the office.

She had a habit of looking directly at people when she argued, not through them, not around them. At them. The eye contact never wavered, as though she considered looking away the same thing as conceding defeat, he’d noticed it the previous evening.

It occurred to Spencer, with no small amount of alarm, that Honey was extraordinarily attractive when she was annoyed, the thought arrived so abruptly that he almost lost track of what she was saying. Not because she was angry, she wasn’t, she was amused. There was a difference.

Spencer had always assumed she argued because she liked proving him wrong, now, watching her standing opposite him with entirely too much confidence for somebody defending incorrect grammar, he wondered whether she’d simply liked talking to him.

“…Are you even listening to me?”

He realised, somewhat belatedly, that Honey had stopped talking.

“I am.” he lied.

“Then what did I just say?”

Spencer opened his mouth, to no surprise, nothing came out, Honey stared at him for another second before slowly breaking into a grin so triumphant it bordered on insufferable.

“You’ve got absolutely no idea, do you?”

“…No.”

Her only response was an exaggerated roll of her eyes before she pushed herself away from his desk and wandered back towards her own. Spencer watched her go for a second longer than he probably should have before forcing himself to look back down at the report in front of him. He lasted all of fifteen seconds.

Almost against his own will, his eyes drifted through the narrow gap between the monitors separating their desks. Honey had chosen to wear a white tank top beneath an oversized cardigan that seemed determined to slide off one shoulder every time she moved. Every few minutes she'd absent-mindedly hook it back into place without ever taking her eyes off whatever she was doing, only for it to slip again moments later. 

Spencer found himself watching the lazy repetition of the movement before his attention settled lower, catching the delicate gold chain resting against her collarbone. A small star pendant sat just above the neckline of her top, rising and falling almost imperceptibly with each breath she took. The morning sunlight spilling through the windows caught against both the necklace and the faint sheen of whatever moisturiser she'd used, making the curve of her collarbone glint every time she shifted in her chair.

His gaze lingered a fraction too long as he tried to decide whether her necklace was new or whether he'd simply never paid enough attention to notice it before. Somewhere during that entirely unnecessary thought process, his eyes wandered lower without permission. 

"Hm." 

He didn’t mean to make a noise. It escaped him before he realised. He hoped that Honey hadn’t heard him, although to no avail. She had already turned her monitor slightly to one side and was leaning towards the gap between their desks, her chin resting casually in the palm of her hand as she watched him with unmistakable amusement. 

"You lose something over here, Reid?"

"Huh?"

"You're staring. Pervert."

The word was barely louder than a whisper, spoken quietly enough that nobody else in the bullpen would've heard it. Spencer felt warmth flood his face almost immediately. Denying it seemed rather pointless considering she'd caught him looking with all the subtlety of a teenager.

"I was looking at your necklace," he said, the excuse arriving only after the words had already left his mouth.

Honey glanced down at the small gold star resting against her chest before looking back up at him.

“Really?…” She asked, knowing the real answer.

“Yep” 

Honey’s smile widened another fraction.

"Lesson number two," she murmured, leaning a little closer through the gap between the dividers until her voice became little more than a whisper. "If you're going to look at a woman's tits, try not to make it quite so obvious."

Spencer nodded once, clearing his throat as he looked determinedly back towards the report on his desk.

“Of course, It’s situational,” Honey added with a small shrug.

“Situational?” Spencer repeated, lowering his own voice despite the fact nobody around them appeared remotely interested in their conversation.

“Well, yeah.” Honey smiled. “If you’re having sex and you're not looking at her boobs, I'd be a little concerned.”

“Well...” Spencer started, shifting slightly in his chair. After the diner the previous evening, he found he trusted Honey more than he'd originally thought, enough to stop filtering every answer through the fear that she was trying to make a fool out of him. He was, by his own rough estimate, just over the fifty percent mark of believing she genuinely wanted to help him.

“There’s probably a lot going on,” he said thoughtfully. “I can't really be expected to stare at them the whole time... right?”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Spencer didn't notice anything unusual about what he'd said.

Honey did.

The question was exactly the sort of thing she'd come to expect from him, sincere, analytical and completely devoid of ego. It was one word in particular that caught her attention.

Probably, Not usually, Not even when.

She looked at him for a second longer than she'd intended, watching him absent-mindedly straighten the corner of the report on his desk while he waited for her answer. He hadn't realised he'd said anything revealing. As far as Spencer was concerned, he'd simply asked another question. It hit her with surprising force, he wasn’t speaking from experience, he was creating reason. 

