#Criminal Minds Self Insert

[reidmotif]

Between the Books

Summary: Reader is a librarian at the library Spencer frequents while he's finishing one of his degrees. They find themselves in a precarious situation when everyone's left and they're the last two people there.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: unprotected penetrative sex, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), themes of exhibitionism, public sex.

Word Count: 3.9 k

Masterlist

Being observant came naturally to you, almost as if it was a reflex embedded into the core of your nervous system. You’d say “hello” to a new face and as if under command, your eyes would naturally drift to the small pieces of hair on that stranger’s coat. 

Dog? Cat? Freakishly large gerbil? 

Whatever it was, you couldn’t turn it off. And that’s why when Spencer Reid caught your eye, you simply couldn’t find it in yourself to look away. 

And with time, it seemed like his actions mirrored yours.

You’d taken interest in a position at a university library for the summer. The job seemed to be a welcome change of pace from the likes of hectic summer jobs you’d go for typically in the past, a position that would mostly consist of monitoring graduate-level students who were, thankfully, much calmer than their undergrad counterparts.

 For the most part, you were right. Your days were filled with reading in an air-conditioned building, looking up titles of reference books for other students, and of course, the unexpected, yet welcomed, occurrence of Spencer Reid. 

The longer you spent at the library, the more you came to learn more about him. 

Well, as much as you could learn without actually speaking to the man. 

You’d learned his name from the library card he’d brandish when it came time to check out materials. He’d frequent books about Jean-Paul Sarte, Camus, and Nietzsche, opting to stay in the same, well-lit corner by the window every time he visited. While he could come in at any part of the day, he seemed to prefer later hours, when the library would be mostly vacant. His outfits weren’t over-the-top with formality, but he clearly wasn’t in the business of dressing casually.

 You found it attractive, honestly, how put-together he seemed. 

His return-rate on books was freakishly fast, and at one point, you’d assumed he was checking out books to read a certain page or chapter for research, and would then put it back, until you found yourself properly watching him and realized, no, he actually was just reading that fast. He could finish texts that would take almost a year to cover by seasoned professors and scholars in mere hours.

 How? You had no idea. Nevertheless, you desperately wanted to learn- to know him beyond the gazes of a library hall. 

You’d decided to try your luck at speaking to the man, noticing the three books he’d chosen all seemed to have one incredibly common theme amongst their authorship. 

“Existentialist?” You ask, trying to make your tone seem polite but still friendly. 

He blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to, and takes a second, his gaze meeting yours. “Sorry, what?” 

“Existentialist.” You repeat, motioning to the books you were checking out for him.  “Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Kafka. Your books seem to share a commonality.” 

He chuckles, realizing the meaning of your words and shakes his head. “No, no. Not an existentialist. I’d like to believe the world is better than what any of them make it out to be.” 

You smile, and nod. “I’d hope so.” Your eyebrows furrow, head tilting slightly. “Why the interest then?” There’s genuine fascination in your tone, and he seems to absolutely thrive off that, his eyes lighting up as you continue the conversation. 

“I’m completing my Masters in Philosophy.” He responds. “We’ve been doing an assignment on existentialism, hence the ridiculous amount of gloom and doom in my reading.”

 There’s a pause, before he cracks a smile, and then asks you, “Romantic?” 

You look at him in confusion. It’s your turn to not get the joke. “Sorry?” 

“Are you a romantic?” He asks. When you retain that confused look on your face, he continues. 

“You’re almost always reading some variation of a romance novel here. So far I’ve counted Austen, Bronte, and I think I saw a copy of Anna Karenina on the counter once.” 

You feel a bit of heat rise to your face, realizing that in his own way, he’d been observing you as well. In a second, the tables were turned, and the lens you often used on others was abruptly focused on you instead. 

“Well, Anna Karenina is hardly a romance, I’d argue.” You say, before nodding. “But, yeah. I guess I’d say I’m a fan of romance in novels.” 

He smiles, shaking his head. “I’m not asking you if you’re a fan of romance in novels, I’m asking you if you’re a romantic.” He says, putting emphasis on the last word, as if that was supposed to provide some grand difference to the statement. 

“Just as much as anyone else, right?” You respond, still a bit puzzled at his insistence on contrasting the syntax of his statement. 

“I see.” He says, nodding, continuing to look at you, as if he was sizing you up. “I’ll have to pick up a copy of Anna Karenina sometime then. See if it’s as much of a love story as I remember.” 

“I think you’ll find it’s absolutely not.” You reply, smiling. “I believe we have a copy of it here, as a matter of fact, if you’re actually interested.” There’s a hint of skepticism in your tone, wondering why he seemed to be taking so much regard to your conversation.

“Of course I’m actually interested. You seem passionate about the subject.” He counters, grinning. 

“I mean- yeah, I am! It’s a pretty misinterpreted book, I think.” You say. There’s a slight moment of silence, before you find yourself saying your next few words. “I’m also surprised you’re interested. I’m not always sure if it’s up everyone’s lane. Lots of people can’t get through it.” 

“I’m sure the least I can do is try.” He says, shrugging. 

You check out the last of his books, placing them in his outstretched hands. “Honestly, I’m even more surprised you noticed. You seem pretty into it in your corner over there.” You say, half-jokingly, but with a hint of seriousness mixed into it. 

He gives a softer smile, almost boyish, as he replies. 

“You’re pretty hard not to notice.” 

He keeps the smile on his face, giving you a slight nod of his head, before leaving you to deal with the sudden heat that had risen to your cheeks as a result of his words. You couldn’t find it in yourself to respond to his quick wit in the moment, your heartbeat still racing long after he’d left. 

Over that summer, the two of you get continually closer. To your absolute delight, he does end up reading Anna Karenina and better yet, he agrees with you. You immediately take an even stronger liking to him than before. Thus starts your tradition of recommending books to each other, the two of you discussing them when he’d come to the library, almost like a secret, private book club that only you two were privy to. 

You come to learn more about him. His doctorates, his job. The secret of his inhumanely fast reading was revealed to you later down the road, when he explained the abilities of an unconscious mind.. or something. While you wanted to give your undivided attention to him, there was an unspoken part of you that couldn’t help but find it ridiculously attractive when he explained things to you. He never seemed to notice that enduring part of your psyche, and you were grateful for that. 

Overall though, he made quite the friend. He shared your love of literature, and could be a wonderful listener at times. Your previous days of solitude in the library were long forgotten, and you found yourself looking forward to his daily visits, ready to share your thoughts on some book he’d last asked you to read. 

You find that his visits become less and less about the actual establishment, and more and more about you, especially when he opts to visit you at the front desk first, as opposed to over at his usual spot by the window. Somedays, he makes it obvious, not even bothering to peruse the selection of books he was previously accustomed to, and merely opts to talk to you the entire time, right up to the point where you’re locking the doors of the library and heading to your own place for the night. 

There’s a part of you that wonders why he hasn’t asked you out. You wonder why you hadn’t asked him out. It only seems natural, given how much time the two of you were spending- a date seemed like an obvious byproduct of the lingering gazes you’d catch him throw at you, the absolute joy that would bubble in your chest everytime the two of you shared an afternoon. 

You shrug it off. All in good time, right? 

It’s another night at the library, and you found yourself a bit frustrated. You’d asked your manager if there was any way she could take on the later shift of the day, increasingly tired with the hours of the job and simply needing a break from it all. She refused, and tonight, that refusal seemed to be on the forefront of your mind. 

“I just- I don’t get it, Spencer. I know she can take on this shift.” You say, wheeling around a cart of books to be reshelved, talking openly since the library was empty at this point in the day, all patrons packed up and soundly at home– while you were stuck here. 

He stayed, of course, following you around diligently as you completed the task, listening to every word.

 “I get that this is the worst shift to have, but come on. I’m a good employee, you know? I feel like I deserve a break here and there.” You come to a stop, picking up a stack of books with a huffy sigh. “But no. I’m the one who has to go home late. I’m the one who’s on closing every single night. I’m sick of it.” 

He nods sympathetically, and you continue to grovel, deeply appreciative that he was allowing you to vent to him like this. You stand on the provided step-stool on the ground, allowing you to have the height necessary to shelve some books that belonged further up than normal. 

“Like, is it really that hard?” You grumble, your face turned away from Spencer as you find each book’s proper place. “God forbid she sleeps at a later time than normal- or I don’t know, hires someone else.” The last book is reshelved, and you turn around, about to dismount the stool. “And another thing-” 

In the midst of your rant, you find yourself distracted,  missing the step on the stool that would’ve allowed a safe dismount, and you quickly realize you’re falling off, letting out a small yelp before a stronger force keeps you upright- a force that happened to be Spencer’s arms catching you. 

“You alright?” He asks with heavy concern, trying to look into your eyes or your legs, attempting to discern for signs where you might’ve hurt yourself on your descent. 

It takes a second for you to process that you are insanely close to Spencer. His features are almost enhanced by the low-lighting of the dark library, his eyes entirely dilated as he stares at you, his lips soft and perfect– and those cheekbones, god. You could practically cut yourself on them. 

You quickly return to your senses, trying to go back to a more suitable position that wouldn’t leave you so absolutely tongue tied. “No, no. I’m fine, honestly.” You step back, wiggling your leg a little. “See? Entirely fine.” 

He smiles a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I just get worried. I’m a doctor, you know.” He says, a teasing quality in his tone as he steps closer. 

“Not an actual doctor.” You say, rolling your eyes fondly. 

“Come on.” He says, letting his hand drift over back to your arm, which had taken most of the shock of falling onto him. “Humor me.” 

There’s that grin again, and you can’t help but relent. 

And so you humor him like he asked, letting his fingertips trail over the skin to properly check for any injuries, the action much more sensual than it should’ve been for a friend checking up on another friend. 

“You know.” He murmurs, his voice a bit lower than before. “I don’t actually think this is the worst shift to take on.” 

Your throat is dry, a physical reaction being drawn out of you as he touches you, and there’s a conscious reminder you actually have to respond to his words. 

“Oh? Why is that?” You force out. 

“It’s so quiet.” He mumbles out, immediately, his fingertips now tracing down to your waist, as the two of you made eye contact. “Nobody’s even in here at this point.” 

You swallow, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” 

“I like the quiet.” He says, continuing on. The previously feather-like touch on your waist becomes more grasping than anything else. “There’s just so much more you can get done when it’s quiet.” 

You nod and half heartedly mumble. “Mhm.” You’re far more focused on your growing proximity than his actual words, the act rendering you entirely breathless until he’s standing face to face with you, your breaths mingling due to the closeness. 

“I can feel your heart beating.” He mumbles. “So fast. Do I make you nervous?” 

You lick your lips and nod out of instinct, before squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head. “No, no. It’s just the closeness. I’m not used to it.” You whisper, eyes opening– and his gaze is as intense as ever. 

