brattyspence

[brattyspence]

campus had an active sh**ter threat today so! that's really scary!!! now i am home writing!!! and yeah.

(i am fine everyone is fine btw!)

[brattyspence]

Bad, bad news - 18+

Main masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

"Bad, bad news, one of us is gonna lose, I'm the powder you're the fuse...just add some friction." You and Spencer play to see who can control themselves the longest. Loser is at the winner's mercy for the rest of the night.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Minors do not interact at all. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut: Switch!/dom! Spencer, switch!/sub! reader, cock-warming, nipple play, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, clit stimulation, one singular spank, no use of protection, pet names (sweet girl, good girl, etc). Not proofread. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 2.9K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Rolling around half naked in your bed sheets is like a harmonious duet on most days. You and Spencer mindlessly slip into your roles using non-verbal cues. Today was not one of those days. Today was a messy battle for dominance and your sheets bore the brunt. 

“Give in,” Spencer whispers, his knee strategically pressed against your heat. “You know you want to.”

You wiggle your wrists out of his grasp above your head and flatten your palms against his chest as you push him back down. He doesn't react fast enough and you’re straddling him again. You claim his mouth in a roaring kiss and swallow a desperate moan.

“Baby, if anyone’s going to give in it’s you.” You taunt, pulling away.

Without warning, Spencer bucks his hips up, rubbing his hardness against your core. It makes you jolt. 

“Yeah?” He licks his lips and flashes you a cocky smile.

“Y-yes.” You’re quick to regain composure, not wanting to let him rob you of the upper hand. “You can barely control yourself.”

He harshly cups your jaw in retaliation and pushes himself up until his lips are almost brushing yours. You have to brace yourself against his shoulder and his eyes lock in on yours. He lingers there for a second, his breath tickles your skin. Your eyes flicker between his eyes and his lips. His hold on your jaw loosens as the two of you slowly lean in. 

“I’m not the one that needs to be controlled.” It’s a low gravel that vibrates against your mouth as he retracts his head, making you chase after the kiss. 

Before you can catch his lips, he rolls you over and pushes himself on his knees. The noise that leaves you upon impact is something between a squeak and a grunt. He doesn’t give you time to assimilate, flipping you over and yanking you by your hips. Your cunt slams against his bulge and you groan, gripping the sheets. He grabs your hands, pinning them behind your back. You try to squirm out of his grip, but he’s got you pinned firmly. 

“Hey, that is not fair!” You whine. 

“Oh? Why not?” 

“You’re biologically stronger than I am!”

“Aw, poor baby.” He pouts with a mocking coo. 

You huff and make another futile attempt to set yourself free.

“Just give in and I’ll let go.” He chuckles. 

“Fuck off–ah!” A firm smack on your behind cuts you off. 

If that wasn’t so hot you could have at least pretended to be upset, but the way you involuntarily grind your hips gives you away before you can even make the effort. Spencer hisses in response. His eyes rake down your back to your ass pressed against him. So that backfired. 

You’re just as stubborn as he is and he doesn’t have the patience to wear you down. He needs to watch you squirm as you beg for him. He wants to feel how desperate you are for him. Using a featherlight touch, his hand travels up your back. He leans in, torso hovering over your back and brings his lips to your ear. 

“How about I make you a deal, hmm?” A trail of kisses starts from below your ear to your jaw.

“A deal?” You repeat, falling into a slight daze.

His fingers stop skimming over your back when he reaches the clasp of your bra and he undoes it in one swift motion. You can feel your heartbeat as your breasts spring free. 

“Mhm.” He releases his hold on you and moves off you to sit up against the headboard. 

“What deal?” You question as you sit up, eyeing him curiously.

“Well, it’s more of a bet.” 

Part of the reason you and Spencer work so well is because of your ability to keep up with each other's competitive nature. 

“Go on.” You rid yourself of the bra hanging on your shoulders. 

He tries to hide it, but, being met with your bare chest has an immediate effect on him. The silent but sharp inhale, the way he tries oh so hard to keep his eyes on your face and the way his lip rolls between his teeth. You can practically feel your arousal pooling in your underwear. 

“Come here.” He beckons you closer with his fingers.

A shrewd smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth. You position yourself on your hands and knees, effectively crawling toward him. It shouldn’t feel as alluring as it does, but the sight makes his cock twitch. Part of him wants to grab you and pull you onto his lap the second you’re within reach, but he waits for you to get there on your own, watching you intently with every step. 

His palms caress the sides of your ribcage as you straddle him and he swipes his tongue between his lips. You drape your arms on his shoulders, wrapping them so your fingers run through his hair. You let him kiss you on the chin, jaw and shoulder, but when he tries to go lower, you pull on his hair by the base. He turns his head back up to you and you both rest your foreheads together.

“You are impossibly stubborn.” He groans. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you would simply do as I say.” 

“I should tie you up and make you watch as I take care of myself in front of you.” There’s an underlying playfulness in his sigh. 

“That sounds like a punishment.” You quirk your eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t have to if you had let me take care of you as I’ve wanted from the start.” 

“You won’t. At all.” You state point blank, indicating he's not the one in charge.

Spencer tsks and brushes his thumb against your nipple. You playfully slap his hand away. You don’t know it yet, but he’s already noting everything he’ll punish you for when the time comes. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You nod, giving him a cautious stare. 

“Do. you. trust. me?” He repeats, unsatisfied with the non-verbal confirmation. 

“Yes!” You huff. 

“Up.” He drops his hands to your hips, gripping the flesh and pushing it away from him. 

You lift yourself off him and on your knees. Spencer then lifts his hips, tugging his boxers down providing ample room for his length to bounce out. Looking down you can see just how hard he is. His tip’s swollen, pink and leaking with pre-cum. If you weren’t so turned on right now, you’d question what he’s up to. 

There is no shortage of things you want to do to him and he can tell as much when he runs a finger through your slit, pushing the fabric to the side. The action is unexpected and you have to use his shoulders for support, a whimper escaping your lips. You glare at him but he pays you no mind.

“Fuucck,” He breathily groans, “you are soaked.” 

It always takes you a little off guard when Spencer swears. He rarely does, saving it for when he feels very passionately about something. It makes you clench around nothing. Spencer guides your hips a little lower and runs his tip between your folds. You can only chuff in desperation as you try to keep yourself composed. 

“Sit.” He commands, lining himself up with your entrance. 

You’re sceptical but comply nonetheless. You slowly sink on his length and his fingers dig into the plush of your hips. The two of you exchange a gasp as you attempt to ground yourselves. Something about how he stretches your walls open is so delicious and palatable, that it makes you forget all sense or reason.

“Now what?” 

“Now,” his voice floats in and out of short breaths, “you sit still.” 

“I beg you pardon? Still?” Your perplexity makes him chuckle.

Shock waves travel between your cores and you squirm. 

“Uh-uh.” His grip on your body tightens as he holds you in place. “You heard me. Sit still.” 

You mull over his words and it clicks.

“Cockwarming?” 

“Precisely.” 

“That’s your deal?”

“Bet.” He corrects. 

A silent pause takes over the conversation. You try to study his challenging stare, but honestly, all you can focus on is how enchanting his eyes are. How ethereal they look when you have him begging for you. You’re smart enough to recognise that the only shot you have of making that happen is if you indulge him for now. 

“Okay, genius, I’ll bite. What are we betting on?” 

“Control. More specifically, which one of us is better at exhibiting control.”

“So not you.” You snort. 

He rolls his eyes but he’s unsure if it’s because of your comment or how warm you feel around his cock. He doesn’t point out that he’s already demonstrating a great amount of control by not flipping you over and fucking the shit out of you, because it might not work in his favour.

“What happens when I win?” 

Your follow-up question brings him back to you with brows raised in astonishment. 

“When you win?” 

“Or when you lose. Whatever way you wanna look at it.” 

His eyes narrow and his tongue swipes the inside of his cheek. Maybe if he brought up how good he is at holding his tongue, he could make a point about how much more control he’s in. 

“Whoever wins gets to do whatever they want to the other. For tonight.” 

You twist your lips to the side in contemplation. Spencer tracks every shift in your features. 

“Deal.” You answer with a genuine smile. 

“Thank you.” His gratitude is relayed in a husky whisper.

You don’t know if it’s the way he speaks or the words he says, but it makes you clench. You don’t realise until he hisses and throws his head back. 

“You can’t be doing that.” His thumbs caress the skin they’re resting on. 

“What? This?” You repeat the action intentionally and give him your most convincing doe eyes. 

Oh the things he plans to do to you. His thoughts hide behind a half-smirk and his eyes drop to your breasts. The look on his face borders between unsettling and erotic, sending shivers down your spine. Spencer lets his hand drift up your sides, stopping so his thumbs brush your nipples again. The feeling provokes goosebumps all over. 

You unintentionally whimper when he gently rolls them between his thumbs and forefingers. At first, Spencer was only trying to tease you for your antics, but the sound of your voice made him want to coax more out of you. He adds pressure to his hold and tugs. Your walls tighten around him again and he lessens the pressure to keep himself composed. If you don’t stop, he will. Your hands move to cup his wrists in place and you try to hold back the pathetic sounds threatening to spill out of you. 

“Can’t have your cake and eat it too, sweet girl. Tell me what you want.” His voice is a coo masking a command. 

“For you to stop playing games and give up already.” You try to keep your voice steady but fail. 

“You’re just delaying the inevitable at this point. The longer you fight, the harder you’ll have to beg.” He relays it like a scientific fact that can’t be proven wrong. 

“And you’re delusional if you think that’s happening. I won’t beg for you.” 

“That’s two bets you’re losing tonight.” 

You scoff but before you can get another word in, he pulls your taut nubs with a tighter grip than before. You have to fight the urge to lean away and roll your hips. Your breathing quickens, it’s almost as if you're quietly heaving. Then you make the mistake of looking down. Slender fingers toying with your hardened peaks and cock so deep inside you that your cores are touching at the base. 

Your senses feel heightened. Everything you sense is jumbled. You can practically taste the sweet ecstasy that fills your body when he’s driving into you so hard that he’s pressing against your stomach. You don’t realise how close you are to the edge, but Spencer does. He can tell by the slight shake in your legs as you try to keep yourself still. And the way your nails dig into his wrists. 

All your focus is on keeping yourself from clenching because you don’t want him to stop. The coil in your stomach has almost completely unravelled; you just need to sit still for a few more seconds. 

Seven. In your distracted state you let a few tiny moans slip out. 

Six. It elates Spencer, he almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. 

Five. As you grow louder, Spencer begins shushing you in his soft voice. 

Four. You shut your eyes, anticipating your release.

Three. Almost there, your lip rolls between your teeth. 

Two–

Your efforts are wasted because Spencer lets go right as you’re on the brink. 

“NofuckWHY?!” You speak so fast that you join your sentence into one word. 

A brash chuckle erupts from him. He releases his wrists from your grip.

“Come on, you didn’t actually think I was going to let you cum.” 

You let out a frustrated huff. 

“Only good girls get to come. Are you a good girl?” He adds, intertwining his hands with yours. 

It seems like an intimate act, but you can see past it. As always, the sneaky bastard has found himself a loophole. The truth is, Spencer doesn’t have more patience, he’s just too good at achieving results. He’s basically admitted defeat and you’ll still be the one to lose. You can only give him a narrowed stare, scouring his eyes with your jaw hanging.

“No?” He prompts when your silence is too long. 

This time, he only gives attention to one of your nubs and his other hand lands on your clit without warning. He doesn’t ease you into his brutal pace, flicking over your bud with his middle finger. The strain against your sensitive nipple, the stimulation on your inflamed bud and his erection still buried inside you. It’s an overwhelming sensation and you’re unsure of what to focus on. The result is a loud, strangled moan you try to muffle in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck! Spencer!” 

It doesn’t take long for the tension in your abdomen to start building again. You try to focus on your breathing and relieve the intensity by pressing your nails into his shoulders. Spencer remains undeterred and you can’t escape the feeling. It’s building fast and it’s going to run through you like a tidal wave. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck– oh God– oh fuck–” 

Your stringed obscenities are matched by Spencer's more silent hums and groans. He’s enjoying this, probably more than you are. His begins to twitch inside you at random intervals, he could cum just from this. 

“You’re close. Maybe I should stop. Hmm?” He mumbles his words as close to your ear as he can. 

“Pleaseplease–fucking–please– don’t stop. Don’t stop!” 

“Admit that you’re my good girl.”

“Spenc– mmh–” 

It’s too much but not enough at the same time. The tension inside is brewing too thick, you’re about to snap. 

“You’re not cumming until you say it,” Spencer warns sternly, “say you’re my good girl.” 

The sound of his voice only adds to your desperation. All you give him in return is your lewd mewls. He’s brought you back to the edge, you only need one final push. 

“Still nothing? You must not want it bad enough.” He starts to slow down his pace, indicating that he’s about to stop. 

The threat alone makes you break. 

“No!” You yelp. “Nonono– I’m a good girl– I’m your good girl! Please don’t stop!”

You’re panting frantically. He’s won.

“Yeah? You think so?” 

Yet he’s still going to make you work for it. He quickens his pace again and you don’t even try to keep yourself still anymore, squirming in his lap. 

“Mhm..” It’s a broken beg, your face still hiding in his neck. 

“Look at me.” He hisses gently, struggling against the friction you’ve started to build. 

You lazily lift your head to meet his eyes. He has a victorious smirk on his face. Your eyes struggle to stay open and you flutter your lids.  

“Oh, you look so pretty. All flushed and desperate.” He teases. “Tell me, what are you?”

You need release, now. Your legs try to close around his body. 

“I– ah– shit– I’m–fuck your g–good girl!” Your words exit as more of a moan than a coherent sentence. The coil in your stomach is about to burst any second. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.” He’s relishing in your struggle. 

You let out a frustrated whine. 

“I’m your good girl!” 

Spencer chuckles at just how agreeable you’ve become because of how badly you want to cum. Your brows furrow and you throw your head back, eyes squeezing shut. Just as you’re about to get your sweet release, Spencer stops. You snap your sights on him, utterly dazed, annoyed and confused. Spencer leans in, getting close enough for his whisper to reach you.

“Prove it.” 

Spoilers: Smut.

AN - When I said edging, I meant it. We’re all getting edged. Anyway first kinktober piece, I can’t promise I’ll deliver all of them in October. I’m just a girl (uni takes priority sorry guys). Also, this is kinda overdue now but thank you for 1K <3

TT has ruined so many things for me. I couldn’t write this without thinking of “asserting dominance” and giggling.

Thank you for reading!

[brattyspence]

[brattyspence]

I have the cutest idea for stoner!reader but it's gonna involve so much research for adequate nerd ramblings from spencer and I just ughhhh

[brattyspence]

when bigger blogs reblog my work i go AHH and then I get a little uptick in notifications and I just cry!! My heart is filled with happiness!! I love !!

[brattyspence]

@ entersandman 2

���☆☆☆☆ (a film for two)

summary; after lots of teasing, you finally tell spencer who you are and help him out with his ‘little’ problem.

cw; +18 minors dni, pure porn, teasing, praising, praise kink, sexting, spencer being a needy mess, mention of streams, sex toys, a lot of orgasms, media au!, semi-public sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), cum swallowing, spitting in spencer’s mouth, pillow humping (spencer), mommy kink, sub! spencer and dom! reader, sex calls, dirty nastyyyy talking, breeding kink, fingering (r receiving), so many pet names for spencer ‘cause he deserves them, face riding/use (spencer receiving), nipple play, nipple sucking, spencer cursing, reading being a smug little shit, hickeys, this is so explicit omg, chocking (spencer receiving), spencer talking dirty?!?

an orgasm is a very human thing. and spencer has had many, many orgasms before. he lived basically off of having them. but none of them have been as good as the one he had while seeing the pictures and videos you’d sent him.

and he’s tried…

tried so hard…

a whole week. he’s been going live every night for a week. his arms is sore at this point, he swears it’ll hurt if he got hard again. and he had made so much money… it was stupid, but maybe it was because he had tried everything that week. everything to get an orgasm as good as the one you’d given him. he had used all his toys too; his fleshlight —into which he pumped his dick with abandon using his eidetic memory to remember the sound you made on your videos—, his vibrator —which he’s run up and down his cock and around the leaking tip—, his other vibrator that stimulated his prostate —the overstimulation made him a mess, but it wasn’t as good as your guidance and words—, her blowing masturbator — to imagine what your mouth would feel like—…

but of course… it didn’t work. and you hadn’t joined not even one of those lives. he looked like a kicked puppy on all of them out of camera, needing you to cum easier and well… better, harder.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; want your mouth on me. i can say please.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; where are you? i miss you…

it wasn’t fair. you couldn’t just... show him how good “sex” could feel and then leave him like that. he grew paranoid, watching everyone —female of course— in his classes in hopes of a sign, a slip, and needy, that too.

soooooooo needy.

@ entersandman

mommy please

please need you

you smirked at the new messages on your phone.

@ puredoll

can’t baby, you know i’m studying, not everyone is smart as you, my clever boy

@ entersandman

i’ll help you! just tell me who you are and we can study together!

you snickered and sent him a picture of your cleavage, since you were laying downwards on bed, reading your philosophy books.

@ puredoll

almost got me baby. but we both know that studying isn’t what you want.

spencer groaned, at the sight and at the feeling of his cock standing up, pretty and ready to go. he pouted, and thought about sending you a picture to try and get you with his puppy eyes, but ended up getting shy about the idea and gave up.