Honey felt a strange tightness settle in her chest. She'd spent nearly two years assuming Spencer's awkwardness began and ended with flirting. It had never occurred to her to question anything beyond that. He was handsome, intelligent, kind in a way that often went unnoticed, and quietly confident in almost every other aspect of his life. Somewhere along the line she'd simply assumed the rest would follow. She'd been wrong.

The realization completely dismantled the plan she’d spent most of the previous evening putting together.

She stood abruptly, smoothing down the front of her skirt before clearing her throat.

“Reid, can you help me in the storeroom? There’s a box on the top shelf I can’t quite reach.”

“…Erm. Yeah?”

Honey imagined his hesitation came from the fact she would’ve normally asked Morgan for something like this. Morgan lived for opportunities to be the heroic gentleman, carrying heavy boxes around the office purely for the excuse to be called a ‘big strong boy.’ Spencer, on the other hand, looked faintly bewildered that she’d chosen him instead.

She didn’t wait for another answer. Instead, she turned on her heel and headed towards the small storeroom tucked away at the end of the bullpen, hearing Spencer’s footsteps following a second or two behind her. He was probably trying to work out which box she meant. 

The moment the storeroom door clicked shut behind them, she caught hold of the lapel of his suit jacket and tugged him the remaining step inside. His back met the closed door with a dull thud, his eyes widening immediately.

“Are you a virgin, Spencer?”

The words came out far more bluntly than she’d intended. There wasn’t any judgement in her voice, only frustration, directed almost entirely at herself.

“What?” Spencer stared at her. “No… why does it matter?”

His eyes slid away from hers almost instantly, wandering towards the shelves stacked with printer paper and stationery as though one of the cardboard boxes might suddenly intervene on his behalf.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Honey folded her arms. “Answer me properly.”

He looked back at her, and for the first time since she’d known him, there was something almost defensive about the set of his jaw.

“No. You answer my question first.”

The confidence surprised her enough that she actually blinked. Perhaps being dragged into a stationery cupboard under false pretences had finally pushed him into standing his ground.

She sighed. “Fine. It matters because I can’t teach you the way I was planning to.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I offered to help you kiss and flirt because I assumed you’d kissed someone before and thought you were bad at it.” Honey ran a hand over her forehead before letting out a quiet breath. “That’s completely different from never having done it at all.”

“I have kissed someone.”

He said it with considerably more certainty than he’d managed a moment earlier.

“Congratulations.”

“…Thank you?”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

His shoulders dropped slightly.

“I gathered.”

She shook her head.“Spencer, that sounded exactly like a fourteen-year-old insisting he totally has a girlfriend, she just goes to another school.”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before disappearing almost immediately.

“It happened.”

“I’m sure it did.”

She studied him for another moment before deciding she believed him. Barely.

Spencer, meanwhile, let out a quiet sigh, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, something Honey had quickly come to recognise as one of his nervous habits.

Unfortunately for him, he'd forgotten where he was standing. The storeroom was barely large enough for the two of them. There was nowhere for his gaze to fall except directly in front of him, and with Honey standing less than a foot away, that happened to be straight down the neckline of her tank top.

His entire body froze before his head snapped upwards so quickly she genuinely worried he'd give himself whiplash, his eyes fixing with almost desperate determination on the flickering fluorescent light above them. A deep flush spread steadily across his cheeks before creeping all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Are you staring at my tits again, Spencer?"

"No!" he blurted out. "Like the first time, it was accidental. Besides, I don't want to look at your..." He hesitated for a fraction too long. "...breasts."

Honey scoffed, folding her arms.

"Breasts? God, you're unbelievable." A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I struggle to believe that. My tits are fantastic. Besides, you don't exactly have the right to be picky."

"They're attached to you," Spencer replied with a scoff. "They can't be that great."

"Liar." Honey smiled, entirely unconvinced. "You'd faint at the sight of me naked."

"Yes," he replied without missing a beat. "Out of disgust."

Honey didn't believe him for a second.

"That's a shame," she said, shaking her head dramatically. "For you, not me. I was just about to offer you the chance to lose your virginity until you said that."

Before Spencer had a chance to respond, Honey leaned down to retrieve the empty box she'd abandoned on the floor. The storeroom was so cramped that as she squeezed past him, her shoulder brushed lightly against his chest, forcing him to flatten himself instinctively against the door to make room for her.

She knew perfectly well how little space she'd left him.

"Anyway," she said casually, balancing the box against her hip as though the conversation had never happened, "Come round my place tonight? Seven PM. I’ll text you the address."

“For what?” 

“Your first lesson” 

She offered him the most innocent smile she could manage before turning on her heel and letting herself out of the storeroom.