One of his hands goes to cup your face. “Unless you tell me otherwise, I’m going to kiss you now.” 

You don’t move a single muscle. 

And then all of a sudden, he’s everywhere. He’s pulling you closer, absolutely devouring you like he’s been starved for your touch all along. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you respond in approval, humming with a deep content against his lips, your hands going to wrap around his neck, pulling your bodies flush together. You don’t want space– not now, or ever again. 

“Fuck. Wanted this for so long.” He mumbles, as soon as he breaks off the kiss, finding the pulse point on your neck, and going at it with his lips, causing you to quietly moan out in pleasure. You’d never heard him curse before, and the act only served to add to the steadily growing throb in between your legs. 

He pushes you even more insistently up against the counter attached to the bookshelves, your weight slightly more supported by the wood, as opposed to his body like before. 

“You’re so pretty.” He breathes out in between his assault on your neck, his mouth finding every inch of your nape, and marking it as his own. It’s almost like he’s hellbent on mapping out every plane of skin there, committing every spot that makes you whine or let out his name to memory.

You’re breathing so heavily, and you think it can’t possibly get any better than this, but he proves you wrong when he abruptly gets to his knees, your eyes widening. 

“Need to taste you. Please.” 

He’s begging, like, on-his-knees, doe-eyes, broken voice- begging to eat you out. 

And how could you ever say no, what, with those pretty eyes of his, and that expression on his face that made you practically weak with need?  

“Yes.” You whisper out, and in record time, he’s undoing your jeans and underwear in one clean swoop, not even bothering to fully remove the material before his tongue is all over your cunt, lapping up the wetness that had accumulated in the past few minutes. You’re half surprised he didn’t just rip your clothing off, given the enthusiasm he was showing at this moment. 

You’re suddenly incredibly aware of where you are- your place of work, a fucking library, and Spencer Reid was buried in your thighs like a man parched, lapping up wherever he possibly can. You can hear the obscene noises of your passion, his tongue lavishing over you, before he pays special attention to your clit, wrapping his lips around the nub and sucking softly.  You cover your mouth with your free hand- grateful that the wood behind you was supporting you, because without it, you truly think you’d topple over from the sheer pleasure of it all. 

“Fuck.” You whisper, voice high-pitched as you try to hold back your noises. “Fuck. Gonna come.” You warn, legs shaking as you barreled towards your release. 

Without warning, his fingers enter your cunt, and you’re fighting back a scream. 

How long had you stared at his fingers before this? How many times had you watched them run up and down the spines of the books he read, or gestured with them constantly whilst speaking? How long had such a simple part of his body captivated you? 

How many times had you secretly wondered to yourself how they’d feel inside you?

It didn’t matter anymore. You had your answer now. Fucking amazing.

“Spencer!” You whine out, his fingers naturally reaching that soft spot inside that you often struggled to even brush against. His lips find your clit again, sucking softly and you know you’re an absolute goner. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

Before you can even voice in coherent terms how good this feels, you’re coming, the walls of your cunt spasming around his fingers as he relishes in the reaction, using the tip of his tongue to circle your clit, and slowing his fingers down as you ride out the remnants of your orgasm. He slips the digits out of you as he rises to his knees, and sucks on his fingers, one by one, practically moaning as he tastes your release.

The sight is downright sinful.

“You taste so good.” He whispers, crashing his lips against yours again, and you’re already needy again when you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

His hands drift down to his own slacks, undoing them and pulling his cock out, already dripping with precum. 

“You ready, pretty girl?” He murmurs, guiding his tip to your waiting cunt. You’ve situated yourself on the wood of the desk entirely now, needing the support for what happens next. 

You nod, and without even realizing he was already mostly there, he pushes into you entirely, and your jaw drops. Your head rests against  his shoulder, trying to accustom to feeling of him stretching you out so fucking perfectly. 

How could you ever fuck anyone else again, when he just felt so perfect for you? 

It seemed that he agreed with the sentiment, moaning softly as his free hand steadied himself by gripping onto the shelf. “You feel so fucking good.” He murmurs. “Can I move? Are you okay?” He asks, softly. 

His other hand rubs soothing circles into your hip bone, and you’re nodding, touched by his concern for you, even during such a salacious act. 

His thrusts are slow at first, still allowing you to get used to the feeling of him inside of you, before he’s truly going at it, his thick cock rubbing against your wet walls in a way that makes you feel light and full all at once. It's delectable, and you never want it to end. 

You whine, holding onto his neck, your head thrown back as you take it, feeling the books rattle around you with every hump he deals into you. You can’t even find it in yourself to care– all that matters right now is you, and him, and how fucking amazing it feels when he’s fucking you like this. 

You can feel yourself building towards another pleasurable release, before you hear the telltale click of the library door opening, effectively removing you from the moment. Fuck. The janitor. 

“Spencer, Spencer!” You whisper-shout, biting your lip. His cock doesn’t once slow inside you, and you find it hard to think when it feels that good. 

“We’re gonna be caught!” You whine out, dizzied by how you were simultaneously turned on and utterly panicked. 

“No, we won’t.” He whispers, gruffly. With your hands now around his neck, he lets his hand drop from the shelf and covers your mouth. He leans in even closer, if that’s possible, eyes dark. 

The sight makes a shiver go up your spine. 

“Stay quiet.” He murmurs, as he begins to deal slower, more deliberate thrusts into your cunt. 

“Feel that? Feel how I’m filling you up, nice and slow?” He whispers, the words barely audible, but with how close he’s standing to you, they overtake every one of your senses, and you nod desperately, eyes glistening as you feel yourself dancing on the precipice of release. 

“Shh. I know.” He murmurs. “Come for me, yeah? I know you want to. Show me how much you like my cock inside of you.” 

It's a combination of his tone, of the risk you two were facing, and the sensation of him that has you responding exactly the way he wants, and in an instant, you’re coming with a shuddering breath, holding back a loud whine, just like he asked you to. 

The feeling of your walls spasming has him releasing as well,  a warmth flooding in your deepest point. His head drops into your shoulder as he attempts to muffle his moans the best he can, and you both bask in the afterglow for a second, trying to pant as quietly as you could. 

Spencer immediately springs into action, redressing you with precision and care, guiding your underwear and jeans back up, buttoning them up for you. You’re still in a slight haze from the two orgasms he’d just given you, and when you properly come to, his slacks are back on, and he leans in for a much more chaste kiss. It leaves you with butterflies, despite everything,  and you find yourself smiling softly at him. The fondness reflected in his expression is undeniable.

“Let’s get out of here.” He murmurs, grabbing your hand and guiding you in between the shadows of the shelves, effectively keeping you both from being caught. The janitor remains clueless, as you two sneak out, giggling like teenagers as you find yourselves outside, the summer night warm and cool all at once. 

“That was..” You mumble, laughing a bit, surprised that had even happened. 

“I know. I- uh. Might’ve gotten carried away?” He says. “I usually like to do that after a date. I just-” He steps closer, cupping your cheek. “I couldn’t wait. I hope that’s okay.” He whispers. 

“More than okay.” You whisper back. 

His thumb slowly strokes over the expanse of your cheek, and he bites his lip. “Could we? Date? Try this out?” He murmurs. “I know I didn’t get much of a chance to say it back there, but I really like you.” 

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. This man had just been inside you, and now he was blushing and stuttering whilst he attempted to ask you out. 

“Yes.” You nod. “Let’s try this.” 

He’s got the most genuine smile on his face, and a sigh of relief  can be heard as he leans in again to kiss you, and you can’t help the smile on your face as your lips meet his, the elation in both of your bodies absolutely radiating inside and out. 

You recount your first conversation and know now, there was a difference between liking romance, and being a romantic. 

You reckon Spencer Reid could make quite a romantic out of you. 

this is uploading an hour later than i wanted it to :( but whatever. i hope you guys like this one <3 i'm trying something new! not first person pov, but "you" ? pleaseee let me know how this works for you guys! i love experimenting out with new fic methods but if it's clear this isn't working TELL MEEE so i can go back to what did work. anyway, any likes, reblogs, comments are so so so genuinely appreciated. thank you thank you thank you for reading either way <3

[astrophileous]

A Well-Kept Secret

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: While working on a case in D.C., Spencer didn't expect to hear a familiar name being mentioned as the sole surviving witness. Or, in which the team discovers Spencer's well-kept secret.

Warning(s): established secret relationship, mentions and/or depictions of death/physical violence/gun violence/injury/attack, signs of trauma, survivor's guilt, curse words, hurt/comfort, nudity but it's not sexual, allusions to sexy times, mentions/implied alcohol consumption

Word Count: 5900-ish

Author's Note: hiya! I decided to write this lil piece after seeing the fic challenge posted by @imagining-in-the-margins abt the family/found family trope. I had a lotta fun writing this one and I think it's got potential to be something more. So pls comment or message me if you wanna see me exploring with this idea (either turning it into a series of connected one-shots or multi-parters). Don't forget to like/comment/reblog and give me a follow :) I hope you enjoy! 💞

Criminal Minds Masterlist

When Hotch had notified the team to haul their asses up and drove all the way to D.C., Spencer never expected that it would also entail him having to suffer through a mini heart attack.

The series of attacks around D.C. had been dominating the 6 PM news segments in the entire country. What was initially perceived as a suspected sequence of robberies gone wrong--since the first two targets to have been hit were a bank and a prestigious auction house--soon turned into a nationwide panic as people realized that there was a bigger game at play.

After the third attack was found to have occurred in the headquarters of one of the top, up-and-coming renewable energy startups in the states, the D.C. police finally started to entertain the idea that perhaps they hadn't been dealing with their usual petty robbers at all.

And naturally, that was when the BAU had been called in.

As soon as the team entered the Metropolitan PD bullpen, they were struck with the smell of panic and the sight of chaos.

"Agent Hotchner?" A middle-aged man in a gray shirt and blue tie appeared in front of them. "My name is Detective Mills, we spoke on the phone."

"Of course, Detective." Hotch shook the other man's hand. "This is my team. Agent Prentiss, Jareau, and Dr. Reid. I have two others already at the latest crime scene. What can you tell us so far?"

"As you can see--" Detective Mills gestured towards the frenzied scene behind him, "--the entire D.C. area is going haywire after news broke out about yesterday's attack. The public is demanding the city to be put on lockdown, and I'm getting pressure from above as well. We received information that nearly half the city has called in sick today."

"A classic response to mass paranoia," Spencer noted.

"Well, paranoia or not, I just want to start getting some answers." Detective Mills began to lead the team further into the bullpen. "I have every pair of hands I could spare in this. If they aren't out there chasing leads, they're here interviewing the victims, friends, and families."

"Any luck so far?" Emily asked.

"Nothing more than what you've probably seen in the files."

