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angrygalaxyduck · 13 days ago

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☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you find accidental comfort in your coworker. With your phone ringing nonstop, you're willing to do whatever it takes to start fresh.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, bug mentions (cockroaches), cheating, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight spanking, mentions of masturbation. Dom! Spencer.

A/N: Haha... hi guys... been a while 😚 Please enjoy the fic I dreamed up over a month ago now, and was finally able to conjure up!

Masterlist

If you were to be asked how you assumed a five-year-long relationship would end, you'd likely say something like irreparable differences. Maybe a difference in lifestyle, growing out of love, or even different plans for the future. Unfortunately, the irreparable difference your boyfriend had chosen at 10 pm on a Thursday evening was being balls deep in an irreparably different woman.

You supposed you should've seen the signs the relationship was drawing to a close and likely you did, but with your job itself being a life or death situation almost daily, you really didn't have much time to worry about the fact that your boyfriend was sowing his oats in other fields. Based on the look of the woman spread across your bed, the oats weren't that great for her either.

Your reaction had been somewhat delayed, but curiously not as much as hers. She'd been wonderfully blasé about the man writhing on top of her before you started screaming and throwing things, and even now you were armed with a vase of flowers (dead - you'd bought them yourself before the case you'd been on for the last two weeks) she still looked slightly bored. But at least her legs were together now, and not gynaecologist level apart.

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - managed to regain an ounce of dignity with a scrap of clothing, and did his best to shepard you out of the crime scene as you regained the ability to hold coherent thoughts that weren't about strangling him with his own tie.

“Listen to me, please just for five minutes-”

“Listen? I was just listening! To you moaning into that woman's shoulders with your eyes rolled back in your head!”

It was as if in the last few minutes all the love you'd had for this man, all five years of relationship and comfort, and nights spent together had melted away in an instant. The rage dissipated, and you were surprisingly calm again, though that worried you, too. Surely you should be crying, or at the very least upset. You should be feeling some kind of emotion that wasn't a vague disgust at the man in front of you in full pooh bear mode, trying to tug down the hem of his shirt to cover the crown jewels.

“It didn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything. She's just - You're gone so long on cases, and I just-”

“So you're saying it's my fault you're cheating on me?”

“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-”

“No, heard loud and clear, I'll try not to save lives in the future, I'm sure the BAU will understand I should be on my back 24 hours a day instead, taking all four inches you have to donate to my worthy cause.”

“Y/N, don't be like that,” he said, exasperated. Whatever he had to be exasperated about, you had no idea. Maybe blue balls.

“Like what?”

“Like a bitch!”

The room went still with silence as you let him sit with the words he'd just spoken, willing him to snap back quickly so you could keep even just a shred of respect for him.

No such apology came.

“I'm leaving now. I expect your things packed and out of here by 12 pm tomorrow, including your thing in the bedroom. Don't bother cleaning the sheets. Just burn them. Lock the door and post the keys through the letterbox when you're done.”

“Y/N, I told you it's not like that, I still love you, come on-”

“Well I don't love you. And please go put some fucking pants on.”

You stepped back over the threshold of your apartment - the lovely, nice apartment you'd been living in for the last eight years, your nice safe space - and you shuddered.

The question wasn't exactly what next, but more like where next. What next was sending a group text in your ex-boyfriends family chat telling them what you'd walked in on, and then leaving the chat before you could get any response. The where would be a harder sell.

From this part of the city, it'd take 2 hours to get to Penelope’s apartment, especially at this time of night without a car. Emily's apartment was similarly far. Going through a list of your coworkers again, you mentally crossed off Tara, who'd been injured on your last case and was resting at her girlfriend's apartment, Luke, who despite the promised comfort of a cute dog, you were absolutely sure didn't have a spare bed, and all members of the team with spouses and/or children. Which left just Spencer and Rossi.

Needless to say, you found your way to Spencer's apartment in only 20 minutes, though you were sure you had disassociated the entire thing.

Knocking on the door, you felt a little bit awkward, but not awkward enough to leave and find a hotel at nearly 11 pm. Your last case hadn't been a pleasant one, hotel-wise, and you weren't exactly eager for another check-in.

Spencer opened the door quickly, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he found you there but only for a brief flash before his face brightened up.

“Y/N? Do we have a case again? I thought Hotch said-”

“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before you convinced yourself to walk away.

Spencer took a moment to take in your words, and you took the opportunity to look at him then. He was fully clothed at least, and you were glad to find that his pajamas looked comfortable and clean. A simple plaid cotton pant with a soft-looking white long sleeved shirt pushed up his arms slightly. He'd taken out his contacts and put on his glasses, and you wondered if you'd caught him mid-book.

“Please?” you added in a hopeful voice as he still looked at you slightly confused.

“Oh, of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?” he asked, taking your go-bag from you without question and guiding you into the main living space of his apartment.

“Thank you, yeah. Something like that. Shoes off or on?”

“I have some slippers. You can take them off. What happened?” he said, placing the slippers in front of you and turning back to bolt the door.

“Invasive species?” You said, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible despite now feeling incredibly plussed.

“Oh, bugs? Yeah, I've had a cockroach or two in the apartment before. Did you know that the average female cockroach can produce up to 10,000 offspring in a single year?”

You sat on his couch quietly, trying not to imagine 10,000 cockroaches and failing nearly spectacularly. Unfortunately, the only image that could surpass tiny cockroach babies was of your boyfriend pounding away at another woman. Which was just a brilliant move for your psyche.

“Spencer, I know I've really intruded here tonight, but do…. Do you wanna drink with me?” You asked, hoping to drown at least a memory or two of the last 24 hours. Hopefully, the cheating one, but you'd take cockroach extermination as well.

A slightly worried look settled on Spencer's face, but he said nothing and nodded, walking to his kitchen, grabbing two beers and meeting you back on his loveseat.

“Oh you really have beer here!” You exclaimed, thanking him for the beverage before cracking it open and taking a sip.

“Morgan came over with some to celebrate 6 months out of prison. These are leftovers.”

“Right… right…”

The first few sips were so painfully awkward that you thought about returning back to your apartment and just sleeping on your own couch.

Vaguely, you felt Spencer watching you, taking a sip of his drink for every sip you took of yours.

“So…” you said, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow again, already questioning whatever was about to come out of your mouth.

“So?” he asked. You weren't sure if it was the beer, the look on his face, or the crazy implosion of the last 5 years that had you giggling all of a sudden. You were just glad that when you cracked up, he cracked a smile as well, and a little bit of the tension went away.

“Why are you really here, YN?”

You took a deep breath and looked straight forward at the bookshelves Spencer had lovingly filled. Maybe this had taken him half a decade as well, so he'd understand how your life felt a little bit like a wobbly bookshelf at that second.

“The invasive species I mentioned? It was the woman screwing my boyfriend in my bed. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.”

You heard the intake of breath from Spencer before he put his can down and started thinking of something to say in reply to that.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh… Y/N, I-”

A shrill ringing cut him off, and you were almost glad to not be on the receiving end of whatever pitiful words he was about to push on you, until you checked the caller ID and saw your ex's name.

“Don't pick that up,” Spencer said as you hesitated towards the phone. With a hand over yours, he flipped the phone over, locking eyes with you as he let it ring out.

“He's just going to try it again.”

“Let him.”

You nodded, breaking eye contact and sinking back into Spencer's slightly wilted couch cushions.

“In your bed? Really?” he asked, talking another sup as you took a gulp, letting the beer fizz down your throat before you could answer.

“I told him to expect me tomorrow because of how the case was looking. I guess he wasn't expecting me.”

“I think that was a given. Unless he was into that. Exhibitionism is one of the most common kinks among adult males, and-”

“Oh he was not into exposing himself,” you laughed into your drink, propping your head up on your hand and turning to face Spencer more. He shot another questioning glance but didn't push the issue, so you silently explained as well. By pinching your fingers together to the approximate size of your ex-boyfriend's dick.

“Oh. Well, it's not the size that counts?” He whispered almost ironically as he took another sip, now much closer than before. You'd done your best to distance yourself from your boyfriend even as he'd followed you through your apartment half naked, but you didn't seem to find Spencer's proximity threatening at all.

Maybe because he wasn't having sex with a random woman in your bed 5 seconds before.

“You wanna know the worst part?” You said, leaning closer as if to tell him an even bigger secret. “He didn't even know how to use it. I haven't-”

Another phone call blasted through, and you grabbed your phone and put it behind you.

“He's really great at interrupting conversation when it’s just getting good,” Spencer laughed, but you were slightly disappointed that he'd leaned back away now.

“What was it you were saying?” He asked, taking a swig of beer again, can nearing its close.

“I haven't had an orgasm in almost three years,” you said bluntly, watching the most genuine spit take you’d seen in your life. You pat Spencer's back as he coughed up inhaled beer, bringing your feet up under you into a cosier position.

“Okay now?” you asked as his breathing returned to normal.

“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?”

You shrugged and looked away almost embarrassed to be meeting his eyes now that your sexual history was the topic of the night.

“We had sex. He's just… he's just a really lazy lover. It'd be the same stuff every time. Handjob to some clumsy fingers missing my clit, a few pumps and cum on my face. I wasn't exactly initiating seven days a week in the hopes that this time he'd be able to locate it.”

Spencer was somewhere between horror and trying not to laugh, eyes wide with either alarm or the strain of having to keep it in.

“It's okay, you can laugh,” you said, but he shook his head politely.

“Y/N, I was in prison and still had more orgasms than you this year.”

“Hey, I hear prison is a great place to meet new people. Have new experiences.”

Spencer shot you a quickly horrified look as his cheeks flushed with heat. “Y/N, I was not someone's bitch in prison.”

“Why not? You're pretty enough for it?”

You'd meant the line to come across as teasing, just as you'd expected the finger now twisted in a lock of his hair, playing with him, to come off as teasing as well.

But you felt a definite throb between your legs when he looked at you again, doubly so when his eyes darted down to your lips.

You cleared your throat and tried for a teasing tone once again.

“So you made someone else your bitch?” you smiled, trying to drag his eyes away from your lips before you did something you'd regret.

“No. I… I spent a long time in solitary, and there's… there's really not that much to do.”

“So you did yourself?”

The tips of his ears were scarlet when you finally decided to back off, tucking the curl of hair behind his ear and letting him cool off.

“Why didn't you masturbate then?” he asked, pouting slightly still from your interrogation.

“Excuse me?”

“Your boyfriend couldn't make you cum, but a vibrator probably could. But you still haven't had an orgasm in three years. Why is that?”

It was your turn to feel the heat, the warmth from the beer finally reaching your head.

“He didn't want me to.”

You didn't mean for the words to sound as sad as they did. The fact itself was just incredibly sad. Your boyfriend saw anything vaguely phallic shaped as competition and had encouraged “organic” coupling instead.

You waited for Spencer to say something else, anything else as you held his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and him to start talking down to you as if you were simply a victim of the worst sex in the world.

Instead, he said “so did that other woman look as miserable as you've been for the last three years?” and the spell was broken.

You laughed so hard, you nearly choked on the beer you'd already finished. This time, it was Spencer's turn to land a hand on your back as you winded yourself with laughter.

“She looked bored! She looked genuinely bored. I almost thought it was just a lifelike doll, she was that unphased,” you kept giggling between gasps, forcing the words out as you threw your head onto Spencer's shoulder, hand landing on his thigh as you finally calmed down.

“I'd be horrified if anyone looked bored while in bed with me,” came Spencer's voice, and a little shiver ran down your spine as the rasp of his whisper rang in your ear.

You looked up from his shoulder and caught his eye immediately. If you wanted to, you could lean up by a centimetre and catch his lips with yours. And you suddenly, very much wanted to do that.

A final shriek of your phone behind you deterred you for a few seconds, and you were about to work yourself up to scooting a little bit away from Spencer when he leaned over you, grabbed the phone, and hung up on your boyfriend.

“Do you want to cum, Y/N?” he asked, as quietly as before as his hands traced over you on their return journey to him. He looked down your body, eyes greedily drinking in your breasts, hips, thighs and legs tucked into his side on his couch.

You didn't know what you were going to respond when your head practically nodded by itself. Enthusiastically.

He doesn't immediately pull you in for a kiss, and you're worried for a beat that he meant that only as a hypothetical and not an invite. A final cry from your phone has you standing in seconds, completely detached from Spencer, and the nearly embarrassing moment you pouncing him would've been.

“I should probably take it this time,” you explained, turning slightly.

But Spencer was faster than you, if not more prepared for what was to come. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Spencer tugged you back, pulling you onto his lap. When you were firmly situated - ass over his now evidently firm cock - he grabbed the phone out of your other hand, hung up and put it in his pocket.

“Spencer, I-I don't think that's a good idea,” you gasped as his hands slowly progressed up to your chest, and his lips dropped to your neck, biting and sucking along whatever flesh was easy for him to access.

“You need to cum. You deserve to cum, Y/N. I'm just here to help. Use me.”

You stifle a sharp, quick moan, biting your lips and thanking God that he couldn't see the face you made when his hips ground his cock up into your ass.

“I'm probably not ready for this,” you stuttered slightly, breath departing your body quicker than it could arrive.

“Probably not.”

“We work together, too. It would be awkward.”

“It might,” he nodded. “But you still want to.”

You couldn't help the moan, finally letting it free as you tossed your head back and clawed at his forearm, wrapped around you.

Your ass had a mind of its own, grinding back into him in circles as his hands found their way under your shirt, inquisitive fingers stroking your nipples through your bra.

“S-Spencer,” you whimpered again, legs spreading apart as you felt that familiar warmth settle between them. He didn't miss the longing in your tone, the shift in your core, pushing one hand down your stomach and trailing it onto your thigh.

It was as close as he could get with your pants still on, tight against your skin. He squeezed your thigh, still licking and sucking at your neck before his hand rose to the clasp of your pants.

It took him a long lime to fumble with them, and you thought of helping multiple times but you let yourself get distracted by the tense definition of his muscles, the rigid line of his body as he strained to please you.

Your mind fogged with lust, and you felt the vibrations from his pocket right under you when your phone rang again. You practically jerked up in shock as pleasure hit you in a wave, Spencer's fingers finally dipping into your panties just as the vibrations hit you. They weren't centred, of course, not anywhere close to where you needed them to be for you to enjoy them the way you would a toy, but that's what Spencer was for.

He let the call ring out, tracing small, slow circles over your clit as you jumped up into his hand, moaning and whimpering the entire time.

“What an idiot. I bet he never touched you like this. Nice and slow.”

“N-no, S-s-”

“I'm so glad I'm right. He didn't deserve this beautiful cunt. You're so wet for me, right, baby?” You nodded and he hummed in response, voice low and making you pulse in his lap.

“That's it, good girl,” he whispered as you worked your cunt up and down his fingers, stilling himself so you could find your own pleasure.

“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-”

With his free hand, he turned your face to the side and finally kissed you properly as you moaned into his mouth. He was quick to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue against the seam of your mouth and enter your mouth, quickly dominating you as you let yourself get more and more excited. Your hips stuttered, out of rhythm and out of practice, and you almost whimpered in frustration that you couldn't get off quicker, that your body wasn't finding the orgasm quick enough despite how good, how perfect this felt.

Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss.

“Come with me,” he said, pulling his hands away from your wet cunt and out of your stupid pants and encouraging your hips up until you were stood and he was stood behind you.

Cock still firmly stood against your ass, he walked you all the way to his bedroom, hands on your hips the entire time, memorising the sway of your walk.

“Strip and get on the bed, please, Y/N,” he said, finally peeling himself away from you as you nodded quickly and listened to him immediately. You weren't sure what to expect, so you hesitated, laying down, crawling up until your head hit the pillows. You were almost disappointed when you finally looked back at Spencer and he was still fully clothed, so sure that he was going to fuck you to your climax.

Instead, he approached the bed, gently slid his arms around your thighs, opened your legs wider, knelt on the floor and brought your cunt to his face.

The first touch of his to guess to your clit had you almost beside yourself with lust. You'd been sexually active for a handful of years, and this - THIS - was the first time you'd experienced such acute pleasure.

Your hips were unable to stop, thrusting up into his face as you willed his tongue to engulf you, to be a tool in your pleasure.

Again your phone rang, but he grabbed it quickly, pausing only a second to silence it and discard it on the bed beside you, sitting it further up the bed where it would no longer be a distraction to him.

He dove right back in, and you rewarded him with wave after wave of fierce moan, your writhing body only restricted by a hand snaked up onto his stomach. You still pushed against his face, practically fucking it as he flattened out his to guess and let you chase your high.

“Spencer!” You gasped and moaned, voice dripping with lust and desperation, mouth not even properly forming words now you were so close.

You propped yourself up slightly, looking down as Spencer's eye caught your own, his chin slick with your juices, his eyes dripping with lust. You grabbed a handful of his hair and jumped that little bit faster as you felt that long forgotten whisper of pleasure, that all-encompassing explosion of satisfaction, and you came apart on Spencer's tongue.

“Thank you, thank you, Spencer, shit, thank you,” you whimpered, falling back again into the bed as you rode out the high. When you managed to open your bleary eyes again, Spencer was propped up above you, but instead of paying you attention, he'd grabbed your phone and bought it to his ear.

“You heard that? Good. I'm sure you're aware now that she won't be returning your calls tonight. Goodbye.”

His voice, his words, were like a cold bucket of water to your brain as you sat up, reaching for him and finding him as his hips circled your waist.

“Was that-?” He cut you off with a kiss a sweet, soft one.

“Yes.” He kissed you again and you melted into his touch as he pulled you into his lap again.

“H-He-”

“He knows now what a real orgasm sounds like. He knows you're not interested anymore. He knows you're mine now.”

You shivered at the words, your lust addled brain flooding your senses, and your cunt as you reacted to the possessiveness of his words, his tone. Part of you was turned on by the exhibitionism as well. You'd had to walk in on your ex boyfriend completely exposed, and there was satisfaction in kicking him to the curb with a similar fuck you. A fuck you that you'd enjoyed a lot.

You pressed your lips against Spencer's and rocked your hips against him again, tasting yourself on his tongue as he laid you down once more. His cock twitched against your leg as he propped you up on the pillows, and your hands trailed down to show it some attention as your sighed into his kiss.

He eagerly shed his clothes, first his top, sitting up and pulling it over his head, giving you a deliriously enticing shot of his chest and soft stomach before dropping down to cover your body again. You let your hand find the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, though, following it down as you encouraged his pants off. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, and you gladly stroked it as he kissed the plains of your body again. He found the side of your neck that he'd neglected earlier, licking and sucking until it was almost as loved as the first side, before pulling your hand away from his cock.

You pouted and began to protest when he quickly lined his cock up with your cunt, and slid in deep and soft before you could.

“Needed to be in you,” he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips and sliding your legs up and around him as he pushed that little bit deeper. “Keep them nice and wide for me,” he said, dropping one last kiss to your lips, before his chest rose, and his hips pulled away again.

When they snapped back into you, you let out a generous scream of pleasure that almost had you wishing you'd never hung up. He set a quick pace, a furious pace as he too moaned into the contact of your cunt and his cock, two desperate people searching for release.

“So tight, Y/N, you're so tight,” he moaned, flesh hitting flesh as you dug your nails into his arms, already so wet again, you could feel the sheets under you growing damp. His hand left its perch on your hip and found its way to your clit once again, and you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep to this pace without cumming a second time.

“Keep moaning for me baby, show me how much you want it,” his voice begged, almost a rumble with how lustful he sounded. You let your voice carry, each moan a little bit more unrestricted than the last.

“Louder, Y/N, please. I want to hear how much you're enjoying this, you don't know how much I enjoy hearing your pleasure.”

His prayers were answered when he lowered his head back down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth between licks and sucks. You practically screamed his name, pressing your chest up to grant him better access.

You liquefied beneath him, pressure building and building until you felt him rock, lifting his chest as you came. He pulled his cock out, teasing it through your folds as you stuttered around him, your arousal squirting across his cock and sheets as you fell back to the bed, gasping in pleasure. Your hips stuttered against him, and he soothed you gently, still working his cock through your folds gently as your clit went from overwhelmed to calm to quickly overstimulated.

“Spencer,” you whimpered, almost unable to take all the pleasure he was offering you. “Spencer, it-it hurts.”

“Don't you want me to stop?” He asked, stopping his movements for a second as you deliberated your answer. The lack of movement was answer alone, and you shook your head no wanting to feel his cock against you, inside you, one more time.

“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.”

“I want to keep going,” you said, as he began slowly rocking his cock against you again, sticky from your cum.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, teasing a nipple with his hand as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Please fill me up again, please I want to cum again.”

“One more time?” He asked.

“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.”

You were cum drunk, so horny that you couldn't fathom stopping there. He pressed another kiss to your lips and encouraged you to flip over, propping a pillow under your stomach as he pulled your legs into the right position.

You snuggled into the pillows at your head, pushing your ass up for him slightly as he nudged his cock against your entrance once more.

“Where should I cum Y/N?” He asked, reaching under you to slowly circle your clit again.

“H-hmmm…” you said, eyes shut, focused more on the pleasure than the question. You didn't care anymore. You didn't care where he came, just as long as he let you do it, too.

“Y/N, I expect an answer. Where should I put my cum?”

“Anywhere,” you pouted, pressing your hips back into his cock in the hopes that he'd just fuck you again already.

“That's not an answer,” he said, gently slapping your ass as he pulled his cock away.

“On your back?” He asked, fingers still working your clit underneath, but trailing lower until they found your cunt, two entering you to keep you wet and stretched for him.

“You'd need to shower before you could pass out, but I'm happy to help clean you off. They have communal showers in prison, so I'm not shy.” You moaned at the suggestion but couldn't answer further.

“On your stomach? Again we'd have to shower off, but I would love to see your boobs decorated all nicely.” Your moans were whimpers now as he edged you with his fingers, his words gentle in your ear but dripping with so much lust and promise you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to make decisions anymore.

“On your face?”

“Not on my face,” you snapped quickly, and he nodded and stroked your hair, hooking a strand behind your ear as he agreed.

“Okay. Where, Y/N? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.”

“Of course. Good job.”

He pulled his hand free gently, and quickly replaced it with his thick cock, and you moaned again at the weight of it against your walls, the familiar stretch of it. In this position, he reached deeper somehow, his thrusts slower, more precise as he drew out his own orgasm as long as possible, maximising his ability to pleasure you.

“Good girl,” he muttered against your skin, dropping a kiss to your back. “Good girl.”

“Wanted to do this for so long, Y/N,” he confessed with each thrust. “Look at how pretty this pussy is, how wet it is for me. I wish your boyfriend could see it. I wish he could see how well-behaved you are for me. How nicely you take my cock.”

His deep, slow strokes, his words, the kisses he pressed against any inch of your skin he could reach combined to push you over the edge a third and final time. This one wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady shudder of pleasure from your hips and a quiet, satisfied sigh.

You didn't say anything but Spencer knew, he felt it, and he came moments after, cock deep inside as he filled you with his cum.

“You're on birth control, right?”

“IUD. Pill. Yeah.” You say between breathy sighs of contentment.

Muttering something behind you, he pulled out finally, leaving for a minute to grab a washcloth and clean himself off before returning to help you as well.

“What did you mumble?” You asked, as he crawled back into your arms, looking up at him.

“What?” He asked, ears turning slightly pink as you stared at him intently.

“Just now. I told you I was on birth control, and you mumbled something.”

He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze before dropping to kiss you sweetly once again.

“Tell me,” you said, and he kissed you again.

“Spencer, tell me,” you pouted, and he kissed the pout away.

You almost asked again, but he kissed you too quickly, too deeply and you lost your breath again.

“I said,” he started, leaving you panting under him again. “It was good you're on birth control, because I like the sight of my cum dripping out of you.”

The remaining breath left your body as you gasped, your face growing hot. You burrowed your face in his chest and let him hold you as you drifted into sleep, wrapped up in each other.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds

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angrygalaxyduck · 18 days ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬

Aaron sets the record straight when an overheard conversation convinces you that you’re not good enough for him. 5k

c: fem, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive theme (non-graphic implied sex scene). hotch is a good husband. requested here

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Honey, this is Clint McMoore. We went to college together.”

You step into Aaron’s side. Clint McMoore is a handsome older man with silvering hair and a beard that looks out of control. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his cheeks are blotchy with drink, but Clint smiles at you and offers his hand. “How do you do?” he asks.

“Quite well, thank you.” You’ve been practising fancy dinner talk with Aaron’s friend Emily for weeks. She has all the political background you’d needed to see yourself into the culture. “It’s nice to meet one of Aaron’s school friends.”

“While you still can,” Clint says with a chuckle. Something about being in your forties is obscene to these men, as though death waits for fifty candles to snuff them out.

“Clint and I were in the Student Theatre club together, our first year.”

You grin, smile laced with teasing. Each time you’re reminded of Aaron’s young interest in drama, you have to focus very hard on not laughing; the Aaron who has his hand to your shoulder isn’t one you could envision on stage. “Did you perform together?” you ask.

“Saturday Night Fever,” Clint says.

They laugh and reminisce. You find these sorts of events hard to keep up with, but you come when Aaron asks because he so rarely asks you for anything. He hasn’t mentioned knowing that you don’t like coming, But perhaps he hasn’t noticed —it’s not like you to frown, not when you’re with Aaron. The way he treats you, he probably thinks you’re the happiest girl in the world.

There’s a contentedness to be found when he touches you. He spreads a hand against your lower back and you let yourself sink into his side, curled into his embrace and amazed at the giggly laugh he lets out as Clint brings up the ‘King of the River’ tattoo Aaron has hidden beneath his shirt. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek.

Clint asks, “Isn’t that right?” and forces you back into the conversation.

You’re wearing a dress you panicked over for days. It’s black, cut playfully just above your knees with small petal sleeves. Your necklace is of a delicate chain and a not so delicate pearl —a black Tahitian South Sea pearl that glows pink and green in the light. For you, Aaron wrote, his pretty scrawl inky across a square of scalloped card from atop the box. I’m in love with you. Forgive me for not having the courage to tell you in person.

Your Aaron is quiet. Some days he comes home from work and doesn’t manage more than a sentence. Some days he can barely speak at all. But there are nights when he holds you to hold you and talks in murmurs against your ear, and he’s good at making calls when he’s away. Talking or not, smiling or otherwise, Aaron finds a way to let you know he loves you, and that’s all you care about.

“Excuse us,” Aaron says, giving Clint a rare, warm smile, “I’m being flagged by my boss.”

Sure enough, Erin Strauss is beckoning Aaron with a strange pained look.

“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly to Clint. He repeats your goodbye, and you and Aaron swerve around him.

“He was nice,” you murmur.

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“How come you fell out of touch?”

“Oh, you know how things go, honey, you forget all the people you meet and make room for new ones.” He kisses your cheek. “And besides, he used to gossip like my mother. Why don’t you go find JJ?”

“You’ll be alright?”

“No, maybe not.” He squeezes your elbow quickly. “Go, find some hors d’oeuvres, at least.”

You find neither JJ nor finger foods. The gala you’re attending is being held in a hotel in the richest part of D.C, and the events hall is huge. The ceiling is a fantasy, glass and miles upward, overhead chandeliers dangling lower, dousing the crowds below in a light that’s clean. The rich and powerful gather at the edges of the room, though the performance toward the back of the room is watched by a few tens of couples with flutes of champagne held in gloved hands.

You hadn’t worn gloves. Hadn’t thought about it until you got here. Honestly, you felt grateful enough that JJ texted you to tell you to buy a shawl; if you weren’t wearing one you’re sure you’d feel bare.

What you’re lacking in fancy is made up for by your earnestness, or so you’d like to believe. You aren’t rich nor powerful, but Aaron’s a good man and you his good wife. You work hard, which is more than some of the richest in the room can say. You hold your head high without a second thought.

The hall is confusing. Tables are set but you aren’t sure Aaron said anything about a dinner service. Wait staff carry silver platters and hold bottles of champagne, but each time you approach one they seem to have already headed in another direction. JJ and Derek are both supposed to be here tonight, but you haven’t seen either of them since you arrived. You cast your gaze for Derek’s figure, searching for an easy gait and a strong set of shoulders. You cock your head waiting for a hint of JJ’s practised, polite laughter, but any familiar signs are gone. You can’t even find Aaron anymore, and your shoes are pinching your toes.

Disaster. You should’ve listened to Aaron when he told you to size up, just you doubted his knowledge of ladies shoes considering how rarely he wears them. Stupid man, you think to yourself, lovingly yet ruefully as you sit down at one of the uninhabited tables to the very side of the room. Knows everything. Tonight, you’ll limp back to the car and he won’t bother saying I told you so, he’s too good for it, which is worse. He’ll give you one of his amused smiles. He might offer you a massage.

Ridiculous man, you further to yourself, biting back a cheesy smile as you peel your shoe from a sore foot. If you shove your hand deep enough into the toe you can stretch them out a little.

“Darling.”

You look up. Clint McMoore’s resurfaced just a table away with his back to you. A sweet-faced woman with brown hair sits adjacent to him, her shoulder under Clint’s hand.

“You’ll never guess who I just bumped into,” he says.

Me, you think.

“Aaron Hotchner and his new wife.”

“You didn’t,” the woman says.

“I knew you’d be envious of that,” he laughs. “Charlotte, she’s unbelievable.”

Your stomach does a strange flip. He’ll say something nice, you insist, but you know his tone is a precursor for gossipy nonsense.

“I’ve never seen such a mismatched pair,” he says.

Charlotte rolls her eyes at him. “Well, what were you expecting? They were married after six months of knowing one another. I couldn’t so much as tolerate you until our first anniversary.”

“Hardy-har.”

“What’s wrong with her, then?” Charlotte asks.

“Nothing like that, Charlotte. She seemed perfectly pleasant–”

“But?”

“But, she’s nothing like Aaron’s usual woman.”

“Hm, I said as much when we saw their wedding photos.“ They both laugh. “It’s not like she had much of a chance. First Haley, and then that Beth, the designer, she’s in Milan now–”

“He seems rather besotted, in any case,” Clint says. “Very lady and the tramp.”