As the door swung shut behind her, Honey couldn't help smiling to herself. She could practically feel Spencer staring after her as she crossed the bullpen, and by the time she reached her desk and dropped the empty box down with an exaggerated thud, she had absolutely no doubt he'd still be standing exactly where she'd left him, wondering how on earth a conversation about stationery had somehow turned into this.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Spencer went to knock on Honey's door three times before he actually did. Each time, he looked at his watch and decided it was too early. He decided to take a leaf out of her book and show up 'not on time', although as soon as it hit 7:01, he panicked and knocked anyway. 

He'd decided to wear something comfortable. For the first time in his life, Spencer wore jogging bottoms out in public. Granted, that only meant from his apartment to his car, then from his car to hers, but it still didn't feel right. He hoped she appreciated that he'd changed at all, seeing as she'd had such a problem with him wearing his normal clothes the last time they'd met outside of work.

She opened the door, said nothing, stepped aside and let him in. Spencer swallowed as he crossed the threshold. He hated that he didn't really know why he was here. She'd only said it was his first lesson, and while they'd discussed at great length in the diner what that would entail, he'd done so under the impression it would happen somewhere public rather than in her apartment.

He wasn't remotely surprised by how she'd decorated the place. Everywhere he looked, there was a potted plant, either perched on a shelf or tucked into a corner. She'd committed entirely to a sage green and pale pink colour palette throughout the apartment. Even the kitchen cabinets had quite obviously been replaced with green ones.

"I have a feeling your favourite colour might be green," he said, looking at the giant monstera tucked beside the television cabinet.

"Good use of those profiling skills, darling," she replied, leading him further inside before plopping herself down on the brown leather sofa and patting the cushion beside her.

"That's literally my job, Honey."

Spencer sat down hesitantly at the opposite end of the sofa, placing both hands squarely on his thighs.

"For God's sake, Reid, loosen up. What do you think's going to happen?"

"Knowing you, I genuinely couldn't answer that question."

"I'll tell you then." She shuffled closer, tucking both legs beneath herself until she was facing him completely, her elbow resting along the back of the sofa. "Considering how uneasy you looked at the diner yesterday, I figured you'd appreciate 'dating' somewhere a little more private."

"I mean, you can't really get any more private than this. I would've coped perfectly fine in a restaurant or a café."

"Talk to me about something. Anything you're interested in," she said, ignoring him completely as she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side.

"Why?"

"Because we're on a date, and that's what you do." She shrugged, somehow managing to edge herself even closer.

"We aren't going to introduce ourselves?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting together as one hand scratched absent-mindedly at the back of his neck.

"Spencer, you're not hopeless. You can make small talk. The hardest part of a date is talking about the deeper stuff."

"Fine..." he muttered with a small huff. "On Saturdays, I like to go to the park and play chess. I have a few friends there that I meet most weekends. They're mostly old men. I've found older people tend to like me. I think it has something to do with the fact I've got an..."

Spencer stopped abruptly, his gaze dropping to find Honey's hand resting lightly on his knee, her thumb absent-mindedly stroking back and forth. His train of thought disappeared almost instantly as he stumbled over the next few words, trying desperately to remember what he'd been saying while simultaneously pretending he wasn't acutely aware of her touching him.

"Carry on," she said quietly, giving him a small, encouraging smile. Her thumb continued its gentle rhythm against his knee.

Spencer forced himself to maintain eye contact, determined not to give in to whatever little game she was playing.

"Erm... yes... old people tend to like me because they say I've got an old soul. Anyway, I... erm... go to the supermarket afterwards to buy groceries..." He paused again, his eyes betraying him as they dropped back to her hand. "...Why are you touching me?"

"People touch on dates," she replied simply. "Small touches like this are normal. You'll have to stay composed and almost learn to ignore them. Ideally, the moment you feel me touch you, you'd place your hand over mine and stroke it back, like I did."

Spencer looked down at her hand again. Then back at her. Then down again.

Honey said nothing. She simply waited.

The silence stretched for several seconds before Spencer finally accepted she wasn't about to move on until he'd actually done it. Slowly, with far more hesitation than should've been required for something so small, he lifted one hand from his knee and rested it lightly over the top of hers.

He became acutely aware that he had absolutely no idea how much pressure constituted an appropriate amount of hand holding. Too much and it became gripping. Too little and it became hovering. Somewhere between the two had to exist a socially acceptable amount of contact. 

"There isn't really a correct amount of pressure," she continued, somehow reading his mind, turning her hand over beneath his, allowing their fingers to settle naturally together. "People naturally adjust to each other without thinking about it." 

Despite himself, Spencer smiled. 

"So," Honey said, making no attempt to move her hand away, "tell me about chess." 

He hesitated for only a moment before continuing.