@ entersandman

you’re mean.

you couldn’t help but laugh when the notification of spencer’s new stream popped up.

toying with him was easy, but you too had needs, and were growing needy as well. you wanted him. so bad it almost hurt. and he was growing closer to finding out who you were since you couldn’t help but stare at him in class, lost in his beauty.

so, one day, you decided to make your move…

it was a sunny day, and you had opted to wear one of your best outfits, a white snug dress that laced up around your neck with golden sandals. your hair was up in a curly hairdo with little strands cupping your face and your makeup was done with a large eyeliner and glossy cherry lips. you looked amazing —like any other day— but you decided that today you wanted to notch it up one bit by applying your favorite scented body cream, repainting your toes and nails in white and spritzing your favorite and most precious perfume around your whole body.

then, you took your school purse and keys and left for the day.

you didn’t even need to find him, he came to you like as if god knew of your intentions. he looked pretty. with a blue shirt and tie, and brown trousers and shoes. preppy, nerdy, slim fingers sliding up the bridge of his nose his glasses. his hair was taimed, perfectly combed, and he was clinging onto his satchel like a little kid.

cute. you smiled and slowed your walking towards the class, so you could…

“oh. sorry. please go ahead.” he said as he almost bumped into you going pass the threshold and into the room.

you looked up at him and with a kind smile said. “thanks, pretty.” the last part was tinged in teasing, your lips curving more into a smirk now as you looked away and made your way inside, your perfume engulfing him as you passed by.

and he stood there, frozen. ‘cause not only a pretty girl had just called him pretty himself, but… “pretty”, what you always called him on streams and in your nightly chats. and that smirk…

he gulped. could it be? he looked inside and saw you watching him, curving your eyebrows as in ‘aren’t you gonna come inside?’

his feet moved alone, and before he could stop himself he was sitting right by your side.

“bold move, spencer.” you said, and he shook to the core.

spencer, spencer, spencer, spencer…

it was as if you were made to say his name.

“is it you?” he inquired, his eyes on your profile until you turned towards him with a playful frown.

“ ‘is it me’? who am i, spencer?” you were teasing him. of course you were. he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists on his thighs, his checks flushing, adam’s apple bobbing. he looked around, at the almost empty classroom. “what is it? you can’t say it?” he shook his head and you cooed. “aw, i thought better of you than this, spencer.”

he swallowed harshly and closed his eyes for a second before looking at you like a puppy.

“mommy.” he muttered and you smiled.

“good boy.” you praised him, and he had to swallow down a moan, it sounded better than he had imagined. you were better than he had imagined. you were beautiful, gorgeous, breathtaking… you surely knew how to take his breath away.

“why… why now? why are you telling me now?” he inquired and you hummed.

“you aren’t happy?”

“no! of course not, it’s not that! it’s just…” you understood.

“well i was growing tired and… i really wanted to play with you.” you pouted, and reached for his cheek, caressing it. spencer swallowed again, and gripped his satchel over his legs. you smirked. “what are you hiding, huh?”

“nothing.”

“spence…” you warned and his cheeks got impossibly red.

“you know.”

“yeah, i know. but i want you to say it.” his whole neck flushed and his lips trembled. “come on, be a good boy.” you purred.

“you made me hard.” he explained and you smirked.

“aw, that easy? baby… someone’s needy, hm?” your hand came into his hair, and he hummed, almost moaned as you scratched at his scalp.

“you… you left me.”

“what do you mean baby?” you played with the little hairs on his nape.

“you didn’t enter my streams.” you cooed once again.

“i know. did you miss me?” he nodded. “you did, huh? what did you do on those streams, hm? tell mommy.” god. you couldn’t talk about this things in public, but again, there were two more people in the class since it still was early, and they were on the furthest seats ever on the back chatting away. there’s no way they could hear you. his eyes trailed over to them anxiously and your other hand fell to his thigh. he almost jumped out of his seat. “spence.”

“i… i played with my toys.” he quivered.

“played with your toys, huh?” he nodded, hair falling to his pretty eyes. “what kind of toys?” he gulped when your hand started to move up his inner thigh and below his satchel.

“my… vibrators.” you hummed.

“and did you cum?” he nodded. “was it good?” he shook his head this time. “why not?” you were now drawing circles with your thumb on his thigh and he was stuttering.

“you weren’t there.” you almost melted at his pout. you would give him anything if he played that move on you, by your reaction, spencer knew, and he was gonna take it to his advantage. “i missed you so much mommy…” suddenly someone shouted in the back and startled you. it was a shriek of joy.

‘the class got cancelled!!’

‘are you joking?’

‘nuh-huh! god i’m gonna go back to my house and sleep the rest of the day.’

you could hear the other couple chatting as they quickly gathered their things and left from the back exists in a hurry to get back into their beds.

it was as if god loved you. how else could you have gotten spencer alone… with you?

spencer suddenly felt as if he were being stalked by a predator by how your eyes changed. your hand moved up… up… up… until you were cupping his erection, and he let out the prettiest whimper you’ve ever heard.

“god, you sound prettier than through the screen…” you sighed.

“mommy…”

“what is it baby?” you started to touch him from over his pants, with your hand measuring his length. he was big…

“we can’t… we’re at school…” he whined, although his hips thrusted against your touch in need for more.

“you don’t seem too sure about that.” you smirked. “you’re so pretty, the prettiest boy ever. you know how badly i wanted to enter those streams and see you? but no. i had to go slow with you. well i’m tired of going slow. aren’t you, spence?” he nodded.

“yes, yes, god…”

you pushed his satchel aside. “wanna see you.” he nodded once again, and with desperate fingers struggled to open his pants, pulling from his clothes so his cock would slip free. you clicked your tongue at the sight of his reddened tip. “baby… look at you. doesn’t it hurt?” he nodded.

“i just couldn’t help it…” he cried out. he had touched himself raw. “every time i thought about you…” he flushed. you understood.

“i can’t touch you like this, it’ll hurt you.” you cooed and his puppy eyes came back.

“no! please! it won’t hurt i promise! i’ll be good!” he begged, and you shook your head. “please mommy please…” you sighed.

“i can’t use my hands…” you said, but smirked, there were other ways to make him cum. and you were good at them. his eyes almost popped out of their spheres when you got on your knees in front of him.

“oh god…” he whispered at the sight and the implication of what you were about to do.

“i’m about to ruin my lipstick, so you better behave, hm?” he quickly nodded, desperately even.

“i’ll behave mommy, i promise.”

“good boy, pretty.” you said, and took him in your hand. he moaned, his head falling backwards on his seat. “baby… i haven’t even started yet.” you chuckled.

“sorry, it’s just… i’ve thought so much about this…” he bit down on his botton lip and you let out another chuckle.

“you’re so cute…” and with that your tongue swiped a stroke across his red and raw head. your lips curved at the whimper that fell from his lips and just how quickly his hand came to the top of your head. you licked clean the beads of precum there with a hum. “taste so good baby… better than i imagined.”

“keep praising me and i’ll cum.” he whined breathlessly and you laughed, pumping him slowly from his base before taking him into your mouth with a little moan.

him and his praise kink…

you loved the heady taste, how thick and large he was, and how warm he felt in your mouth.

he wouldn’t stop leaking, and you started to suck, slowly taking more and more of him in your mouth with the bobs of your head. you thanked this was a secluded area and 1. the doors were all closed and 2. there were no cameras, ‘cause spencer wasn’t good at keeping quiet, and you’d kill anyone who saw the pretty faces he was making right now as you fucked him with your mouth.

“mommy…” he moaned, his back arching as you sped up. “fuck. feels so good mommy, so good… thank you, fuck, thank you…” he praised you, and you felt your core getting wetter than it already was. you too had a praise kink after all.

his hips started to thrust up and your hands left him to go to his hips and push him down on his seat.

“sorry, sorry mommy…” he cried as you popped him out of your mouth and hissed a ‘stay put’ at him.

“you’re gonna be good and take it, aren’t you pretty?” he nodded. “that’s my good boy.” you went back at him, licking him from base to tip before taking him back down your throat.

“oh my god…” he was a mess. but he was your mess. he hissed when you gave special attention to his head, licking and sucking harshly. but the pain only made the whole experience better. he was a gentleman, pushing the little strands of hair out of your face, but he was getting lost on the feeling of his impending orgasm. “mommy, i’m gonna…”

“you’re gonna cum for me?” you asked as you pumped him. he nodded, his tongue peeking to wet his lips.

“yes, yes mommy…”

“where do you wanna cum, hm pretty?” you inquired, sucking on his head.

he blushed. “can i…?” he stopped, stuttering.

“come on baby, be good and use your big words.”

“can i cum in your mouth?” his puppy eyes were back, his adam’s apple bobbing. you smiled.

“you wanna cum in my mouth? wanna fill me up and watch me swallow it all?” you haunted him and he nodded. “how do we ask for it?”

“please mommy, please… can i?” you hummed in thought, just to tease him, before nodding.

“yes, you can, baby.” he moaned, and you went back to taking him back in your throat, down to the base, almost choking. the feeling of your throat closing around him making him whimper and thrash.

“ah-ah-ah!” he hiccuped, voice airy and the grip of his hand tightening on your hair. his cock twitching inside your mouth, and with one last suck, he couldn’t hold it anymore. he let go with a high-pitched whimper, his mouth falling open in a silent moan as his head fell back and his neck got exposed to your hungry eyes. you swallowed everything he gave you as you continued bobbing your head to extend his orgasm.

once down from it, you popped him out of your mouth, licking your lips clean.

you looked up at him to watch his chest rising and heaving in breathless puffs of air.

“are you okay baby?” you inquired him, and he mindlessly nodded. you had just sucked him braindead. “that good, huh?” you smirked, and he nodded.

“so good, mommy. thank you.”

“aw… so polite…” you got up from your knees, but not before putting him back in his briefs. “open up.” you patted his lips and he followed your orders. you spat into it and he moaned, happily swallowing. “good boy.”“tastes good?” he nodded. “does it hurt, baby?” you patted his chest, your noses touching.

“no, mommy.” he shook his head.

“still. you’ve gotta take care of yourself baby, how else am i gonna have fun with you, mh?” he nodded. he was still breathless and with a fuzzy mind. “no more touching until you’re all better, understood?”

“understood.”

“atta boy.”

later that day spencer posted on his twitter.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; head so good i’d be losing mine

after that spencer really did lose his mind.

you were serious about the “no touching”, but this. this was pure torture.

not only he could remember every little thing about your head, but you just looked so good everyday at school, and your messages, and your pictures… god… he was going crazy.

he needed to touch himself but he was supposed to be a good boy, so he couldn’t.

@ entersandman

@ entersandman; i’m being a good boy i promise mommy

but he wanted to rub one out so badly…

“mommy…” he whimpered.

it was a late night friday. 2AM. and spencer was desperately and ridiculously grinding against his pillow. it had been a week since he had the feeling of your mouth around him. a whole week of teasing from your part. he was already healed. and so, oh so desperate.

he hadn’t cum in a week, and it was getting to his head. that’s how he found himself right were he was right now.

“that’s it baby, keep humping that pillow for me.”

you had been surprised by the incoming call. this late at night? it shouldn’t have been bad, but not spencer moaning and whimpering on the other end, what quickly turned you the fuck on.

“oh fuck…” he whined, his sweatpants being the perfect friction against his leaking cock.

“what are you thinking about, huh?”

“your mouth…” he sighed. “mommy please… let me touch myself, please…”

“mmmh… you sound so pretty begging for it, baby… it’s been long since you last did it, huh?”

“yes.” he whimpered.

“awww, poor baby.” you cooed and he groaned at the way his cock jumped. “you wanna touch yourself baby? you wanna cum?” he moaned as a positive. “but what if i want it for me, huh? all that pent up, heavy load of yours, hm?”

he almost came right that instant as he thrusted against the pillow.

“you want it?” he panted and you hummed. “where?”

“in my pussy.” spencer’s eyes rolled.

“oh my god.”

“so… are you sure you wanna waste it in your hand?”

“no, but…” he whined.

“but?”

“you’re not here…”

“so why don’t you come here?” his eyebrows perked up. “come to my place.”

“are you serious?” he questioned you, and you giggled.

“of course i am, it must have been so hard for you this week… you should come here and let me make you feel better.” you purred. he moaned.

“i’ll be there in 10 minutes.” he quickly babbled, and hung up.

you sent him your address as he quickly put on some clothes and took the keys to his car.

now you just had to wait.

“mmmph!” your mouth was on his as soon as he stepped through the door, tongue swiping his lower lip for entrance. what little of his erection had gone down in the way was quickly back as you pushed into his mouth.

“you taste so good…” you whispered against his lips, his hands on your hips as he kissed you once again, desperately.

“need you…” he whined, his cock throbbing against your belly.

“you do, huh?” he nodded. “how much?”

“so much…”

“yeah?” your fingers trailed down his jaw, and he shivered.

“yeah.” he whispered against your lips.

“then show me.” without needing to tell him twice, his hands shot up to the sides of your face, pulling him for the wettest and neediest kiss someone had ever given you. he was pouring everything he had on it, and you moaned, melting against him as he guided you backwards.

“room?” he hummed between kisses.

“to the right.” you answered and squeaked when his big hands came down to your thighs and pulled you up, making you surround his hips. the two of you groaned at the feeling of his erection against your pussy, and you rocked your hips to feel more.

“fuck.”

he quickly made his way into the room, never straying from your lips and softly placing you onto your bed.

“mommy.” he whispered against your jaw as he kissed his way down to your neck.

“yeah, baby?”

“wanna eat your pussy.” he whispered against your skin, and you shivered.

“yeah? you wanna eat my pussy, honey?”

“yes, please.” he begged and you groaned, nodding. he whimpered at just the thought, his hands quickly followed yours to your shorts, pulling them off along with your underwear as you moved up the bed and him; down, kissing at the exposed skin on your stomach. you groaned at the feeling. you had thought so much about this…

he kissed at the skin of your hip, nibbling and sucking as he made his way in between your legs, pulling them over his shoulders.

“you’re so beautiful…” he groaned at the sight of you all spread out for him and glistening… “god i just can’t wait.” he whispered before diving in and licking a fat stroke up your slit with a moan, whimpering when you did too and your hands made their way into his hair and tugged.

“oh god, spencer…” he ate you out like a man starved, sucking at your clit before going back down to your entrance and plunging his tongue inside to slurp out your juices.

“so good, mommy, you taste so good…” he moaned, licking his lips before going back at it. you pulled at his hair, messing it all up as you rocked your pussy against his tongue, riding his face and pulling him closer. he was even louder than you were as he licked everything up.

one of his fingers caressed your entrance and your hips canted upwards, moaning as he pushed it inside.

“fuck, pretty. you’re so good at this… fuck me with your fingers baby.” you ordered and he complied, starting with the one already inside, pumping it in and out as he suckled at your clit. “just like that, good boy.” he whimpered and added another, curling them to hit your g spot. he wanted to make you feel good. he needed the praise. his hips rocked against the mattress as he fucked you with his fingers and licked your clit. “atta boy, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum…” your back arched. “gonna give you this pussy baby. gonna make you a fucking mess. want your load inside of me, fuck, spencer, fuck!” you could feel yourself reaching it, getting closer and closer and closer… “yes, yes, yes!!!!” you used his face as with a final suck and curl of his fingers you fell apart, your eyes rolling back. he moaned when he felt you squeezing his fingers, fucking you through it.

once you came down, he licked you clean. sucking his fingers inside his mouth with a moan.

“come here.” you ordered, pulling from his tee-shirt until he was in between your legs. “you did so good baby… ate me out so good…” you praised him, and he sighed, smiling. “now give me a taste, will you?” you purred, pulling down his bottom lip to open up his mouth as you guided him to yours, kissing him hungrily as you took off his top.

he whimpered, his tongue dancing with your own as you rolled the two of you over and sitting on his lap. “fuuuuck…” he moaned when you started to roll your hips against his.

“you’re so hard…” you bit down on your bottom lip, discarding your shirt. his eyes widened at the sight of your naked and exposed chest, his hands quickly going to your breasts and thumbs rolling your nipples. “i want you now.” you smirked, and he nodded, helping you get rid of the last piece of clothing that was on him, since he wasn’t wearing any underwear. “no underwear? someone came ready…” you smirked and he whined, being cut off by his own moan when your pussy made contact with his cock. your lips engulfed his length as you rocked your hips, lubing him up.

“you’re killing me.” he cried out, his dick twitching, head dribbling with precum.

“shhh… let me make you feel better, pretty.” you kissed his lips, taking him in your hand as you rose your hips and guided him to your entrance. “gonna fuck you so good spence… you’ll forget your own name.” you promised before you slowly sank down on him.

and spencer knew you were telling the truth, ‘cause just with the tip inside, his mind was blank.

“oh god, oh my god, jesus christ, fuck, shit…” you wanted to laugh at the indecent amount of words that were stumbling past his lips.

“aw come on baby, already?” you smirked. “it’s just the tip.” his hands were on your hips, fingertips pressing against your supple skin. “are you sure can you handle it?” you inquired but he didn’t answer, moaning as you lowered yourself just the slightest amount, taking another inch. “spencer.” you harshly called out his name.

“yes?” he dazedly replied, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. you could eat him up.

“i said. can. you. handle it?”

“yesyesyes, please mommy. i can. i promise.”

“good. don’t you dare cum until i tell you to.” you ordered before taking all of him in in a quick movement. his eyes rolled backwards and from his mouth erupted the most beautiful whimper you’ve ever heard.

“oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…”

“sure, if you wanna call me that.” you shrugged, a smug smile on your lips as you started rolling your hips to adjust to his girth. “fuck, you’re stretching me out so good baby, so fucking big… a pretty boy with a pretty and big cock, you have it all don’t you?” he moaned, nodding at your words even if he hadn’t really processed them. he was trying his best not to burst.

come on, he hadn’t come in a week. a week in which you hadn’t stopped edging him. you had to know what you were doing to him. you just had to.

“don’t move, please.” he muttered, his dick twitching, he was gonna cum so hard.

“we haven’t even started yet…” you sighed, and he pouted. he wanted to make you feel good, but you had this effect on him in which he could cum with just one single touch. “i thought you could handle it…”

“i can! it’s just…” he saw you smirk. “god… you know what you do to me, you know.” you puckered your lips as you leaned closer to his own.

“that i drive you crazy?” you rolled your hips and he moaned, his grip tightening. “oh i know darling, i can feel it…” you whispered against his ear before your lips latched to his neck and your hips started to slightly move.

“you’re killing me.” he whimpered, and you hummed, sucking a pretty mark where you knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it. “don’t stop.” his hands wandered to your ass and helped you move more, slowly riding his cock.

you moaned when his tip kissed your cervix.

“fuck baby you’re so deep, can’t wait to feel you pump me full.” he moaned, and his hips subconsciously pumped upwards, making you laugh, although you almost squeaked. “oh you liked that, huh? like the idea or your cum inside me, pretty?” he nodded.