“Gentleman and the tramp.”

“Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.”

You know in a way that Charlotte is kidding, but you boil up with anger the moment you recognise what it is they’re implying. Then they laugh, and your anger quickly finds itself taking a crueller shape.

You slip your foot back into your shoe slowly. Your throat feels dry and then warm, like a crux of smouldering coal stuck in your windpipe as you stand, jerkily, hand stiff where it holds your weight on a silken tablecloth.

You blink and stare at the floor. It’s marble. It’s shot through with dark veins like a drop of ichor in water.

What the fuck?

You aren’t sure why you’re leaving the hall until you’re walking down the steps of the hotel and turning along the skirts of a hedge. A low brick wall lies in front of it, just short enough to sit on with your heels. Your coccyx stings with the force of how hard you go down.

Your head races with hurt feelings.

You’re not unaware of your husband’s past loves. It comes as no surprise to you that people regard Haley and Beth highly —Haley was extremely beautiful and veritably brave, intelligent, kind-hearted. Beth was funny, Aaron said, and not too much else. Being a designer in Milan hasn’t been mentioned before, but it’s impressive. They’re both impressive, and– and his usual woman.

You rub the starchy stockings stretched over your knees.

What had they meant by usual woman?

Mismatched?

It hadn’t felt mismatched when Aaron asked you to marry him. It wasn’t six months after knowing one another as Clint’s wife suggested, but it wasn’t much more than that. He proposed to you after eight months together, and you were married two months later, which is incredibly fast to some people but it just hadn't felt fast when he asked. It was exciting —it still is.

“Would you marry me, if I asked you to?” he’d said, some seven months after you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. Your head in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the soft skin of your nape. A sleepy Sunday morning like any other, you suppose that was a proposal in itself, but you hadn’t realised that when you murmured, “Yeah, handsome. I would.”

You thought it was just love. Making innocuous comments about the future is part of falling in love. It’s terrifying to tell someone that you’d like to live life in their lap, but you tell them, and they tell you to go ahead if you’re lucky.

He asked you to get married a few weeks later. “I had to talk to Jack,” he explained, “or I would’ve asked you then and there.“

You’re a wife suddenly, a step-mother, a partner. Aaron would’ve sold the house and bought you a new one if you wanted him to, but you like his life. You’ve always felt like you fit right in.

Angry again, you scrub at your knees with itchy palms and practise how you’re going to tell Aaron about his cruel friend. Gossipy was right, what a lark, and you’re not perfectly pleasant, you’re a delight, you hadn’t said one bad word to Clint and you didn’t deserve to be whipped and twisted into a bad joke between sips of Cristal.

Your eyes burn with the injustice of the thing.

Rawness overtakes. A thudding in your chest turns painful, neck wrought with tightness as you hang your head. Hiding from the cold air. November brings with it a promise of chapped lips the longer you stay there, biting into your thighs as your hands turn stiff with disuse.

She was unbelievable.

“Y/N!” The shout is sharp. You’ve never heard Aaron’s voice at that level or with that level of formidability, carrying from the bottom of the hotel stairs. You twist in shock on the wall and watch in real time as his face fills with relief. “Honey,” he says, calling but not half as scary as he jogs to you, “are you alright?”

“What?”

“You scared me,” he insists, bending down to hold your shoulders. “Nobody’s seen you for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t just disappear, you left your purse on the table, I thought something happened to you.”

You startle at his scolding. “I–”

“You should feel my heart.”

“I didn’t mean to come out here.”

“I wish you would’ve let somebody know,” he says. His frown softens slowly, but the concern around his eyes remains. “What?” he asks.

“Sorry.”

His eyes finally soften. “No, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I just worry when you’re not with me.”

“That’s romantic.”

He holds your cheek, pulling you in, and gives you two gentle kisses. Your lips part instinctively to receive them. “We’ll get our things and go home. It looks as though dinner isn’t happening.” He smiles. “Why were you out here?”

“Scavenging for food.”

That gets a laugh out of him, and another nice kiss. “You tried your best.”

—

Aaron takes you home, and when dinner’s been cleared away, when you’ve showered and he’s undressed, he pulls you toward the bed and kisses you warmly. His eyes track from your face to the tucked corner of your towel, a silent Can I?

You let him take it off. He lays you out, and for a while you’re only his. His wife, his half, his to tease and turn and delight. He says “Beautiful,” against your thigh, says, “Honey, is that okay?” says, “Please, I’ve got it, I have you, just let me have you…”

After, he tells you he loves you, his voice still ever so slightly high in contrast to usual dulcet tones.

“I love you, too,” you say.

His breath comes fast. Your lap is a mess he’d wiped as clean as he could manage, the memory of him bearing down on you yet to fade. He lies on his stomach beside you with his arm over yours, his face turned into you, his nose on your cheek.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “You feel tense.”

“Mm.”

“No, did I hurt you? You’re rigid.” His hands fret a line down the side of your chest. “You didn’t…”

You hadn’t said anything, because he really hadn’t hurt you. But the thoughts you’re having now are intrusive —am I okay? you think. Do I measure up? He’s never made any indication that you’ve let him down, not in sex or anything else, but you’re unbelievable.

You swallow a lump. “Sorry,” you say, the lingering ebbs of pleasure twisting into tears faster than you can stop it.

“Are you crying?” he asks under his breath.

You suck in a breath as he pushes onto his hands.

“These aren’t good tears,” he says.

He’d know. They’re not.

Aaron reaches over you to turn on the lamp on the nightstand before settling, his hand cupping your waist. It’s too much suddenly, too bare, he’s too much to look at as you squeeze your eyes closed. “Sorry,” you squeeze out.

“What did I do?” he asks, holding you carefully. “Please, sweetheart, what’s hurting? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not you.”

“But something does hurt?”

“No, no, I’m okay.” You cover your face with your hands. When you start to sob, it shakes the entire mattress, Aaron’s hand wobbling where it cups your ribs.

“Please.” His thumb works a soft spot into your skin. “Honey, please, you can’t cry now without telling me what’s wrong.” He tries a laugh, but it falls flat. “Honey. Honey.”

It wasn’t the sex. He never does anything wrong, he’s so gentle even when he isn’t, and if he did you’d only have to tell him, but the rush of being touched by him so nicely, fuck, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he took your face into his hand as he moved —you’re not trying to be a crier, but he makes you feel like you’re everything and you’re just not.

He looks sick.

“It wasn’t you, it was at the gala,” you manage.

For a long while after, you can’t get a word out. You shiver and sob as Aaron scoops you into his chest, his nose in your shoulder waiting for you to calm down. He rubs your waist, fingers parted and waving slowly as he shushes you. Not to make you stop, though. He’s reassuring.

“What happened at the gala?” he asks quietly.

“It’s so stupid.”

“No, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

You wrap your arms around his head. It really is stupid, you feel smaller than an ant under the shadow of a giant heel. Aaron doesn’t waver when you struggle to answer, feeling around behind you for a pillow and helping you against it. He kisses your forehead. “Let me get you something to wear.”

You catch his wrist. “It wasn’t you, wasn’t–” You lift your chin.

He kisses you. “Okay,” he says simply. “Let’s get dressed.”

He dresses quickly, bringing you underwear and one of your sleep shirts, a loose fit. You shuffle into them and watch him patiently as he cleans the small mess of the evening away. You’re sniffling softly when he returns to you, sitting with his back to your thighs.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if I read things wrong. I never would’ve initiated anything if I knew you were feeling like this.”

You laugh weakly, worriedly, looking at him through your lashes. “It made me feel better,” you admit.

“If this is better, you must’ve been feeling awful.”

You relax as he puts his hand on your thigh.

“In the time I left you to talk to Strauss, something upset you. JJ and Morgan didn’t see you. So someone in the gala said something or did something that made you leave. If you tell me who it was, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’re trying to bargain with me,” you mumble.

“I’m just telling you what can be done. I can take care of things.”

“It’s nothing… nothing so severe. You’ll wonder why I–” You give an unexpected sob. “Made all this fuss.”

“I don’t think I’ll wonder,” he says.

You laugh through tears. These ones are slow, your eyes already itchy from crying.

“Please tell me.” He tries teasing instead of sternness, lowering his face to yours. “Or I’ll cry too.”

“Aaron.”

“I will. You think I can’t, but seeing you crying like this, it’s more than enough ammunition.”

You let out a breath, admitting defeat. “Your friend, Clint? I overheard him with his wife. He didn’t have very nice things to say about me.”

“What could he possibly have to say?” Aaron asks with a frown.

You pull the sheets up your legs. “He said I’m… unbelievable, and I don’t think he meant it kindly. Said that I’m not your type, and that I… I had no chance of measuring up, because of who you’ve been with before. They were laughing about our wedding photos.” Your throat feels pressed into by a hot poker. “They said we were the gentleman and the tramp.”

His eyes squint. He looks disgusted, and for an uncomfortable moment you feel like it might be directed at you, but then he scoffs. “What a crock of shit.”

“Aaron!” you laugh.

“What could Clint McMoore possibly know about marriage? This is his fourth wife. And to imply that you’re any sort of calibre below the women I’ve dated before isn’t just misogynistic nonsense, it’s not true. You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and what’s that supposed to mean, gentlemen and the tramp?” He gives you such an earnest glare of confusion that you can’t for a second doubt what it is he’s saying. “I’m sorry, honey, I think he’s allowed himself a few too many nightcaps over the years. Perhaps he’s suffered a stroke.”

“Aaron, don’t say that,” you chide, secretly very pleased.

“Our wedding photos,” he says, his hand drifting further down your leg to rest just shy of somewhere more intimate, “are beautiful. You look beautiful. Clint would’ve writhed in jealousy in the pews if he’d been invited, because he would’ve seen it for himself.”

“I just sat there while they laughed at me,” you mumble.

“What were you supposed to do?” His hand travels out, to your hip, and then he holds you by the waist with both of his hands. They have a way of making you feel encapsulated, big and strong and careful on the bump of your hips.

“I don’t know.”

“Nothing,” he says, meeting your eyes with his usual tender-hearted compassion. “You weren’t supposed to do or say anything.” Aaron appears younger than he is for a second, his eyebrows raised, eyes big and brown as they track over your lips. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise he was like that. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“I guess I’m just worried he’s right.”

“He’s not right. You are everything to me.” Again, he puts weight on the word, roughly said, like it takes a lot from him to say it. “I’m lucky to have been with women who were beautiful, and intelligent, but if there’s a question of you measuring up, there’s no competition. I’ve never been this in love.”

You take a shaky breath. “Never?” you ask.

He holds your gaze. “I knew it when we met. That's why I couldn’t wait to ask you to marry me.”

“You said you weren’t getting any younger.”

“Well, I’m not, but not everything’s about my age, you know,” he says, giving your waist a playful squeeze.

”You said it.”

“I did. That felt easier to say than, if I don’t marry you soon I might implode,” —he shuffles forward, encroaching on your legs and pressing his lips to your cheek— “would’ve just,” —he kisses your cheek, before turning your head— “wasted all that time waiting for someone else’s idea of the right time,” —and he kisses the other cheek, his nose skirting up your face— “wishing I was your husband when I could just,” —he smiles into your eyebrow as his hand slips under your shirt, holding your bare back— “ask.”

“I’m glad you asked me.”

You’d cried then, too, but it was less to do with a rush of adrenaline that knocked you out of balance and more to do with how lovingly he’d taken your hand as he asked. You knew from that moment on that someone was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. He’s doing it right now.

“I love you,” you say, forcing your arms over his shoulders.

He pulls you in so much that you lift from the mattress.

“I love you. Are you sure it wasn’t me that upset you? I have to check.”

“No. What you did to me wasn’t particularly upsetting.”

He laughs. “Are you sure? You can look a little teary–”

You shush him quickly.

He tips your head to the side to kiss your ear. “Maybe next time, you can tell me about whatever upset you beforehand.”

“And you can make me feel even better.”

His laugh is nearly inaudible, but his lips are by the side of your head. You hear it, the warmth of his breath kissing the shell of your ear.

—

Aaron likes to see you in your sweatpants. You look nice in everything, especially your dresses for the evening events he often drags you to, but he likes it when you wear sweatpants because it opens a window. You’ve purchased the wrong size, too big and too long, but you’ve tied them at the waist and you make do. You’re wearing the big shirt he helped you into the night before, sitting on the couch with your ferried breakfast.

The night before has been washed away, no sign of tears or upset. You have a clean, bright face, one he’d quite like to kiss, or hold, or have pressed to his neck, but none of this is unusual. Your eyes look sore, if he really looks. He’ll make you a compress after breakfast.

Dropped off by Jess an hour ago, Jack sits beside you picking at the breakfast tray. You’re sharing a plate. You don’t ever mind.

“Are you eating that one?” you ask.

Jack immediately nudges half of a chocolate chip pancake your way. “Was the gala fun?”

“Uh, sure. Saw your dad’s friends. But they had a weird thing with the caterers and we had to get dinner on the way home.”

“You could’ve made dad cook.”

“I guess, but we were tired. What did you have for dinner?”

“Jess made spicy chicken. It was amazing.” Jack squints at you. “Your eyes are puffy, Y/N. Are you sick?”

“I think I might be a little. Not enough to make you sick too, don’t worry.”

Aaron piles the last of the pancakes onto a plate and carries them to you in the living room. “Here, you two.”

“Did you eat?” you ask.

He loves you, bending over to kiss your forehead right in the middle. “Yes.”

“How come they didn’t have dinner at the gala, dad? I thought that was the whole point,” Jack says.

He sits down next to Jack on the couch. You cut a big square of pancake and grin at him, seemingly pleased with your breakfast and Jack’s sense of humour.

“It was a disaster, that’s all. No food, barely any wine, and terrible, awful company.”

“I thought Miss Jareau went?”

“She did. But besides her and a handful of others, it was a party for sad old people.”

“And you didn’t have fun?” Jack asks.

You laugh so hard tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Aaron cups Jack’s shoulder, surprised when his son doesn’t duck away from the touch. The older he gets the less affection he requires, so it’s nice for Aaron to hug him sideways and be allowed, better that you finish your choking laugh with a hug of your own. “Jack, thank you for that. I think you cured whatever illness I had,” you say.

“Hey,” Aaron says.

You run your hand up his neck. Your wedding ring catches against his jaw.

“It was worth going, though, to see your step-mom in her nice dress,” Aaron says, peeling away from Jack so he has room to breathe.

Jack turns to you, and his smile is audible, “Do you have any pictures?”

“I didn’t take any, sorry.”

“Just think of her now but in a dress, and that’s how beautiful she looked,” Aaron says.

“Dad, don’t be gross,” Jack says, cutting into the pancakes with his fork.

“It’s not gross, it’s just a fact.” Jack drops pancake down his front. Warm chocolate chips stain his t-shirt. “Missed your mouth, bud. I’ll get a rag.”

He’s up as quickly as he sat down, running his fingers along your arm and to the palm of your hand, touching you until he can’t. He heads back into the kitchen. His phone is beeping on the table, screen flashing with each new text.

Penelope: boss, I think the thing you asked for is illegal

Penelope: also, I assume you were kidding?