Detective Mills pushed open the door to an office in the corner, away from the havoc in the center of the station.

"Lieutenant Jeffreys retired a couple of weeks ago. The lucky bastard." Detective Mills scoffed jokingly. "It's the most decent space I can spare at the moment. Think you'll be fine in here?"

"It's more than enough, Detective. Thank you," Hotch replied.

"What about the witnesses from yesterday's attack? Have you had the chance to interview them?" JJ asked as the rest of the team started setting up.

"Some of my men are with them right now. But I doubt they'll have anything useful. Just like the other two cases, the attack happened while most of the office was out. The rest left behind were DOA at the latest scene."

"They're rapidly devolving," Spencer pondered out loud as he skimmed over the case files. "They went from killing a non-compliant security guard during the first attack to executing almost every witness in the last one."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"

"It says here there is one survivor." Spencer showed the word he had underlined in the case overview to JJ.

"Yes, there is," Detective Mills confirmed. "I had one of my men talk to her. There's not much she could give us. Thing is, she wasn't even supposed to be there."

"What do you mean?" Emily asked.

"She didn't work in that office. She was a consultant who just happened to be visiting. Poor girl's pretty shaken up. She hid in a supply closet the entire time. She was the one who found the bodies and called 911."

"So, the perpetrators never checked the rooms while they were holding the victims hostage?" Hotch questioned.

"Not according to her statement, no. See, I thought it weird myself. Do you have any idea why?"

"Not sure." Hotch hummed, deep in thought. "Perhaps our UnSubs didn't think to check because they didn't know someone was in there. Detective, you said all of the victims were the only employees of the company who didn't attend the event downtown, correct?"

"Yeah, they were the only ones who weren't listed as attendees. Why? Do you think those people were specifically targeted?"

"Unfortunately, we can't rule out anything yet this early in the investigation," Hotch said. "We need to talk to the witnesses to know more. JJ?"

"On it." JJ nodded. "What can you tell us about yesterday's sole survivor, Detective?"

"Not much. I didn't interview her personally, one of my men did. She works at a consulting engineering firm in town," Detective Mills replied. "I believe her name is... what is it called?"

When Detective Mills mentioned the name, Spencer's heart instantly crashed inside of its cage.

"What?" His hand had stopped scribbling on the board. In a matter of miliseconds, Spencer had crossed the room towards the doorway where Detective Mills was standing. "What did you say her name was?"

Dumbfounded, the detective stared at a dread-stricken Spencer before spelling out the name once more.

"Why? What's wrong?" Detective Mills asked in confusion.

JJ touched Spencer's shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

But Spencer, either too alarmed or merely choosing not to acknowledge both questions, asked instead, "Where is she? I need to see her."

"In the waiting room by the pantry--"

Spencer didn't even wait for Detective Mills to form his complete thought before dashing out. JJ exchanged a glance with Emily following Spencer's sudden exit, perplexed by his odd turn of behavior.

"I'll go get him," JJ announced before leaving the room, chasing after a flurry of wavy hair and a wool-knitted purple vest sprinting across the bullpen.

The roaring commotion inside the station was almost loud enough to rival the intensity of your racing thoughts.

Almost.

At this point, you didn't think there was anything you could do anymore. The vivid images from yesterday's attack were playing continuously in your head. There was nothing you could do to stop them.

Rubbing your eyes from exhaustion, you mourned the loss of sleep that you failed to get the previous night. As if the waking nightmares weren't torment enough, the images had somehow translated even more cruelly into your subconscious. You could barely close your eyes for three seconds without feeling like you had been brought back to that place.

Cold, cramped, and alone. Fearing for your life in the tiny supply closet that smelled more like death than bleach.

At the sound of the door opening, you quickly turned around in your seat to hide your face away from prying eyes. The last thing you needed at that moment was having a complete stranger seeing you fall apart in the middle of a police station.

But when the voice came carrying the sound of your name, it wasn't the voice of a complete stranger you had heard. It was a voice you knew more than you probably knew your own. A voice you loved and a voice you had longed to hear for the past gruesome twenty-four hours.

"Spencer?" You turned back towards the door, seeing the face you adored most in the whole world staring back at you.

"Sweetheart."

At the speed of a lightning, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you and gathered your broken little pieces into his arms.

Spencer's touch was everywhere. Your hair, your neck, your shoulders. As if he was checking whether you were real. That you were actually there inside his arms, and you were not a simple imagination that his mind had conjured up.

Surrounded by the safety of his embrace, you could feel the shattered pieces of yourself beginning to mend once more.

"Spencer," you uttered his name again as you pulled away, still in disbelief that he was physically there with you.

"I'm here," he promised you as he cupped your face gently.

"Spencer, what are you... How..."

"My team is working your case. We arrived half an hour ago," he explained simply. "Sunshine, why didn't you tell me? I thought you were still in Alaska?"

You had previously apprised Spencer that you would be hard to reach during your trip since you would be spending most of your time at the power plant site where cellphone receptions were scarce. So when an entire day went by without him ever hearing from you, Spencer didn't have any reason to be worried.

Never in a million years would he have ever predicted that you'd be caught in the middle of a hostage situation.

That thought alone caused Spencer to squeeze your hand a little tighter than usual.

"I'm sorry, Spence," you said sincerely. "My trip ended earlier than planned. I arrived back yesterday morning. I actually wanted to surprise you last night. After yesterday's... incident, I wanted to call you, but my phone was shot--"

"Wait, what? You were shot?"

"No! No, baby. Not me. Just my phone," you assured him. "But that's why I couldn't call. I did attempt you once using this station's phone, but it went straight to voicemail."

At the new piece of information, the colors immediately drained from Spencer's face.

"That was you? Fuck. I didn't--I didn't know. I rejected the call because I didn't know it was you."

"Hey." You stopped his guilty rambling with a hand to his cheek. "It's okay. I'm okay. I'm just glad you're here."

And then, because Spencer needed to make sure that you really were okay, he pulled you back into his arms and held you even tighter this time.

"Uh, Spence?"

The sound in the doorway snapped you both out of your mutual reverie. You looked up to see a blonde woman there, staring in an equal mixture of shock and confusion at the sight in front of her.

Spencer begrudgingly untangled himself from your arms before getting up to approach her.

"JJ, do you mind if I do the cognitive for this one?" Spencer asked.

The woman--JJ-- shifted her eyes a few times between you and Spencer. "Um, of course. I'll just go and inform Hotch. Tell us if you need anything."

After JJ's departure, Spencer closed the door again to award you both a much needed privacy.

He grabbed a wooden chair from the corner and dragged it before sitting down right in front of you.

"I need to start the interview now, sweetheart. Think you're up for it?"

Your whole body went rigid for a matter of seconds before you forced it to restart again. It was gone as soon as it came, but Spencer noticed it just the same.

"Look at me," Spencer ordered softly, using his delicate finger to nudge your face up until he was looking straight into your eyes. "I know it's scary. I don't want you to have to relive yesterday either, but it will help us catch whoever did this."

"I've told the police everything I knew yesterday. I was hiding the entire time." Like a coward. "I didn't see anything. I don't have anything else that could help you."

"I know that, sunshine. But as I've told you before, our method is slightly different. We won't be just focusing on what you saw, but also what you smelled, or maybe even heard." Spencer took your hands then, squeezing affectionately. "I'll be here with you the entire time."

The nod you gave him was hesitant, but it was a start nonetheless. You listened intently to Spencer's words and closed your eyes just as he had instructed.

"We'll start at the beginning," you heard him say. "Why don't you tell me why you went there yesterday?"

"I, uh, received a call from my friend, Nick, after my plane landed. We had been communicating back and forth since his company seeked my consultation for one of their upcoming projects," you began. "I wasn't even supposed to work because I had requested the day off. But Nick said it didn't have to be a formal meeting, so I agreed to meet him."

"Tell me what you remember after arriving at the office."

Your mind traveled back to that specific time one day prior. You remembered walking into the place and seeing its unusual state of vacancy even though there was still a good half an hour left before lunchtime.

"I just assumed everyone had gone to lunch earlier and shrugged it off," you recalled.

Spencer nodded his head. "Did anything else strike you as out of the ordinary?"

"No? I don't... I don't know. It was only my second time being there, I'm not sure what was normal and what wasn't."

"Okay. That's okay. You're doing good so far, sweetheart," Spencer quickly interjected, trying to get you to calm down before your distress could turn into a full-blown panic. "Now, what did you do next?"

"I followed Nick into his office."

Nick was keeping his promise true. It hadn't felt like a formal meeting, just two old college buddies reminiscing about the past and discussing possibilities of the future that, of course, included the company's upcoming project which you would be working on with him.

"I excused myself to the bathroom at some point," you added. "When I first heard the commotion, I thought nothing of it. It's like the idea that a group full of armed men had taken over the building didn't even cross my mind. I mean, why would it? I was on my way back to Nick's office when I saw them."

You recalled turning a corner after exiting the bathroom only to see those figures carrying machine guns and shouting at everyone to get on their knees or put their hands above their heads. You remembered sprinting the way you had come from and opening the first door you could reach that just happened to be the supply closet.

"Let's go back to the moment you saw them," Spencer urged gently. "How many people were there? Do you remember any conspicuous detail? Maybe one of them had tattoos or spoke with an accent. Anything that distinguished them."

Taking a deep breath, you tried replaying those crucial seconds slowly in your head.

"There were four of them. I couldn't see much. They were all wearing identical black clothes."

Suddenly, an unexpected piece of memory rushed to the front of your mind. You opened your eyes in shock, meeting Spencer's curious gaze that had been kept intently on you the entire time.

"I think at least one of them is a woman," you told him.

Spencer's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"One of the guys said something about... fucking this place up. And then she laughed. I heard her. It was definitely a female laugh."

"Good. That's good."

"Yeah? Do you think it'll help?"

Spencer nodded assuredly, bringing his hand to leave calming strokes on your head. "I know it will. You've done a great job, sweetheart. I'm proud of you."

The praise Spencer gave eased the tension in your shoulders. As if having been granted fresh air after decades of confinement, you were finally able to let yourself breathe again.

Spencer continued his loving strokes on your head. Little by little, the weight of his touch melted the resolve you had built into a pathetic puddle on the floor. Without its mental shield protecting you, your tears sped forward, gathering in your eyes until they spilled on the vast path down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey." Spencer's voice was laden with panic after seeing you start to cry. "Sunshine, what is it? What's wrong? Talk to me."

"I-I just... God." You struggled to get the words out in between sobs. "I'm a coward, Spencer."

"What?"

"All of those people... They died because I was a fucking coward."

Your admission tore into the air before stabbing Spencer right through his chest.

"Sweetheart, you know that's not true."