“yes, fuck, yes. want it all deep inside your pussy mommy.” you moaned, moving harder. the squelches of your wetness around his dick moving in and out of you filled your room, only turning the two of you more.

“yeah baby? want me round and pretty for you?” the idea almost made him cum and you noticed. one of your hands surrounded his neck. “answer me, baby.”

“yes,yes,yes.”

“good boy.” you started to ride him in earnest. his eyes fell to your jumping breasts and then his hands followed, rolling your nipples to stimulate you. your back arched. “that’s it, touch me pretty, touch my tits.” your hand tightened around his neck and his hips stuttered against yours. “you like it, hm? like my hand around your neck baby?” he nodded.

“harder.” he begged and your smile got wider.

“atta boy.” you complied and his moans increased in volume. “that’s it pretty, let me hear you.”

“mommy…” he whimpered. “i can’t, it feels so good…!”

“don’t you dare. i’ve just started playing with you.” he whined, but nodded, his muscles tensing as you went faster, your own moans spilling into the room. “fuck, such a good cock. love it. love your cock baby.” you praised him, and you felt it twitch. he rose to hold you, his hands back on your ass to drive you harder down on his cock until his tip was breaching your cervix and your eyes were rolling back.

you wouldn’t let him cum? fine. then he’ll make you cum first.

his mouth latched to your right nipple as his hips snapped up against yours.

“spencer!” you screamed in ecstasy.

“mommy, fuck, mommy.” he panted against your chest, moaning against your skin before his tongue would circle your nipples and suck.

“don’t stop. don’t stop, just like that.” you were surprised at his sudden change, but you weren’t gonna complain, not when he was fucking the lights out of you.

“it was made for me, mommy. your pussy was made for me. it takes me so good…” he was babbling, whimpering as you tugged on his hair. the two of you moved messily, taking from the other, giving at the same time. desperate. hungry. it was as if you two were in heat, lost on each other.

“fuck baby, i’m gonna cum. gonna cum all over your pretty cock.” you moaned, and he went harder, one of his hands surrounding your waist to keep you in place for his incessant thrusts and the other moving to your clit, drawing circles on it to push you closer. “fuck,fuck,fuck!!!!!” you screamed, your back arching as with a couple more thrusts your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, clenching down hard on his dick.

spencer whimpered, driving into you over and over again to fuck you through it, begging like crazy during it. “please mommy, can i cum? can i cum now? please let me cum, let me fill you up mommy.”

“yes pretty yes, fuck my pussy, pump me full of your cum. i want it in my womb.” his hips stuttered and with, one, two, three more pumps he was burying himself impossibly deeper, breaching your cervix and spilling into your womb with a moan.

you two continued to rock against the other to ride the high down until all that was left was pure bliss. you two flopped down against the bed, you on top of him as you tried catching your breaths.

“uh…” he tried, clearing his throat. he was out of words.

“yeah.” you nodded. “that was…”

“yeah.” he copied you. “wanna go again?” he asked after a beat, too eager to make you feel good again.

“yeah.” you muttered before devouring his lips.

[…]

months passed, and spencer was once again on one of his lives, shirtless, his stomach tied up in knots in nervousness. his adam’s apple bobber, his breath hitched as your fingers scratched his neck.

“hey you all, i have a surprise for you.” he said before an unknown figure slowly joined him on his bed, completely clad in lingerie. “this… is my girlfriend, and today… she’ll be joining me.” he stuttered as you pressed wet kisses to his neck and jaw.

“ready, pretty?” you inquired him, kissing his lips. and he nodded, puppy eyes staring at you. “good. cause i’m gonna fuck you dumb. and they are all gonna watch.”

☆☆☆☆☆

[brattyspence]

drunk reader w mutual pining fic coming this week let's gooo

[brattyspence]

me on character ai putting my persona through hell so I can be comforted by Dr. Spencer Reid himself

[brattyspence]

persimmon ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you wake up to your first morning on your honeymoon. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut (18+ mdni) tags: oral (f receiving). praise. he loves you you love him!!! newlyweds. word count: 1.2k a/n: couldn't tell you where the fuck this came from tbh. very short + very simple little thing i wrote instead of doing assignments after seeing a tweet about persimmons :)

You were beautiful. Maddeningly. Iridescent, as sunlight reflects off your skin and golds the room in which you lay with him. Gentle breaths that lift and deflate your chest evenly, bringing you closer to him, ripping you away soon after. He ached to hold you closer. To the point of your chest never cutting contact with his own. He knew better; knew to let you sleep.

The things he feels for you seem too demanding for a human being. Too overwhelming. How can one man hold so much adoration for another person? His heart was always so full when he woke up like this; before you did.

Things were more beautiful today, though. The ring around your finger, for you had refused to take it off despite his efforts, sparkled amongst crinkled white sheets. Legs entangled with his own, skin resting against skin, warm enough to provide an enormous amount of comfort. 

Never one to curse unnecessarily, Spencer Reid was. Yet, all his thoughts were consumed with, fuck you were beautiful. 

It seemed too inconsequential of a word to describe you. Every word did. A thousand adjectives and he would still believe he's not loving you as much as you deserve. 

You stir, and his entire bloodstream burns. He couldn't count on his hands how many times he had watched you wake up in the morning, but this morning was so special, and before you had even fully fluttered your eyes open, he was kissing you. Gently, for he wanted to take his time with you. 

You're smiling. He can feel your lips stretch against his, and he's proud to have enough self restraint to pull away from you so he could see it. He's sure the sun could develop a rivalry with you when you were this happy. 

"Good morning," you murmur, a little breathless from the half asleep kiss you were still trying to recover from, "husband."

He relishes in the way the word leaves your lips, and it takes a considerable amount of strength to not kiss you once more. Though, he wants to. Desperately. 

Then again, he wishes to do a lot of things this morning. So many different activities he yearns for (many of them not very appropriate, if he's honest), and he is quite content to cancel the schedule you had developed for today to complete them. 

He knows better than to do that unprompted. So, he asks, "How much time in bed do we have?"

Perhaps it was the way he looks at you while he's above you, hair falling down and gently tickling your face from how close he was. Perhaps it was your own personal desires seeping into your strong willed mind. Whatever it was, you were probably on the same wavelength as him, and you were discarding whatever else you wanted to do that day. 

"As much as we want," you reply, and it's a shit-eating grin on his face that promises you a good morning. 

"Thank God."

Never one to be religious, you know he's wanton if he's thanking a figure he doesn't believe in. You bite down a remark about it. 

Amongst all the doctorates he had attached to his name, you were sure worshipping your body had to be one of them. For the way he kisses down your body is practised, and it is a trail of flames he leaves on your skin. Benign kisses on every patch of skin he can find, paying extra attention to the pulse point on your neck that drags whimpers from your lips. 

Fingers find your thighs to push them apart, hands sliding up and down the skin and encouraging goosebumps to lift. He is breathless as he laughs at you, but then he is pressing kisses into your hip bones, and you truly forget how to argue with him. 

"I love you," he says, lifting his gaze up to you, breath warm against your skin, all whilst his head lowers further down your body. He presses a kiss to each thigh, repeating the adoring phrase in between. 

Wasting no time to put his lips on you, he's teasing with his tongue licking a stripe up the centre of your folds, before he's attaching them to your clit. 

He probably mumbles something about how good you taste, as he usually does, but you're too overwhelmed already to actually register the words. For you had been inside the cabin David Rossi had gotten the two of you less than twelve hours, and he had drawn four orgasms from you already. Something about spending your honeymoon loving you in every way he can. 

You're writhing beneath him already, and he's sure if he focusses any more on that, he'd lose his mind. His tongue flicking over your clit elicits more moans from you, and the broken sound of your voice. 

"Spenc—er—oh," your head digs into the pillow beneath it, back arching. "Please."

Usually, he would force your hips back to the mattress, and he would concern himself with keeping you still. Then again, usually, you aren't this sensitive. He lets you lift yourself off the mattress, though he moves with you, and you're provided no respite from his mouth.

He's never once eaten you out with this much tranquility; he likes to devour you like you are his first meal in months. But today, he is taking his time, and he is dragging out every quiet moan and cry from your throat that he possibly can. 

Persimmons can sometimes be so incredibly tender they split themselves open. The osmotic pressure that is built up by the sugar tends to cause the skin to burst. When he touches you like this, you consider whether or not you are but a tender persimmon, splitting under the duress of how good he feels. 

"My beautiful girl," he breathes out against you, and God if you believe nothing else in this world, let it be how much this man loves you. 

His hand reaches up to find your left hand, interlacing your fingers with his own and bringing them both down to your stomach, where he finally pushes you back down onto the mattress. 

You are too tired to even warn him, but your moaning becomes incessant, and your fingers are digging into the knuckles of his hand within your own. You're sure you don't need to say anything.

He coaxes you through your orgasm, obscene praise leaving his lips every chance he gets, his eyes so fixated on your face you can feel it, even through your now closed eyelids. 

He's pulling away and kissing his way back up your body, each kiss more drawn out than the last, until he's got his lips back on your own, and he's swallowing the gentle moan that leaves your lips. 

"I love you," you finally murmur, and he pulls back to bury his face into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin there so delicately you wonder if you could fall apart all over again, for an entirely different reason. 

"I love you," he punctuates his words with his hand squeezing your own, which he still had interlaced with his. 

"Can I cut our bed time short for a shower?" you ask him, quietly. 

"Mm," he considers it, or pretends to, hair tickling your jawline. "No, I'm not done with you here yet."

"You're insatiable."

You squirm when he nips at your neck. "You married me."

He pulls back to look at you, eyes sparkling, and you breathe out a quiet huff of amused laughter. 

"Yeah, I did."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[brattyspence]

[brattyspence]

I Don't Need To Know

Summary: Spencer Reid has no choice but to watch the love of his life fall in love with another man. 

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Major character death. HEAVY angst. Bittersweet ending? Graphic depictions of violence (for maybe two lines). Fingering (f receiving). P in v sex/unprotected sex (in terms of a condom, birth control is mentioned). Loss of virginity (both m and f). Creampie (god I hate that word ugh!!). Slight age gap (roughly five years). Argument scene that may be triggering for readers that have experienced SA or manipulation from a partner (nothing of that nature actually happens, but just in case).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

A/N: This is inspired by Will He by Joji, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading. I cried several times while writing this, but I felt it needed to be done so here it is. :’) Please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :)

I got knots all up in my chest… Just know, I’m trying my best…

Spencer had always found the saying “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” absurd. He couldn’t fathom willingly letting go of something he loved on the off chance that it would come back to him. Not after having everything he’d ever loved ripped from his clutches throughout his lifetime. To him, love wasn’t about releasing someone to see if they’d return. It was about holding on as though his very survival depended on it—like a feral cat finally finding food after days of hunger, sinking its teeth in and never letting go, no matter the cost. 

It wasn’t until today that Spencer finally understood the meaning of that stupid phrase. And he wished with every intricate thread of his being that he didn’t. 

Five years. Five long, agonizing years had passed. So why was he here now? Why, after what felt like an eternity of pleading for just one more moment with her, did the universe decide now was the time to give him what he wanted? 

Ironically, the timing only drove home another phrase he’d always hated: “Be careful what you wish for.” 

There she was, as beautiful as the day he’d met her, sitting in the corner of what had once been their favorite café. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on her ring, the enticing glinting of the jewelry drawing his eyes away from her face momentarily. His heart is in his throat. She’s still wearing the wedding ring he’d given her, twisting it in the same nervous fashion she always used to. 

And there across from her is a man that isn’t him making her smile. 

‘Cause when you look… When you laugh… When you smile… I’ll bring you back…

Spencer Reid had never been a particularly angry man. He had his moments—who didn’t?—but he usually considered himself level-headed, patient. But now, watching Y/N hide a bashful smile behind the rim of her mug as she gazed at the man across from her, all Spencer could feel was rage. Raw, unbridled rage. It flared up inside him as her head tipped back, the sound of her laughter crashing over him like a tidal wave, stirring his veins with a violent rush. The same sound he’d yearned to hear again for five fucking years. And it was all because of him—Ben. 

That was his girl. His perfect, beautiful girl. The love of his life. His angel. 

All Spencer could do was stand there, feeling every broken shard of his non-existent heart pierce his chest. 

And now I’m sad… And I’m a mess… And now we high… That’s why I left… That’s why I left…

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Spencer had never wanted to leave her. But that choice wasn’t his to make. 

That cold, cruel September night six years ago had robbed Spencer of his very existence. 

Everything that could have gone wrong during that case did. The bullet wasn’t meant for him, but he took it anyway. He had traded his life in exchange for JJ’s. It wasn’t even meant to be heroic. It wasn’t done out of love. It was just instinct. It’s who he was as a person. 

Was. 

The word leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Because that’s his reality now. He was a person; an agent, a professor, a son, a husband…

Now he’s… well, that he didn’t quite understand. As a man of science, Spencer was stumped by what he could even call his existence now. Calling himself a ghost felt silly—he felt as alive as the day he’d died. And yet, that was essentially what he was. A whisper of the person he’d once been. A soul caught between worlds. 

Spencer could still feel the exact moment his soul wrenched free from its physical tether to the world. Even recalling it sent a shiver down his spine. It hadn’t been peaceful, as so many people claimed in interviews. No… it had been agony in its purest form; white hot and searing as his very essence clawed its way out from his ribs. There was no light waiting for him to step into it and find peace.

Instead, he had watched helplessly as the team he called his family swarmed his dead body, uselessly screaming for a medic as the crimson puddle underneath him grew and smeared beneath their hands as they knelt beside him. He had watched Y/N swing open their door that fateful night, the excited grin on her face vanishing as she came face to face with a tearful Emily instead of the husband she’d been eagerly waiting for. And he had watched the guilt eat away at JJ as their eyes met at his funeral, the hatred on Y/N’s face so raw it made Spencer’s own stomach twist. 

Despite the Bureau's insistence, she took charge of every detail—planning his funeral in a way that honored everything Spencer would have wanted. Y/N held Diana as she wept over her baby boy's body. She delivered a eulogy that left even Spencer in shambles. She was the first person to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until everyone had left to sink to her knees beside his casket and howl her grievances. 

For that first year, Y/N was as strong as she could be during the day. She handled everything that needed to be done, as long as the sun was still up. But when night fell, and the suffocating silence of their empty home settled in… that’s when she’d finally let herself break. 

Spencer had never been a religious man, but the year after his death felt like an endless descent into his own personal hell. He would never escape the sound of those gut-wrenching screams. He cursed whatever force had condemned him to an eternity where he could do nothing but watch, powerless as Y/N crumpled to the floor night after night, her wails so desperate it seemed as though she thought breaking the sound barrier might somehow bring him back to life. 

All he could do was stay beside her, silently pleading for his touch to somehow reach her, his hands brushing over her again and again, unnoticed and unfelt. 

Time was no longer a concept to Spencer. 

The limits of his existence perplexed him. He couldn’t roam freely, couldn’t go where he pleased—he could only follow where Y/N went. It was as if his very soul was bound to hers, linked by some invisible string that kept him tied to her even in death. It brought him both joy and sorrow: joy in the fact that he could still watch her, still admire the way she carried on, and sorrow because she would never know he was there, silently urging her forward, so incredibly proud of her strength. 

The longer he lingered, the more control he gained over his abilities. It started with the smallest things—a strand of hair lifting with the brush of his fingers, a faint chill against her skin as he cradled her face while she slept. But soon, it became more. Doors creaked open as he stepped into rooms behind her, and objects shifted ever so slightly from their places when he pushed with just enough force. 

There were times when she seemed to sense him—moments Spencer cherished more than anything. In those fleeting instances, it felt as though she could see him, even though he knew she couldn’t. Every day, rain or shine, she visited his grave, and when she spoke to him, her gaze would drift forward, as if she were looking into the honey-colored eyes she once loved. Her hands would rest open in her lap, as though she knew he was holding them. When she was home, she’d speak aloud every thought that came to mind, as though she knew he could hear every word that fell from her perfect lips. And he always responded as if she could hear him in return. That was their new life for the first year after his death. 

After a year and one day, he was gone. 

That’s where his understanding of the phrase “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” came from. It was because she had set him free. 

One whole year had passed. The hardest year of Y/N’s life. She had knelt by his grave, laying fresh flowers with trembling hands, her tears falling freely for hours. When she finally stood to leave, her legs unsteady beneath her, she pressed a soft kiss to his headstone. Through her tears, she whispered how much she missed him, how he never left her thoughts, and how she’d never stop loving him—but above all, she wished he could be at peace. And on the night following the anniversary of his passing, her wish was granted. He had faded into nothingness, existing only in her dreams and memories for five long years. 

But now, he was back. Because he had always been hers. 

Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips? Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips? 

Spencer remembered their first time like it was yesterday, though he wasn’t sure if he could thank his eidetic memory or the fact that it was because of how remarkable it had been for the memory lingering so vividly...

“You’re lying! You’ve really never had sex before?” 

Y/N squawked the words incredulously as she sat atop Spencer’s lap, grinning down at the stammering mess of a man beneath her. Spencer’s hands flexed against her hips, unintentionally squeezing as he took a deep breath to calm himself. 

They were inside Spencer’s apartment, having enjoyed the museum and dinner but still craving each other’s company too badly to end the night there. What started as sweet, innocent pecks pressed up against the kitchen counter had quickly devolved into ravenous, passionate kisses that had them stumbling towards the couch. It was going so well… until Spencer panicked after Y/N had whispered into his ear asking how far he wanted things to go. 

That resulted in him spewing out the fact that he, at twenty-six years old, was a virgin.

“No, I haven’t! Why is that so hard to believe?” Spencer huffs, his small smile belying his annoyed tone. 

It was their sixth date total in a span of four months, but it was their first date as an actual couple. Spencer had reluctantly agreed to let Penelope set him up on a blind date after his failed attempt at taking JJ out had shattered any of the confidence he’d built up, leaving the man petrified of taking his chances romantically again. He suspected Penelope’s pity for him was why she was setting up said date to begin with, but he quickly found himself grateful that he went. 

Y/N had been friends with Penelope for years, having bonded online over some indie punk rock band that was no longer around and developing a close friendship from there despite their age difference. When Penelope found out Y/N had moved to Virginia and was single, she couldn’t resist setting the two up. 