Penelope: so while making it that every link on McMoore’s computer freezes the desktop would’ve been very very funny, I didn’t do that

Aaron had been kidding, emphatically, because illegal activities aren’t his style. It was a sarcastic suggestion, and yet he’s disappointed nonetheless.

Penelope: I just signed him up for a bunch of recovering narcissists forums and an email subscription for self help, and maybe also a free online class about manners and etiquette

Penelope: And I ordered that big canvas for you. It was the one of you guys cutting the cake, right?

Aaron texts her back quickly: Thank you, Penelope. I couldn’t work out the dimensions online.

Penelope: You’re welcome! I live to serve :D

The canvas will look good in the entryway, Aaron believes. Somewhere you can see it, and remember exactly what it is he thinks of you; his eyes glowing with love where he’d been staring at your face, his hand guided yours atop the knife as he traced your features, and you cut that first, fat slice of cake.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

thanks so much for reading! please think about commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed I love knowing what you think!❤️

also small note: this fic is in no way meant to diminish haley im a haley supporter usually (these days at least!) and I just didn’t mention her for brevity’s sake

#aaron hotchner x reader

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angrygalaxyduck · 19 days ago

Note

Have you done a drabble on Reid and bombshell r wedding day?? I just read the proposal one and :(( it warms my heart

Ty for requesting!!! fem

The morning of your wedding day isn’t the chaos you’d both pictured. Spencer wears the finest suit he’s ever had. You wear a white silk dress with drops of diamonds hanging in your hair like the rain. There are no morning drinks, no catastrophes to correct.

You sit on a chaise lounge. He sits in a wooden chair, dragged to you, his hands on your knees careful not to wrinkle the skirt of your dress.

“It's so quiet,” he whispers.

“I know.”

Somewhere in the venue, Penelope and Luke are waging war on the florists —you did not order yellow geraniums. Hotch is explaining to Jack that you and Spencer met years ago, and have been smitten with one another pretty much every moment since. Derek’s cradling his toddler before he takes stage as the best man. JJ, Emily, and Tara are debating the kiss; will you make a show of things, pulling him in by the tie for a smacker, or will Spencer tame the excitement?

There’s a whole team of people making sure today goes smoothly. And still, Spencer‘s worried about some thing.

“You know how beautiful you look?”

“I should say that to you.” You reach for his tie, rolling it gently between your fingers. “My beautiful husband.”

“This is… I don’t really know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Spence.” Anything he has to say about you, you know it all. The same way you’ve told him every thought you’ve had about him for years. He’s part of your psyche.

“I’m so nervous about my vows,” he confesses then.

“Don’t be.”

“What if yours are better than mine?”

“They will be.” You raise your hand tentatively to his face, fingertips drawing in the hollow of his cheek. “But you’re the academic, baby…”

“I can write them again.”

You smile at him keenly. “If you don’t like them, you can try again on our anniversary. Or in a few years when we renew them, yeah? It doesn’t have to be perfect. You’ve promised me all this stuff for years.”

“My speech isn’t good enough, either.”

“Your speech will be perfect. It’s Morgan’s you should worry about, he’s gonna rehash all the embarrassing things… Savannah said he’s been practicing when Hank’s sleeping. That he,” —you laugh, in love with not just Spencer but the world— “keeps waking him up laughing at his own jokes.”��

Spencer dips toward you at the sound of your laughing, he can’t help himself. “If it didn’t wrinkle your dress, I’d really try to have you in my lap,” he admits in a whisper, nothing salacious, just the honest truth. “We could sit on the floor, like we did that time in New York.”

“Where would we get dessert now?”

“That’s what we’ll do tonight, right?” He looks for your thigh in the dress, squeezing nicely.

“Yeah, Spence. Yeah, I’ll even put the dress back on.” You tilt your chin up and follow your nose down, meeting his gaze with an unnamed emotion. Total devotion, perhaps. Something too soft to describe accurately. “We’ll share the spoon, just like New York.”

Three kisses and a careful hug, his hair tickling your forehead as he curls over you. “This is the best day of my life.”

“It’s the best day of mine!” You let your hands climb his back, aiming for the mop of his hair to play with. “You’re everything, sweetheart. You’re just perfect. I can’t believe you’re seeing me in my dress though, everybody says that’s bad luck.”

But you and Spencer don’t worry about what everybody says anymore. Not for a long time.

“It’s good to see it now. I… I know I’ll cry, but this is taking the edge off.”

“Don’t cry, honey. You’ll make me cry, and if I cry up there I’m gonna feel so silly all day.”

“Silly,” he says, beginning to rub your back in swoops. “If you don’t cry, I might feel jilted.”

“So I have to choose between mortal embarrassment or hurting my husband?”

He hugs you tighter. You aren’t married yet, but by the end of the night you will be. You’ll order desserts to the hotel room and sit in his lap on the floor by the heater, your white dress surely wrinkled, his tie either side of his neck, undone, neck exposed to be caressed with the tip of your nose.

“I can’t not cry,” he says now. “Don’t expect me not to.”

“I don’t really expect you not to.” And no one will expect it of you when you cry like a child as he slips on your ring, but it makes sense to him. You and Spencer always make sense to each other.

#spencer reid x reader

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angrygalaxyduck · 21 days ago

Text

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room.

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves them.

He takes a deep breath. He struggles to breath through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few big, achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls.

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man came to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay.

Maybe Hotch will come to see him. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends less time in the office now, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case.

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him?

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens.

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway.

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re possibly the prettiest woman he’s ever met. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates.

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.”

You pull away. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office? It’s funny because you’d never date him.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.”

“They cut my hair?” he croaks.

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…”

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows.

“You look different than the last time I saw you.”

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit.

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the entire world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets.

Your fingers slip into his with ease.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves.

“Of course you can.”

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…”

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?”

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart.

“What happened to you?” he asks.

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask.

“What…”

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes.

“Uh…”

“Spencer?”

He feels sick to his stomach. Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap.

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says.

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.”

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.”

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously.

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing.

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again.

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks.

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap.

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.”

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek.

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.”

“But I do eventually?”

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly.

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer, but whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.”

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says.

“Sort of,” Spencer says.

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then.

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks.

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?”

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks.

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.”

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag.

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it.

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer.

“Uh.”

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says.

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.”

“You dog,” Derek says.

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.”

“I do know you,” Spencer says.

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table.

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.”

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says.

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.”

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.”

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.”

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“We’re never apart?” he asks.

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks.

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze.

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks.

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too.

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.”

“We do?”

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can be bothered. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.”

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.”

“How do you love?”

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day. “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.”

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says.

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh.

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.”

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger.

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into.

“Can I ask you something?” you ask.

“Anything.”

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams.

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.”

“Who wouldn’t like you?”

“But did you?”

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.”

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it was real. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.”

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?”

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily.

“What do you think?”

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re, like, the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.”

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh.

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you.

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock.

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly.

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve–”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?”

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.”

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile.

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?”

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?”

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on.

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space.

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss.

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely.

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him.

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!”

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.”

“Some of it’s still hazy. But not so much you.”

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?”

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.”

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.”

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.”

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so tricky now.”

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

#spencer reid x reader

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angrygalaxyduck · 21 days ago

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today i am thankful for the existence of this photo.

#criminal minds #spencer reid

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angrygalaxyduck · 21 days ago

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It’s Golden, Like Daylight

Out of panic, you introduce Spencer as your boyfriend to your life-long situationship. Next thing you know, Spencer is your plus one at your friend’s wedding. There, the pieces start to fall right into place. [ 14.8k ]

Includes fem reader; roommate Spence; fake dating; awkward flirting; sexual tension; very heated make-out; food and alcohol consumption; smut.

The dress' zipper was stuck midway, and you weren’t flexible enough to reach it.

“Shit.” You muttered under your breath, twisting your arms behind you like a pretzel—one from above and the other from underneath. Your fingertips barely grazed the zip, and the sweat and frustration were already leaking out of your pores.

“You okay?” Spencer asked from behind the tall dressing room curtain.

“I think I’m stuck,” you replied in a whiny tone.

“Do you need help? Should I call someone?”

“You get in here.”

“Uh…” he hesitated for a moment before he dragged open the curtain just enough to reveal his big eyes.

“Quick!” You yanked him inside by his wrist.

“Okay, okay!” He clumsily obeyed. “Chill out.”

“Don’t ‘chill out’ me. Help me.” You stood in front of him, giving him your back. “It won’t go up or down.”

You watched him through the mirror as he hunched over to get a better look at the problem. “It’s… eating the fabric. Hold on.”

Great.

An exhausted puff of air escaped you.

This was the fourth dress already and neither fitted right. You were on the verge of a breakdown by now, and the constant stinging at the back of your eyes had you blinking up to the ceiling way too much. Mostly because of the dresses, but also because of the reason you were shopping for one in the first place.

One of your best friends was getting married next weekend and the news hit you like a truck. If it had happened at any other point, you would’ve jumped around to celebrate, but you’d been so close to hitting rock bottom lately that getting her invitation almost dragged you down completely.

This was not about you—you kept repeating yourself—nothing ever was, but it felt like the world was conspiring against you. Everyone around seemed to have their shit together all of a sudden. They kept moving forward, making permanent life decisions, having babies, moving abroad with the love of their life… you were at that age, where the in-between felt much like a failure, and it all started six months ago when your dream job was taken away from you out of nowhere. And while some people your age were buying houses, you were forced to move out of your old apartment since you couldn’t afford a place on your own anymore. Even a studio apartment the size of a matchbox was too expensive, so your only option was to move into a place with two men to save some money.

It was the only post available on Craigslist that came close to your budget.

(You were hesitant about it at first, but after meeting up, you admitted they weren’t bad at all. One of them was gay—Ethan—and the other too smart and a germaphobe—Spencer—so neither would dare to touch you inappropriately, which was your biggest concern about living with men you didn’t know. The place had nice natural lighting, smelled good, and had a great location, near a hospital and public transportation. And although the room available was smaller than how it looked in the pictures, you couldn’t complain. It fit your double bed and had a private bathroom.)

So, you took it.

At that moment, every dream you once had was ripped out of the picture and now you were living aimlessly—no purpose whatsoever. It was so bad that sharing a home with two guys became the most exciting thing in your day-to-day life. Their company healed you a little every day without even noticing. With the occasional movie nights, random parties at home with poker (strip poker if you were drunk enough) just the three of you plus whatever guy Ethan was seeing at the moment; shared joints on the balcony or rooftop, or drinking some beer while watching a random soccer game that only Ethan truly enjoyed. They were the reason you smiled at least once a day and it was impossible not to bond with them.

Naturally, Ethan and Spencer became two of your closest friends.

Which was enough reason for Spencer to be fingers deep inside the back of your dress.

“Almost there,” Spencer said before a harsh snap blared around.

“Did you tear it?!” You peeked at him over your shoulder.

“It’s perfectly fine, don’t worry.”

You let out a relieved sigh. You were free at last.

“Thanks.” You kept the dress in place with both palms over your chest and locked eyes with him through the mirror.

“Don’t you have a similar one at home?” Spencer quirked his brows. “Looks like the one you used for your date the other day. How did it go? By the way?”

Turning on your heels to face him, you said, “Awful,” while wrinkling your nose.

“Oh.” He frowned, pursing his lips.

“Would you choose a dress for me, please?” You were quick to change the subject. You were also at that age where most dates were a waste of time. “I’ll buy the one you like the most. I wanna go already.”

“I really like the first one.” He nodded, flashing a tight smile.

That was the one you had liked the least. The silky fabric was nice, but the vintage flower pattern wasn’t something you’d normally wear.

“Really?”

“It’s classic. And elegant. Something Princess Diana would’ve worn on a casual summer night,” he paused for a moment, sticking the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, then said, half smiling, “Expensive looking.”

You smiled back at his sweet comparison. He often saw things so much differently as you did, so maybe that was the dress meant for you.

“And it’s all about the accessories you wear, too,” he confidently added.

“I really liked the third one,” you said.

“I don’t know. It was too short.”

“What? You don’t want me showin’ a little skin?” You teased him in your gremlin voice.

“I…” an adorable laugh rolled off his chest. That voice always made him laugh. “It’s not really wedding-appropriate.”

You pursed your lips and said, “Fine,” gently scooching him out of the room.

Once back into your normal clothes, you headed out to return all the rejected dresses to their corresponding section. You were probably going to wear the one Spencer mentioned you had at home, anyway.

You were about to go to the cashier when a familiar voice called your name from somewhere behind you. You froze and your mind got polluted with memories in an instant. It was the voice of someone you had buried very deeply a long time ago.

You gulped and pretended you didn’t hear, searching for Spencer with your eyes, but your name was called again. Louder. Even Spencer—who you caught at the other side of the shop in the tie section—heard, turning his head towards you and looking past your shoulder.

Your name was called again, this time right behind you. You gathered courage through a deep breath and turned around. It was Jake, your life-long situationship (until a year ago), and his girlfriend (the one he started dating soon after you ended things).

“Hey,” you said so out of breath and so not interested.

“Wow,” he sort of laughed. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

You merely nodded, raising your brows indifferently. The amount of times you had fantasized about this moment back when you still loved him, and now that you had finally gotten over him, there he was in front of you. Now that you had nothing to say.

“Who is she?” his girlfriend subtly asked him.

He introduced you with a stutter, followed by, “She’s an old friend.”

You scoffed. Did he have amnesia all of a sudden? Yes, he was your friend for over four years, but then he wasn’t. After a drunken night, an unlabeled something emerged and lasted for two—almost three—years. While being with him, your light faded. You often wondered if he was ashamed of you; if he thought of you as not enough—not smart enough, not pretty enough, not hard-working enough. He never held your hand in public, only wanted you behind closed doors, and would raise his voice at you out of nowhere. And the many times you asked him What are we? He managed to change the subject in one way or another.

Pathetic.

“Are you going to Shay’s wedding?” He asked.

“Of course.” You remained expressionless. You weren’t about to give him the pleasure of seeing anything other than disinterest from you. “She’s one of my best friends.”

“So, you're a bridesmaid,” he said matter-of-factly.

Folding your arms over your chest, you confidently answered, “She’s not having bridesmaids.”

Shay had said it was a small wedding, and that she was only going to have a maid of honor; her sister.

“Uh, yeah she is?” Jake gestured at his girlfriend with his brows. “Poppy here is one.” What? “She already got the dress.”

Your eyes darted down at the bag she was holding, a light lavender fabric peeked. That was Shay’s favorite color.

“You ready?” Spencer stealthily appeared and stood tall next to you.

“Spence.” You breathed out and held his arm, begging to be saved.

“What are you doing?” He asked under his breath.

“Spencer, this is Jake, an old friend,” You quoted Jake's exact words and tone. “Jake, this is Spencer, my boyfriend.”

Those two words came out without any thought behind them. Confident and so smooth. No idea where that came from, but it was out, and Jake's face melted, giving you a tinge of satisfaction.

Very subtly, you pinched the inside of Spencer’s arm hoping he’d get the signal and he waved at them with a tight-lipped smile.

“Hey.” Jake merely raised his brows as a greeting and clenched his jaw. “So I guess I’ll be seeing you, too, at the wedding?”