"But it is!" you cried out, pulling away from Spencer's grounding hold around your shaking body in favor of your own arms. "I was a coward. I ran and hid because I was too scared to die. Too scared to fight. If I had just tried a little harder, I could've called for help. That way, maybe all of those people wouldn't... And Nick wouldn't..."

A haunting image flashed behind your eyes. The image of Nick's limp and lifeless body on the floor, among those of the others. You remembered crying next to him, punching his chest, body, and arm despite having seen the gunshot wound on his forehead. It took you another five minutes before you eventually managed to gather yourself together, found a phone, and dialed 911.

Not that it made any difference. They were all already dead.

Spencer could hear his heart breaking at the sight of you curling into yourself, recoiling from his touch because you somehow believed you didn't deserve his affection at that moment. If Spencer could just transfer all of your pain towards him, he would. Seeing you beat yourself up that way over something that happened and was done to you was the worst kind of torture he ever had to endure in life.

And Spencer had been through more kinds of torture than the general population in the world.

Deciding that he had seen enough of your self-deprecating torment, he reclaimed your hands inside of his palms and urged you to look at him.

"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Spencer asked incredulously. "How can you even think that way? Sweetheart, what happened to those people, to Nick, it is not your fault."

"B-but, if I hadn't run away--"

"Then you would've died, too," he cut you off. "Sunshine, there were four of them with machine guns. No one stood a single chance against them. Those people were there to kill. There was nothing you could've done."

It was a hard pill to swallow, but Spencer needed you to hear it.

He needed you to know the truth no matter how unacceptable it was.

"If you hadn't hid from them, we would've found seven bodies there instead of six. And I--" Spencer took a shuddering breath, "--I would've lost you."

Your shoulders deflated at his revelation. "Spence--"

"So please--" he searched your eyes then, using his thumb to sweep away the remaining tears under your eyes, "--stop holding yourself accountable. I promise I will do everything I can to find those people and make them pay for what they did."

Spencer's vow triggered a new wave of tears that compelled you to sink into his awaiting arms. He let you stay there until you had cried your tears dry. It was something he also secretly needed for himself after suffering through the short-lived horror over the mention of your name in relation to the heinous case. He just needed to make sure that you were okay.

A few minutes passed by with you in his arms. Eventually, Spencer had to tear himself away to finish his job. He asked you to wait as he wrapped up the transcript of your cognitive interview, along with his professional report over it.

"I need to run somewhere real quick. I promise to be back in a couple of hours," he notified JJ as he handed her the interview report. "Tell Hotch for me? Thanks."

Without waiting for his friend's reply, Spencer rushed back to the waiting room before leading you out to take you home.

Back at your apartment, Spencer guided you towards the direction of your bathroom as soon as you had stepped into the threshold.

"Are you trying to get me naked, Spencer?" you remarked playfully after he refused to let you take your clothes off yourself.

"Yes." The gleaming mischief in your eyes caused him to flick your nose lightly. "Just to get you ready for your bath. Get your head straight, will you?"

You scoffed at his back as he turned around to check the water temperature in the tub.

Once you were submerged safely inside, Spencer left the bathroom to give you some privacy. Meanwhile, he began rummaging through your drawers to pull out a change of clothes, a towel, and a clean sheet for your bed.

By the time you exited, Spencer had changed your bedsheets and lit one of your favorite candles on the bedside table. He asked you to sit down on the bed as he kneeled before you, helping you put on the pajamas he had picked out with little prints of sunflowers on them.

None of Spencer's touches were sexual. They swept over your skin with the care of an artist handling their most precious work. When his eyes found yours, you swore you could almost cry from the intense adoration that seemed to shine so brightly out of them.

As he guided you to lie on the bed, you were surprised to see him following suit. He got under the covers with you, pulling you close to tangle every inch of your limbs with his.

"I love you, Spencer," you admitted to his chest, heart heavy with the deep appreciation and overwhelming affection for the man beside you.

Spencer looked down at your confession, finding his favorite pair of eyes already looking earnestly at him. Instinctively, he reached for your chin with his fingers, tugging your face upward until he could capture your lips with his.

The kiss was slow. Careful. Filled with silent promises and discreet reassurances. When you both parted, Spencer didn't pull himself away. Instead, he let his forehead touch yours while his eyes stayed closed.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" you asked quietly.

"Yes, sweetheart. Now go to sleep."

Although the two of you knew his answer was a lie, you both chose to pretend otherwise. You knew Spencer still had responsibilities to fulfill, along with a promise to you that he intended to keep. You knew that when you woke up later that evening, Spencer would already be long gone, and you would be forced to bask in the traces of himself that he had left behind.

But for now, Spencer was still there, in the comfort of your bedroom, lying on the bed next to you. And that knowledge alone was good enough for you to finally drift further into the land of sleep, surrounded by the warmth of Spencer's loving embrace.

"I'm telling you," JJ insisted, looking at her entire team minus Spencer and Hotch. "There was definitely something going on between them. Why else would he request to take over the cognitive for me?"

"Maybe he was feeling generous," Rossi deadpanned, earning an unimpressed glare from JJ.

It had been a full week since the BAU team had arrived in D.C. to investigate the series of gun attacks in the city. Just the day prior, they had successfully made their fourth arrest, bringing this case to yet another satisfying conclusion in the eye of justice.

If nothing else was amiss, they should have been on their way back to Quantico in less than an hour. In the meantime, though, JJ felt obliged to gather her team members in the middle of the bullpen to share her suspicion about a certain scene she had accidentally caught on their first day working the case.

"Pretty boy did seem more emotionally involved in this case than he usually does, though," Derek pointed out.

"Right? Right?" JJ replied almost too enthusiastically. "Come on, aren't you guys at least half as curious as I am about who this mystery girl might be? Don't you wanna try finding out who she is while we're still here?"

They all stared at each other in hesitation.

"Or, we could just ask Spencer directly and let him explain?" Emily suggested, receiving incredulous looks from the other three in response. "Yeah, you're right. What did you say her name was again?"

"I don't remember," JJ answered.

"It must be listed in the files somewhere, right?" Derek immediately sprung into action, reaching towards the scattered case files that might contain the name they were looking for.

"Just to be clear, I am not taking any part in this." Rossi sighed.

"Got it!" Derek waved the offending file in hand, giving it to JJ, who instantly began skimming over it.

"Alright. Says here that her name is..."

JJ read the name aloud when unexpectedly, an answering sound sprouted from behind them.

"Yes?"

Every single one of them turned in shock at your voice. You smiled at their wide-eyed expressions, waving your hand a little awkwardly in the air.

"You!" JJ exclaimed.

"Me?"

Emily nudged JJ in the ribs, making the blonde woman wince.

"Y-you're the witness from the startup case, right?" JJ said, trying to rectify the situation.

"That's me."

"What can we do for you, Miss?" Rossi asked, stepping forward and away from the rest of the group.

"I'm actually looking for Spencer. Do you know where he might be?"

"Spencer Reid? You know Reid?" Emily asked.

Before you had the chance to reply, the man in question came strolling into the bullpen, rambling animatedly to Hotch who was walking beside him. The moment Spencer caught sight of you, though, he immediately abandoned Hotch's side and rushed towards where you were standing.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course," you told him, fitting yourself easily into Spencer's side as his arm went around your waist. "Hi, Hotch."

The older man called your name in greeting. "I got your message. You wanted to talk to me?"

"I wanted to ask you--well, all of you, actually--" you glanced around at the other team members, "--if maybe you all would let me treat you to lunch? As a thank you for your hard work on the case."

Hotch nodded in response. "It's fine with me. We don't have to be back until tonight, anyway. Everyone?"

Instead of replying to your offer, Emily voiced aloud the question that was circling everyone's mind.

"You know her?" Emily looked at Hotch before dragging her eyes away towards you. "And you know him? You know each other? How?"

You gazed up at Spencer's eyes, seeing them shining with the same mirth as the one you felt dancing in your stomach.

"I guess this is supposed to be the part where I introduce myself, isn't it?" You chuckled.

Extending your palm, you shook each of their hands while telling them your name, them responding back with theirs even though you already knew who was who long before you had even met them.

"I still don't understand," JJ admitted after you finished shaking her hand. "How did you know Spencer and Hotch?"

Once again, you looked into Spencer's eyes, a question bouncing around in yours. Spencer's nod of affirmation was the only go-ahead you needed.

It's time.

"I'm Spencer's girlfriend."

"She's my wife."

You turned your head towards Spencer in shock.

In front of you, Spencer's teammates were causing an uproar.

"Wait, what?" Emily stared dumbfoundedly.

"You have a girlfriend?" Derek asked in disbelief.

"You're married?!" JJ shrieked.

"Hold on a second," Rossi interjected, holding his palms out as if to tell everyone to stand down and calm themselves. "So which one is it? Girlfriend or wife?"

And that was how you found yourself sitting in the private VIP room of your favorite restaurant in the city with some of Spencer's closest people on earth.

"That's the craziest story I've ever heard," Emily pondered in astonishment.

Rossi, Derek, and JJ were all wearing an identical look on each of their faces after hearing the story of how you and Spencer met: by drunkenly getting married in Vegas after only knowing each other for barely one night when you both weren't even twenty-two yet.

"If someone were to tell me yesterday that there's another member of this team who also went to get married while drunk in Vegas, I would have never even thought of mentioning Spencer's name," JJ mused.

At your curious expression, Spencer explained, "Rossi also got drunkenly married in Vegas to his third ex-wife,"

"Why didn't you two get a divorce?" Emily suddenly asked.

It was something that everyone who knew about your situation with Spencer had questioned at one point or another. The real answer was because you and Spencer had both been reluctant to go through the nasty and lengthy legal process of getting a divorce. Therefore, you decided to part ways without doing anything about it, vowing to only track each other down if one of you ever needed to end the bond because of another impending marriage or any other urgent matter.

But that reason alone was usually not enough to appease people's curiosity. And over the years, you and Spencer had poked fun over that particular fact by coming up with the most outrageous lie you could muster up.

"She wanted to get a divorce," Spencer fabricated smoothly. "I persuaded her otherwise because I had this inkling that someday we were gonna fall in love."

Usually, any other people would coo sweetly at Spencer's statememt.

But these weren't any other people. These people were Spencer's family in more ways except flesh and blood, and even without their profiling skills, you knew they could see right through Spencer's little deception.

"That sounds like bullshit to me. Doesn't that sound like bullshit to you?" Emily asked, turning to JJ for support.

"Yeah, that was bullshit, alright," JJ claimed vehemently, prompting an innocent-looking grin from Spencer and a series of chuckles from everyone else.

"When did you two start dating, then?" Rossi spoke up from one end of the table.

"About two years after Vegas, right?" you estimated, to which Spencer nodded in confirmation. "He strolled into my place of work while he was on a case, and then he asked me out."

Derek sat up on his seat after hearing the new information. "Wait, when was this? Why didn't I know about this?"