It’s Y/N’s turn to stammer as she quickly thinks of a response. “I, uh… you’re just so handsome that I naturally assumed you’d had sex before.” 

Spencer blinks up at her skeptically, trying to detect even the faintest clue that the otherworldly woman in his lap was lying to him. All he found was nervous adoration as she stared back down at him, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. It suited her. He wanted to cause it more often. 

“I had, um… I graduated super early from both high school and college, so I didn’t do much dating.” 

Instead of the judgment Spencer expected to see spread across her face, Y/N simply just hummed in understanding, her eyes curious as they watched him. He’d elaborate more on his unfortunate (for lack of a better term) adolescence later. For now, he just wanted to keep from scaring the poor girl off of his lap so he could taste her sweet chapstick again. 

“I see…” Y/N murmurs before continuing, shifting forward slightly with a smirk. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m also a virgin.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened almost comically as he gawked up at her. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth going dry. His tongue pokes out in a meek attempt at wetting his lips, his voice cracking as he responds. 

“Et tu, Y/N?” 

Oh fuck. Spencer hadn’t meant to let the lame reference slip from his mouth. She just made him so nervous that he couldn’t think straight, and Rome had been heavily on his mind since she had perched herself in his lap. Specifically Roman goddesses, because she looked like she should be amongst them on their thrones. Surely she was going to leave now—-

Loud, genuine laughter bubbles from Y/N’s lips, the noise startling Spencer as she tips her head back and her hands grip his shoulders to stabilize herself. She thought it was funny. She thought he was funny. 

��That’s, like, the last thing I expected you to say,” Y/N managed once her laughter had simmered down into giggles. “But, to answer your question… I too have really never had sex before.” 

Spencer knew that it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. The woman was sex personified; the archetype of beauty and seduction wrapped into one perfect being. The twitching in his pants brought his attention back to the situation at hand. He could ask her later why that was. For now, he brought his focus back to her. 

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Spencer tilted his head up to brush their noses together. “Would you… would you want to?” 

It didn’t take a profiler to notice the hitch in her breath or the almost imperceptible squeezing of her thighs around his hips. Her pupils were already blown, her lower lip trembling from what Spencer prayed was anticipation and not regret as his question settled over her. The silence stretched between them, the seconds feeling like hours in Spencer’s overly anxious mind. 

He’d done it now. He’d gone off and opened his stupid mouth and frightened the one woman he could actually see himself having a future with because the head straining against his zipper overruled the head housing his supposed genius level IQ. The apologies were already forming in the back of his throat, but they weren’t needed because she— she was kissing him? 

“God, yes. Please,” Y/N murmured eagerly against his lips, effectively clearing every cohesive thought from his brain. 

If Spencer thought her words were enough to bring upon his undoing, he was sorely mistaken. The grinding of her hips against his erection ignited something inside of him that he had no idea existed. It was feral, drowning out all of his other emotions and replacing them with one thing: primal, unfiltered desire. 

Spencer understood now why men used to start wars over women. 

With each gasp that fell upon his ears, Spencer pledged his allegiance to her. Every stuttered moan that came into existence from his hips rutting up into her clothed core fueled his devotion to her. It was animalistic, the way his hands gripped her ass and pulled her tighter against his body as his mouth devoured her now, every cell swimming through his veins screaming for more. More of her touch, more of her taste, more of her sounds... God, those heavenly sounds that had Spencer finally believing in salvation, if only in the form of her skin against his.  

Tongues danced together as layers were hastily stripped away. Layers of insecurity. Layers of self-doubt. Layers of uncertainty. Their clothes fell to the ground as though the fabric burned them, clumsy hands fidgeting with buttons and tugging at zippers with a vendetta. 

Those layers that had crumbled so easily were replaced instead with the firm knowledge that this was exactly where they were meant to be: in each other’s arms, trembling and panting as their world’s trajectory tilted so violently it uprooted them from their upright position, knocking them down against the leather cushions as their bodies attempted to mend their separated souls back into one. 

Spencer choked on the words he wanted to worship her with, so instead he used the most primitive sense he could to get his message across: touch. His lips sucked purpling reminders into the crook of her neck of what they both knew to be true now: He is hers just as much as she is his. Lithe fingers tugged the soaked fabric of her lace panties down until they landed in a heap with their other clothes. Those same fingers pause at the crest of her most intimate spot, his eyes meeting hers with a silent plea. 

Y/N found herself in the same position, her words failing her as they were strangled in her throat by the overwhelming adoration she felt for the man hovering above her. Instead of chanting her desire for Spencer to please touch her, she canted her hips up in approval. 

Her moans were swallowed by swollen lips that claimed the sound straight from her body as nimble fingers dug themselves into the deepest parts of her. Their rhythm was clumsy but steadfast, her hips bucking against his hand in jerky movements as the palm of his hand pressed against her clit. Spencer’s own hips ground against the bare skin of her thigh, shielded only by the immature fabric of his equation-covered boxers. 

Spencer hadn’t for a second thought the night was going to go like this. If he had known he’d have the definition of art itself clawing at his shoulders and panting into his mouth while he made her legs tremble beneath him, he wouldn’t have worn what he deemed his lucky boxers. At least they had done their job, he supposed. 

Their lips separated completely as a guttural moan wrenched its way from Y/N’s throat, her body beginning to thrash wildly underneath him as the tension in her lower belly coiled tighter. Spencer wouldn’t allow her first time to happen on his couch. She was much too precious for that. But he’d already made the decision to unravel her at least once while they were there, to bring her over the edge before taking her into his bedroom so that he could experience the glorious sight of her falling apart more than once tonight. 

Spencer was a virgin, not a prude. He’d seen porn before. He’d read erotic novels. Anything he could use to try to prepare himself for the real experience, he did. But nothing could have prepared him for the downright visceral reaction Y/N had as his fingers curled and brushed against the rough patch of skin inside of her that caused the tension building in her body to snap. Her cries of pleasure tore through him as her pussy clenched around his fingers, his free hand leaving its place beside her head to keep her thighs pried open. He quickly shifted up onto his knees to watch her taking his fingers as she came, taking the pleasure he inflicted upon her. 

He sang her praises while slowing his pace, cooing softly at her as he stroked her hair and worked her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Only when she was squirming and whining beneath him did he finally remove his fingers, sucking them into his mouth greedily. Y/N’s mouth gaped open as her chest heaved, her eyes locked on Spencer as his tongue lapped over his fingers, enjoying her essence with a groan. Her body sagged into the couch, a delighted laugh spilling from her exhausted frame as she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of his living room. 

“Do you still want to keep going?” Spencer breathed as he gazed down at her, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of something that made Y/N's heart flutter. “B-because we can stop there if you want. I just… I want to do what makes you happy.” 

Above her was the man she’d recognized, soft and timid, but now with a newfound air of confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Above her was the man that she wanted more than anything. Above her was the man that she knew, without a shadow of doubt, would be her husband. 

“Spencer… if you don’t fuck me right now, then I’ll die a virgin, right here on your couch... and it will be all your fault.” 

Spencer’s hearty chuckles filled the room, his nose twitching as he grinned down at the dramatic woman. He simply couldn’t let that be her fate, could he? 

Shaking his head, he stooped down to press a gentle kiss to her nose before standing from the couch, offering her his (clean) hand. Y/N’s face twisted in confusion as she stared up at him, still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm surprisingly given to her by the same man who’d eagerly rambled about the lore behind Doctor Who on their first date when she’d mentioned she hadn’t seen it. 

“Not here, silly girl. The bedroom,” He whispered. 

He guided her down the dark hallway as though he were escorting the most priceless treasure known to man to his bed, and in his eyes, he was. His hand stayed steady on her hip as she swayed lightly, her body pressed into his side as he opened the door with shaky hands. Any confidence Spencer had managed to muster throughout the night vanished as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gently as his courage began to crack. 

In an almost startling display of being seen, something Spencer had never experienced before, Y/N looped her arms around his neck and tugged him into a kiss that simultaneously stole the breath from his lungs and filled him with the air he needed to breathe again, effectively calming his nerves.

“It’s okay,” She reassured him against his lips. “It’s just me.” 

She walked them backward until the backs of her knees pressed into his cool comforter, taking over where Spencer so willingly handed her the reigns while he regained his momentum. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands pressed into his hips to keep him from following after her. Her eyes met his, the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window illuminating her as though she were a vision, a figment of his imagination that he’d conjured up in the dead of night, ready to haunt his every waking moment once he inevitably woke up to an empty bed. She was too good to be true. 

Spencer’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, just to give himself proof that Y/N was real and that he hadn’t dreamed her up or somehow followed in his mother’s footsteps and succumbed to early onset schizophrenia. 

She was real and she was here, eye level with the tent in his boxers and naked as the day she was born, her warm breath fanning across the smattering of hair trailing down from his belly button to below his underwear. His muscles tensed and twitched as she smirked up at him, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his cock through the thin fabric. His entire body flinched from that one touch, his brows furrowing together as he hissed quietly. 

“N-not that I wouldn’t love to feel your mouth on me—“ Spencer’s pitch raised as her hands found the elastic of his waistband, pulling his boxers down his legs. “But I… I won’t last if you do.” 

The fondness in her eyes quelled any humiliation he felt from having uttered those words. 

Placing a kiss to his hip, she nodded in understanding before shuffling backwards to lay in the middle of his bed, with him kneeling onto the mattress after her. The sight of her— stretched out and languid and looking at him as if she wanted to ravage him— had him sending up a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever in the universe had deemed him worthy enough of having this divine of a woman in his life. 

As Spencer reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom, Y/N stammers, grabbing his attention. He watches for a moment as she flounders over her words, his brow furrowing in concern at her sudden diffidence. 

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“I’m on birth control if you want to skip the condom!” 

Spencer inhales sharply at the same time she smiles sheepishly up at him, her blurted words almost making him finish before they’d even started. He holds her gaze, tracing her irises for any hint of hesitancy. When he finds none, he nods once, swallowing hard. 

“I— uh. Um...” 

It was rare that Spencer Reid was rendered speechless, but Y/N had managed to do it with just eleven words. He clears his throat, trying again. 

“Yes. Yes, I would like to skip the condom. Only if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.” 

“Yes. It is. I pinky promise.” 

Y/N holds up her pinky for him, the sight so endearing he can practically feel his heart melt away, dripping in a sticky mess inside him. He just grins, linking his pinky with hers before he moves to settle over her once more. 

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair as his elbows dig into the mattress beside her ribs. The flushed head of his cock bumps against her clit as he reaches down to line himself up at her entrance, a small whine leaving her lips at the sensation. He repeats the action, dizzy from the sound of her soft noises. She was still soaked from their time on the couch, a small feeling of pride welling in Spencer’s chest at the knowledge that not only did he make her cum, but he’d kept her wet while they made it here. 

His lips meet hers in a searing kiss, the both of them quivering with anticipation at giving themselves so intimately to someone for the first time. He was happy it was her. And she was happy it was him. 

Spencer couldn’t remember a time where his mind had ever been quiet. All he knew was incessant thoughts and worries, unable to put a halt to the chaos jumbling around his brain. But as he pressed forward and sunk into Y/N for the first time, his entire mind went blank. White static crowded the spaces where various facts and tidbits of information had been stored, the only thing he was able to focus on now being the sheer ecstasy coursing through his body from being inside of her. 

His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips stilling as they pressed flush against hers. She mirrored his response, squeaking out an “oh!” as her walls fluttered around the intrusion instinctively. He throbbed in response, his head dropping to rest in the crook of her neck, unable to stop the pitiful whimper that escaped from behind clenched teeth. 

She was so tight. So wet. So warm. 

Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his spine as he remained still, waiting patiently for Y/N to adjust to both his size and to the feeling of being filled for the first time in general. He’d wait as long as she needed him to. All he wanted was for her to feel good. To enjoy this as much as he was. 

He was a humble man, truly. But even he wasn’t too shy to admit he’d been gifted with a size that was bigger than average. Not necessarily just in length, falling just shy of seven inches, but in girth as well.  

Spencer peppered soft kisses up and down her flushed skin, feeling her rapid pulse beneath his lips. He was sure she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs from where their bare chests were pressed together. Her nipples were taut, pressing into his skin enticingly. He wanted to touch them. Taste them. But he’d wait until she was ready. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. 

At her gentle nod, Spencer lifted his head to press his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together as he pulls his hips back. The sensation of her grip tightening in his hair as he pushed forward does more to him than he’d care to admit, but he still lets her hear just how affected he is by her. With a shaky moan, Spencer repeats the motion, easing out of her before gently rocking back into her. He keeps this up for a few minutes, her sharp breaths dissolving into muted moans of her own. 

“You can— you can move faster if y-you want.” 

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut at her words, and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips before he begins to really move. The sound of skin smacking together begins to fill the air as he ruts his hips into hers, his walls bearing witness to every pleasured noise that spills between them. His pace is frenzied, his rhythm stuttered, but it feels so good that neither of them really care. 

Y/N’s nails roamed his body now, alternating between dragging harsh lines into the planes of his back and burying into his shoulders to leave little tender half moons in their wake. Spencer yearned to pull every single noise that he could from her throat, planting his hands beside her head and hefting himself up for better leverage before his lips wrapped around her right nipple. He sucks harshly at the pert bud, reveling in the desperate whimper it causes. 

Spencer grunts when she clenches around him, letting his mouth glide over to her neglected breast, his hips hammering into hers now as she cries out his name over and over. He was close… so, so close. But he needed to make her cum one more time before he’d allow himself to. He needed to know what it felt like for her to fall apart around his cock. With every ounce of willpower he had, Spencer slows his hips to a stop inside of her. 

Y/N whined her discontent at his sudden pause, her eyes opening to blink hazily up at him. “Why’d you… why’d you stop?” She panted, her fingers finding and twisting her own nipples as if she couldn’t help but to touch herself. 

Spencer muffled a curse at the sight, sitting back on his haunches as he stared down at the woman beneath him with reverence. 

“Flip onto your stomach for me, angel.”

She does as instructed, wiggling her hips coyly as Spencer grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it underneath her hips to prop her up better, ensuring she’d be comfortable. Once she’s settled on her front, Spencer wasted no time in pressing himself back into her, both of them releasing a moan so loud he’s surprised the walls don’t shake. Thank God he didn’t have neighbors right now. 

He eased himself down so his chest is pressed to her back, lavishing her neck and shoulder in open mouthed kisses while his hips drilled into her. This angle was deeper, allowing him to plow directly into her g-spot as she writhed and begged incoherently beneath him. He laced his left hand with hers, shoving them into his mattress. His other hand stuffed itself between the pillow and her wriggling body until the pads of his fingers found her clit, his breath coming out in sharp pants into her ear. 

Y/N felt delirious with pleasure, bucking her hips back in a feeble attempt to meet his. He began whispering into her ear about how good she felt around him, thanking her for allowing him to fuck her, praising her for taking him so well… 

His words paired with his fingers circling her clit have her second orgasm ripping through her body with so much ferocity that tears begin to fall down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and her hand clutching his so tightly her knuckles whitened as she wailed into a pillow, gushing around him. 

Spencer let out his own guttural moan at the feeling, spilling into her with a shout as he planted his head between her shoulder blades, his hips weakly thrusting into her as they rode out their climaxes. 

He held her until her tremors stopped. He kissed her forehead before he darted off to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean her with. He thanked her in soft whispers as her eyes began to drift shut before he’d even finished cleaning his mess between her thighs. 

And he knew, watching the gorgeous woman before him sleep so soundly in his bed after they’d just defiled each other’s innocence, that he was looking at his future wife. 

Will your lover caress you the way that I did? Will you notice my charm if he slips up one bit? 

The air was thick with tension as Y/N stared at Ben, her chest heaving and eyes watering at the hurt look on his face. Spencer watched from the corner, his concern for his wife outweighing the jealousy he had previously felt when he watched the couple slip into her— though he still selfishly thought of it as their— bed. Y/N had been dating Ben for three months now. That made for three months that Spencer ached so heavily he’d sometimes wish he could fade back into nothingness if it meant he didn’t have to watch the love of his life with another man. 

The furthest Ben and Y/N had gone physically was a few pecks here and there, with Y/N always being the one to draw away and cut the kisses short. Ben had played the nice guy act, reassuring her that he understood her hesitance and that he’d be okay doing whatever she was comfortable with. Spencer despised him. He could see right through Ben’s facade, and if he could do more than nudge a door open, he’d make that hatred known. But he couldn’t. 

Spencer watched on with furrowed brows as Y/N reached a shaky hand over and turned the lamp on her nightstand on, illuminating the dark room in a soft glow that contrasted with the dark energy that began to cloud the small space. Spencer could see it all on Ben’s face: hurt, betrayal, anger. He could see the fear, guilt, and shame on Y/N’s. 

This was the first night Y/N had tried to push past her discomfort so that she could offer Ben more than just false promises of physical intimacy. It started slow, with soft kisses that dissolved into hungrier ones as they laid together in the dark. But the second Ben went to roll on top of her, sliding a hand down her body to pull her hips against his, she panicked. Her body jolted, and her hands had shot out instinctively to shove him off of her, leaving them where they were now in some sort of silent standoff. 

Spencer knew as soon as it had happened just why it did. She had thought of him. His guilt overruled the smug pleasure he’d felt as he watched it unfold. As painful as it had been watching Y/N move on with her life, all he ultimately wanted was for her to be happy. Spencer had been barely thirty-five when he passed, and she had only been thirty. That left almost an entire lifetime ahead for her, and even though he so desperately wanted to have lived that lifetime with her, he had to accept that that wasn’t what fate had in store for them. 

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Spencer’s jaw tightened at the same time Y/N’s dropped. 

“Excuse me?” Y/N leveled Ben with a narrowed glare, rage flashing in her eyes in place of the shame that had just been there. 

“I get that you have a dead husband. I’ve tried to be patient with you. But fuck! It's been six years, Y/N. It’s time for you to move on,” Ben seethes, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t even touch you without you flinging me off of you!” 