Spencer frowned at you.

“Well.” You looked up at him. “Spencer might have to work, we don’t know yet.” You had never doubted his profiling skills, even though you didn’t understand how it exactly worked but you just hoped it was similar to mind-reading. Just play along, Spencer. “His schedule is always so unpredictable.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you do?” Jake asked him.

“Uh,” Spencer cleared his throat. “I work for the FBI.”

“You don’t seem like you’d be a fed,” Jake sort of laughed, leaning on Poppy for approval.

“I know,” Spencer replied as he reached inside his pocket to quickly flash his badge. “Most people don’t believe me.”

Jake’s jaw clenched again.

“He works at the Behavioral Analysis Unit,” you chimed in like the proud girlfriend you suddenly were. “They want him because of his beautiful, gifted brain.”

“Right.” Jake raised his brows, his eyes ping-ponging from you to Spencer as if he was trying to study everything about you two.

“Well, we’re kind of in a hurry.” You reached for Spencer’s hand. “See you next weekend.”

You led the way out of the situation and continued your walk to the cashier.

“What was that about?” Spencer subtly asked.

“I panicked,” you looked up at him and winced with guilt.

He didn’t seem mad, just… confused. “Who is he? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You didn’t mind, but Jake wasn’t someone worth talking about. It would be a waste of time and saliva.

“It’s a long story,” you merely said.

By the time the dress was paid for and inside a paper bag, you met Spencer outside the shop. He’d put his sunglasses on and rolled up his sleeves.

Right then, you realized: Spencer was way cuter than Jake. Plus, that move he made of showing off his badge made you both proud and flustered.

“Thank you for playing along.” You bumped your arm with his as you made your way across the street.

“Didn’t have much of a choice. I’m pretty sure my arm is gonna be bruised by tonight.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby.” You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t pinch you that hard.”

Five sunny blocks later, you stopped at an ice cream shop and ordered chocolate chips for both. One of the few things you had in common with him was your go-to ice cream flavor.

While you went for an immediate lick, Spencer asked for a tiny spoon.

“Would you go with me, then?” You asked once outside the store.

“What? The wedding?”

You nodded, giving your ice cream another lick.

“If you want me to, yeah. I’ll have to ask for a day off or two.”

“And would you be willing to act like my boyfriend?” Your voice sort of faded.

“What are you trying to prove?” He asked, his attention trained in the ice cream.

“That I’m enough to be someone’s girlfriend, I guess.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

You huffed out an annoyed breath. “Spence—“

“Fine! I’ll go.”

“Thank you.” You sighed and tied your next words with enthusiasm, attempting to make a good thing out of it. “You have a bunch of suits so you won’t have to shop for anything.”

“Where’s the wedding?” He asked.

“New Hampshire. The countryside.” Not your favorite. “It’s gonna be hot so maybe you shouldn’t wear one of those suits with many many layers.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“I’m sorry I’m making you spend money on this,” you said to Spencer, taking two steps on the airport line, ID and tickets in hand.

You couldn’t help but feel guilty about it, even when you were well aware he had no trouble with spending money. His job paid well and when you first heard how much money he made, you wondered why he chose to live with two other people instead of renting a place alone.

I don’t like coming back from work to an empty home, was his honest answer. It was adorable and easy to assume he wanted to have a family someday.

“Oh, you’re not making me do anything,” he replied nonchalantly. “I agreed to come.”

“How many days off do you have?” you asked through a yawn. You’d come straight from your shift at work and the exhaustion was already reaching your bones.

“A week.” Spencer's tone emanated a tinge of surprise.

“That’s… a lot.” You frowned.

“I haven’t taken a vacation in over two years so I had quite a few days accumulated. I still do. ”

“I only have the weekend.” It was a relatively new job, so you didn’t dare to ask for an extra day off. “But I’m sure you can stay there with my friend without me. So you can enjoy the place.”

“I might go to New York, actually.”

“Oh,” you replied, taken aback. He had already made plans without you. “That’s… perfect.”

Soon, your turn came and the flight attendant scanned your tickets, motioning to go straight ahead. You continued your walk through the boarding bridge and your pulse quickened with each step that took you closer and closer to the plane. You would’ve much preferred to spend some more money on a car rental, but Shay had bought you the plane ticket without a particular reason (you suspected it was her guilt for not making you a bridesmaid) so you had no other choice.

Deep breaths.

“And you do know the main reason you’re here is to act like my boyfriend, right?” You repeatedly kicked your knee against your bag.

“Uh, yeah? That’s what we agreed on.”

“Just wanted to make sure. We might have to act differently, and the place… it’s a small town. Boring. Nothing to do.”

“Oh, I love small towns.”

You didn’t. Small towns take the gossiper side out of people. And you, bringing Spencer, was definitely going to be in people’s mouths.

You reached the plane and your heart rate spiked to its limit. You tripped as you stepped a foot in. “Crap.”

Spencer was quick to keep your balance by holding you by your elbow from behind. “You okay?” He asked.

All you did was nod.

The musty smell hit you right away, and no amount of aerosol disinfectant could get rid of the evidence of the hoard of people that had just gotten off. It made you uneasy, and what topped the awfulness of it all was your seat. Right next to the wing.

Spencer put your bags in the overhead compartment and settled next to you. “You sure you’re okay?” He fastened his seatbelt.

“Yeah, I just…” You blew out a breath. “Hate flying.”

“Why?” He asked. You shot him a glare and wiped it off right away. His look was curious. He wasn’t judging, just wondering. “Do you want to change seats?”

You shook your head. “Just the thought of being in the air in a small place and no exit to steady ground in case of… an emergency I— I don’t know. Every time I’m on a plane I can smell death.”

“Flying is safer than driving,” he began. “The overall fatality risk is zero point twenty-three percent. You would have to fly every day for more than ten thousand years to be in a fatal plane crash. If you want a comparison, the chances of dying in a car crash are one in a hundred and one.”

“Mh.” You shut your eyes, a tight knot forming in your stomach. “I appreciate that but it’s not helping.”

Spencer sighed and reached for your hand, enveloping your tight fist. “It’s only an hour and seventeen minutes flight.”

He didn’t let it go until you decided to. His hand remained on top of yours—now more relaxed—from the moment the plane took off, even when it got a bit sweaty at some point. It was a smooth flight for the first twenty minutes, then a big gray cloud got in the way. It shook the plane and you clung to Spencer’s entire side—arm and leg wrapped around his arm and leg.

“Imagine we’re inside jello,” Spencer said close to your ear.

“Huh?!” You breathed agitatedly. Your stomach was twisting.

“I wish I had one with me but use your imagination. Close your eyes,” he softly said, waiting for you to obey. You also let go of his body and went back to a more appropriate position. “Picture a pea inside jello. If you shake it, the pea it’s gonna move but it won’t fall through. It’s the same with us right now. We’re the pea and the pressure around the plane is the jello keeping us from free-falling. It’s quite literally impossible for the plane to fall. It’s physics.”

“I wasn’t very good at physics at school,” you managed to reply. His voice soothed you. “But… It makes sense. I think?”

When it happened again, you thought of yourself as a pea in jello.

Rural New Hampshire had its charm during Spring.

Big, leafy trees welcomed you as soon as you hit the road from the airport, and they stunningly surrounded almost every street; the blooming flowers scattered everywhere painted the place with their vibrant colors; the rivers flowing with crystal clear water made you want to get in and soak your feet… It was beautiful, really, the perfect place to spend the weekend, yet you couldn’t help but feel gloomy as you now stood in front of Shay’s parents' (vacation) house—a big ‘on sale’ sign planted in the garden.

The trunk of the taxi slammed shut and Spencer made it next to you with your luggage in each hand.

“Are we going in or—”

“Give me a minute,” you cut him off with a harsher tone than intended.

A cloud of dust arose around you as the taxi drove off, and you didn’t bother to wave the air in front of you to avoid inhaling it. You hoped you’d choke on it. All you were thinking of was how you wouldn’t be a bridesmaid but a total stranger to her—Jake's girlfriend—was.

The porch door swung open and there was Shay and her big smile approaching you with open arms.

“I imagined you’d be more thrilled about seeing your best friend,” Spencer commented quietly enough.

Shay squealed your name and ran to you, going for a hug you didn’t feel like returning.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said, tightening the hug.

“Missed you too.” You forcefully wrapped your arms around her.

Your gut got filled with butterflies—the heavy and horrible kind. Spencer was right, you weren’t thrilled about seeing your best friend at all.

She let go of you and her eyes immediately darted to Spencer. You’d told her you were bringing someone, but you didn’t mention who. It’d been a while since you two last updated each other about life so she didn’t even know about how atrocious yours had been for the past six months, let alone the fact you’d moved in with two strangers.

“Uh, this is Spencer, my boyfriend,” you introduced him as the person he was here to be.

Spencer waved at her with a thin smile.

“Boyfriend?” She gave him a toothy grin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, we haven’t been together that long.” Spencer reached for your hand and glanced at you as he said, “How long has it been?”

“A week today.” You intertwined your fingers with his.

A week today you’d asked him to come here with you, so it made sense.

“Aw, so it’s like your weekiversary,” Shay smiled before turning on her feet to lead the way inside her home.

“You okay?” Spencer asked under his breath, giving your hand two gentle squeezes.

“Yeah.”

You had to be.

You let go of his hand and followed Shay as she guided you up the stairs to your room for the night.

“It’s not big but has a private bathroom.” She stood by the door while you and Spencer settled your bags.

Awesome, Spencer’s face said, and went to check it right away.

“Hey.” Shay placed a soft hand on your arm, gently squeezing it. “About Poppy being a bridesmaid—”

“Don’t worry about it.” You cut her off. Just hearing that name stirred your blood. And you didn’t want to hear her excuse.

“You’re not mad?” Her brows knitted together with guilt.

“I’m hurt.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “But I’m sure you have your reasons. I just… don’t want to hear them right now.”

Or ever.

“Okay,” she replied quietly. She knew she’d fucked up. Spencer came out of the bathroom and she rearranged her features, appearing more perky. “Are you guys hungry?” Shay continued her tour down to the kitchen and offered you some of the cupcake samples that weren’t chosen for the wedding. Then, she excused herself since she had one last dinner with her fiancé as an unmarried couple and her parents. “We’re staying at a hotel and I’m getting ready there for the wedding tomorrow, so don’t wait for me.” Shay glanced at her Apple watch and then at you. “And no one really lives here anymore so you have the entire house all for yourselves.” She rounded the kitchen island where you were sitting and kissed your cheek on her way out.

Soon after Shay left, you and Spencer agreed to enjoy the few hours you had left of sunlight outdoors and changed your airport outfit to a light sundress, keeping the sneakers.

There was no particular destination whatsoever, you just walked instinctively, following the dirt path surrounded by trees and with the soon-to-be setting sun right in your faces.

“Is something going on with you and your friend?” Spencer asked, both hands inside his pocket. “I noticed some… tension.”

You took a deep breath. You wondered how obvious it was or if it was his profiler skills that gave it away.

“She told me she wasn’t having bridesmaids,” you began, taking another deep breath before continuing. Spencer carefully listened to you talk all about your history with her. From the moment you two became friends in high school, graduation, the first time getting drunk, plans you’d made together but never went through with any of them, first boyfriends… Every single moment that made her your friend, until now. “Then I hear from my ex that she is having bridesmaids and that his new girlfriend is one. I’m not sure how to feel about it. A part of me thinks I’m exaggerating but…”

You’d reached a small river by then and were now leaning against a tree. Its leafy branches fell perfectly to block the bright sunbeams from your eyes, allowing you to look around without shades.

“It’s not an exaggeration at all,” Spencer said. “It’s definitely something you two need to talk about eventually, and I’m not saying you should end the friendship, but it sounds to me like you need to make new friends.” He lifted his glasses to his head and gave you an honest glare.

The nature around shifted the color of his eyes, making them look more greenish instead of the light brown you were accustomed to.

“Well, I have you.” You gently nudged his arm.

Spencer scrunched up his nose. “You need more friends than just me and Ethan. People that don’t live with you and would actually make you a bridesmaid at their wedding.”

You shot him a threatening glance and took a few steps away from him, farther down to the shore of the river. He didn’t have to be that honest.

“There’s not much I can do now,” you shrugged it off. “I’m here for her, at her wedding, and I’m gonna show up as a simple guest that’s there to have fun.”

“And I’m gonna be there next to you.” Spencer reached your side, his upper arm brushing your shoulder. You smiled. He was someone worth keeping around. “So, uh, the guy from the other day was your ex-boyfriend?”

You didn’t even notice that information had slipped out. You had no other choice than to talk about him. Sort of.

“Not really, but we had something,” was all you gave him. Spencer was never pushy when it came to your feelings, so he let the topic go.

A soft breeze swirled around, playing with the ends of your dress. Your mind switched gears with it and soon, you decided you weren’t the bitter and the forgotten friend anymore.

“I feel like I need to know more things about you if we’re going to pretend to be together.” You turned to face Spencer. “We weren’t very convincing.”

“Was I too cold?”

“We both were.” You looked up at him. The wind was having fun playing with his hair, too. “What’s your love language?”

He smiled, nodding to himself for a moment with a faraway look. “Uh, physical touch.”

“But you hate being touched,” you were quick to say.

“It’s not that I hate it? I just don’t think it’s ever necessary, especially with strangers. But with the person I like” —his smile widened— ”it’s different.”

You hummed. “I think it’s gonna be weird if we’re this distant, then.” You gestured at the space between you two. “If we’re not gonna kiss, we have to at least be touchy enough.”

“I— I don’t mind.” He gulped.

“Which part?” You smirked. “Kissing or being touchy?”

Gulping once more, he added, “Uh, neither part. I told you you could count on me.”

You made a small choking sound, not quite a laugh, turning your face away allowing the heat to rush to your cheeks—Spencer Reid wouldn’t mind kissing you and it made you a bit giddy.

You looked at him again and sighed.

The thing about Spencer was that you liked him, from the very first moment. He wasn’t hard on the eyes and you’ve thought about him as a man once or twice. Not a brother or a friend. A man, who you’ve seen naturally flirt (in his own style) with some girl at a bar you’d dragged him into; a man who was soft-spoken, honest—too honest sometimes—and carried himself with confidence most of the time; a man who didn’t hesitate to go with you to the store from around the corner in the middle of the night because you had a craving—you missed him a lot when he was away for a few days in a row because of a case (craving or not). He was a good man, and those were rare in your life.

Call it an innocent crush, which was more intense in the beginning, but it still settled somewhere not that deep inside you.

“Should we practice, then?” You half-joked.

“R-Right now?” his voice came out slightly high-pitched.

You swore his cheeks got tainted with the faintest shade of pink that wasn’t there seconds ago.

“Yeah, just one soft peck.” You shrugged. A kiss from sweet Spencer would brush away your bitterness forever. You closed the gap between you two and stood in front of him, playfully batting your lashes. “So?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and the pink on his cheeks turned glowy. It wasn’t the first time you’d made him blush. Those times often involved you walking around the house with your non-existent pajamas (a big T that went barely under your butt and underwear).

This was different, though. You were fully clothed with just a few honest words.

Clutching his waist by his shirt, you took the initiative and gathered confidence, bringing him closer. “Come on, no one’s around.”