"The beginning of my second year in the BAU," Spencer offered. "Elle knew."

"Elle? Elle Greenway? You told Elle but not me?" Derek looked offended.

Spender shrugged nonchalantly. "Elle was assigned with me that day."

"Unbelievable." Derek slumped back down in his chair. "Penelope is gonna freak when she finds out what she missed today."

"Penelope? Oh, she already knows," you told him.

That revelation earned a collective disbelief look across the entire table.

"Yeah... I, uh," you cleared your throat, "I actually just went shopping with her two weeks ago."

"You've got to be kidding me," Emily muttered.

"You told Penelope but not me?" Derek sounded hurt as he pointed his accusatory stare at Spencer. "You even told Hotch!"

"I didn't tell Garcia. She dug through my history and found it out herself. Had to bribe her with candies and chocolates for a whole month to keep her quiet," Spencer grumbled. "And I had to tell Hotch. We needed to add her number to my emergency contact list."

Despite Spencer's concise explanation, Derek still seemed unsatisfied by the whole ordeal.

"How long have you known?" he finally decided to ask Hotch.

"A while," the man answered from his seat at the opposite end of the table from Rossi. "They even babysat Jack a few times for me."

"I don't believe this," Derek scowled. "Pretty boy's got himself a girl for the last six years, and I never knew? Outrageous."

"Technically, we've been married even longer than that," Spencer responded, as if he was unaware of the imminent glower that Derek was sending his way. "Eight years since Vegas."

"That's longer than any of my marriage," Rossi remarked before sipping his drink.

The laugh that resonated upon Rossi's little comment elicited an affectionate smile on your lips.

"So, you live in D.C., then?" JJ asked, at last stirring the conversation away from the topic of your and Spencer's secret marriage-slash-relationship.

"I do, yeah. But most of the time, I live out of my suitcase," you answered. "My firm has clients all over the country. A few overseas, as well. I'm lucky if I even get to have an entire week to sleep uninterrupted in my own bed."

Even then, you truthfully quite enjoyed the work you had to do. You didn't mind having to travel some place new every other week. In fact, you somehow believed that your constant need to travel for your job, and Spencer for his, was one of the reasons why the two of you worked so well together.

Although people might think that two adults who had to travel for a living were a recipe for a disastrous relationship, you and Spencer had so far proven otherwise. Because of your respective schedules, you could sympathize more with the other anytime they had to go somewhere urgent for work. It only made you savor every single second you spent together because of how much precious each one of them became.

The rest of lunch unraveled with the same bucket of smiles, jokes, and laughter. It felt good to finally tell the few people who meant the world in Spencer's life the truth about your relationship. It was also a huge relief to see them opening their arms and welcoming you into the family without an ounce of hesitation.

"Hotch?" Spencer called out after everyone exited the restaurant. "Will it be okay if I stay in the city for one more night?"

"As long as you promise to be back for tomorrow's briefing," Hotch reminded sternly, but the meaningful look he passed over you before he entered his vehicle spoke of a thousand things left unsaid.

"It was so nice meeting you," JJ said as she took you in her arms. "And I'm sorry again about your friend."

"Thank you. And thanks for all of your hard work in catching those guys."

"Of course, it's what we do." JJ smiled as she pulled away. "Invite me and Emily the next time you and Penelope hang out, okay?"

"Will do," you promised.

You watched as every single one of them scrambled into the two black SUVs, waving your goodbye until the cars drove out of your sight.

"I think that went well," you commented before looking up at Spencer. "Do you?"

"I think it went as well as it could."

"So--" you began, circling your arms around Spencer's neck, "--we have more than twelve hours until you're expected back at Quantico. What do you wanna do?"

Spencer nudged your nose with his. "I can think of a few activities we can partake in."

"Really?"

"Really."

Just as he was a hairbreadth away from pressing his lips to yours, you suddenly tore yourself out of Spencer's arms.

"Like getting some frozen yogurts?" you asked giddily, smirking at the dumbfounded look that you managed to put on Spencer's face.

"Fine. Let's go get some frozen yogurts."

Spencer had to hide his amused grin at your elated squeals. He was more than content at that moment to let you produce those addictive sounds at the mere prospect of frozen yogurts.

But later that night, he had a whole different set of activities lined up to pull those same sounds out of you once more.

And it might or might not potentially involve an entirely different yet creative use of frozen yogurts as well.

Spencer simply just hadn't decided yet.

[reiderwriter]

I’ve watching the episode where Reid kisses the actress. Could you write a fic where the reader is in the BAU and is best friends with Reid but has a secret crush on Reid which is obvious to everyone on the team but Reid and she is so jealous of the actress and the teams teases her about it?

A/N: Hello! Thanks for the request, I hope you enjoy it~♡

Warnings: none, hints of bi-reader, but like...come on.

Masterlist

Your “too obvious, plain as day, nearly embarrassing” schoolgirl crush on Spencer Reid was taking too long to fizzle out naturally. 

When you'd met the man, and your heart fluttered, you knew you'd have to go through the motions: you'd hope, grow fonder of the man, dream about him, then cringe, get ick, and ultimately you'd achieve the ultimate crush death. 

You were stuck somewhere between hope and dream, still, and had taken a wrong turn somewhere leading to nearly Hozier-levels of desperate longing. 

5 months assisting the BAU as a press liaison, working as JJ's assistant on more public facing cases had landed you here. 

And what better case for you to spread your wings on than one in Los Angeles itself, starring the famous Lila Archer. 

When Gideon and Reid had called the case in, you'd been eager not to seem too eager. You'd never been out of Quantico on a case before, usually shacking up in an office to shout down phone lines as reporters on the press room floor telling them they were scum of the earth for sensationalizing murder. JJ had obviously taught you to have a more nuanced conversation that that, but your inner thoughts were still allowed. 

But LA was a different kettle of fish, and Hotch appreciated that. It didn't quite help that you visibly perked up when you heard Reid himself had a hand in calling it into the team. A high-school classmate and a jet ride later, you were excited and ready to greet Spencer Reid. And Lila Archer. 

She was so pretty it was intimidating to even breathe the same air as her, a magnetism that drew everyone in the room closer to her just as Spencer drew you towards him. 

You tried not to see the obvious attraction the two had to each other, but the bile rose in your throat every time you thought about the case. The sour twinge of jealousy became a constant on the case, as your efforts to save Lila from her stalker also pushed her closer and closer to Spencer. 

And that wasn't even accounting for the fact that you'd suddenly become tongue-tied around them.

Spencer had asked you multiple times how you were enjoying your first time out in the field, and the most you could muster was a nod and a stammered “it's been good, I guess.”

With Lila, it was worse. You couldn't even tell her your name, and had overheard her politely asking Reid for it a few times every time you'd dropped coffee off in their vicinity. 

Your school girl crush was hitting the first heartbreak road bump at full speed, and dear god, you were not ready for the car crash. 

You tried to psych yourself out of it, to clear your mind and remain professional, but one tabloid cover after wrapping the case ended that for you completely. 

“Whooo, Spencer, my man! I knew you were a pretty boy, I didn't know you had game like that!” 

The tabloid had been dropped on his desk by Derek loudly and had quickly drawn a crowd when they'd seen the resulting red flush from the man of the hour. 

He'd snatched up the gossip rag pretty quickly, but not before you'd gotten a glimpse of the cover. You recognised Lila’s pool, then Lila herself, then the man she was passionately making out with as you felt your heart crack in two. 

You'd stuck like a fly on the wall and quietly joined in the teasing as you swallowed all of your ugly emotions at once. 

“And in the pool, too, Spencer, that's crazy. Look at Y/N. She can't believe it herself!” You forced a small giggle past your lips and hoped the others couldn't tell how fake it was. You stuck out a few more minutes of conversation before nearly running back to JJ's, thankfully empty office. 

The tears were silent. 

You berated yourself for even letting them fall. An unrequited love wasn't the end of the world - especially considering you had to work with Reid, see him every day. 

It took you months to get over it. Not that you ever fully managed it.

You simply told yourself that you'd never felt that way in the first place, gaslighting yourself into believing there was no feelings and thus no heartbreak. 

After a month of haunting the office with your general gloom, you got into the flow of it and truly convinced yourself you were over it. 

And you were until everyone started talking about it all over again. 

“Spencer, I heard your lady friend is going to be in a real blockbuster soon. Congrats!” Morgan clapped the man on the shoulder as he walked past, discarding his coat at his desk as he arrived for work. 

You gripped your coffee mug slightly tighter as you wished the conversation would blow over. 

“Reid has a lady friend? Oh, please do not spare the details,” Emily jumped in, eager to integrate herself into the team now that she was in it. 

“You know that actress, Lila Archer? We babysat her on a case a couple of months back, and she took quite the liking to our little genius-” 

“Morgan, stop-” Reid groaned, flushing yet again at the mention of the whole scenario. 

“Okay, I'll back off,” the older man said quickly. “If you can tell me honestly, you don't still have that tabloid cover in the second draw of your desk.”

You tried to stand and walk away from the conversation without drawing any attention to yourself, but the tension in your body left you stiff and less than graceful. You tripped on the corner of your desk on your way out but didn't pause to even listen to the others' call after you in your haste to clear the venom burning in your throat. 

You were fine and happy to ignore your emotions, but you realized then that kind of tactics would only work if everybody else managed to avoid them, too. 

You calmed your pace to a wall and took a series of deep breaths, trying to rationalize your departure to yourself. 

“I'm busy. There's some files I need to pull anyway, so I'm just going to file storage. That's why I left my desk. That's all, I'm fine.” 

Your small pep talk didn't rewrite history, though, and you still felt a cloud of envy following you around.

He kept her picture. In his drawer. 

Truth be told, you weren't expecting it to hurt this bad. 

You heard footsteps come up behind you, so you quickly ducked into the empty elevator, not quite ready to face anyone yet. A hand caught it just as you were about to be left alone, though, and Spencer joined you in the elevator. 

You weren't exactly shocked to see him. He'd been just as uncomfortable with the topic of conversation as you had, if not more so. You just wished you hadn't been in the same place now. 

“Sorry, I need some files.” 

Great, you were going to the same place as well. You just nodded slightly and gave him a tight-lipped smile as you travelled down to the place you'd both chosen as an escape. 

“Back there, you left…” Spencer started, fidgeting awkwardly next to you in the elevator.

“You left pretty abruptly.”

“I remembered I needed some files.’

“Right, right…”

The silence that stretched between you was thick and suffocating, and you begged the elevator to move faster. 

“I don't, by the way.” He spoke up again, awkwardly clearing his throat before continuing. “I don't still have that tabloid. There is a picture in that drawer, but it's not…that one.” 

“A different picture of Lila, then?’ You tried to keep your tone light, but even while trying your hardest, you couldn't keep the bitterness out of your tone.