It’s as though Y/N is the exact physical embodiment of Spencer’s own emotions, physically reacting in the way that he can’t. She was out of the bed before Spencer could even blink, marching over to the bedroom door and yanking it open. Ben watches in bewilderment, his mind clearly not catching up with what was happening. 

“Get out of my fucking house.” 

Y/N’s voice is cold as she stares menacingly at Ben. When he doesn’t move, she speaks again, her voice louder. “Get out of my fucking house, Ben!” 

Ben stammers, standing from the bed and attempting to plead his case. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just-”

“I don’t care. Get out of my house,” Y/N repeats herself, cutting off his pathetic excuses. 

Spencer smirks proudly from beside her.

 That’s his girl. 

Ben sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing his hands frustratedly across his face. 

“If you kick me out over some guy that’s been dead for six years, then we’re over. For good.” 

Spencer cackles at Ben’s proposition, though it can’t be heard by either party in the room. That was his attempt at fixing things? Seriously? Good riddance. He’d drag the guy out of there himself if he could. 

“If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re already over. No one talks about my husband like that. Now get out before I call the police and have you escorted off of my property.” 

It doesn’t take long after that for Ben to tuck his tail and leave, slamming the front door on his way out. Y/N’s steam runs out the second his car pulls out of her driveway, tears streaming down her face as she curls up on her couch. 

Spencer’s own chest twinges uncomfortably as he sits beside her, stroking her hair despite her inability to actually receive the comfort. He didn’t know what hurt more; watching his beautiful, broken girl sob and not being able to stop her tears, or being the cause of the tears himself. He had to do something, anything to let her know he was still there and that he still loved her beyond death. 

The same time Spencer stands is the same time Y/N’s tears pause, a hiccup rocking her frame before she glances up. 

“Spence?” Y/N calls softly. Spencer’s heart would have stopped right there had he not already been dead.

Spencer turns slowly from his place at the end of the couch, his eyes wide and hopeful as he responds. “Yes, angel?” 

His hope fades as he realizes she isn’t looking at him, rather her eyes are just darting around the room. 

“Spencer I… I know it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you. And for that, I’m so sorry,” Y/N starts, her voice cracking. “I don’t know if you can even hear me. Or if you ever could. But I miss you. I miss you in my bones. I just… you were— are my everything.” 

The lump in her throat grows as the tears begin to stream down her face again. Spencer’s own eyes sting with tears that she’ll never see drip down his face. He swallows hard, making his way over to their— yes, their— bookshelf. 

“I’d give anything to have you back in my arms… I should have begged you to leave the BAU and just teach full-time if it meant I could still have you here, safe and at home. It’s not even a home without you.” 

Y/N sobs freely now, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before she buries her head into them. 

Every ounce of grief, guilt, sadness, and anger from what his death has done to his precious girl fuels Spencer to do something he deemed impossible: he yanks the leatherbound notebook holding their vows inside of it off of the bookshelf, sending it tumbling to the ground in a desperate attempt to show her that he’s still there and that he still loves her. 

The noise causes a yelp to slip from Y/N’s lips, her head jerking up as the book hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump. It had fallen open exactly to where Spencer wanted it to: the page starting his vows to her.  Y/N crawls from the couch to the book, her trembling hands lifting the journal so that she can read the words her husband wrote to her ten years ago. With a deep exhale, she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, reading Spencer’s chicken scratch he called handwriting with a heavy heart. And for the first time since his casket closed, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. She was going to be okay, despite it all, because he was hers just as much as she was his.

Continued A/N: Ahh!! Ghost!Spencer my beloved. :') JUST TO CLARIFY: I am not a JJ hater!! It just fit better for the story to have her be the one this all happened for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to sharing more in the future with you as my blog grows <3

K <3

[brattyspence]

I would love to see more of badass reader x Spencer, but maybe reader gets hurt on a case (like a concussion or something) and only wants Spencer and we get to see more of reader’s soft spot for Spencer. Idk if that made sense or if that’s anything you’d be interested in writing. Love reading whatever you write!💕

thank you for your request and for reading babe!! —your singular soft spot for spencer rises to the surface when you get hurt in the field. fem!reader, 1.1k

Emily's foot tap tap taps hospital linoleum. The nurses are getting worried about you —your CAT scans are fine, but you're lethargic. Mildly concussed with moderate symptoms, you winced at the lights, told Emily to turn them off, and haven't said much since. 

She frowns. It's not nice to see someone who's usually so closed-off openly pained. "You okay?" she asks. 

"I wanna see Spence," you murmur. 

Emily nods slowly. She's had this conversation with you already. You have a spot of amnesia, nothing to worry about, decidedly temporary. 

"Why hasn't he come to see me?" you ask. Your voice trips and tumbles, your eyes glowing with a glassy sheen. "I thought he'd come to… make sure I was okay. But he doesn't want to see me." 

"Spencer's on the way here. He was an hour away with Hotch, remember? They're on their way." 

You twitch like a displeased cat under your sheets and turn away from her, sniffling weakly. Your shoulders heave with slow tears. Emily gets up to rub your back but thinks better of it when you stiffen. She doesn't understand how you function, doesn't know what it is about Spencer alone that you can be vulnerable with him and not the others, but she won't judge you for it. She just wishes there was more she could do. 

It's an untold amount of time between your tears and Spencer's awaited arrival. You're worse than lethargic, depressed, hand lax behind your back and unresponsive to the sound of the door. 

"She's asleep?" he mouths. His hair is limp either side of his face, flattened by anxious hands. 

"Upset," she mouths back through a frown, drawing a tear down her cheek with her pinky finger. 

He doesn't give Emily a second glance after that. 

"Hey," he says softly, rounding your hospital bed, touching the tips of his fingers to your hip and drawing a gentle line up your side. His head dips down, bending at the waist to see you better in the dim lighting. "Hey, what's wrong?"

You make a small keening sound from the back of your throat. It's so cleaving that Emily wants to leave, so painful that she wants to stay. You're her friend too. Emily cares about you, even when it hurts to do so.

"I don't feel like me," you say. 

Spencer doesn't shy away either. His expression is open, reassuring as he pops into a semi squat that can't be comfortable. His hand closes around your arm, thumb feeling the naked skin there sweetly. "It's normal to feel confused after a head injury. I promise it won't last." 

"I don't feel well," you say, small, like a scared kid. 

"I know." 

You reach for him. Emily knows Derek would never believe it, your hands stretched out almost desperately, the pleading noise yanked from between teeth normally gritted. Spencer wraps long arms around you with the ease of someone who's done it before, maybe exactly like this. 

"It's okay," he says. He's speaking with pep he doesn't feel. Emily can see he's stressed in the high pinch of his shoulders, but he's putting on a show for you. "You don't have to be scared. It's okay." 

The perpetual line carved between Hotch's brows seems deeper as he enters the room. Neither of you look up, your back loosening under the lazy back and forth of Spencer's hand. 

"Concerning, right?" Emily asks. 

Hotch ignores her, but not for lack of agreement. "What do her observations say?" 

"Mild to moderate head injury, post-concussion amnesia, fractured index and middle finger on her left hand." 

"Where are her clothes?" he asks. 

"They can't check her out until she gets her fingers cast and all she brought in her go bag was slacks." 

"I'll get her some pyjamas," Hotch says. 

Emily's not sure what's funnier, the idea of you in pyjamas, the image of Hotch choosing a pair, or the word pyjamas in his stoic murmur. He lingers to make sure you're okay, his eyes tracking the tremble of your arms as Spencer talks too low to hear in your ear, having sat down on the bed and curled himself around you protectively. 

You moan something sad and Spencer laughs, your hospital gown crinkling as he massages the top of your shoulder. "Why would you say that?" he asks lightly. "You think you know better than me? Really?" 

"Of course not," you say. If it were anyone else, you'd have knocked them off the bed already. 

"I don't remember you having an eidetic memory," he furthers. 

You actually manage to laugh for the first time since your initial injury. "I don't remember anything right now," you say. 

Emily leans over to Hotch. "You know, when we first came in, I suggested to the nurse that she might have amnesia because she kept asking me where she was, and she looked me dead in the eye and said, well, good thing you're not a nurse." 

Hotch scoffs a laugh. "It's a little surprising even now. Seeing them together, you'd never think it." 

"Think what?" Emily asks, fond rather than judgemental. "That she's as emotional as a China teacup?" 

"I'll remember for both of us," Spencer murmurs, stroking your face. "Okay? So calm down." 

Derek once told you to calm down and felt the cold of your icy attitude for a ragged week. Spencer says it and you take a visible deep breath, your head laying back in your pillows, his hand quick to cup the side of your neck. "Okay," you say quietly. 

"It's not just that," Hotch says, failing to explain further. 

He doesn't have to. Emily knows what he means. You can be snippy, aloof, unfriendly. But it's not just your softening that's surprising, it's Spencer's growing confidence. The ease with which he handles you, hands unabashed in their comforting. 

"Want me to find you something to wear?" Spencer asks. 

"We got it," Hotch interrupts. "Take it easy, Y/N. Rest." 

You nod obediently. He and Emily leave, hearing a last snippet of conversation as the heavy door closes behind them. 

"You wanna sign my cast, when they do it?" you ask hopefully. 

"Are you kidding? I'd love to. I've always wanted to sign someone's cast, and it's good for your morale." 

"Will they be in a cast long, do you think?" 

"They should be healed in about six to eight weeks, but you may not regain full strength for another two months afterward. There have actually been studies…" 

[brattyspence]

does anyone wanna hold hands until we feel a little braver

[brattyspence]

Your BAU instagram feed

yourusername:

Bau parties go crazy

@ theonlyjj @ derekm0rgan

@ ItalianStallion Dear all, you guys are never invited to m my house again.

@ wine4prentiss *mansion also nice username rossi

@ ItalianStallion To Emily, Y/n set up the account for me. Can you please tell her I'm disappointed in her?

@ pennyGsparkles who's gonna tell him??

Yourusername:

Summer with the girls ☀️

@ doctorspencerreid why wasn't I invited? 😕

@ itsgreenaway should we add him to the gc?

@ derekm0rgan you have a gc without us??

@ itsgreenaway it's 4 girls only

@ ahotchner that's really hurtful elle

@ yourusername it's 4 the girls + spencer

@ doctorspencerreid yay! (what does gc mean)

@ theonlyjj missing my tan lines already 😔

Yourusername:

The secret paparazzi strikes again 📸📸

@ Ahotchner you are not sneaky y/n and I'd appreciate it if you stopped taking pictures in the workplace

@ yourusername I know you love me really 🙄💋

@ theonlyjj aww spence looks so cute

@ wine4prentiss in which reboot did hotch learn to do that ??

Stakeout

@ wine4prentiss the hand placement 😫

@ theonlyjj it's giving protective

@ ahotchner you guys know I can see this right?

Please like and reblog because this took me wayy longer than it should have. Also if this does badly I don't know what I'll do with myself

[brattyspence]

everyone ever should read this

𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

You begin to have intimate dreams about your roommate, Spencer. [9k]

c: pining roommates, dreams, tipsy non-confessions, spencer being a sweetheart. fem!reader. this fic was requested! 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

i. a dreamt bruise 

“What are you doing?” 

Your chest lists slightly forward as a body warms your back. Arms wrap around you, solid but gentle, arms you’ve been held by a thousand times. 

You cover them with one of your own. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you feel yourself ask. 

The room is golden, gaussian, better now he’s behind you.

“I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked.” His voice is soft in your ear. His hair presses to the side of your face as he hugs you —you’ve never felt love like this. It’s palpable. It’s in his hands. 

Nobody’s called you dove before, but he is, he has. It might feel strange if it weren’t for how softly he said it, affection in the very marrow of the word, warmth of it kissing your cheek as he holds you. He says ‘dove’, and it feels like he loves you. Feels like you’ve done something beautiful to earn it, but that’s the beauty of it: you didn’t do anything. 

The room turns narrow, sunlight on the dining room table of your apartment. A table usually crowded thickly with books, or your work. A space has been cleared away and filled with pieces of a jigsaw. 

“I thought you were going to do this with me,” you say, dragging a piece across the table with your fingertip. 

“Maybe later.” 

“You can’t stand there all night.” 

Are you sure? you think he says, but things are hazy, and he’s turning you toward him suddenly, you’re standing, the puzzle forgotten. “How’s your bruise?” 

“What?” you ask, almost sleeping as a big, kind hand drags up the front of your shirt, holding it to the underside of your breast. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

His thumb brushes over your contusion, skin on your side, your back. It’s tender. Any breath is lost, any sense of breathing at all. You’re not a girl so much as something being touched with care, warm joy and love and a contrasting ache wedged under your heart as he draws a circles into your skin. 

He hums sympathetically, the weight of him ebbing as he leans away, letting your shirt fall back into place. 

The dream stretches on for a lifetime, the two of you standing in your living room, dining table behind you, couch and TV opposite. Your life in one room, his life, his books, his furniture, but your home. You know it all well, just, in the light, you can’t see the stitching. 

He takes your face into his hand. Nobody’s ever touched you like, turned your face up like they were moving through honey, staring at you with eyes that shade of brown. Brown, brown… so big. So melting. 

Spencer holds your face gently. 

His nose touches yours. He tips his forehead into yours, his breath skimming lips he’d just warmed as he says, “Don’t worry, alright? You’ll be okay. Just take it easy,” he says, the last of his pleading lost to your mouth. 

You wake up with a caught breath. 

Your eyes are glued together, eyelashes threaded, gummy. You turn into the pillow beside you, slightly deflated and cold where you’d turned away in the night. 

The room is dark when you manage to pry your eyes open. You close them just as quickly, begging your body to sleep, to plunge back into the dream. Just five more minutes of golden colour, hugging your pillow, love in somebody’s hand, in Spencer’s hand… five more minutes…

Your eyes open again. 

Spencer’s hand on your cheek, guiding you carefully upwards for a kiss. 

You raise your hand, feeling along the swell of your bottom lip with your thumb and index finger. They tremble with the weakness of having just woken up. With having something torn away from you. 

What was that? you think, the hook of sleep lodged in your throat as you struggle to sit up. Your face tips forwards heavily, but your back doesn’t hurt like it tends to in the early mornings before work. There’s no ache there —your body slept well. You use your hands as anchors and drag yourself foot first from the bed. Your sheets fall to the floor with a quiet shush. 

It felt so real that for a moment you’re wondering where Spencer went. 

He was touching you, he was caressing your waist. You rush to the door of your room, every night left ajar, pushing it open and beelining for the bathroom. You flick on the light and stop in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, wondering if you’re foolish enough to do this, before peeling your shirt from your stomach to analyse your bruise. 

It’s not there. 

You turn and contort yourself to catch the light. Maybe it was further back? But no… there’s no bruise, nothing for Spencer to check. Your torso is a stretch of unharmed skin to run your hand down without pain. 

Your head whirs. 

From somewhere in the apartment, Spencer puts down a mug. You flush with heat at the realisation that he’s home, and panic flares when his footsteps move in your direction. Your bedrooms are on opposite sides of the apartment, and there are two bathrooms —the bath and toilet near your room, and the en-suite to his room— meaning Spencer’s coming to see you specifically. 

“Hey, Y/N?” he says. 

It’s been a few days since he was home, and you aren’t just roommates, Spencer’s your friend. He sounds happy that you’re awake, pausing at your bedroom door. 

“I’m in the bathroom!” you say, your dry throat turning your voice to fractures. 

“I just wanted you to know I’m home. Are you working?” 

“It’s Saturday.”

He laughs. “Oh. I know, I forgot. Well, can I make you breakfast? I was gonna have oats and sliced bananas and stuff.” 

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “I’ll be right there.” 

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s just remembered where you are. “This is harassment. I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

You wash your face and brush your teeth. You head back into your room to change from your pyjamas into loungewear that’s just as soft. The flavour of your dream follows you around, you’d like to call it sweetness, saccharinity, but it doesn’t fit the bill. The feeling you’d woken with wasn’t a sugar high but contentedness, like a warm evening meal. You’d felt utterly sated, your arms reaching out for a body that wasn’t there. 

A heaviness takes your heart. Suffocating longing, you carry it to the kitchen with you to find Spencer’s already made you a cup of your tea. He’s warming oatmeal on the stove, blueberries and bananas on the countertop. You sit at the island. You should hug him. If you hadn’t dreamt of his hands on your waist what felt like mere moments ago, you would’ve. 

“Did you go shopping?” 

“I did, I went to Leaven last night. You were already sleeping at ten.” He peeks at you from over his shoulder. “Long day yesterday?” 

“I get too tired by Friday,” you say, averting your gaze to stare down into your mug, steam twirling up to kiss your chin. 

“No, I get it. Me too. Are you feeling any better today?” 

You were sick when he left. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay, good. I’m gonna put the blueberries in with the oatmeal, is that okay?” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay.” Spencer’s gaze lingers on you. He turns back to the counter. 

He cuts two bananas. You realise he has strawberries, too, watching as he cuts them, wetness leaking from their punnets where he must’ve rinsed them in the sink. He slices out the stems and cuts the strawberries in clean halves like hearts. 

“I missed you,” he says. 

You can’t read his tone, but you aren’t cruel, even feeling shy as you are. “I missed you too. How was the case? Everyone made it home in one piece, right?” 

“Everyone’s fine. Emily got into a car accident and it was pretty bad, but she’s okay now. Recovering from her concussion at home with Sergei.” 

That’s good. You’ve met Spencer’s boss, Agent Hotchner (very scary), and Emily, JJ, and Penelope (who aren’t scary at all). You’re glad to hear they’re all okay, because they’re good people, and they risk a lot to keep others safe. You forget sometimes how much Spencer puts on the line whenever he leaves. 

You poke at him for details of the case, though legally there are things he has to keep from you, and you don’t mind either way. Nothing personal can crop up while talking of murder, and for now you’d like the conversation to stay far away from you and your bed and your sudden dream. 

You assume you’re safe, but then Spencer mentions the bruise one of the sergeants got from their weapon’s kickback and you’re flushing nervously all over again. 

Spencer grabs two bowls from the cabinet, dark brown ceramics he got from Koreatown, the perfect size for each helping of oatmeal. The purple from the insides of the blueberries bleed into the oats as he pours.

He lays each bowl with a curve of banana slices, strawberries, and covers half with a drizzle of dark fudge sauce. “Salt?” he asks. 