"I've been playing since I was six. My mother taught me initially, although I started entering local tournaments not long afterwards. I still go to the park most Saturdays. There's a group of retired men who meet there every weekend. They're... good."

"You let pensioners beat you?"

"They don't beat me very often."

"So you beat pensioners."

"I don't think that's a fair interpretation."

"It is a funny one."

Spencer found himself laughing quietly before he had the chance to stop himself. Honey smiled in return, saying nothing, simply watching him continue.

"The interesting thing about chess isn't really winning," Spencer said, his voice settling into a rhythm that felt noticeably more natural than it had a few minutes earlier. "Most people assume it's about intelligence, but it isn't. It's about pattern recognition. You're not actually predicting what somebody will do. You're reducing the number of moves they can make until the decision becomes almost inevitable."

Honey listened without interrupting, she didn't nod excessively, she didn't pretend to understand things she didn't, she simply listened.

Spencer found himself relaxing into the conversation almost without realising it. Somewhere between explaining openings and describing why he preferred longer games to speed chess, he'd stopped thinking about the fact her hand was still beneath his. 

"My favourite opening is the Sicilian Defence, although statistically white still retains a slight advantage at higher levels of play. Most people focus on memorising theory, but eventually you reach a point where theory becomes significantly less important than understanding the person sitting opposite you. Every decision they make tells you something about—"

He stopped for barely half a second, not because he'd lost his train of thought, but because Honey had moved.

Still maintaining eye contact, she slowly lifted the hand that had been resting along the back of the sofa. Spencer watched it without really understanding what she intended to do until her fingertips brushed gently against his forehead, sweeping a loose curl away from his eyes before tucking it back into place. 

His voice caught.

"...them," he finished, clearing his throat almost immediately before continuing. "You... you begin to notice habits. The longer the game lasts, the more information you collect, and eventually..." He swallowed, his attention threatening to drift towards the hand that had only just left his face. "...eventually it becomes less about chess and more about behaviour."

Honey remained perfectly still, she didn't even acknowledge what she'd done, she simply kept listening, her expression exactly the same as it had been before.

Spencer forced himself to continue talking.

"...I think that's why I enjoy it," he said, his voice noticeably steadier now. "Chess follows rules. People don't. It's... easier to understand somebody when both of you have already agreed how the interaction is supposed to work."

“Chess must have infinite possibilities, how can you possibly predict what your opponent is going to do?” She asked, resting her head on her palm. 

“Actually, chess has a finite amount of moves. So if you’re clever enough, you can predict them from their earlier moves” He said with a small grin, despite her being incredibly kind, he couldn’t help but prove her wrong. 

Spencer remembered suddenly what she first taught him in the diner. He needed to remember to ask her questions too. 

“Outside of work, what do you do? Despite seemingly intent on turning your apartment into a greenhouse” 

She smiled as she recognised his attempt at including her in a conversation. “Most Fridays, my friends and I go to pottery classes. It's silly really. We each bring a bottle of wine and get absolutely pissed before we can make anything remotely presentable. I also go to Pilates, which is awful and I highly recommend you never try, although I somehow keep going every week, so I'm hardly practising what I preach."

Spencer smiled.

"You don't seem like somebody who enjoys Pilates."

"I don't."

"But you just said—"

"I enjoy complaining about it afterwards."

"...That makes considerably more sense."

Honey laughed quietly, and Spencer found himself doing the same. Somewhere over the last ten minutes, the evening had stopped feeling like a lesson altogether. They were simply talking. There wasn't an awkward silence to fill or another exercise to complete. Spencer realised he was enjoying listening to her just as much as she'd listened to him.

His hand was still resting lightly over hers, he became aware of it again almost by accident.

Honey had told him earlier that people touched on dates. Small touches. Casual ones. They weren't supposed to mean anything in particular; they were simply another way of telling the other person you were present.

He looked down briefly, then, before he had the opportunity to convince himself not to, he slowly lifted his hand away from hers, for a split second he almost retreated completely. Instead, his fingers hovered uncertainly between them before coming to rest, almost cautiously, against the outside of her thigh.

The movement was hesitant enough that his fingertips brushed the fabric before the rest of his hand followed. He was painfully aware that his hand was shaking, not dramatically, just enough for him to notice it. He hoped she hadn't.

He resisted every instinct telling him to snatch it straight back again.

Honey didn't move, she didn't look down, she didn't comment. The only indication she'd noticed at all was the tiny breath that escaped through her nose, somewhere between a quiet laugh and an amused huff.

Spencer found himself mirroring it, neither of them acknowledged what had just happened, the silence settled comfortably between them for a few seconds before Honey carried on exactly where she'd left off.

“…Anyway,” she said, as though nothing at all had changed, “if you ever see a wonky bowl in my kitchen, just know I paid thirty dollars to make it.”