The elevator reached its destination, but you both held back for a few seconds, and neither of you was quite sure what to say anymore. 

“She kissed me, you know.” Spencer said, facing you now, pinning you in place with his attention. 

“Yes, Spencer. Well aware, I saw the photo, too.” 

“No.. no, I mean, she kissed me.” 

“Loud…loud and clear,” you said, raking a hand through your hair as you tried to drown out all of the noise. 

“Y/N, I don't think you're hearing me.” 

“Oh, and I should be paying attention to you recounting the time an actress decided you were worthy of your time and tried to mount you in a swimming pool? I need to hear about how her tongue felt being pushed down your throat?” 

The words jumped out of you, and you had no way to stop them once they started. Instead, you simply shoulder checked your way out of the still elevator and marched your way to the file room. 

“Y/N, I'm sorry, please just hear me out,” you heard Spencer calling out to you, but you didn't stop or turn around. 

“Y/N, I'm trying to explain, please just-” You heard him groan in frustration as you kept up your pace and felt slightly satisfied that he was having such a hard time. A solid hand on your wrist pulling you back wiped any smile you had on your face clean off, especially as you were pulled into a somewhat solid chest and a hand tipped your head up to meet his own. 

To say you hadn't imagined the moment that Spencer Reid kissed you for the first time would be a lie. You thought it would be sweet and small, an awkward peck if nothing else that led to giggles and more innocent chaste kisses and possibly an illusive hug. 

Instead, you were pushed back against the nearest wall, pinned up by your wrists, and robbed of all of your breath as Spencer kissed you until you were seconds from passing out. 

Even after you both came up from air, he released your wrists so he could angle your head back up to him, allowing him to deepen the kiss the second time around. 

Stunned was not the word. 

And though you were completely taken unaware by the kiss, that didn't mean you weren't eagerly reciprocating. 

You kept your wits about you as his tongue parted your lips, leaning into him as you savored the moment. 

It didn't stop the confusion after you finally broke apart, though. 

“What…the…fuck, Spencer?” You said between gasps, chest heaving. He let your wrists go awkwardly, hands trailing down to your waist as you rested yours on his shoulders.

“You weren't…listening. Needed a different strategy.” 

“Well, I'm all ears now.” 

He nodded and then took another moment to catch his breath before relinquishing you from his hold and putting a bit of space between you. 

“I didn't kiss Lila Archer. I didn't particularly want..to?” He cleared his throat and continued. 

“She kinda just grabbed me? And did it? There was a pool too, so I was trying not to choke on water and chlorine and hair everywhere. Like, she just grabbed me-” 

“Like you just did?” 

“Like I just… did, yeah, like that.” 

You weren't sure what to do or say anymore. So you just nodded and stood there, and so did he. 

“That's not to say that I didn't enjoy this kiss. It wasn't just to illustrate the point. It kind of was, in the sense that it helped you understand what happened before, and that I hope it will help you realize the point of this conversation-” 

“Which is?” 

“I like you.” He said, finally pausing his rambling to look you in the eyes. 

“I like you, and I didn't want you to misunderstand.” 

“Oh. Oh right.” 

You both stood there looking at each other and looking away in a loop, neither talking or breaking the silence until you both tried to. 

“What about y-” 

“Kiss me again.” 

Reid blinked at you a few more times, trying to work through your words. 

“Kiss me again” you repeated, stepping away from the wall and closer to Reid as he still just stared at you. 

“We're still working, what if someone walks past?” 

“Didn't stop you the first time.”

“But-”

You cut him off quickly, grabbing his tie and pulling him down to your level, locking lips with him again. 

When you again came up for breath, possibly much longer after the time a second kiss should last, both of you just laughed again. 

“I was jealous.” You said, looking up at him, ready to bare yourself to him now that he'd given a confession of his own. “Of Lila. Of you for being adored like that by someone so cool. But mostly of Lila.”

“Because?” 

“Because I like you, too,” you said, rolling your eyes at him. 

“Nice. Cool, that's great. I like that you like me, too. I like you, hey, I like us,” you cut off his rambling quickly with another small kiss and pulled away.

“So the picture?" You asked, backing away down the hall as he stood and watched you.

"Hmm?"

"The one in your desk."

"Oh," he said, scratching the back of his neck as the tips of his ears turned bright pink.

"Penelope gave me this picture from the Christmas party. It's, uh, me and you."

You smiled brightly before turning to leave, the bile of jealousy that had been consuming you turned magically to butterflies in the space of two kisses.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Secretly Mine

Summary: Spencer and Reader have been seeing each other for a while without the team's knowledge

Category: Fluff

Couple: Spencer/BAU Fem!Reader

Content warnings: None

Word count: 1.5k

Eight months have passed since your arrival at the BAU. You’re an integral part of the team. Hotch has been sure to let you know. You’ve stood out with your eye for detail at certain crime scenes, outshining even some of the team’s more seasoned members. Luckily, the academy’s rumors about the Quantico team’s bond have rang true time and time again, so competition and jealousy never became an issue. It only made them respect you and even open up to you.

One person who has particularly opened up to you is the genius of the group, Spencer Reid. The secret you learned: he’s a gentle kisser. Almost childishly chaste, but nothing seemed more fitting for his personality. What was surprising was the setting of your first kiss.

New York City police invited the team to investigate the terrorist cell killing random people across the city. Their attacks grew more volatile by the time you all arrived, placing bombs on government vehicles. One of these bombs hurt Hotch, and SSA Joyner did not survive the same blast. The results could have been worse, considering.

Your team faced the problem of uncertainty regarding who (if anyone) had been injured at that moment. Spencer was with Rossi at the police station while the rest of you were on the ground. That damn terrorist organization interfered with signals and transmissions all the time, and this was no different. You, by your luck, were the most difficult to get in contact with, despite being safe at Federal Plaza. You met with the team when it was safe to do so and all targeted areas were cleared. Most of you sighed in relief. Garcia even held your face, as if to make sure you were real, alive and, breathing.

Spencer held your face too, but not in the same way. You both took refuge by the water cooler, surprisingly where no one was present in a once-crowded New York City police station. You talked about what happened, Hotch’s current condition, and how long to expect these nerves to last. Your nerves didn’t settle, though, when Spencer’s knuckles brushed your cheek as he said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You didn’t blame these nerves, though, when you leaned into the touch, looking up at him with a smile. “I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

Spencer was cute, obviously, but workplace relationships are highly unprofessional and even a liability, if the case they just survived wasn’t enough proof of that. You’d think (well, you knew actually) Spencer of all people would know this. He knows everything. When you had a case in Baltimore involving the Ravens, he told you their name came from Edgar Allan Poe’s most famous poem. Then he explained the detailed theories surrounding his untimely death. Spencer believes it has something to do with cooping, whatever that means, you dared not to ask. There’s nothing he doesn’t consider.

So, Spencer must have considered all the odds of professional behavior in that moment by the water cooler since his lips delicately brushed yours. It was barely a kiss at first, until he leaned in for another, to where you could feel the warmth of his mouth and felt that he could do with some lip exfoliant. The last part you didn’t care about because it was practically over before it began. Neither of you said anything about it. Instead, you stayed there for a while, not touching or talking. Then Morgan told the team to pack up and get ready to go home.

Throughout the past month, you and Spencer have shared many kissing sessions. Not at work, though, because you both still have some sense. Kissing Spencer, though, tends to not leave you with much sense. His gentleness is not a front. His touches are tender and he’s never pushed you beyond your limits. It’s a good thing then that he’s a gentleman, so he earned kisses through dinners, movies, and day trips. It was something to look forward to in between grueling cases.

And it wasn’t even off work when Spencer would bring joy to you. There was a case recently in North Carolina that shook you more than you cared to admit. You didn’t want to mention what specifically, as it’s something you haven’t spoken about in a long time, but the team picked up on it quickly. They checked on you and even asked if you needed to sit out. You powered through and came to a satisfactory (for lack of a better word) conclusion. Afterward, Spencer invited you to ice cream. It was a welcoming change of scenery, despite the ice cream place being called Jack the Dipper. It was hilariously fitting, so it really wasn’t an issue. Spencer didn’t ask about what happened or what made you feel so disturbed. Throughout the night, he just made sure to ask if you were okay.

You haven’t been okay for a while. Not because of that case, but because it’s been three months now and you are still running around with Spencer without the team’s knowledge. The team might feel cheated (and Hotch might be pissed) because they are not aware of this information, but the uneasiness of all this was starting to settle in. The fear, the worry that this might just be all for nothing. Outside of the office, he shows that he cares. He knows things about you that you haven't revealed in some time. And apparently he has done the same. Bruises from harsh kisses around your bodies linger under work clothes from a weekend in, and the team has been none the wiser. And you’re not sure if you’re as okay with it as you thought you were.

The team went out to the bar on a Thursday, celebrating a government holiday the night before (i.e. a three-day weekend). The team took shots, bet money, threw darts, and Emily ended up with the most by closing. You would’ve coughed up more cash throughout the night if you were confident in your bets.

Spencer barely looked at you. Didn’t brush your hand or even stand near you for too long, like you had the plague or whatever Poe died from. It didn’t help the feeling in your core, and neither did the walk home. Morgan drove Garcia home, Hotch with Rossi, and J.J. with Emily. And of course, Spencer with you. When J.J. drove away after boasting about avoiding a ticket on an expired meter, Spencer didn’t hesitate to reach for your hand. It was nice, and as the weather grew colder, it was a welcomed warmth. But how could it not feel at least a little sour?

His apartment wasn’t far from here, so you walked. Your hands were laced the entire time, but he didn’t breathe a word and you couldn’t tell if that should make you feel better or worse.

It wasn’t until you climbed the steps to his door that he asked, “Are you staying the night?”

You swallowed. Unlike Emily, Garcia, and Rossi, you were on the side of tipsy rather than in dire need of a toilet to bury your head into. “Sure.” You said. “If you want me to.”

“Yeah,” He said, fiddling with his key and lock. “Of course I want you to.”

He finally opens the door and turns on the living room light. You barely had time to put your purse down before his lips were on yours. They were still chapped like the first time, except you could forgive that because of the growing cold outside. His hands hold your waist, they creep to your back. You couldn’t help but lean in, away from the door he pressed you into. It was when Spencer moaned in your mouth that you broke away. Catching your breath, you try putting together a sentence. But breathing is difficult right now for both of you. Spencer’s eyes are lazy and his breath still lingers with a scent of the mint gum he spit out when he showed up to the bar.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you think it’s the start to an actual apology. “I was trying to stay patient.” He kisses you again, softly. And you kiss him back still. He moans again. “I want you.”

You swallow again. Your throat is so dry. “Spencer, I—”

“I want to tell them.” He interrupts.

You blink, it quickens as you take in the words. “What?”