“Yeah.” He let out a breathy laugh. “That’s the problem.”

Your mouth hung open for a moment and laughed too. “What does that mean?”

He licked his lips and cupped your face with gentle hands—hands that almost took up your entire face. He kept his lips tense, as if holding back a smile, and scanned your face up and down. His eyes had now shifted to their natural color, or maybe it was his large pupils that made them look darker.

“Now I’m not so sure if we should.” His eyes lingered on your lips.

“Why? Are you scared of falling in love?” You used your gremlin voice and made sure to keep your bottom lip tucked in your teeth with the last word.

He laughed a little, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly and he leaned until your noses touched. Your breath hitched and you were just as flustered as him at the snap of a finger.

He was a different kind of pretty from up close.

“Remind me again why are we doing this?” He dodged your question with a question, his breath fanning your lips.

Your knees went weak and you barely managed to say, “I honestly don’t know anymore.”

You would’ve never thought Spencer could make you this nervous, but there you were, legs quivering at his proximity.

Proximity you had asked for.

He said nothing, just smirked while leaning until your lips touched with a soft peck that lasted a second. Tentative. Nothing out of this world, yet your heart was trying to flutter out of your chest. He stayed there, a kiss away from your lips, then went for another one. More confident. A proper kiss rather than a soft peck but still closed mouth. You even felt him smiling through it, and once he pulled back, you wished it had lasted longer. Your breath hitched again and the lack of air made you light-headed.

And just like that, your crush on him made its way back to the surface.

You rolled your lips together, letting go of his waist and hiding a smile that could give you away. Your cheeks were burning and a sudden rush of lust hit you right then and there.

“Was it okay?” His hands cupping your cheeks relaxed but remained there, touching you.

“Yeah.” You lied. You’d completely lost your train of thought. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, letting you go.

“We’re okay,” you murmured under your breath to convince yourself of it in a way and gently patted his chest. “Good job.”

Brushing past him on your way down the river, an odd feeling ghosted up your gut.

There was no coherent thought running through your mind. You’d kissed him before, according to Ethan—a drunk strip poker night was to blame—but it wasn’t even your memory. So this… god, this was a true first kiss. A sober kiss. An intentional kiss.

You stayed quiet most of the walk back home. Which was odd coming from Spencer and you wondered if he’d felt things too…

Spencer was leaning on a wall of pillows he’d built against the headboard, one hand behind his head while the other held the book he’d found in Shay's library after the dinner you ordered.

“Are you okay with us sleeping in the same bed?” You sat cross-legged next to him and reached for your moisturizer on the nightstand. Vanilla and lavender scented. “Because I could go—”

To Shay’s room, you were about to say, but he quickly interrupted you. “Yeah, yeah. Fine.”

You let out a teasing laugh, squeezing a few drops of lotion across your arms and spreading a thin layer all over. “There aren’t ghosts here to pull you by your feet, you know.”

Any chance you had, you teased him about being scared of the dark. You’d even given him a pumpkin nightlight for last Christmas as a joke, but you’d caught the orange light shining under his door at odd hours of the night.

“I know that.” He kept his eyes glued to the page.

You finished applying moisturizer all over your body—thighs, knees, feet, and hands—and lay on your side, propping yourself on your elbow and resting your head over your hand, chin angled up to delight your eyes with the view: Spencer, fresh out of the shower, reading a book.

An involuntary deep sigh escaped you. You hadn’t stopped thinking about the kiss, not even in the shower—you had to hold back the urges to release some… tension; your fingers had drifted somewhere between your legs, massaged right there for a moment. And just for a brief moment, your fingers were his fingers, and the hot water cascading down your body were his lips, kissing you everywhere… You had snapped your hand away when the pleasure started to build and flipped the shower tap to the cold side to punish yourself.

Now, those same urges were flush against your skin, and he was right there next to you, preciously focused on whatever he was reading.

Vivid images of you straddling him and leaning down to kiss his neck as he kept on reading flashed before your eyes, and your pulse thrummed with lust in more than one place.

You wanted to kiss him again.

“Should we practice some more?” You blurted out.

A slow, flustered smile took over his lips; his eyes still wandering through the pages.

“Spence.” You gently—seductively—took the book out of his hands.

He cleared his throat, meeting your gaze. “If that’s what you want, y-yeah.”

You put the book aside and lay on your stomach, now propping yourself up on both of your elbows and glancing up at him with fluttering lashes. “You have to want it as well.”

He scrunched up his nose and adjusted himself, lowering on the bed to lay on his back and be at the same level as you. A bit too tense, both hands clasped over his stomach, and his slightly damp hair fell messy over the pillow.

You followed his every move, your smirk growing wider. “Is this a yes?”

Spencer merely nodded, licking his lips.

Being this close, you could take in all of his beauty. Kind eyes, sun-kissed skin, barely sunburnt at the apple of his cheeks and bridge of his cute button nose, manly bone structure—god, that jawline—, his growing beard barely darkening the skin above his upper lip and chin, his so very kissable lips…

You lifted your hand closest to him and brushed a piece of hair away from his forehead. His eyes darted to your lips and it was your cue to lean down for a closed-mouth kiss, to which he kindly and so sweetly responded.

“Is that okay?” You whispered against his lips, searching for his eyes, but he had them closed.

“Yeah,” he replied just as quietly.

You licked your lips and went for another, just as soft. “And that?”

“Yeah,” his voice came out low and his hands slowly untangled, falling to his sides and grazing your bare thighs.

You squeezed your thighs together and scooted closer to him so you could have more comfortable access to his lips.

Kiss.

Another kiss—it lasted longer and you dared to give a short, teasing lick that pulled a low sound from his chest right away.

“How about that?” You murmured and his eyes shot open.

They were blazing with an unfamiliar lust.

He answered by adjusting on his side, eyes trained on your lips, and dragged one hand across your back until the appropriate curve of your buttock, sending tingles through every nerve. His tension was slowly fading and leaned toward your mouth going for another kiss, but you pulled back and caught the hint of a smirk at the corner of his lip.

“Don’t get too eager,” you teased him, even when in reality, it was you whose heart was already getting excited.

“I’ll try,” he said and cupped your cheek strongly, leaning fully to capture your lips.

You kissed him back and mirrored him to a certain point, laying on your side too, one hand cradling the side of his head while never letting his lips go. You scooted closer so your bodies would almost blend and with every new movement, you got a whiff of his natural scent, so manly and so damn intoxicating it only made kissing him a far more exhilarating experience. His breathing grew harsher and the kiss got louder and wetter and desperate by the minute. You couldn’t help but laugh a little through it, feeling his lips curve into a smile against your lips, too.

This felt like an old-fashioned make-out session with a high-school crush, and the more it kept going, the further you wanted to take it. Before you knew it your body acted on impulse and in one swift movement, you were on his lap, straddling him exactly as you’d fantasized minutes ago.

Another dark hum rolled off his chest, his large hands settling at either side of your hips.

“I… we should stop,” you pulled away, yet planted a wet kiss on his lips a second later and pressed your hips down against him. A lump nestled right below your cunt—not hard, but it was getting there.

“Mh.” He tugged your bottom lip between his teeth.

Spencer was getting too eager and you would’ve stopped it right there. You really would’ve, but the sounds he made were delightful and his hands roaming all over the length of your body were driving you insane. They could melt into your flesh by how hot they were.

Your head was spinning. He was an incredibly good kisser—god, his tongue, his hands, his breathing, the way his short beard scraped your skin... It’d been too long since you’d felt this wanted, so you didn’t pull back and let yourself go, whining into the kiss instead and corresponding to his eagerness, as long as it didn’t go beyond this.

Another dark sound from him filled the narrow space between your chests. He brought you down closer to him by your hips, digging his long fingers into your skin as if he wanted you to properly feel how hard he was getting just by kissing you. And oh boy, you did feel him. He was hard now—ready—and an exquisite pulse grew on your cunt. You were so ready for him, too.

You inclined your face to the opposite side mid-kiss, changing the rhythm to a slower but still breathy pace. Smiling. Your tongues swept together kiss after kiss, and the moment warm arousal leaked into your panties, you snapped off of him, breaking the kiss abruptly.

“Oof, okay.” You laughed, bringing your palm to your swollen lips. “That was—“

Spencer's face was flushed, his lips also swollen, his mouth parted and his chest heaving in and out, startled. Maybe by how unexpectedly you’d ended it or because he didn’t recognize himself. At least you didn’t. The lust had shape-shifted him in a way. That was not the sweet and nerdy Spencer you knew.

“Yeah.” He exhaled, his brows knitted together.

Your eyes trailed down his body and made eye contact with his evident erection. Your mouth hung open with half a smile and struggled to swallow. It didn’t feel that thick against you.

You were evidently staring, so he followed your eyes down to his body.

“Shit!” He rolled on his stomach and nuzzled his whole face against the pillow like a frightened ostrich wanting to hide from the world.

There was his adorable little self.

“You okay?” you asked through a small laugh, biting your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he muffled his voice.

“Trynna’ hide something?”

“Mhm.” He nodded.

There was no way you were going to sleep in the same bed after this very heated practice.

“Okay,” you cleared your throat, standing up from the bed and you were sure the patch of arousal would soon leak into your pajama shorts. “I’m… gonna go inside the bathroom and once I’m out, I— you— we are gonna behave, okay?”

Spencer gave you a thumbs-up while his face was still buried into the pillow.

You ran to your bag, quickly grabbed a clean pair of panties, and tippy-toed to the bathroom, locking yourself in. Your forehead landed against the door.

That was incredibly hot.

And so damn stupid.

A soft knock on the door startled you, quickening your heart.

It could only be one person.

You took a deep breath gathering yourself before replying, “Come in!” as casually as you could.

“Wow.” Spencer’s voice entered the room.

You locked eyes through the full-length mirror in front of you right away.

Yeah, wow.

You hadn’t seen him wear that before—black dress pants, a belt with a silver buckle, a purple button down with two top buttons undone that allowed you to get a glimpse of a gold chain you had no idea he had, no tie, and black dress shoes.

You gulped at the sight.

“No Converse?” You pointed at his feet with your brows, taking half a step to the side so the reflection would be mostly him. You had to admit, he looked straight out of a fashion runway.

“Oh, I didn’t know what the dress code was, and with you” —he gestured at you with a lazy hand— “looking this beautiful, I have to be at your level,” he said through a small timid laugh. “I brought a few other button-downs in case you didn’t like this one.”

Warmth rushed to your cheeks. ‘Beautiful’ wasn’t uncommon in his vocabulary to describe you, but it never ceased taking you off guard. More so now, after last night’s heated make-out and the fact that this was the first time you saw each other since. (You had slept in Shay’s bedroom—the smartest move—and only talked to him through a dry ten-second phone call this morning to wake him up and tell him to get ready.)

“No, you uh, picked the right color,” you played it cool, turning around. His shirt along with the pink on his cheeks matched with the different flowers on your dress. The dress you’d bought because of him. “I was thinking”—You walked up to him and adjusted the neck of his shirt, even when it was perfectly ironed. You were about to start pretending, and you considered yourself very good at it, so you might as well start with some small gestures—“Three kisses should be enough. Throughout the whole thing?” You raised your brows searching for his approval. “We could kiss three times and everything will be okay.”

“O-okay, yeah.” He was clearly nervous. “Sounds great.”

You shot him an evil grin and said, “Maybe not as intense as last night but…“hoping it would ease some of the tension.

“Oh, please don’t bring it up… yet I—“ he shut his eyes with pain.

“Okay, I’m sorry, ” you said through laughter, leaning on him and intertwining your fingers. “I won’t.”

Making him blush was becoming addicting.

The wedding venue was at a winery—of course—and it was close, so it only took a fifteen-minute ride to get there. You showed your invitations at the gate and a young man guided you to where the ceremony was taking place. A few people had already arrived and were scattered around the place. Some familiar faces here and there—including Jake and Poppy who only earned an indifferent smile from you—but no one close to you enough to reach out. You just waved at them from afar with a fake grin.

A waiter offered you wine and you both declined it. You didn’t want to drink. Alcohol made you sappy, and chatty, and your goal for these few hours was to go as unnoticed as possible.

“Your ex keeps looking this way,” Spencer subtly muttered as you found empty seats on the left side of the aisle.

Your eyes immediately found Jake and there he was, standing tense and staring with a hostile glare.

“Yeah, he’s a creep.” You then turned to Spencer and watched him unclench his jaw. He cared, apparently. “He’s gonna keep doing that, and will probably try to talk to you, or me, or both at some point so beware of that.”

“Should I worry about getting punched?” Spencer then asked with genuine concern. “He looks aggressive.”

“He may look like a bully but he’s incapable of getting physical.” He only raised his voice. “So you’re safe, don’t worry. If he tries anything, I’ll be there to body-block him,” you mocked him, earning a sarcastic ha-ha from him. He wasn’t as embarrassed now.

Soon enough, every chair was taken, and the soft ambiance music dropped quiet.

“Is this okay?” Spencer spoke over the sudden buzzing of people talking, placing his palm over your bare thigh, just above your knee.

That single motion was enough to take you back to last night's events, making your mouth dry. Now a glass of wine would come in handy.

You looked at him and smiled, trying hard to stifle a sigh. “It’s perfect.”

From the look of his half-smile, you knew he was having the same flashbacks. His eyes flickered down to your lips, raised his other hand to your face, and casually stroked your cheek with his thumb, and a hesitant movement brought him close.

A boyfriend would take the chance to steal a quick kiss, and a girlfriend wouldn’t back up and dodge it. It happened so quickly. You weren’t sure if it was you who took the decision or him, or if it was an unspoken mutual thing, but his lips pressed against yours so casually as if it already was second nature. Meaning, the practice from last night and you teasing him about it today was working.

“Two,” he murmured against your lips, his thumb never ceasing to stroke your now burning cheek.

Two kisses left.

You took a deep breath and looked forward, slightly shaking your head to bring yourself back to earth. You regretted establishing a certain amount of kisses because, god, you wanted to kiss him again already. All you could do was lick your lips to feel the ghost of his lips and feed those urges.

Your phone buzzed inside your tiny purse and it dragged you out of the Spencer-struck trance.

A message from Shay.

SOS.

You frowned but were quick to text back.

What happened?

The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared several times before her reply came.

The officiant dumped us. There’s no one to marry us.

Your eyes widened. “Shit.”

“Everything okay?” Spencer asked.

You hesitated for a moment and looked around, careful that no one else would hear and panic. “The officiant is not coming. There might not be a wedding.”

Spencer frowned his lips for half a second before casually saying, “I have a marriage officiant license.”

Your entire face wrinkled with confusion as your mouth opened to ask how, but it wasn’t the time to question him. You believed anything he said, anyway, so you wasted no time letting Shay know.

One minute Spencer was sitting next to you as your fake-boyfriend and the next, he was getting whisked away from your side by one of the best men to officiate the wedding. It took them a few minutes to start the ceremony, but it was happening and you decided to stand in a lonely corner in the front to capture the moment on your phone and waited there until he showed up.

Your grin was big from the moment Spencer stood there in front of everyone, tall and genuinely excited about this, like he’d been waiting for a moment like this his whole life. He started his speech and an odd warm feeling grew in your chest that was released in quiet laughter.