“I’ll be sure to look out for it… if I’m ever invited back here, that is.”

“You’re doing well.” She smiled. “If this were an actual date, I might just invite you to stay the night.”

Without realising, Spencer’s hand gently squeezed her thigh. The movement was almost absent-minded, his fingers tightening instinctively before relaxing again as he remembered what she’d said earlier that morning in the storeroom.

“What you said earlier…” he began quietly, his eyes dropping to where his hand rested against her leg, his fingertips tapping lightly through nerves. “Did you mean it?”

“I rarely say things I don’t mean.”

He swallowed.

“In that case…” He forced himself to meet her eyes. “…I wouldn’t faint at the sight of you naked.”

For a moment, Honey simply looked at him.

“Are you sure?” she asked softly, lifting a hand to the back of his neck, her fingers gently threading into the hair at the nape. “Your first time should be with someone you trust.”

This time, Spencer barely reacted to her touch. Twenty minutes ago it would’ve derailed every coherent thought he had. Now, he simply acknowledged how pleasant it felt before carrying on, maintaining eye contact just as she’d been trying to teach him.

“I trust you,” he said simply. “You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Something in Honey’s expression softened.

“Sleep on it,” she murmured, her thumb drifting lightly across his cheek. “You might feel differently in the morning.”

“I can assure you I won’t.”

She smiled, bringing her other hand up to cup the side of his face. “One thing at a time.”

Spencer couldn’t remember the last time somebody had looked at him like this. Not analytically, not sympathetically, not with the polite patience people often reserved for him when he accidentally missed something obvious. Honey was simply… looking at him.

The room seemed impossibly quiet.

He became aware of everything all at once. The faint ticking of the clock somewhere behind him. The distant hum of traffic filtering through the closed windows. Her thumb still resting against his cheek, absent-mindedly tracing the smallest arc across his skin as though she’d forgotten she was doing it.

She was close, far closer than she’d been all evening. Close enough that Spencer could see the tiny flecks of green scattered through her brown eyes. Close enough to notice the faint shine of her lip gloss catching the warm light from the lamp in the corner of the room. 

Honey’s eyes flickered down, Only for a moment, Then back to his, right and left, and down again. 

Spencer’s breath caught. Mirroring her actions. Before he had the chance to overthink it, Honey closed the remaining distance and pressed the gentlest kiss against his lips.

It lasted barely a second, a feather-light peck, barely more than the ghost of a kiss, lasting only long enough for Spencer to register the warmth of her lips against his before she drew away again. He caught the faint taste of cherry from her lip gloss.

When she drew back, she only moved a few inches away. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them looked anywhere else.

Spencer searched her face, almost waiting for the punchline that never came. There wasn’t one. Honey simply held his gaze, her breathing just a little shallower than it had been moments earlier. 

His heart hammered against his ribs. He could stop here. He probably should stop here. But he didn’t want to. 

Slowly, almost cautiously, he leaned forwards. His lips found hers with considerably less certainty than Honey’s had found his, but there was no hesitation once he reached her. The kiss lingered, tentative at first, Spencer instinctively giving her every opportunity to pull away.

She didn’t.

Instead, Honey smiled into the kiss before tilting her head ever so slightly, gently deepening it, guiding him without a single word. Spencer felt himself instinctively follow her lead, responding rather than trying to anticipate what came next, every movement so subtle it almost felt like a conversation neither of them needed to speak aloud to understand.

Spencer’s pulse thudded in his ears as Honey’s mouth moved against his again, slower this time, more deliberate. Her lips parted just enough for the tip of her tongue to brush his lower lip, and the contact sent a sharp jolt straight down his spine. He answered without thinking, opening for her, letting the kiss slide deeper. The cherry taste of her gloss mixed with something warmer, unmistakably actual Honey. 

His hand found her waist on their own. Fingers spread across the fabric of her shirt, palms settling against the gentle curve there. The warmth of her body seeped through the thin material, and Spencer’s breath hitched inside the kiss. 

He felt himself growing hard, the sudden pressure against his boxers unmistakable, but he didn’t pull back. He didn’t shift away. He simply ignored it, focusing instead on the way her tongue stroked his, on the soft sound she made when he tentatively sucked on her lower lip.

She guided him with patient pressure, tilting his head so the angle changed and the kiss became wetter, more insistent. Spencer’s fingers tightened on her waist. His cock throbbed once, insistently, and he felt the first bead of pre-cum dampen the front of his underwear. Still he didn’t break the kiss. He leaned in instead, chasing the heat of her mouth, letting the growing ache between his legs fuel the way he pressed closer.