His hands cup your face. He brushes the messy bangs from your forehead. “I want to tell them. About this. About us. I just…” He trails off. That is not something you’re used to seeing. “I want more time with you.”

As Spencer’s words sank in, you felt a mix of apprehension and longing, wondering just what could go wrong. A lot, in fact. But you have to believe he’s being honest. Why wouldn’t he be?

And with a soft smile, you reached for his hand and met his gaze. “I want that too,” you said, feeling the weight of it finally being lifted off your chest. “I’ve wanted that for a while.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you about it earlier. I was being selfish.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“But I would. Because it’s true. But that changes now.” The look on his face, the fully sober look on his face. He’s all in. “I will tell them you’re my girlfriend.”

[magical-reid]

The Rings We Keep Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!FBI!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 2.2K

Part 1

Two months had passed since the case ended, your team was spending more and more time assisting the BAU with their cases, and you were still adjusting to being known as Mrs. Reid. The BAU’s teasing had mostly subsided, but Penelope couldn’t help herself, sending you daily texts with variations of “How’s married life treating you, sugarplum?”

Spencer, of course, was blissfully oblivious to half the jokes. You envied his ability to compartmentalize. For you, the line between personal and professional felt increasingly blurred—especially when you came home to find him sitting on your couch, flipping through one of your dog-eared mystery novels like he belonged there.

“Hey,” you greeted, setting your go-bag on the floor.

“Hey,” he replied without looking up. “Your landlord called earlier. The leak in your bathroom should be fixed tomorrow.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, thanks?”

Spencer finally glanced up, his expression innocent. “It’s easier if they call me. You don’t always answer your phone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Easier, huh?”

He shrugged. “Legally, I’m your emergency contact. Makes sense.”

Your chest tightened a mix of irritation and something warmer that you weren’t ready to name. Spencer had a way of making the most unconventional things seem logical—like casually fixing your plumbing situation as if it were just another bullet point on his to-do list.

You crossed the room, plopping onto the couch beside him. “You know this is weird, right?”

“What is?”

“This,” you gestured between the two of you. “Being married but… not married.”

Spencer tilted his head, considering your words. “It’s unconventional, sure. But it’s not weird. We work well together.”

“That’s not exactly the foundation of a marriage,” you pointed out, though your tone lacked bite. “Shouldn’t we—I don’t know—try to figure out what this actually is?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “You mean, like dating?”

The word hung in the air between you, heavy and full of possibility.

“Maybe,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm. “I mean, it might help. Get to know each other outside of work. Outside of… whatever this is.”

Spencer nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “That’s logical. We could schedule something.”

“Schedule?” You laughed, the sound half nervous, half amused. “Spence, you don’t schedule a date. You just… go.”

His lips quirked in a small, sheepish smile. “Right. Of course.”

The First Date

Three days later, you found yourself sitting across from Spencer at a cozy little café near the library. He’d insisted on picking the place, and you hadn’t protested—it was quiet, intimate, and felt like him.

“I, um, wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a variety,” Spencer said, gesturing to the spread of pastries between you. “There’s a 73% chance one of these is your favorite.”

You bit back a smile, reaching for a chocolate croissant. “Good guess.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and you realized he’d been nervous—an unusual look for someone so confident in every other aspect of his life.

“So,” you began, tearing off a piece of croissant. “Do we talk about work, or is that off-limits?”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not off-limits, but we could talk about other things. Like… hobbies.”

“Hobbies,” you repeated, amused. “You mean like your extensive knowledge of obscure trivia?”

“Or your knack for solving puzzles,” he countered, a rare teasing tone in his voice.

You laughed, the sound drawing a faint smile from him. For the first time, the awkwardness began to fade, replaced by something warmer—something that felt almost like normalcy.

Navigating New Territory

Over the next few weeks, your dynamic shifted in subtle but undeniable ways. Spencer started leaving his favorite books on your nightstand, claiming they were “better than the ones you usually read.” You, in turn, introduced him to your guilty pleasure TV shows, relishing the way he tried (and failed) to resist getting invested in the drama.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

One evening, as you cooked dinner together—a rare occurrence, considering your busy schedules—Spencer reached for the salt just as you turned to grab a spoon. The collision was minor, but it left you both frozen, faces inches apart.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back quickly.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed. “No, it was my fault.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. You busied yourself stirring the sauce, your mind racing. Was this what it felt like to be in a real marriage? The constant push and pull of closeness and uncertainty?

“I’ve been reading about communication in relationships,” Spencer said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

You raised an eyebrow. “Of course you have.”

“It says physical proximity is important,” he continued, his tone serious. “Small gestures, like holding hands, can build intimacy.”

You stared at him, torn between exasperation and affection. “Spence, are you saying we should hold hands more?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “It might help.”

You sighed, setting down the spoon. “Alright. Let’s try it.”

Tentatively, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. His skin was warm, his grip firm but careful.

“How’s this?” you asked, half-joking.

Spencer’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you.

“Good,” he said softly. “It’s… good.”

A Step Forward

One night, after a particularly grueling case, you found yourself leaning against Spencer on the couch, too tired to care about boundaries. His arm was draped around your shoulders, and you realized with a start that it felt… nice. Comforting.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “Just tired.”

He didn’t move, didn’t press for more. Instead, he simply held you, his presence steady and reassuring.

In that moment, you realized something had shifted—not just between you, but within you. This wasn’t just a marriage of convenience anymore. It was becoming something real, something worth fighting for.

And as you drifted off to sleep, Spencer’s voice echoed softly in your mind.

“I’ve got you.”

You believed him.

The Unspoken Shift

It was late one night when the shift finally happened when everything you and Spencer had been tiptoeing around finally came to a head. The case had been grueling—intense, dangerous—but in the end, the team had solved it. The adrenaline had faded, leaving an unfamiliar silence in its wake.

You were sitting on the couch in your small apartment, your mind still racing from the day’s events. You’d barely had time to think about anything beyond work in the past few weeks, but now, with the threat neutralized, everything came rushing back.

Spencer, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected by the chaos. He was curled up in the armchair across from you, his laptop open in front of him, but his eyes weren’t on the screen. He kept glancing over at you, his face unreadable, as if there was something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to say it.

It was in moments like this that you found yourself wondering what this was between you—this odd marriage of convenience that had slowly morphed into something you couldn’t quite define.

We work well together, Spencer had said once, so casually that it hadn’t quite clicked at the time. Now, though, as you caught him looking at you again—this time with a sort of tenderness that made your heart skip a beat—you wondered if he meant more than just work.

You shifted on the couch, trying to distract yourself. You couldn’t allow yourself to think too deeply, not with everything that was still unresolved. But Spencer’s voice cut through the silence.

"Y/N, I... I think I need to apologize."

You froze, unsure if you had heard him correctly. "Apologize? For what?"

He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keys of his laptop, but he didn’t look at the screen. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, serious and a little vulnerable. "For... for how distant I’ve been. I know I’ve been focused on the cases and... well, on myself too much." His lips tightened, as if he regretted the words before they even left his mouth. "I’ve been pushing you away without even realizing it. And I’m sorry."

You blinked, taken aback by his honesty. Spencer was never one to admit when he was wrong. He was always so logical, so composed. But tonight, something was different. There was a rawness in his voice that made your chest tighten, and you realized with a jolt that maybe you had been pushing him away too.

"You haven’t been distant, Spence," you said softly. "You’ve just been... you." The words felt heavier than you intended, but it was the truth. Spencer had always been focused, and driven, and even when he was there, he seemed so far away, locked in his own world.

"I know," he said, his voice low. "But that’s not an excuse. I—I should have been there more for you. You’ve been doing this alone, and that’s not fair."

You stared at him, processing what he had just said. Spencer Reid, always so sure of his intelligence and his work, was admitting—without words—that he wasn’t sure how to be a partner in this unconventional marriage. And as much as you wanted to brush it off, you couldn’t. You had been struggling with the same doubts.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you said quietly, motioning between the two of you. “This whole… marriage thing. It’s not what I expected, either. But that doesn’t mean I’m not trying.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, his expression vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. “I know you are,” he said. “And that’s why I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t know what this is, but... I don’t want to lose it.”

There was a long pause as you both let the words settle. You felt the weight of everything that had been building up—the awkward moments, the shared glances, the near-kisses that you’d both avoided. But in that moment, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep avoiding it.

“I don’t want to lose it either,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Spencer inhaled deeply, his hand moving hesitantly toward yours. When his fingers brushed against yours, your pulse quickened. The touch was gentle, uncertain—but it felt like a promise, one you hadn’t even realized you were waiting for. The space between you seemed to shrink as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

"I think I—" Spencer started, but the words hung in the air, unspoken, because neither of you could say them aloud just yet. Instead, you reached for him.

You moved slowly, carefully, but when your lips met his, it wasn’t cautious. It wasn’t calculated. It was everything that had been building between you for the past two months. It was vulnerability and longing and the quiet admission that you couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

His lips were warm, soft, and he didn’t pull away, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he did. The kiss was tentative at first, but it deepened as you both leaned into it, the world around you fading until it was just the two of you. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you felt right. Not because the kiss had solved everything, but because in that moment, you finally felt seen.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily. Spencer’s hands were still lightly touching your arms, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, but you didn’t want him to move. You didn’t want to break this moment of rawness between you.

“I... I’ve wanted that for a while,” Spencer said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your heart racing. “I think I have too.”

For a moment, you simply stayed there, sitting together, breathing in the same air. You didn’t need to talk, didn’t need to say anything more. Everything had shifted, in a way that felt both terrifying and liberating at the same time.

You were no longer just coworkers. You weren’t just a married couple in name. In that kiss, you had taken the first step into something more. Something real.

And for the first time, you believed Spencer when he said he didn’t want to lose this.

The Quiet Moments After

The days after your first kiss were a mix of confusion and excitement. There was still tension between the work you did and the lives you were building together, but somehow it felt more manageable now. You and Spencer began finding ways to open up to each other—slowly, carefully, but with more and more honesty.

You would catch Spencer looking at you with that same soft expression as if he was still trying to figure out the person sitting beside him, but there was no hesitation anymore. No pulling away.

He didn’t say much, but his actions spoke volumes. Whether it was bringing you your favorite coffee when he knew you were having a rough day or simply sitting beside you on the couch, his presence had started to mean more. And with each passing moment, each new shared experience, you felt your connection deepening.

Maybe this wasn’t the marriage you had expected. But maybe, just maybe, it was the one you needed.

Part 3

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Liqueur of You (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer goes down on Reader for the first time.

Request: Spencer gives fem!reader oral sex for the first time and she finishes really quickly 🤭 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Oral sex (female receiving), fingering Word Count: 1k

Spencer Reid is nothing if not a persistent lover; a scientist hellbent on studying any evidence of the divine written on your skin. His hands would gently caress every inch of your body, carefully detailing how you shivered or squirmed from his touch.