“Yes, please.” 

Spencer grabs two spoons from the cutlery drawer. He grins when he finally turns, bowls held aloft, making his way to the stool beside you. He puts his own down first, then the cutlery, standing ever so slightly behind you as he lays your breakfast down in front of you. “What have you been doing while I was away?” he asks softly. 

You can’t look at him. Can’t think. 

What are you doing? 

What does it look like I’m doing? 

I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked. 

You lean away from his presence, desperate to have him follow, and ashamed. Spencer’s a friend, a good one, he’s kind and loving and handsome beyond description, but you’ve never thought of him like that. Each time your mind slips wondering what he might be like in love, you’ve let the thought go. But now... 

You shrug, grabbing your spoon. “Not much, Spencer. This looks amazing, it’s really pretty. Thank you for cooking.” 

“No problem. Are you sure you’re feeling better? You don’t look so good.” 

You take a quick bite of oatmeal, the spoon scalding your tongue, “Ah,” you say, breathing harshly around it, “I’m fine. Woke up a little wrong, that’s all.” 

Spencer sits in the seat next to you with a soft smile. “Good. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” 

Oh, no, you think, reading way too much into how he says it. No, no, no.

—

ii facts 

We should explore the city, Spencer declares after breakfast, before we forget what it’s like to be outside!

You were outside yesterday before you got home, and everything sucked as much as it usually did —it’s the weekend, and the point of it is to stay home resting and or lazing, but you wouldn’t usually say no to Spencer so you can’t now. He can’t ever know about your dream, so he can’t know how you’re feeling, so you have to be the friends you’ve always been. 

Spencer analyses people for a reason, but you have practice. You’ve successfully hidden what it was that morning that made you feel cagey and tender. He knows something is wrong regardless. He attempts to fix it the best way he knows how: Spencer talks. 

“Cheese production globally outshadows coffee, tea, tobacco, and chocolate, over twenty two million metric tons of it every year, with almost half of that made in Europe alone, which is only a half million metric ton more than what’s being eaten. The average American eats forty two pounds of cheese a year, but I don’t really like cheese that much? So I’m bringing the average down. Besides, every time I eat cheese I get strange dreams.  There’s actually a chemical in cheese called tyramine which is linked to nightmares. Hey, you okay?” 

“Cheese gives you weird dreams?” 

“Why, have you been eating a lot of it lately?” 

“No,” you say resolutely. “I hate cheese. I’ve never eaten cheese before.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

“Let’s get donuts.”

Spencer is easily swayed. You glance around the square for the McDonald’s and follow that to the street with the bakery, landmark to landmark, until the smell of sugar and oil is strong enough to follow. “Do you wanna know something about donuts?” he asks, crushing in behind you as you pass through the heavy wooden door of the bakery and join the line. 

“Sure.” 

“They were first called oily cakes.” 

“I knew that,” you say, “you’ve told me that, Spencer. That’s the first fact anybody thinks of.” 

“Okay, don’t be rude,” he says, giving you a playful poke in the ribs, right into the bruise that isn’t a bruise. 

You look over your shoulder at him, catching his eye. You share a long look that’s daunted on your part and confused on his, brown eyelashes tangling in the corners the longer he looks at you. “What?” he asks, squinting. 

”Nothing.” 

“Okay,” he says, his voice lowering, quiet to match the hush of the bakery and its humming fridges, “don’t tell me. I’ll work it out eventually.” 

“Dude!” 

“What?” he asks with a laugh. 

“Boundaries!” you laugh back. “Stop trying to figure me out.” 

“But there’s something to figure out?” 

He’s evil when he smiles like that. His pride is adorable, giving his sweet face an even fresher look. You’d pinch his cheeks if they weren’t already pinking in the October cold. His scarf hasn’t saved him, his coat buttoned tightly no match for the winds. Not to say it’s a bad day. The weather is fine if you keep your fingers in your pockets and your nose in the depths of your coat. 

“What do we want?” you ask rather than answer. 

They have white icing, chocolate with sprinkles, jelly middles, smiley faces. They have donut holes by the bag. “Hazelnut spread,” you say, pointing at the side of the case. “That looks good.” 

He enters in conspiratorial whispers with you. “Apple cider doughnuts with cinnamon sugar,” he says, pointing at the row below. “What about a double chocolate chunk cookie? They look good. Hey, there’s cake in the fridge.” 

You let him lean into your side. His hair kisses your cheek.  

“Pick whatever you want, okay?” he asks, offering a smaller smile than before. “I’m buying.”

“You can’t, Spencer Reid, I want so many things.” 

“It’s fine, I missed you, I dragged you out when you wanted to stay in bed.” He stares at you. “Let me,” he mouths. 

You ignore the hot twist of your stomach and nod. Okay. 

Spencer buys the baked goods you’d admitted to wanting and the three others you’d eyed, as well as a cookie and two fat slices of red velvet cake. He asks you to carry the box while he pays. The woman behind the counter gives you a knowing look and a flick of her head, as if to say, Lucky you. You can’t quite smile back, distracted by the insinuation. You haven’t thought of it before, but you and Spencer, naturally, look like a couple. You could easily be one. And the idea that she thinks so fills you with a shocking amount of smugness. 

You and Spencer head home before dinner. On the walk back, he pulls the cookie apart and offers you half. 

—

What if, when you fall asleep tonight, you dream of Spencer again? 

You lay on your back with your hand on your chest, drawing circles. The cold of the evening is explained by the rain lashing your window, distant winds coming forceful now. A thunderstorm. You tap the middle of your chest in an attempt to be idle, rather than restless. 

It isn’t a dream you’d like to have again, you decide. Spencer had been soft. You’d been familiar with each other. 

What would it really feel like to have him touch you like that? Is Spencer confident, when he’s comfortable? Is he imposing? 

My stomach, you think slowly, is never going to stop spinning. 

“Y/N?” Spencer asks. 

You can hear him all the way from the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” you ask, raising your voice so it carries. 

“Can I come and sit with you?”

It’s an odd request. You know Spencer’s like you, no social butterfly, quiet and content to spend time by oneself because being with others hasn’t always been an option. He isn’t timid, however, and his asking shouldn’t shock you, but it does. “Sure,” you say, shifting onto one side of the bed. 

Spencer arrives at the ajar door and lets himself in. He carries two bottles of water and a heat pack, which he likes to use when the weather allows it. A creature comfort, you assume. Something soothing and constant, like the sound of a fan at night, or rain on a window. 

“I can’t sleep,” he says, “which doesn’t make much sense.” Spencer sits on the empty side of the bed, his lips pulled into a grimace. “I like the rain.” 

He’s more handsome when he’s smiling, but there’s a charm to him as he passes you a bottle of water and crosses his legs. The plaid slacks he’s wearing are rough with age, dark blues that seem black in the low lighting. 

“Maybe it’s because of work,” you say. 

“Maybe, but I’m pretty used to getting woken up.” 

“Right. It’s not easy, though, the stuff you do. It would keep me up at night if I did your job.” 

“I think sometimes doing my job is the only reason I can sleep.” 

“It's hard. Sounds hard, Spence.” You relax into your pillow, turning to see him. Spencer’s eyes run along your hip for a millisecond, just long enough to remind you that he’s a boy, that he could see you in a different light. 

“It’s okay,” he says. 

“Was it hard, this time?” you ask. 

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t know, it was bad when Emily got hurt, but she’s so stubborn. If Morgan didn’t strap her down she would’ve kept going like nothing happened.” 

You and Spencer have lived together for so long that you remember a time before he even knew Emily. You answered his ad in the paper —you hadn’t realised people still put ads in the paper— looking for a roommate. His apartment was already furnished and he didn’t want to change much, but the second bedroom was spacious and the bathroom could be monopolised. As a girl, you’d been a little dubious reading about a single male looking for any gender, but his self-description was inviting. Twenty-two, just finished a doctorate, working for the FBI and expected to be away from the state at least once a month. 

You’d met Spencer and felt even less intimidated. He was awkward and dorky but friendly, too, with his glasses he apparently didn’t want to wear, but would eventually give in (before choosing contacts), and his big red sweater fit for a grandpa. “I can make more room for you but I can’t get rid of the books,” he said, “so I don’t expect you to pay a neat half.” 

How could you pass it up? 

“I can’t believe I’ve never met them,” you say. 

“Do you want to?” 

He sounds so surprised. “They’re your friends. I’m your… friend.” 

“You’re my best friend. I’ll arrange something, or try to. It’s hard to get us all in one room when that room isn’t the conference room,” he says. 

“You look nice in a t-shirt,” you say, not thinking as the words come out. 

Spencer leans in to whisper, “Thanks. You like this one?” 

His t-shirt says, I may be NErDy, but only periodically. The NErDy is made up of elements from the periodic table. It’s a bad pun. 

“I love it.” 

He reaches for you. Tentative, he squeezes your elbow. “Is there something wrong? All day it’s like… I don’t know, did something happen when I was gone?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“But…” 

“Please,” you say, as he catches the last bit of light from the hallway, every eyelash illuminated for the counting. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Spencer. But thank you.” 

He, in a move that’s almost uncharacteristic, pushes your arm into the mattress and leans over you. “I wanna be the first one to know when you do wanna talk,” he says firmly, holding your gaze. 

How’s your bruise? 

You nod mechanically. Spencer recedes. “Okay, good,” he says, grinning. 

“Good,” you echo, thinking of Spencer in the dream, his hand on your hip and climbing up your sore ribs. “Let’s watch TV.” 

—

iii. scared of snow 

“You’re being weird.” 

“I’m not,” you refute. 

“You are.” 

Spencer frowns at you, a show full downturn of the lips. A dusting of snow lands in his hair and you both look up to catch it, a drift of it from the marquee as you pass. You don’t remember when it started snowing, but it feels like it’s been coming down for days. It’s in his eyelashes. Your sleeves are wet with it. 

“The snow’s making you strange.”

You hold out your hand with fingers parted, feeling his laugh travelling down his arm and into yours as he takes it, intertwining your fingers tightly. He doesn’t feel cold. 

“It’s making you strange,” you mumble. 

You and Spencer walk down a cobbled road. Snow crunches under your shoes, turned to slush in the high traffic spots by vendors booths left curiously empty of shopkeepers, though their festive wares still line the insides, carved cuckoo birds and metal ornaments, glass balls made to be personalised for mantles. You can smell orange oil and chocolate fudge, crepe carts and churros and cinnamon, and then suddenly any hint of your olfactory sense is gone. 

“It’s so quiet.” 

“It’s the snow,” he says, pulling your arm against his chest as you walk and walk, your footsteps the only sound. “It acts as a sound absorber when it’s fluffy like this. The sound waves get caught.” 

Caught. You think, or say, not sure if it makes it out of your mouth. 

“Like you,” he says, stopping in the middle of the road. 

“What?” you ask. 

Snow lands in his eyelashes. “You’re caught,” he says. 

You wake up thinking his hand is on your cheek. Like a nightmare, you start, still picturing his lips moving around the words. Caught, you think again, heart a hummingbird in your chest. Your mouth is dry. The heat is up —Spencer must be home again. 

You suck in a deep breath and sit up, curling over yourself protectively. 

You dream about Spencer more often than ever, and half the time they’re normal dreams, which is to say, they follow no rhyme or reason, with no discernible plot. Spencer loses all his teeth, or he takes you to the movies to see one of his long Swedish films, or he’s an afterthought, a bystander. The main plot of your dream doesn’t involve him at all. 

But the other half of the time is ruining your life. You dream of Spencer holding your hand like you had been, or touching your shoulder. Never again do you dream of that tender bruise, but Spencer lifts your shirt in other scenarios. He pulls your pyjamas off, his hand inching between your legs but never touching, or he helps you out of your bra. And every time you think, why is this happening to me? Perhaps a sex dream could be explained away by want and Spencer’s proximity, but all these constant intimacies weigh heavy in your head. 

You head to the shower and picture Spencer helping you out of your bra, and all of you goes hot, so you turn the water to lukewarm and stand until you’re cold to the point of misery. You clamber out and shiver into a towel, then your robe. 

Spencer’s humming in the kitchen. 

You honestly wish that the dreams made you like him less, that the sound of him might send you running back into your room, but you poke your head out of the bathroom and wait until he enters the living room. He sees you waiting, his face splitting into a smile. “Hey, good morning, did you sleep better?” 

You can’t explain the discombobulation of your dreams. Spencer had become convinced you have insomnia. You may have let him assume. 

“Slept fine,” you croak. 

“Okay, well get dressed and I’ll make you some coffee.” 

“‘Kay.” Your stomach pangs with nerves seeing him, reminded of tonight’s big event. “Are we still, uh, on, for tonight?” 

“Nervous?” he asks. 

You feel like you're about to be a fish in a pool of sharks. “Of course not.” 

 “Yeah, still on, even JJ.” 

Awesome. Spencer turns around to make you your cup of coffee and you go to your room, dressing quickly, two pairs of socks. You tone your face and moisturise, fanning yourself slowly. You don’t hurry to the living room, but you aren’t slow, and it’s not Spencer, you tell yourself. Not Spencer. You’re just craving the warmth of a cup of coffee. 

You spend the morning together on the couch. Spencer reads and occasionally chats to you about whatever tome it is that specific half an hour. You make sandwiches at lunch time, he showers in the early evening. You get dressed and primped while he’s gone, and at 6PM, Spencer knocks your bedroom door to ask if you’re ready to go. 

“Could I fake an illness?” you joke nervously. 

Spencer’s hand falls on your handle. The door is ajar as usual, but he doesn’t tread any further inside. 

“Come in,” you say. 

Spencer takes a single step inside before stopping. He looks you up and down without the hunger you crave from him, a more clement, familiar appreciation to him as he says, “You look pretty.” He traces your arm, leaving the skin tingly in his wake. “Really pretty.” 

“Thank you. I didn’t want to overdress.” 

“It’s perfect, don’t worry. And no, you couldn’t fake an illness. They all know when I’m lying, especially Hotch. And Emily, actually.” 

You squeeze your hands together tightly at your stomach. “I don’t know why I’m sooo nervous.” You lick your lips. “I feel like I can’t stop fidgeting.” 

“They’re used to it, I promise. They know that they’re gonna make you nervous, but they’ve sworn to be on their best behaviour, and besides, you’re not the only plus one. JJ’s bringing Will, and Morgan’s bringing his sister, I’ve only met her once. The focus won’t be all on you.” He lowers his voice. “After two drinks they forget they’re supposed to be scary.” 

“What if I say something extremely stupid to your boss and get you in trouble?” 

“What are you going to get me in trouble for?” 

“I don’t know. What if I accidentally tell him that that sick day you took a few weeks ago was to help me make brownies?”

“Everyone lies about sick days.” He deliberates. “Maybe not Hotch. But I’m pretty sure he knew I was lying, and it’s explainable. I felt… irate.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “What?” 

“Staying home with you made me feel better. Which made me a better worker the next day, it’s fine.” His phone rings from somewhere in the apartment. “That’ll be JJ. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah?” He grins. “Okay. You’re wearing a coat, right? It’s cold. The forecast says snow. It’s thirty degrees out.” 

You layer a coat onto your jacket and a scarf to make him happy. You and Spencer get a taxi, black leather gritless under your hands, though you squeeze the seat like it’s gonna stop the car the whole time. Spencer doesn’t talk much, but he looks at you unapologetically, and he smiles, and the quiet is as severe as it was in your dream that morning. If this were a dream he’d be leaning over to cradle your ear. He’d ask in whispers if you were alright, and he’d let his hand rest kindly on your knee. 

“What?” you whisper. 

His lips part like he might answer. The car comes to a crunching stop outside the bar, and whatever it was he was going to say is kept for later. “I’ll tell you after,” he says. 

He pays for the taxi before you can work it out and you say thank you to the driver. The sidewalk is clean, broad, and glowing with the last bit of light. The sun sets behind you. The bar beckons in front. 

Your fear is daunting. 

You have years of practice fooling Spencer. You know that he knows your tells, so you’ve changed them, and Spencer cares about you enough to ignore obvious truths if he thinks you might not want to share. His colleagues, FBI agents trained to detect deception, are going to take one good look at you and know you’re lying about… this. 

You’re plagued by dreams of Spencer, but nothing can touch the real thing. 

You feel the space between you like it’s aflame. Spencer checks you’re with him and opens the door. 

The bar is busy even for a Saturday. You aren’t expecting the volume, the boisterousness of the patrons already slumped together over tables and waiting at the bar to get their drinks. It’s smaller than you’d pictured too, but its size is made up for with a patio at the back, smokers haunting the door, wary of the cold. 

You know what his friends look like already, yet seeing them in person is odd. Hotch is taller than you’d thought, Emily more startlingly pretty. JJ’s frowning, and her partner Will looks like he’s about to fall asleep despite a lazy grin. 

Hotch notices you first. He taps Emily on the elbow, who pauses in a thought to follow his gaze. Her face breaks into a smile, and if you weren’t in love with Spencer Reid, you might take a tumble for his pale coworker. 

“Hello,” Spencer says, ushering you to the table with an arm behind your back. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“He-llo,” Emily says, leaning into the table, a strand of her hair dangerously close to a short glass of juice. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing you in person. I’m Emily.” 

“Y/N,” you say. 

“Aaron,” Hotch adds. (Aaron! He’s far more intimidating casually than as a boss, it seems.)

“Derek was just here,” JJ says in way of greeting, while Will drawls from over her shoulder, “I’m Will, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Spencer pulls out a chair for you and promptly sits in the one beside Emily. “Sorry we’re late. I forgot my wallet and we had to go back up to the apartment and the cab I called got so angry about it that he left.” 

You slide between the table and your chair, looking to Spencer for guidance, but he’s distracted taking his coat off and you have to look at Aaron instead. 

His smile is immediately knowing. Read for filth in seconds. “We don't bite.”

“Not so early in the evening,” Emily says. 

You take a shuddering breath, thankful they can’t hear it over the sounds of the bar. 

—

“I’m caught!” you exclaim. 

Spencer hugs you under the arms. “I know,” he says gently. 

“Caught!” 

He holds back a laugh as your arms react, practically flung behind his head in a hug that threatens to cut off the oxygen supply to his brain. “I think you’ve caught me, instead,” he says. 