“... This is uh, my second time doing this, by the way.” Spencer looked at the crowd and then back at the soon-to-be newlyweds. “But I promise you, this is real. You will be officially married by the end of the ceremony.” Spencer quickly searched for you in the sea of people and smiled when he found you. The way he had to use his hands when speaking was so endearing. A deep sigh finally escaped you. “The funny thing is that I wasn’t supposed to come. I guess you could take this as a sign that you were meant to get married today. So let’s thank my now girlfriend for saying yes to my very awkward question a week ago and making me her plus one.”

The only one who laughed was you—along with the hoard of butterflies that filled your stomach. Another sigh slipped and your heart swelled even more. No one has been this proud of being with you—even if it was a lie and just for the weekend—it was more than anything your ex-something ever gave you. The one who was there a few feet away from Spencer. The one who instead of looking at his girlfriend who was there too, was looking at you. You shot him a disgusted glare and brought your attention back to Spencer. The only person worth staring at.

“I wish I knew more about you guys so I could make this more special,” Spencer added.

“It’s already very Special,” Shay replied to him then turned her head to the crowd and shot you a glassy glance, mouthing ‘thank you’.

It really was special.

Spencer continued with the official speech, one he—of course—knew by heart, and soon, Shay was kissing her husband, causing a collective loud cheering and clapping for the couple. You, on the other hand, cheered and clapped for Spencer, who was adorably clapping for the couple, too. He seemed so proud of himself.

You locked eyes during the commotion and neither of you tore it as he made his way back to you with a permanent smile on his face.

“That was amazing!” You met him halfway offering him a fist bump, which he awkwardly enveloped with his palm. You realized then, that’s not what a couple would do, but no one was paying attention. Still, a sudden urge to kiss him rocked you—as congratulations, maybe, or to erase the awkward fist bump. “You were amazing.”

“I would’ve prepared a real speech if I’d known this was gonna happen but I guess it was okay, better than nothing.”

“It was so good. You saved the wedding, b— bro.”

Babe almost slipped, and thank god you were quick to correct yourself—in the most embarrassing way. Bro. Your entire skin was crawling, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I heard there’s lobster for lunch,” he said with excitement, smiling and nodding all at once.

Biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a smile, you grabbed his hand, lazily intertwining your fingers as you already felt accustomed to. It was a nice fit.

You were the last ones to sit down at the table (there were many, for 6 people each). The only one with two free seats was the one farthest back, with people you didn’t know, so you didn’t complain.

From there, everything turned out the way it was supposed to. The toast, lunch (with said lobster Spencer ate with enthusiasm), the husband and wife dance, a moment for the family’s speech, and the party at last.

It was still early—the sun was nowhere close to setting—but you knew once the loud music began, you could leave, even when you liked dancing. Although, you couldn’t leave the party without having at least one dance with Spencer, who had already rejected a bold woman who asked him to, right there in front of you.

“You’re not gonna reject me, are you?” You stretched out your hand to him.

He raised his brows with amusement. “You wanna dance?”

“Why not?” You shrugged. “It’s a party. We kind of have to. For the whole experience.” You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t wanna miss the opportunity to dance with you.”

To much surprise, he gladly accepted.

Everyone was doing their thing on the dance floor, and since it wasn’t too much of a slow song, you took him to an empty corner and enjoyed the music there. Just the two of you, clumsy feet that allowed a subtle sway of your bodies.

“Who was the first couple you married?” You asked him, your arms wrapped around his neck.

His hands settled perfectly on your ribs, tight enough to send a wave of heat swept all over. You shouldn’t have had a glass of red wine at lunch.

You blinked and gulped and cleared your throat all at once.

“Ethan and one of his girl friends,” he replied with a tinge of humor.

“There’s no way Ethan is married to a woman,” you said through a laugh.

“He was. They got divorced months later.” Spencer laughed along and a sudden vacant look took over his eyes as he continued, “He, uh, was very sick once, and he ran out of health insurance. I offered to marry him first but back then gay marriage wasn’t legal.”

It wasn’t something Ethan talked about often, but he’d mentioned it to you. He was healthy now.

“You would’ve married Ethan?” You sort of mocked him just by picturing the two getting married.

“Of course, he’s one of my best friends. I’d do anything for him.”

Your chest swelled with a deep sigh. He spoke about him so fondly that it was nice to think he talked about you that way to others, too.

“So you did the closest thing and got the marriage license,” your voice softened. Spencer merely nodded. “You’re a good friend.”

“So I’ve been told,” he smiled shyly.

“You are,” you insisted. “I mean, look at what you did today, for Shay, who isn’t even your friend. And what you’ve been doing for me since last weekend. Pretending to be my boyfriend and help me prove something to a guy that isn’t even worth mentioning.”

His lips fell into a thin line as he frowned with concern. “Was he really that bad?”

“He just…” your eyes flicked behind Spencer and found Jake staring at you both. He was just standing there alone with a drink in his hand. Now that you saw everything from the outside—and after experiencing just a few hours as Spencer’s girlfriend—you realized your relationship with Jake wasn’t healthy. You were so used to his crumbs that they soon turned into enough fuel to stay, and you had no idea what you were missing. You looked back at Spencer. “He never loved me so he never went out of his way to show me anything. It was just sex in the beginning, I got attached and we spent a lot of time together even when I felt like my presence bothered him. I never dared to ask him for anything either so I guess I did this to myself,” you scoffed, looking away.

Spencer searched for your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You brought your attention back to him and could only stare into his eyes for a second. You hated that talking about it still made you brittle.

“Don’t be. This is,” —you dared to lock eyes again and took a sharp breath through a shaky smile— “very healing.”

The lights went down and Spencer cupped your face to caress your cheeks with the pad of his thumbs. He was a good liar. The way his eyes were glimmering… even in this low light, you would think it was love if you knew what it looked like in someone else’s eyes.

Or perhaps it was a reflection of your own.

You sighed again.

One of his thumbs went from your cheek to your chin and barely grazed the outline of your bottom lip. A hint of his soft perfume reached your taste buds as he leaned closer, his tender nose circling against yours.

It made you all fuzzy inside.

“Would it be okay if I resort to our second kiss?” He asked, so politely, his voice just above a whisper.

You gave him a little nod through a smile. He angled his face and captured your lips as he already felt used to, and you swore the wet warmth of his tongue grazed your top lip for a fleeting moment. A moment that sent you to outer space. It may have been the music that drastically changed into a soft melody, or the way his lips perfectly molded against yours—just because he wanted to—but you felt like crying.

Actual tears burned your eyelids, a tiny sob dripped from your lips to his in the middle of it, and something inside you snapped into place.

There wasn’t a third kiss. There was no need to. And even if there was a chance to have it, you would’ve dodged it.

A kiss from Spencer wasn’t supposed to make you tear up, and since then, you couldn’t even look at him. You called it a night right after the dance; went back to Shay’s place in a very quiet taxi ride, and locked yourself in your room without saying goodnight. It was unfair to him, you were well aware, but the last kiss shifted something in you.

You sat on your bed, your eyes lost in the void while your thoughts raced. Your feet were swollen now because of the heels and your head was starting to pound. You were exhausted, and the only thing that could help you through everything all at once was a bubble bath.

You didn’t waste much time preparing the tub. Shay had everything and more to make it a therapeutic session, so while the tub filled, you poured a few drops of essential oil, threw in a bath bomb, and stripped out of your clothes. As soon as you dipped yourself into warm water, your muscles loosened one by one, and soon, it was just you, your breathing, and Spencer in your mind.

You shut your eyes and frowned at the immediate memories. You simmered in them. All of them. But the one that lingered the most was the heated make-out. He was so clear under you, that you could almost reach him all over again. You smiled, and the rest of your body naturally reacted, squirming a little in the tub and clenching your thighs. You sank more into the water, allowing it to reach every exposed patch of skin so it would act as a warm blanket. Your hands—which were resting at your sides—made their way to your chest and you couldn’t hold the urge to graze your nipples as the memory of his tongue on your lips came.

Spencer was, without a doubt, the best kiss you’d ever had, and knowing that he’d gotten turned on by just a kiss and that you could’ve had him insid—

Your eyes shot open and you quickly sat upright, rubbing your face with both hands to erase those images. A bubble bath was a bad idea. You drained the water right away and took a shower instead. You weren’t about to torture yourself with the what-ifs.

By the time you were dried and in your pajamas ready for bed, an ever-so-familiar stab in your temple dragged you out of your room to search for some painkillers, not without checking if the coast was clear first. The entire house was dark, except for the light sneaking under Spencer’s door and the moonlight trickling through every open blind. It was enough to lead your way downstairs to the kitchen and help you riffle through every cabinet and drawer for some ibuprofen, or anything that could help.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice came from behind.

Your heart almost jumped out of your ribcage. “Shit!” Your hand flew to your chest and turned around. His silhouette was approaching you. “Jesus, Spence, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” he laughed a little.

“Did you float down here or something?” you frowned.

“No?” he chuckled. “I was in the back, in the library.” He gestured with his head.

“Oh.” A soft breeze snuck in through the slightly open kitchen window and it pebbled your skin, making you brace yourself.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He took another step closer. Now you could see his face clearer. His so-beautiful face.

You turned around and poured yourself some water from the sudden nerves.

“I didn’t have the chance to thank you for coming with me to the wedding.” You cleared your face of any emotion and turned to face him, leaning your butt on the kitchen counter and taking a sip. “It was fun.”

“I had a lot of fun too, yeah.” He nodded eagerly. “Thank you for inviting me.”

A thick silent heartbeat passed and he opened and closed his mouth as if wanting to say something, but he didn’t.

You flashed him a tight smile and turned around once again to wash your now empty glass, saying, “We have an early flight tomorrow so… we should probably go to bed.”

You faced him for the last time and brushed past him to feel him close, murmuring a soft goodnight.

He replied by stealthily following your every move upstairs, and the moment you reached the last step, he grabbed you by your wrist, freezing you completely.

“Hey,” he softly said, turning you around by your hip. Your eyes had adjusted entirely to the darkness, so it was easy to tell he’d stopped two steps down, leaving him at the perfect height for another kiss. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you casually replied, though the fact that his hand was resting on your hip was starting to drive you insane. “It’s just a headache.”

“It’s not, though.” He took half a step. “Did I do something?”

You scoffed to yourself, shaking your head. You couldn’t let him feel guilty about your stupid confused feelings. You couldn’t just leave him there thinking he was the problem.

“No, you… were perfect today, thank you.”

He looked up at you with puppy dog eyes and tight lips. “Can I hug you?”

You melted from head to toe and you couldn’t help brushing a curly piece of hair away to admire those eyes properly. Something on them was different but you couldn’t quite grasp it. You just nodded and he wasted no time enveloping you entirely in his arms. His nose, mouth, and chin got buried in the crook of your neck like they belonged there.

Your eyes closed on their own as you smiled and took it all in. His hands, his soft hair tickling your face, his breathing on your skin, the peace and ticklish warmth that spread through you while being there in his arms. You leaned your cheek on the top of his head. He smelled like soap.

He hugged you even tighter then, as in saying thank you, his tender hands rubbing your upper back then barely unglued himself away from you, and slowly—so very slowly—trailed his hands down to the curve of your waist, pulling you closer, while his face stopped a few centimeters away from yours, the tip of his nose grazing your cheek.

“We…” His breathing ghosted the corner of your lip. “We still have one kiss left.”

His voice came out in a whisper, so quiet you thought you were hearing things.

“The night ended, Spence,” You exhaled a timid laugh. “You’re free.”

“But I don’t want it to end,” he replied, pleading, almost. “Can I kiss you again?”

You shuddered completely—gave in completely—and struggled to breathe out an audible yeah as you gave him a slight nod.

Yeah, he echoed you and went for an open-mouth kiss that took away all the air in your lungs. It pulled an immediate moan out of you, but you didn’t think too much of it.

Tears pricked at your eyes again, but this time you didn’t let them ruin the moment. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers on the back of his hair. Kissing like this was dangerous but you needed this one kiss to last until your lips wore out.

Your legs almost give up right there and you would’ve slipped off the step if he hadn’t gracefully pressed you against the wall to keep you both steady. His hands went from your waist to enclose your face and kept kissing you with his whole body like a starving man. He was being harsh yet careful and you were so focused on how he set ablaze every part he touched that you forgot how to breathe. He was making you dizzy and you wouldn’t mind if you passed out from it.

He slowed down, his tongue slowly lapping your top lip. Then, he withdrew from the kiss, enough to keep your lips and breathing touching. You fluttered your eyes open and got a glimpse of his face from up close. His eyes were blazing with the same sinful light you met last night.

“That’s three,” he shakily murmured.

“Yeah,” you swallowed thickly and tilted your chin up in search of his lips again. You grazed them but didn’t take it further. It was over. “Thanks, I… should go to my room now.”

He loosened his grip just enough for you to slide away and soon his hands were nowhere near you, giving you your definite way out.

You ran the two steps to your room and shut the door, leaning on it lightheaded. Now, every beat of your heart screamed his name. You breathed in through your nose with your eyes closed for a moment, and at that exact moment, two soft knocks on your door called you.

And before you knew it, the door was open and his lips were back on yours.

It turned chaotic quickly; a mixture of clacking teeth, desperate breathing, and very clumsy legs trying to keep yourselves standing.

This was off-script. This was no longer about pretending, it was about what you and him truly wanted.

You moaned into his mouth, receiving all his ferocity while holding onto him by the nape of his neck.

“Oh,” he broke the kiss, evidently distraught by his own behavior. “I’m sorry, this is— what is this, what are we—”

“I don’t know.” You stole a quick kiss

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry.”

��“Spence.” You brushed every piece of hair away from his gorgeous face. “I like it.”

“You do?” He gulped.

“Clearly.” You stole another kiss to which he kindly responded. “We could continue where we left off last night.”

“Yeah.” He kissed you back between smiles. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

That was all you two needed to go from two starving people to tender and calm beings who were just happy to be there. You shut the door with your foot and kept on kissing right there in the middle of the room. You kissed slowly this time, your tongues matching each other’s pace and your breathing steadying.

His hands resting on the small of your back dared to travel down to your ass and gripped each side too gently for your liking. He was still trying to be respectful while also showing you he wanted this to go further, so you took the lead and guided him to the edge of your bed while never ceasing to kiss him. He let your lips go and sat there, brought you close to him by your hips, nuzzling his face between your covered breasts. He took a moment to breathe you in, his hands sneaking under your pajama shirt.

Before he could ask you to take it off, you lifted it over your head and tossed it away, leaving you in complete display for him. You were nothing but your skin and panties, and your tits sat perfectly in front of his face. He got hypnotized by them right away and didn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around your left nipple with a pleased hum.

“Mh.” Your eyes closed on their own and you threw your head to one side, lifting both hands to support yourself on his shoulders.

He sucked on it, flicked his tongue tenderly, and each gentle stroke sent waves of pleasure straight to your cunt. You squeezed your thighs together to ease the growing delightful ache. Deep down you knew he was a tits guy, so you let him take his time on them. He went from one to the other, sucking and nibbling and licking.