Every small movement of her lips against his seemed to feed the tension coiling low in his belly. His tongue met hers again, clumsy at first, then bolder when she hummed approval. The kiss turned messier, saliva slicking their lips, breaths mingling hot and fast. Spencer’s thumbs rubbed slow circles against her side without conscious thought, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing. 

The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and still he didn’t stop. He kissed her like he could drown in it. The pressure in his cock had grown so intense he barely noticed it anymore, just another throb he pushed aside so he could focus on the wet heat of her mouth and the way her fingers tugged at his hair. 

He felt the first pulse hit before his brain caught up, his cock jerked hard, thick ropes of come flooded the front of his boxers. The wet patch spread fast, dark and obvious against the light grey fabric, soaking through and clinging to his skin.

A loud, helpless moan tore out of him straight into Honey’s mouth, raw and shaky. His hips twitched upwards once before he jerked back, breaking the kiss with a wet sound. Spencer’s face burned crimson. He looked down and saw the spreading stain, the outline of his still-twitching cock clearly visible through the damp material. Come kept leaking, a small trickle running down his thigh inside the fabric.

He pulled away completely, hands dropping from her waist as if burned. “I—fuck, I’m sorry,” he stammered, voice cracking. 

His breathing came in short, embarrassed bursts. The grey jogging bottoms left nothing to the imagination; the wet patch was huge, clinging and dark, the head of his cock still faintly outlined through the soaked cotton. 

Spencer’s hands hovered uselessly, unsure whether to cover himself or just sit there and take the humiliation. His cheeks were on fire, eyes wide and mortified as he stared at the obvious evidence of what had just happened.

He turned his body away from her, shoulders hunched and gaze fixed on the floor. “I’m so so sorry,” he started, the words tumbling out fast and shaky. “This is so bad, I can’t believe I just…”

Honey cut him off gently. “Spencer. It’s okay.” Her hand found his cheek and guided his face back toward her. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“No, there is… I appreciate you trying to make me feel better but…”

“No, Spencer.” Her voice stayed steady and warm. “Another lesson for you. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She said it without any teasing, every word sincere. Spencer noticed the flush across her cheeks, the way her pupils had blown wide, and how her thighs pressed tighter together where she sat.

“Really?”

“Really.” Honey leaned in and gave him a soft, quick kiss. “The fact you came from just kissing me…” She pressed another peck to his lips, letting it linger a little longer. “Is the biggest compliment…” She kissed him again, slower this time. “You could give me.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, finding himself smiling against her mouth. He hated how mushy he felt, how utterly and beautifully vulnerable he felt from kissing her over and over again. Every few seconds, she’d kiss him, pull back, and kiss him again. He felt drunk off of her. 

After the last small kiss, she pulled back entirely, Spencer already missing her close to him. 

“I think you should shower. I might have some spare clothes for you” she said quietly, glancing down at the wet patch on his crotch. 

“Yes, please,” he said. Looking down at the mess he had made. 

That was probably the most he ever made, and the thought terrified him. What scared him the most was if they did sleep together. He’d come again before she could even touch him. 

“Hey…” She said softly. Placing a hand against his spine. “Please don’t worry about this. Okay? You haven’t put me off. I still want to do this with you” 

He just nodded. Smiling sheepishly as he lent in for a last kiss. 

Suddenly now he had kissed her, he feared he could never stop. 

A/N - I told you they would kiss this chapter ;)

If you'd like to join my taglist, please comment 🌙 below :)

-Mistie x

[spenceralacarte]

Criminal Minds One Shot

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Description: Seven years ago, you and Spencer made a drunken pact: if you were both still single by thirty-five, you would marry each other.

You forgot about it. Spencer never did.

___________________________________

Title: The Deadline

The agreement had been written on the back of a takeout menu seven years ago, somewhere between the second bottle of wine and Spencer’s attempt to explain why your latest date had failed using probability theory.

“He talked about cryptocurrency for forty-five minutes,” you had said, dropping your forehead onto the kitchen table. “Then he asked whether I’d ever considered fixing my nose.”

Spencer’s expression had gone perfectly still. “What’s wrong with your nose?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why would he—”

“Because he was an ass, Spencer.”

“Oh.” He had looked offended on your behalf, which had made you feel marginally better. “Yes. Statistically, insulting someone during a first date does significantly reduce the likelihood of a second.”

“Thank you, Doctor Romance.”

He had taken the insult with a sip of wine.

His own evening had gone poorly, though it had taken nearly twenty minutes of careful questioning to get him to admit it. The woman had spent most of dinner checking her phone and had eventually told him that talking to him felt like attending a lecture she had forgotten to study for.

You had hated her immediately.

“We’re doomed,” you had decided.