You laugh in his ear. There’s gin on your breath and the sweeter smell of orange juice. It’s not bad, but weird to know it’s from your mouth. Or not weird. It gives Spencer a feeling like seeing the soft curve of your hip when you’re lying on your side. Like watching you bite your bottom lip when you’re distracted by the TV and worrying to yourself, which you do more often than not lately. They’re private things that Spencer shouldn’t know about. 

“I’m not trying to,” you say, and Spencer can smell the shot of vodka you did too, which is less pleasant. “Not trying to catch you. Not… I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“It’s hard to explain.” 

Over your shoulder, Spencer spots Hotch’s entertained gaze. All the team has done since you sat down together was pick on Spencer and his obviousness. Boyfriend? they’d asked you. Looking? Sights set on someone? All while JJ nudged him under the table. 

Things are falling apart now. JJ’d departed to hold Emily’s hair back, and Will with her. Hotch caught the eye of a woman across the way, and they sit chatting amicably at the bar with more peanuts than drinks. Derek, when he did appear, stayed for an hour with Desiree, recounting to you his most embarrassing stories of which Spencer had taken care to shield you from, and laughed at his subsequent blush. 

He never wanted you to know about his run in with anthrax, and he especially didn’t want you to know he’d been stripped nude afterwards and hosed off like a muddy dog. 

You’d turned to him with wide, worried eyes. “You were poisoned?” you’d asked. 

It’s stuff like that that makes this difficult. 

“I don’t know if you know this,” he says now, rubbing your back, “but I’m good with difficult concepts.”

“I did not mean to be like this.” 

“You didn’t eat much.” Spencer helps you stand on your own two feet. “They kitchen’s still open. I can get you food, how about a burger? Or we can go find you something.“

“What kind of burger?” you ask, poorly concealing your excitement. 

Spencer gets you back to the table. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Wait, don’t go.” 

“I’m gonna get food. Do you want fries?” 

“Spencer, what if I throw up?” 

Spencer shrugs. “I can rub your back?” 

“I don’t want to throw up.” 

“Then drink that,” he says, sliding his glass of coke toward you. “Alcohol irritates the lining of your stomach and increases the production of stomach acid. If you drink,” —he flinches as you knock the cup back— “slowly you can dilute your stomach contents without upsetting it. Slowly,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I’ll order food.”

“No, wait.” You drop the glass and grab him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to throw up by myself.” 

“You won’t throw up.”

“Please,” you say, holding his wrist in both hands, your eyes shiny. “Spencer, don’t go.” 

“I won’t.” He doesn’t know how true it is and then suddenly he’s sat down. He won’t go. He wouldn’t leave your side ever again if that’s what you asked of him. 

He puts your chairs together, entertaining your tipsy thoughts with light conversation and the occasional slight of hand. You have an aura about you, like Spencer’s doing more than close-up magic, hanging on his every word. Your nervousness had you gasping like a fish, not so subtly downing one drink, then another, but now that you’re feeling the effects of them (and a few extras), the tightness you’d held in your fingers is gone. You’re leaning against the back of the chair with all the ease of you on the couch at home, but the easy fondness you’d usually wear while he speaks is replaced by a bright and shining awe. A sweetness like he’s remarkable. The soft line of your lips and your widened eyes. 

You’re not the sort of drunk that leaves you listless and ready for bed. This is giggly and fun, and so long as you don’t push it you’ll be alright. It wasn’t enough alcohol to leave you inebriated all night, anyhow. In a few hours the giddiness will wear away, leaving you with a headache and a deep longing for your missed dinner. 

“I’m glad you didn’t let me fake food poisoning,” you say. 

“Is that what you were thinking? That’s a terrible excuse. You need something with sudden onset symptoms, like an asthma attack, or pneumonia. An acute illness.” 

You take his hand. “I love that you know that stuff.”

Feeling as in love with you as ever, and sorry for you drunken state —he could’ve stopped you, he just didn’t think— he folds your hands together, both of his, rubbing the hills of your knuckles with his thumb. Your hands look right together. 

That’s what Spencer likes to think, anyway. 

You slow like you’re tired, hand lax in his grips. Your mouth opens but nothing follows, no sigh or gripe or conversation. 

“You okay?” he asks softly. 

“I think I’m having one of those dreams again.” 

“You’re awake,” he says. 

“I don’t know about that. They’re all like this.” 

He hums, smoothing his thumb down the back of your hand. “If this were a dream, you wouldn't have control over what you’re doing. Why don’t you do something you wouldn’t do in a dream?” 

“Like what?” you ask. 

“There’s a ton of stuff you can’t do in dreams. People find they have a poor memory, but I can’t ask you to recall anything. You might not remember regardless. How about temperature?” he suggests. “Most people can’t feel warm or cold in their dreams. Do you want to feel something cold?”

You watch him for a few seconds, your eyebrows pulled together unhappily. “Your hands are warm,” you say. 

“Right.” He suspects they’ll feel warmer in just a few seconds when the hot flush in his face manages to work its way down. “I’m warm. So are you.” 

“Sometimes I feel like you’re warm in the dream, though. You make me feel warm.” 

“It’s remembered, maybe.” 

You don’t look any happier. “Sometimes I wish I could stop having them, but…” You duck your head. “Sorry, Spencer.” 

“What are you sorry for?” 

Your head ducks lower. With a start to his chest, your shoulders shake, like you're inhaling the first half of a sob. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, reaching for your cheek, ducking his own head to see you, “what’s wrong? It’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for!” he whispers emphatically. “You have nothing to be sorry for, why would you think that?” 

“I keep having these dreams, all the time, and– and I– I’ll mess everything up. Everything we have, I’m going to–” You hiccup, eyes turned glassy, imploring him to forgive you for something you haven’t done. “I don’t feel good.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, his hand sliding back to your ear, down to your neck, “you’re just drunk. You’re confused.” 

“But the dreams–”

“What dreams?” he asks gently. 

You blow out a daunted breath. “Where you love me.” 

“I do love you.” 

“But more than this. You love me more than this,” you say, shaking your head. “I really don’t feel okay… Do you think we could go home?” 

You’re so sorry and frowny that Spencer would attempt, in all his unfitness, to climb Mount Everest for you should you ask. “Yeah, we can go home,” he says, rubbing your arm up and down and up again, a line of affection from shoulder to wrist. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to be upset, I shouldn’t have asked.” 

He’s not sure what he asked, really, but the answer upset you. His heart’s racing like he just sprinted the length of the bar and you’re close to tears, this strange weepy sullenness about you as you say, “It’s okay. Let’s just go.” 

—

It’s cold to be sitting out by yourself, though the snow stayed its hand another night while the temperature fell again. Your coat poses a weak defence against the chill, nipping at your nose, burning the insides of every breath, and your feet are stiff like ice in your shoes. Yet, the idea of returning to the apartment is a leaden stone in your stomach. 

Spencer could barely look at you that morning. You hadn’t given him much of a chance, slipping out of the apartment with little more than a call to say you’d be back later. Your groceries freeze in a paper bag by your feet. 

You’re not too embarrassed about getting tipsy. It was drinks with Spencer and his friends, not dinner. Emily had been twice as drunk, and Derek had encouraged you to drink with a round on him. You’re mortified, however, by what you’d said. Your memory is clear enough to know you’d told Spencer about your dreams. 

He’d been confused at the time, but he’s a smart boy. He’ll figure it out. 

“This headache,” you mumble, tipping your head into your hand morosely. You rub your brow, fingers against the ache, the cold getting worse. 

Why did it take a dream for you to realise you had feelings for Spencer? And why did you have to realise at all? If you’d never had that dream, never had that phantom bruise, his hands careful and caring and touching up to the band of your bra, you wouldn’t know now what it is to want him. The dream gave you a bruise, and Spencer presses against it real or otherwise every time he looks at you. You were wrong thinking that it never happened; it’s still there, a purple lash against your ribs. 

Every time he makes you breakfast, or he texts you from a different state, or he sits down on the couch just to talk to you. Every time he says something smart, or he tilts his head back as he laughs, or he draws a smiley face on the mirror by the door–

“About those dreams?” 

You rub your eyes hard. Of course he’d come to find you. “Please don’t.” 

“Please,” he says. You see him through your fingers. His thick scarf is unravelled at his neck, his hair ragged around his face like he’s been raking it repeatedly behind his ears. 

You straighten. 

“I don’t get it,” he says, “you’ve been dreaming about me? Why is that such a big deal?” 

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says. “We’re in each other's lives, we live together, it makes sense that your hippocampus would use me. You have a lot of memories with me.” Spencer crosses his arms in front of you. “It’s freezing.” 

“I’ll be home in a bit.”

“I’m not gonna go back without you,” he says, like that’s a given. 

You move across the bench to make room for him. Spencer sits. 

You settle. The occasional bus trundles past, a limited rota for an early Sunday morning. Spencer shoves his hands into his pockets. His lips are already turning blue. 

“I know you know what I mean,” you say. 

Spencer presses his knees together. “Even romantic dreams where I’m… where we’re together, it’s all easily explained away by brain science. You can’t control what you dream, and I’m not going to hold you to it.” 

Silence, silence. You tip your head back to see a horrible grey cloud closing in on you both, the sun a white and gauzy memory behind it. Spencer’s right about control, but he doesn’t get that you like them. It’s not fair to him that you’ve somehow rallied a second life when you’re sleeping, where he’s your mind’s puppet, hugging and holding you, pressing his cheek to the side of your face. Saying things you wish he’d tell you now. 

“Well, I like you.” 

“What?” you ask, coughing. 

“Not to make things awkward or anything, but I like you. Romantically.” Spencer’s voice takes a sharp veer into high-pitched freneticism. “Does that help at all?” 

“What?” 

“It’s far more embarrassing that I like you on purpose than your accidental dreams, right?” He thumbs at the inside of his wrist. “You don’t have to say anything, or think anything, and I’m not going to change, but I have feelings for you.”  

You feel like you’re standing at the top of a very tall building. “Oh?” 

“I kind of thought you knew.” 

“How could I know that?” you ask, cringing as a cold gust of air bites at your face. 

Spencer takes his scarf off and pushes it into your hands. “I don’t know. I guess we know less about each other than we thought.”

The way he says it. 

Spencer wraps his scarf around you when it’s clear you aren’t going to do it yourself, and he touches your cheek briefly, a brush of his fingers like he thinks he’s doing something he shouldn’t be allowed to. 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says quietly. 

A bus passes by and shines headlights at your feet. The wind blows, your ears roar, and just above you, in a cold front to mark the season, snow begins to fall. 

You look up simultaneously. A snowflake gets caught in Spencer’s eyelashes. 

Just one. 

“This is so weird,” you mumble. 

Spencer wipes at his eye. “Could you tell me why?” 

“I had a dream just like this.” 

He laughs warmly. “Of course you did. Forget all reason, then. You’re prophetic.” 

“I don’t think I could’ve predicted this.” 

“Why? It’s only snow. Virginia gets an inch of snow most Decembers.” 

You laugh. In a dream, this is where you and Spencer would kiss or hold hands, or rest your cheek on the other’s shoulder, but neither of you are brave enough. And, as the snow turns to a sleet below freezing, you can’t ignore the cold. 

—

iv. the end 

The longest anyone has ever slept in recorded human history is eleven days. Two hundred and sixty four hours, or nearly sixteen thousand minutes, just shy of one million seconds of sleep. 

The first pillow was invented in Mesopotamia more than nine thousand years ago, in a time where the amount of pillows a person had directly correlated their personal riches. The history of pillows is tumultuous and eclectic. Headrests made of wood, stone, or jade. Curved neck holders worn soft with use. 

And, of all Spencer’s gifted facts, you find yourself circling back to the same one as you wait for him to wake: most dreams are no longer than twenty minutes. However, it’s important to note that the longest dream ever officially observed was in 1994, when a man managed to be in REM for just over three hours. You’ve had dreams that felt like they lasted for hours, but likely took place for just twenty minutes. If you could dream for three hours a night, you could live an entire life of longing in a pocket of time. 

Thankfully, you have no need to hide from reality anymore. Spencer sleeps beside you and you don’t want to sleep, you just want him to wake up. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, drawing your fingertip across his cheek to encourage the hair that’s fallen there back in line. 

He doesn’t stir. It’s alright, you hadn’t meant to wake him. 

“I love you,” you whisper, shuffling across the sheets to feel the heat and weight of his body against your own. He doesn’t move for a while, snoring gently, his breath kissing the top of your head as you burrow into the slip of space under his chin. Then, as if he were awake, he wraps his arm around you and drags you in further. His face angles down and his nose finds your forehead, and a hum of what you’d personally say is content kisses your brow. 

You tuck your hand behind his back and rub a circle. 

Spencer didn’t last long after the initial realisation of requited feelings. In a day he’d asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend (vaguely apologetic, still worried about scaring you, though you’d already come clean about wanting him as you’d warmed your cold hands by the stove). A week later he kissed you on a date outside of the cosiest Indian restaurant in Washington, D.C, and things have been nothing but smooth sailing from there. 

Now, when he’s feeling romantic, he brings home butter chicken and turns your face up for kissing, fork in hand. Every night before bed, he tells you to have good dreams, a self-satisfaction in his eyes that you dearly love. 

You knew he was a dork and you liked him because of it, but the sheer increase in him is amazing. Yesterday he sent you Close to You by Carpenters over text claiming they wrote it about you. When he got home, he tried to make you dance with him in the living room. After two or three kisses, you’d let him pull you to your feet. 

Spencer has turned loving one another into an everyday spectacularity, and not some mystical dream you ached for. 

He squeezes the skin of your shoulder as he wakes. Heavy in the hands of sleep, Spencer rubs the tip of his nose to yours, nudging your face up, and waiting there with your lips a few millimetres apart as he finds his bearings. You don’t open your eyes. There’s no need. 

“Time?” he mumbles.

“I don’t,” —you clear your hoarse voice, his hand flattening protectively behind you— “know, um. Maybe seven. The sun was rising…” 

“You could have woken me up,” he says, and kisses you slowly. It’s almost gluttonous, how he does it. Not chaste at all. His hair falls into your face and tickles your cheeks, his nose smushes your own with his easy depth. 

You hold his face and kiss him twice, following a line under his chin, where you pause, smelling yesterday's cologne on his skin. “I was hoping I’d fall asleep again,” you confess. 

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” He scoops you against him and turns onto his back as you laugh. “Angel. Let’s stay up now. Let’s just… stay here.” 

If you stay here he’s going to waylay you with a smattering of his voracious kisses, and he’s going to turn you on your back and kiss your neck. He’ll touch that place on your ribs where you’d once dreamt a bruise. It’s a secret you couldn’t keep. He likes to kiss you there when he remembers, but most of the time his hands run along it without mention. A slow caressing. 

You push your face against his shoulder and sigh as his arms close in around you. With a little effort, you get your arms around him in turn, and you hug him for as long as you can stand the pins and needles in your fingers. 

“You smell so good,” you mumble.

He pats your back absentmindedly. 

Today, you’re going to make Spencer oatmeal with banana and chocolate. You’re going to shower, maybe together if the small space can handle it, laughing at the soap in his eyebrows and the way he squeals when you touch his hips. You’re going to drape yourself across his lap as he reads, and he’ll lean down to kiss the tip of your nose or some other strange part of you unused to affection. The top of your ear, the palm of your hand, maybe the crook of your elbow. He’ll ramble through dinner or creep up behind you to sniff your shoulder, and it’ll all be choices you’ve made. Nothing left to want or wanting, but being in love while wide awake. 

“Are you tired?” you ask him. 

He takes a deep breath of your hair. “No,” he says, drawing a light line up your side, “I’m okay. There are worse faces to wake up to.”

You try not to fluster noticeably. He’s always been a good roommate. You’re still getting used to the boyfriend part, the intimacy of being complimented, but Spencer seems to have slipped into the part easily.

“Sorry, that was mean. There’s nothing I’d rather wake up to.” 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

You’re tired, suddenly. The minutes pass in heavy blinks —you don’t want to sleep now that he’s awake, but being here with him is warming you from the inside out.  You doze and wake and Spencer doesn’t say a word. His breaths come evenly against your cheek. 

Eventually, he clears his throat, asksing, “Did you dream at all?” His voice is hewn. He rubs your chest, right over your heart.

”I’m not so sure that this isn’t one,” you say, your heartbeat a crawl under his touch.

“That’s corny.” 

“Mm, the Spencer in my dreams is usually kinder.” 

“Does he ever get to hold you like this?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your chest to wrap it back around you again. 

You take a sleepy breath in. “No,” you say slowly, “he doesn’t.”

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

thank youuuu for reading!! please like comment or reblog if you enjoyed!! thank you❤️

this fic was requested! I usually link to the request I was sent at the top, but I lost the post for this one, but this is what the request said: 

“hi angel! i have a request for roommate!spencer where r has a very romantic dream about him and starts avoiding him because she's really embarrassed but spencer is so confused as to why his roommate suddenly can't even look him in the eye. maybe one of them realizes their feelings aren't entirely platonic in the end? love you!!!”

thank you original requester! 

[brattyspence]

Permanent attachment

in which you’re far too comfortable to move from Spencer’s lap, and he doesn’t mind carrying you around

content: fluff, 1.7k, established relationship, lots of kissing, sex talk, kinda fade-to-black smut, reader being very clingy, and spencer’s tummy (my fav) a/n: i once told @mandarinmoons that i wanted to climb the man and not even in a sexual way and she said “like a koala?” and to that i answered YES! self-indulgent fics are the best

Spencer smells nice. Like, annoyingly nice. And it’s not the kind of nice that’s vaguely pleasant. No, this is the kind that settles into your bones. A mix of soap and something uniquely him that you can't quite name but would probably pay an unreasonable amount to bottle up.

Now that sounds like a dream. Imagine Spencer in a bottle, spritzed onto your neck, lingering on your skin. Imagine a personal cloud of him following you everywhere, with top notes of freshly brewed coffee and a base note of comfort that leaves you no choice but to lean in just a bit closer. You shift on his lap, pretending to get comfortable, but really, it's because you want to catch another whiff.

Your boyfriend catches you mid-inhale. "Comfortable?"