All the while, you decided to straddle him and with his help, you rested all your weight over his lips. Your heated core instantly met the hardening lump underneath his pajama shorts you were already familiar with and it only made the ache worse. Your walls clenched just by thinking about having him inside you and your hips began to grind back and forth with a mind of their own. You needed any kind of friction and he read your body right away. He was quick to indulge, gripping your hips tight and followed your rhythm, helping you with your rocking motions. It worked, but it wasn’t relieving. If anything, it made you need him even more.

He withdrew from your tits with a subtle pop and looked up at you again. His eyes were glassy.

“You okay?” He asked.

You merely nodded and leaned down to capture his flushed, pillowy lips. He was growing confident and now his hands had no trouble exploring your body—your thighs, up to your hips, and dragging them down to your ass. He cupped it tight and pressed you harder towards him.

“Can we fuck?” you whispered against his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, we can.” He gulped. “Let’s lie down.”

You stood from his lap and did as he said. He didn’t. He stood there, admiring your almost naked body up and down. He was still fully clothed, though his erection straining under his pajama shorts didn’t leave much to your imagination. He wasn’t wearing anything under, the clear sight of the outline of his cock was making your mouth dry. Empty.

You bit your lip and tapped next to you, signaling him to join you. He stripped out of his clothes first, shirt and shorts gone in one fell swoop. It was perfect, of course, it was fucking perfect and ready for you to sit on. Your mouth was so incredibly empty.

You scooted over the edge while still laying on your side and looked up at him as you went for a little taste of his cock. You didn’t really need your hands for support since his length stood perfect on his own but you reached for it anyway to feel it. So warm and soft. You pulled the skin back and exposed the head, glistening with his arousal. You wrapped your lips around it with a whiny hum and closed your eyes. He hissed between clenched teeth and caressed the top of your head for a second before he gently pushed you back.

Mouth parted, Spencer leaned down and crawled next to you, lying tall on your right side. He captured your mouth while one hand went between your legs. You did the same and reached once again for his cock, and he made a pained sound again but didn’t let your lips or cunt go. He rubbed you over the thin damp fabric, a sense of relief brushed away some of the ache. You needed to feel him properly, though, so as you pumped his cock with short strokes, you guided his hand inside your panties.

The kiss had grown tired but your lips still remained touching, panting.

He swiftly obliged and spread your wet folds, finding even more wetness between them.

He shuddered. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled.

A dark sound got trapped in his throat the moment you gave his cock a stronger pump, and continued, moving the skin back and forth which inspired him to increase his pace on you.

“Oh, Spence,” you moaned, searching for his eyes.

He found them and mirrored your brows knitting together. “You okay?” he asked again.

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and nodded. He captured your lips and pressed his fingers even more and touched you properly with all four fingers, spreading your arousal all over—gentle, wet, sounds reaching your ears.

You’d forgotten completely you were pleasing him too for a moment until his cock twitched under your touch.

“Can we fuck already, Spence?” You asked against his tired lips.

“Y-yeah I just, fuck—” he massaged your clit with the heel of his hand while daring to slide one long finger inside you and another one right after. “Let me— Even this feels incredible.”

You bucked your hips against his palm and he began to slide his fingers in and out, each movement making his palm hit your clit. It felt so good, and the pleasure was right there you were sure it wasn’t going to take him much to make you finish if he kept that pace.

“Do we uh, have condoms?” He asked.

Shit.

“No? I… I didn’t think this would happen so... Do you?”

“No,” he breathed out. “I didn’t plan this either.”

“Fuck.” You shut your eyes.

He kept his pace, slid another finger inside you, and tightened around all three of them. He was good at this, and pleasure kept building, gently pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb searched for your slippery clit.

God, your mind was fogging up already with bliss.

“Are we, uh, trying to prevent pregnancy or diseases?” He then asked.

Talking about pregnancy and diseases shouldn’t be hot but with his fingers inside you—going in and out—it was hard not to be turned on by it. His voice reached you deeply you could only imagine how deep his cock—

“Huh?” you opened your eyes.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. “We could do things without a condom. If… we’re both clean.”

“I know I’m clean.” You kissed him back. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he smiled into another kiss. “Yeah, I am.”

He used his entire hand to rub you and spread your folds, playing with them and tweaking them between his fingers.

So close.

“I could just stay here,” he said, rubbing everywhere with all four fingers. “God I could stay here forever, you’re perfect.”

“Spence,” you breathed out. Not having him inside you while he was right there was torture. “Right now I’m not thinking about anything other than you fucking me so please.” Please, please. “I need you.”

“What day of your cycle are you?”

“What?”

“Just answer me.” He said and sped up his hand movements

So, so close.

“I… I don’t know? I don’t keep track.” You bucked your hips against his palm.

God, it felt too good.

“When was your last period?”

“Mmm,” you bit your bottom lip. “The day I asked you to buy me some tampons. Yeah!”

“So, you’re not in your fertile days yet,” he said to himself, almost.

He kept the perfect pace and the pleasure you were so used to giving to yourself was reaching its peak, the ticklish sensation spreading through every nerve. You wanted him inside. You needed him, and your orgasm was right there about to explode.

“Spence, I want you,” you whined rolling your hips at the pace of his hand.

“I know, just let me… let me give you this.” He switched all his focus to your clit and continued rubbing you at a torturous exquisite pace. “Let me give you this and then I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

His words melted in your ear at the same time pleasure claimed your body. It spread all over—his voice somewhere near encouraging you to let go—and every part of you jerked as the bliss struck you with every flick of his fingers.

Spence, you moaned, turning your head to him and searching for his lips.

“I know.” He kissed the underside of your chin. “I know.”

It was too sensitive; it grazed the pain and his fingers kept rubbing at a more gentle pace. He slid two fingers inside you—you were so much tighter now—and pumped in and out making his palm massage your clit. You’d come out of it but somehow were still in it—in bliss. He slid his fingers out and tapped, tapped, tapped your clit while keeping his graze trained on yours, making your body and breathing jerk each time.

He stopped touching you all the way and settled between your legs, his cock standing on its own right in front of you.

“You’re not on your fertile days yet,” he now confirmed to you. He guided his cock at your wet entrance and began to push the head. Slowly. “Still, pulling out it’s… not a method there’s still a 4 percent chance of fuck—”

“I take the risks.” You reached for his other hand. “Please, Spence, just fuck me already.”

He propped himself on each elbow placing them on either side of your head and bucked his hips just enough so your cunt sucked all the head right it.

“Oh,” you both moan at the same time, his head falling to your shoulder.

“Oh, g-god.” He trembled and breathed in through clenched teeth sending bolts of praise through you. You felt good and he was letting you know. “Mmm,” he grunted, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck and licking you there. “That’s a perfect fit. Ah, fuck.”

The most perfect fit. It filled you in like you were made for him.

He attached his lips to the underside of your chin and began to move his hips, slow at first, an exquisite roll of his hips.

“Is this okay?” he asked right there against your skin.

All you could do was bite your bottom lip and give him a positive whine. It was perfect. How well he fitted, how his cock slid in and out with such ease, and how every subtle movement and pulse of his cock inside you was enough to please you.

The bedroom was soon aflame with your harsh breathing, taking up every space and soft moans bouncing between the walls. You stared down where your bodies met and caught a glimpse of his cock sliding in and out—in and out—already shining and his soft dark curls milked with your arousal.

You looked back up, grabbed his face to kiss him and started to meet his soft thrust, following his rhythm. Kissing him while he fucked you was a whole new experience. Because, firstly, it wasn’t something you ever thought would happen, but also was a whole new level of intimacy. He wasn’t just a roommate anymore (not that he ever was just that), and whatever happened after this, there was no going back. And you had to admit, good or bad outcome, it was going to be so worth it.

“Harder,” you whispered.

It took him three soft thrusts to give you one harsh slam, as a test almost.

“Like that?” he asked, and you moaned in approval through a small laugh.

God yes! Exactly like that.

He withdrew his hips, his cock slipping out just enough so the head would remain inside then slammed into you again.

Fuck, yes.

“Mh.” You frowned at him, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. “Just like that.”

He gained rhythm by the fifth harsh slam and soon, his hips had a mind of their own. You threw your head back for a moment to take it all in. The bed was a symphony of sounds, skin slapping against skin, moans, heavy breathing, and the constant squeak of the metallic headboard at the tempo of his thrusts.

You braced yourself, cupping your breasts to give him a nice view.

“Spencer, holy fuck.” You threw your head away from him.

“What? What? Need me to stop?”

You turned your head to him again. “Don’t! Don’t. Please. Don’t ever stop. Fuck.” You wrapped your legs around him to cage him and keep him close, allowing him to go deeper.

So.

Fucking.

Deep.

“Oh, g-god,” your voice sharpened. “Fuck me.”

“That’s what I’m doing, sweetheart.” Spencer teased you on his way to kiss you and you couldn’t hold back a laugh, right there against his lips.

Of course, he was the kind of guy that made you laugh during sex.

You clenched your walls around his length and kept the grip to feel every movement and twitch of his cock. He propped on his elbows again and looked down at you. Sweat gathered over his forehead and upper lips.

Then, he stopped moving.

“What?” you asked.

He opened his mouth, his eyes flickering from your eyes down to your lips.

“Nothing I… Nothing.” He leaned to kiss you and gained back his pace.

You untangled your legs but kept them angled up because his depth was delightful and simmered in it.

Slam after slam had him grunting louder and harsher.

“I’m gonna— I want to—”

“It’s okay,” you panted. “You can finish inside me.”

“You sure?” His eyes filled with panic.

“Please,” You nodded. “Just this once?”

“Just this once.” Spencer frowned and began to drill into you.

Hard.

A pained frown took over his face, cursing between clenched teeth and then his breathing hitched. His muscles tensed and cock twitched repeatedly, then a sweet, sweet, small laugh escaped past his lips as he released inside you completely. You received every drop and caught his last low grunt with an open mouth kiss, moaning into it.

Bucking his hips one last time, Spencer withdrew all the way, standing on his knees still between your legs. You watched him as he gently tugged his cock and let a few more drops drip from the tip all while he reached for his shirt to put it under you, so the cum leaking out of you wouldn’t ruin the bed covers.

You missed him inside you already.

He plopped next to you and tangled your legs together, facing you.

“You okay?” He kissed your bare shoulder.

“More than okay.” You smiled and faced him, too, nestling everywhere on his warm body

“I’m pretty sure you have to go pee now.” He kissed the top of your head. “For your health.”

“You are correct,” you chuckled. “But I’m so cozy here.”

“Go.” He then kissed your temple. “I’ll be right here.”

You groaned but obeyed anyway and were in and out of the bathroom in two minutes, tip-toeing your way back to him. He’d gotten under the bed covers and lifted them so you’d lay on his arms.

“See? Still cozy.” He wrapped his arms around you.

You rested your head on his chest and traced random lines over it, and you wished your mind would've given you peace for a little longer. You started to wonder already what this meant. You’d been here before, after sex, in the casual stages of something and it hurt thinking this could turn into something unlabeled.

“What is this?” You looked up at him and bit your tongue right away.

Spencer twitched his nose, a shy smile appearing. “I think this might be an appropriate time to tell you.”

You frowned and adjusted to face him better. “Tell me what?”

“I…” he chuckled. “I’ve had… certain feelings for you. From the moment I saw you.”

Your eyes widened and your heart almost fluttered out of your chest. “Really?”

“Really. And this weekend, it was… pure magic for me.”

You breathed out a laugh attempting to brush away the tears stinging your eyes. “You love magic.”

“I love magic,” he laughed too.

You brought your hand to his cheek and caressed him with your thumb. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know." He reached for your hand on his cheek and enveloped it, giving your palm a soft peck. "We’re so different.”

“We’ll, we must’ve done something right, right?”

“If we hadn’t bumped into your ex last weekend, I don’t think we’d be here.”

“Ever?”

“Not ever, but maybe not this soon?”

You hummed. You thought about all the ways this could’ve happened and the only person that could’ve made this happen popped into your mind. “What are we gonna tell Ethan?”

Spencer chuckled. “He, uh, knows about my feelings for you so he’s gonna be thrilled.” Of course. “Us, together, we’re his dream come true.”

“Together, huh?” You snickered.

“Y-yeah I mean, if you want. Or we could be casual and keep doing this until—”

“We’re not casual,” you cut him off right away. “I don’t want casual. I hate casual.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know how to do casual.” He stole a quick kiss. “And we already live together so that’s… convenient.”

“Very convenient.” You kissed him back.

“I mean it.” Spencer then cleared his throat and cupped your face with a serious expression. “This could be the beginning of something beautiful, if you let me I… could kiss you and care about for every day. I wouldn't hide you. I wouldn’t hide my… my love for you.”

Love.

Your smile shook, tears welling up again and the only thing you managed to give him was yet another kiss—another of many more to come.

Spencer cared about you and he didn't mind loving you out loud.

“Hey! My people!” Ethan ran to you two as soon as you entered the apartment, going for a triple hug and a double kiss on the top of your heads. “Thought you were gonna be there the whole week.”

“I have to work in like two hours,” you replied, “So I couldn't.”

“Did you guys have a good time?” Ethan smirked and kept looking at Spencer with a knowing look you couldn't quite decode. Only someone with a twenty-year-old friendship could know what it meant.

But you and Spencer also had your own. You exchanged complicit glances right away. You had agreed on the flight back not to tell him yet. Not because you didn’t want him to know but because you wanted to enjoy it first, just the two of you. It all was still too fresh and knowing Ethan, he would’ve gathered a reunion just so he could know every detail about it.

“Y-yeah,” you and Spencer answered at the same time; same tone and stutter.

“My head is killing me, though," you added.

“We have some ibuprofen in the bathroom,” Ethan touched your forehead endearingly, checking your temperature. “You know what else is good for headaches, though?” He quickly added and didn’t wait for your answer and snickered as he said, “Orgasms, isn’t that right Spencer?” He patted his back.

“Uh, y-yeah, for some people,” Spencer gulped, scrunching up his nose. “For others, it can make it worse.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Ethan said with humor raising a finger. He knew something. “Not with me, of course.”

“Are you uh, on your way out?” Spencer changed the subject, giving you another quick glance.

“I am,” Ethan replied. “To the grocery store. We’re out of beer and oatmeal and I ate your yogurt while you were gone so I’m going for that, too. Don’t miss me, I’ll be back before you know it.”

He gave Spencer a tap on his back and left.

Now it was just the two of you.

"You know it's true," Spencer walked up to you. "What Ethan said about orgasms."

"I know," you smirked and wrapped your arms around his neck, pecking his lips. "It worked pretty well last night, but we should put it to the test sometime again, just to really prove it."

"Tonight." He rested his hands on the small of your back.

"I'm absolutely coming back with a brand new headache after this shift, so definitely tonight."

"Want me to pick you up after work?" He returned the soft peck.

"You would do that for me?"

Spencer stroked your cheek. "Of course, I’ve always wanted to."

me and my fascination with giving my readers a headache because if I have them, so should they

anyway

If you reached the end here's a little star for you ⭐️ I hope it was worth your time and that it was fun for you! I’d love to read your thoughts on it if you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for reading 🫶

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