Spencer had frowned. “That seems unnecessarily pessimistic.”

“You’re right. I’m doomed. You’ll meet some brilliant professor who collects first-edition Russian novels, and I’ll be found dead in my apartment after my cat eats half my face.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

“I’ll get one once I’ve accepted my fate.”

That was when you had made the pact. If neither of you was married by thirty-five, you would marry each other.

Spencer had insisted the agreement needed clearly defined terms. You had found a pen while he listed possible complications, including relocation, preexisting engagements, major changes in personal compatibility and, for reasons you still did not understand, tax implications.

You wrote it on the back of the menu.

At thirty-five, if we’re both single, we get married. No backing out.

You had signed beneath it with an exaggerated flourish.

Spencer had studied the words for several seconds before adding his name beside yours in neat, narrow handwriting.

Then you had folded the menu, tucked it into the junk drawer and forgotten about it.

At least, you thought you had.

••••••••••

“Thirty-five,” Garcia announced, dropping a pink bakery box onto the table in the bullpen. “A distinguished age. An elegant age. An age at which a woman knows her worth and will no longer tolerate men who own mattresses without fitted sheets.”

Your birthday was still two weeks away, but Garcia had apparently decided that celebrations were most effective when stretched across several business days.

“I’m not thirty-five yet,” you reminded her.

“Which is why this is a pre-birthday cupcake.”

“There are twelve cupcakes.”

“The passage of time is emotionally demanding.”

Morgan reached into the box before Garcia had finished arranging the napkins.

She slapped his hand away.

“Those are for the birthday girl.”

“The birthday girl isn’t even having a birthday today.” He retorted.

“That sounds like someone who doesn’t deserve frosting.”

You smiled as they argued, reaching for your coffee. Across the bullpen, Spencer had stopped halfway through removing a file from his bag.

His eyes were fixed on the bakery box.

More specifically, on the silver number thirty-five Garcia had stuck into the center cupcake.

You raised your eyebrows at him.

He looked away so quickly that he nearly dropped the file.

It happened again during lunch when JJ asked whether you had any plans for your birthday.

And again when Emily mentioned setting you up with a friend from Interpol.

Spencer became intensely interested in whatever he happened to be holding each time the subject arose. A book. A case file. An empty coffee cup he studied as though the meaning of life might be printed at the bottom.

By the end of the day, you had had enough. You found him in the kitchenette pouring an alarming amount of sugar into his coffee.

“Did I do something?”

His hand paused above the cup. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t.”

“You took the stairs when you saw me waiting for the elevator.”

“Taking the stairs can improve cardiovascular health and reduce the risk of—”

“You work on the sixth floor.”

He set down the sugar packet. For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze moved toward the doorway, checking whether anyone was nearby. Then he asked, “Do you remember the agreement?”

You stared at him. “What agreement?”

His mouth tightened slightly. The hurt crossed his face so quickly you almost missed it. “Never mind.”

He reached for his coffee, but you caught his wrist before he could leave.

“Spencer.”

“It was years ago. You were upset, and we’d both had wine. It was obviously a joke.”

The memory surfaced slowly.

Takeout containers. Cheap wine. Spencer sitting at your kitchen table with his tie loosened, explaining that he would need access to at least half of the bookshelves if you ever lived together.

Your grip on his wrist loosened.

“Oh my God.”

He gave a small, uncomfortable laugh. “Exactly.”

“The marriage pact.”

A crash sounded from the hallway.

You both turned.

Morgan stood outside the kitchenette with a broken plastic coffee cup at his feet. “The what?”

Spencer closed his eyes.

Within eight minutes, the entire team knew.

You suspected Morgan had broken several laws of physics to spread the information so quickly.

“A marriage pact?” Emily repeated, leaning against your desk. “With Reid?”

“It was a joke.”

“Was it?” JJ asked, glancing toward Spencer.

He was seated at his desk with a book open in front of him. He had not turned a page in five minutes.

Garcia pressed both hands to her chest. “This is the most romantic thing that has ever happened within these deeply beige walls.”

“It isn’t romantic,” you said. “We were drunk and miserable.”

“Historically,” Rossi said from behind his office door, “that’s how plenty of marriages start.”

Hotch emerged from his office carrying a file.

Every head turned toward him.

He looked from you to Spencer, then at the gathering around your desk.

“We have a case.”

The room scattered.

As Hotch passed, he placed the file in your hands. “Congratulations,” he said quietly.

Your mouth fell open. Morgan laughed so hard he had to brace himself against a desk.

The case should have ended the conversation.

Instead, thirty-five followed you to Iowa.

It appeared when you and Spencer were assigned adjoining hotel rooms. When a local detective mistook you for a couple. When Morgan referred to the vending-machine crackers Spencer brought you as “early spousal support.”