You don’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. Who cares if he knows you’re borderline obsessed? Who wouldn’t be? He’s smart, handsome, and smells like heaven bottled in human form. So instead of pulling away, you double down, pressing your nose right into the curve of his neck as your answer.

"I'm starting to think you might be a little attached.”

You sigh against his skin, “Might be? Spencer, I'm practically grafted onto you at this point. You better get used to it."

A hand runs up your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, but my legs might actually fall asleep if I don’t get up soon.”

“So dramatic,” you tease, smiling as you press a soft kiss to his jaw. The subtle scrape of his stubble tickles your lips.

“I don’t think you’ve moved an inch in the past hour.”

“I don’t even want to move an inch,” you murmur against his cheek. "I just want to stay like this. Forever. If I could just crawl under your skin and stay there, that would be perfect.”

Spencer laughs softly, the sound rumbling under your lips. You feel the warmth of his smile as he tilts his head toward you. “That sounds sweet yet incredibly creepy.”

“You know what I mean!” You slide your arms around him, weaving them across his shoulders. “I just… I want to—ugh, I don't know… squeeze you so tight you’d become part of me? Like an extension of my arm or something."

“That definitely sounds less creepy.”

“Shut up.” Your lips trace the rough scratch of his jaw, brushing along the curve until you reach the corner of his mouth. "Don’t you want someone permanently glued to you?"

“You’re definitely making a case for it.”

“Oh I’d climb you if I had to.”

His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck. “Is this where I find out you’re secretly a koala this whole time?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum against his lips, “and you’re my tall, handsome tree.”

His laughter vibrates against your mouth, and you let yourself melt into him, breathing in that comforting scent you’ve grown addicted to. You love him so much. You love him too much that your heart feels like it’s stretching to make room for all of it.

When he finally pulls back, you can’t resist reaching up to smooth your thumb over his bottom lip. “See? Permanent attachment.”

His own thumb caresses the back of your neck in lazy strokes. You're practically dissolving into him.

"I don’t have much of a choice, do I?" The tip of your nose brushes against his as you shake your head. He steals another quick peck from your lips. "I really do need to get up though.”

You pout immediately. “Why?“

“Because my throat is actually starting to feel a little dry. I could use some water.”

“Water is overrated. Stay.”

“Honey,” he croons softly, his eyes squinting with that familiar crinkle at the corners. He thinks you’re cute when you’re clingy. “The kitchen is only ten feet away.”

“Ten feet too far. Do you know the kind of emotional damage I’ll suffer if we’re apart for too long?”

“So dramatic,” he mocks back, planting a kiss on your jaw, your cheek, and you giggle when his mouth lands on the skin between your ear and your neck. “All I’m asking for is ten feet. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“I might wither away from loneliness by the time you get back.”

You feel the ghost of his smile against your skin. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”

“I miss you already,” you sigh when he gently nips at the soft flesh of your neck. “Maybe you should just take me with you.”

You’re mostly bluffing, half-expecting him to laugh it off because Spencer has never actually carried you before. Not that you’ve ever minded—it’s not exactly the first thing you’d expect from him. But before you can even process it, he shifts beneath you, sliding one arm under your knee and the other around your back with surprising confidence.

And just like that, the floor seems miles away as he lifts you up.

“Wait! Wait!” you laugh, clutching at his shoulders. "Spencer!"

“I thought you wanted to come along."

“I didn’t think you’d actually carry me!”

You’re met with his steady grip, and to your surprise, he’s not struggling in the slightest. Apparently, those arms are stronger than you’d given him credit for, and it’s… well, very, very attractive. He strides confidently across the apartment, and you can’t help but let out an impressed, slightly flustered, “Okay, this is actually kind of hot.”

The corners of his lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I did not know you were strong enough to do this,” you comment, then a thought sneaks into your mind, “Do you think we can try this position in the bedroom?”

He looks surprised and mildly amused. “Really? While standing?”

You loop your arms tighter around his neck. “You seem perfectly capable.”

“Wouldn’t I be doing all the work?”

“I thought you liked doing all the work.”

His chest presses against yours as he lets out another laugh. “If by that you mean spoil you, then yes, I do,” he says, casting a quick glance around the room. “Can I sit you on the counter, or are you planning to keep hanging on to me?”

“Tempting, but you can put me on the counter.”

With a gentle ease, he lifts you just slightly higher and sets you down on the cool countertop. “I can still carry you around if that’s what you want.”

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to brush a stray lock of curls from his face. “I don’t want to tire you out.”

“You’re not tiring me out,” he assures you as he reaches up to grab a glass from the top shelf, arm stretching just enough to give you a teasing glimpse of his soft stomach.

You can’t help yourself. You reach over and splay your hands over that warm skin, feeling the faint tickle of the fine hair scattered down his belly that disappears into his waistband. He doesn’t flinch—he’s long used to your hands finding their way to him like this—but he does cast a sidelong look in your direction. Behave.

If he’s expecting you to follow some sense of decorum, he should know better by now. You give his stomach a gentle, almost smug pat, and shakes his head as he moves to pour himself water.

“What do you want to do after this?” he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder. You don’t give him an immediate answer, but he’s already suggesting a few ideas for the rest of the evening.

You can’t even pretend to pay attention. Is it normal to be this obsessed with your boyfriend? Because at this point, your focus isn’t even on the words coming out of his mouth. Something about a documentary, maybe. He’s probably rattling off the details right now, but you’re entirely distracted, your eyes shamelessly zooming in on the way his forearm flexes as he holds the glass. Even the soft hair dusting over his skin is doing things to you.

He catches your blatant stare and looks at you over the rim of his glass.

“What?”

“You are so sexy.”

He almost chokes on his water. The glass clatters against the countertop as he sputters, “What has gotten into you today?”

Probably ovulation. But you simply shrug, legs swinging idly against the cabinets beneath you. “I just love you.”

The answer is simple. Words spoken with all the casual sincerity you feel, but it’s enough to melt his astonishment into affection as he strides over and slips between your thighs.

“You just love me?”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, reaching up to brush over the delicious roughness of his stubble. “Like a ridiculous amount. Probably too much.”

His heart is swelling, so full it feels like it’s about to burst. “I love you too.”

“That’s it?”

You watch as his nose twitches, the smallest hint of a smile playing at his lips before he sighs, “I love you so much, angel."

"I think you can do better than that."

He huffs a chuckle, "I love you too much," he tries again, "more than I even know what to do with."

You smile in satisfaction, a little triumphant over his exaggeration. You’ve taught him well. “Say it again.”

The wide expanse of his palms settles on your waist.

“I am madly,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “deeply,” another finds its way to your jaw, “hopelessly,” he murmurs as he grows even closer to your lips, “in love,” he’s a breath away from yours, “with you.”

The space between you shrinks to nothing. You swallow his last words, letting them dissolve on your tongue like the sweetest confection. What begins as a delicate melding of warmth and breath quickly intensifies, as though he’s determined to steal every bit of air from your lungs. And before you know it, his hands are sliding under you.

A surprised squeal escapes your lips as he lifts your weight, and an even louder gasp follows when he carries you toward the bedroom.

You know exactly what he plans to do for the rest of the evening.

[brattyspence]

undone lace | s.r.

A/N: user reidrum back with another softdom and munch!spencer fic but with insecure reader this time please act surprised

summary: in which you buy lingerie to impress spencer

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, afab!reader, reader wears lingerie, pet names, praise kink, slight breeding kink if you squint hard, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, insecure!reader, munch!spencer, softdom!spencer

wc: 2.3k

You’re standing in the middle of the bedroom fiddling with the garter straps hanging on your upper thighs when you hear the lock click followed by the front door opening.

Fuck.

You have to admit, it really did seem like a good idea when you were at the store.

The clerk in the lingerie store saw you staring for just a second too long before pouncing on you, feeding you off anecdotes that embarrassingly enough sent you home with a tiny pink bag not even ten minutes later.

But now that’s left you standing in the middle of your bedroom, dressed up in a way you know Spencer hasn’t been privy to seeing you in yet. And the anxiety of seeing his reaction is quite literally eating you alive.

Spencer calls out for you letting you know he’s home early, something about finishing his reports early. You’re not entirely sure, all you can focus on is your eyes widening as you take a paralytic stance, unmoving even when you hear his footsteps inch closer to the door.

“Hey, I knew you were home, probably didn’t hear me come in,” he says opening the door, “Did you want to get Thai food for—“

The rest of the words don’t make it out. And that’s when Spencer finally looks up at you, and he really gets a good look at you.

His eyes slowly rake down your figure and you can’t help but feel a bit like a spectacle, awaiting the rousing approval and applause from the audience with bated breath. He doesn’t speak for another minute, and it makes you squirm in your skin even more.

“This is stupid,” you mutter, “I’m gonna go change—“

Spencer doesn’t even let you move an inch before jumping into action, reaching out to grab your hand and pull you into his chest. “Don’t change.” he whispers hoarsely, eyes wandering and taking in all of you.

The self doubt within you only rises as you meekly say, “D—Do you like it?”

His eyes snap to yours finally, “Do I like it?” his hands take purchase on your hips, thumbs hooking onto the garter strap connecting the fabric on your midriff to your panties and pulling you closer, “Sweetheart…did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I was nervous about this all day, wasn’t sure if it was too much.”

“You could never be too much. “ He blinks at you while his voice comes out strained, “Nervous? W—Why would you be nervous?” his hands smooth over your skin in all the places that needed placating, a soothing reminder that you could calm down, that you were safe.

You shrug slightly, “Didn’t know if I liked myself in it…and then I didn’t know if…you would like me in it.” you deflate a little more, “It’s stupid I know, I’m sorry I’m just gonna go chan—“

Spencer shakes his head mindlessly, his hands gripping your hips harder on instinct, “Oh, baby,” his voice strained and coming out as a mumble, “I am not doing a good job showing you how beautiful you are,” his hands slowly turn you around and pull you back into him so your back is flush with his chest, leaning down to your ear to whisper, “We should fix that, shouldn’t we?”

A shiver runs down your spine as you straighten your back against him, his hands inching dangerously lower and lower. “Can I do that? Let me make it up to you?”

The words are knocked out of you and all you can manage is a small nod, “You don’t have to.”

“No, actually I think I need to,” his hands ghost the lace frill edges of your panties, “Went through all this trouble…for me?” The length of his finger presses firmly to your entrance, you let out a soft gasp when he gently rubs, “Think you deserve a reward, sweet girl.”

Your eyes flutter shut as his hands move to cup your lace covered breasts, thumbs intentionally rubbing over your nipples and letting them harden under his touch. Spencer guides you to the edge of the bed as the warmth of his breath ghosts the crook of your neck, gently pressing kisses that trail up to your ear. You let him sit you down and watch with wide eyes as he sinks to his knees before you.

His hands part your legs open, bending his head down to press chaste kisses up your inner thigh stopping at the apex before repeating his motions to the other side.

“You okay?” he glances up at you, “I can stop if you want.”

“‘No! No, I’m okay I just…”

He presses another kiss just shy of where you need him, “Just what, baby?”

A soft whimper escapes you, “…Didn’t think this would work”

Spencer pauses and looks at you confused, letting his mouth wander back up to your face, “You thought,” Kiss. “Seeing my insanely hot and sexy and intelligent girlfriend,” Kiss. “All dressed up in lingerie,” Kiss. “Just for me,” Kiss. Kiss. “Wouldn’t work?”

You knew it would work. Of course, it worked. You knew that, he knew that. It’s why you planned to do this in the first place, because you wanted to do something nice for him. And if doing something nice for Spencer came at the cost of your confidence, you would gladly make the fruitless trade.

It made you feel silly, to be frank. Spencer never, ever, gave you a reason to feel insecure about yourself. In fact he made every humane effort possible to always remind you of how highly he thought of you. Yet here you were, with the audacity to self efface in front of the human embodiment of unconditional love.

“Angel…” he murmurs into your neck, bringing you back to the moment, “Where’d you go?”

It was just easier to let Spencer believe the fallacy of your plan than admit that despite his earnest efforts you, unfortunately, were incapable of receiving his love and affection.

You clear your throat to remove any tremors before you speak, “ ‘m okay, promise.”

Spencer was unconvinced, “You’re in your head again…” his thumbs kneed the flesh of your thighs as he kisses down your shoulder, “I’m really slacking, huh baby?”

“Spence—“

He shushes you gently, “It’s okay, baby. I know. I’m gonna make up for it.” he rises to his full height, standing in between your legs before working on the buttons of his shirt. His thumb and pointer pinch your chin and angle your face upwards, “Will you go sit pretty and lay down on the bed for me?”

You nod wordlessly and scoot backwards until you’re able to lie down and rest your head on the satin pillowcase. The mattress dips near your feet and you watch Spencer crawl back over you in only his boxers, his eyes raking over your outstretched body beneath him.

“God, you are perfect.” he murmurs, holding the words close like a sacred prayer. He gingerly pushes the hair from your face to behind your ear and lowers himself to press a kiss to your lips. You watch his mouth kiss and trace the outline of your lace bralette, following the path of dips and curves before he resumes his journey further down.

His finger toys with the edge of your panties again, finally hooking below the fabric and pushing it to the side exposing you to the brisk air. Spencer swore he could never get sick of the sight of you glistening, knowing he was the one to get you like that. He prods at your entrance, collecting the arousal to spread all over you, grinning when he hears a breathless moan.

“Feels good?” he whispers, you nod quickly watching him continue, “Good, pretty girls deserve to feel good.”

You preen under the praise as his finger pushes past your entrance, setting an agonizingly slow pace. The drag of his finger is so deliberate you can feel the notch of his knuckle as it leaves you, and it drives you insane.

“Nmph—Spence…please,” you plead. What you’re pleading for, you’re not even sure. But Spencer clearly knew as he adds one more finger, the stretch opening you up in a way that ascends you that much closer to the heavens.

You lift your head slightly to watch Spencer and find that he’s not even looking at you. He’s entirely more enticed by watching his fingers enter and leave you so captivatingly, your slick coating and entrapping him willfully. He must feel your eyes on him because he finally looks up and meets your gaze. His fingers quicken their pace, watching your face contort with pleasure as he undoes you piece by piece with a delicacy he knows how to use on you only.

His lips kiss up your inner thigh again, this time reaching your center and attaching his lips. At this point you realize you’re a goner, left for nothing and everything as Spencer pushes through to bring you to your peak. The tandem effort of his mouth and fingers is hypnotizing, so much so that you’d call witchcraft with how easily he’s able to disarm you completely.

“You’re close, angel girl.” he mumbles as more of a statement than a question, since clearly he knew your body better than you. All you can do is pathetically moan as you’re left entirely to his mercy and ministrations. The peak builds in your stomach, coiling and building tension while barreling towards that sweet release before he removes his presence from between your legs wholly, leaving you a panting mess above him.

“Spencer!” you whine loudly, “Wh—why’d you stop?” you breath out desperately.

He sits up and back onto his legs while he maneuvers his boxers off, “I told you pretty girls deserve to feel good, right?”

“Yeah well, this pretty girl doesn’t feel very good right now.” you tut.

He softly chuckles, moving closer while giving himself a few pumps, “I know,” he hooks his fingers onto your thigh garter straps and pulls you closer to him so his center is only mere centimeters from yours, “But, you deserve to feel the best.”

“So this pretty girl,” he rubs the tip of himself on your clit through the lace of your panties, “gets to come on my cock.”

You barely have time to be shocked by his crude words before he’s hooking your panties to the side again and slowly pushing himself inside you. A languished cry leaves you as you’re feeling him deep inside, reaching places only he knew about.

You’re reduced to blabbering syllables and cries of his name at the expense of his unrelenting pace, meeting his eyes and gaping at his smugly satisfied grin. He plays with the lace bow situated in the valley of your breasts before moving his hands to lift your legs and placing them on his shoulder, deepening his angle within you.

“I’d stay here for hours, for days, if you let me, sweet girl. If you asked for it, I’d give you everything.”

Your eyes nearly roll back feeling yourself enter another dimension with the combination of his words and the way he’s absolutely fucking you dumb. Another soft whine bubbles out of your throat, “Fuck—Spe—Aahh—.”

He coos softly, “I know, honey. Gonna get you there, promise.” he continues his thrusts unceremoniously, adding a thumb to your clit to push just over the edge hurling towards your climax. It hits you like a bucket of cold water dumped on you, a shivering chill reverberating up and down your spine while simultaneously setting your nerve endings aflame.

It’s overwhelming, it’s everything, it’s him.

Spencer isn’t trailing too far behind you with only a few more thrusts before he’s spilling into you with a low groan. He buries his head into the crook of your neck as he lets the last of himself pour into you before gingerly slipping out and placing your panty back in its holding place. He collapses at your side, the only sound left in the air is your alternating heavy pants.

“Guess I can’t return this now.” you lightly chuckle after a few minutes.

“You were going to return it?” he rolls over to drape an arm over your torso, “Did I not prove my point?”

He did. Very well.

“Y—You did, I just…still remember how I didn’t feel great in it before you came home.” you blush sheepishly.

Spencer sighs and pulls your body to rest in the you shaped crevice in the side of his body, hand smoothing up and down your back while the other rests on your thigh he’s hooked over his hips. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

“I didn’t do anything, in fact—“

“No, sweet girl. I am proud of you, because I know how hard it must have been for you to go out of your comfort zone for me. You shouldn’t feel obligated to do things like that, you know I’ll always love you until the end of time,” he moves his hand to cup your cheek, “But, I feel so grateful that you want to venture out for someone like me. I just want you to know that every and any effort, no matter how big or small, is always deeply appreciated and I am lucky to be the recipient every time.”

Tears well up in your eyes. For as much as you felt vulnerable and bared your heart to Spencer, there he was with open arms and a basket to cradle it from danger. Even if you couldn’t feel safe in your own mind, you could trust that Spencer would find a way to keep you from harm, even if it was self made.

“Thank you.” you whisper softly.

He presses a long kiss to your forehead, “Loving you is my favorite thing to do in this world, no need to thank me.”

You smile into his chest, voice all giddy, “Really? I thought reading untranslated and original classics had me beat there.”

“It’s a close second, pretty girl.” he nuzzles you closer to him and sighs in content.

It isn’t that close at all, Spencer thinks.