You laughed each time because it was easier than examining why Spencer never did.

He smiled occasionally, but it never reached his eyes.

On the flight home, you found him awake while everyone else slept.

The cabin lights were dimmed. Spencer sat across from you, one knee drawn slightly toward his chest, an unopened book resting in his lap.

“You really remembered?” you whispered.

His fingers tightened around the book. “I have an eidetic memory.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

He looked toward the dark window. The reflection showed the strain around his eyes. “Yes,” he said.

“For seven years?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

His answer took so long that you started to wonder whether he would give one.

“Because I didn’t think it was a joke.”

Something shifted painfully beneath your ribs. “Spencer…”

“I knew you probably didn’t mean it.” His voice stayed low, careful not to wake the others. “At least, not in the same way I did. But you asked, and I thought…” He swallowed. “I thought that if we reached thirty-five and you still wanted me, I would be the luckiest person alive.”

You could hear the steady hum of the jet beneath the silence.

He gave a short laugh that sounded embarrassed. “It was irrational. There was no reason to believe our circumstances would remain unchanged for seven years. The likelihood of either of us entering a long-term relationship was—”

“Spencer.”

He stopped.

“You could have told me.”

“I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

“So you planned to wait until my birthday and what? Show up with the menu?”

His eyes flickered toward his satchel.

You stared at it.

“No.”

His cheeks turned pink.

“Spencer.”

He lowered his gaze.

Slowly, you reached across the aisle and pulled the satchel toward you.

He did not try to stop you.

The folded paper was tucked inside the inner pocket, protected between two clear plastic sheets.

The restaurant had closed years ago. The ink had faded slightly, and there was a stain near your signature from the wine you had spilled.

But the promise remained.

At thirty-five, if we’re both single, we get married. No backing out.

You ran your thumb across his name.

“You kept it.”

“I went back for it the next morning.”

“You stole my takeout menu?”

“You had thrown it in a drawer with expired coupons and batteries.”

“That was my filing system.”

“It was a fire hazard.”

You laughed softly, though your eyes had begun to burn.

Spencer watched you with the cautious expression he wore when approaching something wounded.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed it meant anything to you.”

You looked at him over the paper.

“The reason I forgot wasn’t because you meant nothing to me.”

He stayed perfectly still.

“I forgot because somewhere along the way, I stopped imagining a future where you wouldn’t be there.” You folded the menu carefully. “You’re already the person I call when something goes wrong. You’re the first person I want to tell when something goes right. Half your books are in my apartment, and you have your own mug in my kitchen.”

“The blue one.”

“The blue one,” you agreed. “You know how I take my coffee. I know you pretend not to be cold because you hate asking for an extra blanket in hotels.”

“I don’t hate asking.”

“You’re using your coat as a blanket right now.”

He glanced down at the jacket draped across his lap.

“That’s circumstantial.”

You smiled then you placed the menu on the empty seat beside you and held out your hand.

Spencer looked at it. His fingers slipped into yours slowly, as if he was afraid you might change your mind halfway through.

“You don’t have to wait until my birthday,” you said.

His brows drew together. “For what?”

“For an answer.”

The hope on his face was almost unbearable.

You tightened your hand around his. “Yes.”

His lips parted.

“Yes to the pact,” you clarified. “Eventually. I’d prefer a real first date before we start discussing tax implications.”

“You remember that?”

“Bits and pieces.”

“I was right about the tax implications.”

“I’m sure you were.”

His thumb moved over your knuckles. “So this would be a date with the intention of determining long-term romantic compatibility?”

“It means you’re taking me to dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“We land after midnight.”

“Tomorrow?”

You pretended to consider it. Spencer waited, visibly tense. “Tomorrow,” you agreed.

His smile appeared slowly, softening his entire face.

You had seen Spencer happy before. You had seen him excited, relieved, amused and triumphant.

You had never seen anyone look at you as though a seven-year wait had been worth every second.

He lifted your joined hands and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles.

Behind him, Morgan opened one eye. “I better be the best man.”

Spencer nearly dropped your hand.

JJ’s muffled laughter came from two rows back.

Garcia sat upright beneath her eye mask. “I’m planning the wedding.”

“There is no wedding,” you whispered fiercely.

“Yet,” Rossi corrected without opening his eyes.

Hotch remained facing the front of the plane. “Everyone go back to sleep.” A beat of silence passed. Then he added, “And congratulations.”

Spencer looked at you, his face bright red.

You leaned across the aisle and kissed his cheek. “Tomorrow,” you reminded him.

His fingers found yours again beneath the armrest.

This time, he held on without hesitation.