Spencer is an earnest, clever boy who wants nothing less than all of you. Even as he’s kissing you, his hands are finding new ways to worship you. He slips one past the waistband of your underwear and nearly moans at the mess he finds.

Slowly, he drags a single digit through the honeyed wetness that had gathered between your folds. His finger teases at the entrance but doesn’t go any further.

You whimper. You can feel his skin grow rough with goosebumps, but he doesn’t slow down. He runs his tongue along the column of your throat, and he can feel how it trembles as you beg him.

“Spencer, please.”

“You taste so good,” he groans before suckling at your pulse point.

Your body feels like it’s on fire. Everywhere he’s touching you is somehow too much and not enough.

“Please,” you keen again.

He listens this time. You soak in the anticipation of his touch only to feel the ultimate disappointment of its withdrawal.

Spencer’s fingers are practically dripping with your essence as he lifts them to his face. At first, you look at his hand as he inspects the evidence of your desire. But then you look at him. You gaze into brown irises set ablaze and watch how they change the second he places two soaked fingers on his tongue.

He moans as he savors the taste of you. His hips buck forward. He presses his erection hard against your hip. You almost wonder if he could get off just like that.

When he finishes cleaning his fingers, though, he returns to his worship with renewed vigor.

It’s the same as it always is, until it isn’t. The kisses he’s pressing against your breasts begin trailing south. For a moment, you are unsure. But then his tongue swirls at a point just beneath your belly button.

You suck in a sharp breath. He can feel the muscles in your stomach roll as they tense. He doesn’t stop. He keeps going, lower, and lower until he can feel the heat through flimsy cotton.

Spencer is careful as he helps remove your underwear. You wonder if you should tell him the truth—that you’ve never done this part before. That you’re worried and unsure about whether it’ll work the way he wants it to.

“Spencer,” you start with a sobering tone, “I’ve… I’ve never…”

“I know,” he says simply as he lifts one of your legs from the bed. “It’s horribly unfair.”

It’s shaking as he guides it over his shoulder. His lips curl into a cheeky smirk that makes your heart beat even harder.

Despite the twitches and trembling, Spencer senses no resistance; your legs practically fall open for him.

That creeping insecurity begins to resurface, but it is assuaged by Spencer laying tender kisses against your inner thigh.

“This is going to be easy, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin, “just lie back and look pretty.”

“But…” you whine.

“Good girl,” he answers.

Then, before you can offer any other protest, you feel the heat of his tongue as it slides between your folds. Immediately, you are overwhelmed by his new form of worship. There is no hesitancy as he laps at the liqueur of you.

Your hands thread through his hair and grab hold of him like he is the only thing keeping you tethered. You pull, gently at first.

Spencer’s nails dig into the pliable skin of your thigh. While your legs apply crushing force to try and bring him closer, he remains adamant in holding you exactly where he wants you.

While his tongue toys at your entrance, seemingly savoring each drop from a never-ending pool of desire, you are left dumb and defenseless. Whimpers flow from your lips. Your whole body is trembling, but you try your hardest to heed his orders.

You hold yourself back… until Spencer decides that your shyness, while endearing, just won’t do.

You try to keep track of his hands as they stray from their place. Your legs close against his ears, and you can feel his moans as they reverberate through you.

One of Spencer’s hands joined his tongue before replacing it entirely. You feel the tension building in your stomach at the same time another hand presses hard against the midpoint between your hips.

Just as two lithe fingers press into you, his tongue presses flat against the pearl at your crest.

Immediately, the ever-growing euphoria comes to a breaking point. You choke on a scream, but still manage to sob as every muscle in your body tenses. Your heels dig into his shoulder blades and your thighs quiver as they close around his head.

Spencer seems unfazed. Instead of stopping, like you’d expected him to, he closes his lips around that sensitive nub and continues. Without air, he suckles your clit like it could sustain him all the same.

He pays no mind to the way you are falling apart. His fingers pump into pulsing muscles and he continues to hum sounds of pleasure against you. He doesn’t stop until your body falls limp.

It is then that he pulls away, ever-so-slightly. His touch becomes gentle and less insistent. Eventually, he sighs against heated skin. The contrast makes you shiver.

“That was…” you start, but he stops you.

“I’m not finished yet,” he mumbles against the newly soaked skin between your legs.

He looks up at you with a wicked grin reflected in his eyes. His hair is knotted around your fingers and his face glistens with the mess you’ve made.

It isn’t enough for him. Lazily, he kisses every inch of you that he can reach before he draws his tongue through your folds. He makes a point to circle your most sensitive point once more before he speaks again.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

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[sinfulspencer]

Human

Prompt: Reader shows Spencer that prison might have changed him, but he's still the love of her life. She's going to stick by his side until he gets tired of her. Based on the song 'Human' by Daughter.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: angst, mature (18+)

Warning: self-doubt, self-pity, Spencer is just sad; implied unprotected sex

Words: 4.8k

A.N.: This is a fic I wrote last year around July-August and now it can finally see the sunlight. Thank you @andiebeaword for being my beta-reader for this!

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Break me out of this shell-like case I’m in

Underneath the skin there’s a human

Buried deep within there’s a human

And despite everything I’m still human

The bed creaked underneath the weight of his body and the blanket shuffled on top of me, while my eyes got used to the darkness of our bedroom. The silent sound of footsteps made me turn on my right side, trying to figure out what was happening and why I was about to wake up. 

Instinctively, my hand went to the side and touched the warm spot Spencer was supposed to occupy. His pillow was still there, but he wasn’t. 

I wasn’t surprised. 

My eyes fell on the clock on my nightstand and, just like the night before at 4 am, I was alone in our bed. The darkness surrounding me wasn’t as comforting as it was before, because it felt like it was swallowing me whole - but I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

Spencer, on the other side of our apartment, was sitting on the couch with his weighted blanket wrapped around his shoulder and his eyes closed. He was rocking back and forth, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth with his hands clutching to the blanket.

That’s how I found him in our living room.

I didn’t want to get too close, terrified that I could’ve spooked him, but I couldn’t stand there and do nothing. 

The pained expression on his face broke my heart as a tear escaped from those kind eyes that watched me with love and tenderness. I couldn’t just stay there and not do anything, I needed to help him somehow.

“Spencer?”

I called out his name to try and take him out from that hazy state he was clearly in, but I didn’t succeed. His eyes were still closed tightly and his knuckles were white because of the tension on his fingers, still gripping the blanket.

I took another step closer. “Spencer, my love?”

He didn’t move, but I saw his body relaxing when my voice reached his ear. Like a knot coming undone, Spencer leaned back against the couch with his blanket falling down from his shoulders. 

His eyes didn’t open, but there was no need to. 

“My love, I’m here.” - I whispered, taking another step closer to cover his shoulders with the blanket again - “You’re home.”

When my right hand barely brushed Spencer’s skin over his elbow, his fingers gripped it tightly and moved it over his chest. I didn’t pull away, following the path of his fingers before caressing the tender skin right above Spencer’s heart. 

I could feel the quick beating of his heart underneath my fingertips.

I wanted it to match mine, calmer and more relaxed.

“Can I sit here with you, my love?”

Spencer didn’t answer me, but he moved to the side in order to leave space on the couch for me. His left thigh was slightly pressed to mine as his fingers lost their grip on my hand, cradling on top of my thigh. 

I didn’t know what he wanted to do, but it was fine. 

If touching me was what he needed to feel better, then I was more than willing to help him in that way. 

Once I got comfortable on the couch, kneeling by his side with my right hand on his chest and the left one behind his neck, I leaned forward. I rested my chin on his shoulder, as Spencer’s curls tickled the lower part of my face. 

He released a long sigh, tilting his head.

“Is there something I can do, my love?”

Spencer shook his head, pulling me closer to his body. I could hear the faint sound of his sniffles as he hid his face in the crook of my neck, clinging to the warmth radiating off me and the smell of home that embraced him.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and climbed onto his lap.

“You’re home, my love. You’re not there anymore.” - I whispered, running my fingers through his curls - “Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yes.”

Spencer’s voice came out broken by sobs, his body shaking as he tried to get as close as possible to me. My chest was pressed to his and my fingers were playing with his curls, a gesture that usually helped him calm down whenever he had those moments.

Prison changed Spencer, and not for the better.

Though his confidence peeked somehow, his whole demeanour changed whenever we were alone in our apartment. Spencer used to love having his space, but after his release from prison that changed: he never left me alone for too long, he always found a way to touch me and hold me close, as if he was scared I might disappear.

I knew it was all in his head, he knew it as well - but that didn’t change the fact that he wouldn’t stop holding my hand or asking me to come closer to him.

Spencer was terrified of losing me.

Before prison, losing me was just a temporary fear that would go away with my reassuring words. After prison, that fear became more irrational, more rooted in his brain to the point he would call me too many times on the phone just to make sure that I was safe and at work.

I couldn’t blame Spencer. 

He saw his friend getting slaughtered in front of him. He had to taint other prisoners’ drugs in order to stay alive. He had to spend three hellish months in a place where he didn’t belong, to a place that crushed his spirit and ruined all the progress he had made through the years. 

The nightmares were probably the worst part, though.

Endless nights of Spencer waking up screaming at the top of his lungs, where he would cry and cry in my chest because he thought I was dead, because he dreamed about being covered in my own blood branding a knife behind his back, because he thought that he hurt me. 

His hands would shake me to make sure that I was still breathing and then he would kiss me, apologising to me for waking me up because he was so scared, whispering that everything was okay and he was just scared.

Scared wasn’t even the right word for it, Spencer was.. panic-stricken. 

Shivers down my spine whenever I felt him shuffling out of bed and running outside the bedroom. I followed him every single time, everywhere around the house, fearing that he might do something awful, something drastic. 

It was exhausting. 

The more I tried to help him, the more everything seemed pointless.

But I wasn’t going to give up.

Underneath that shell of a man, there was my Spencer.

My darling Spencer, the man I’ve loved more and more each day. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s okay, we can sit here in silence and watch the sun come up.” - I offered, pointing to the purple curtain covering the glass - “How about that, my love?”

Spencer didn’t answer me, but he held me closer to his chest as he hid his face in the crook of my neck. His curls tickled my skin as his hands brought me down on his thighs, feeling the warmth radiating off every inch of my body.

It wasn’t sexual.

It was far from that.

Spencer was making sure that I was real, that I was alive and breathing, that I wasn’t a figment of his imagination and that he wasn’t having another dream. The gentle massage of his fingers all over my thighs stopped as soon as I turned to the side, looking at the closed window not too distant from us. 

The sky was still black and grey clouds were dancing ahead of us, but the faint lights of the sleepy sun were slowly peeking. I hoped the view could reflect Spencer’s episode as well: dark in the beginning as the poisonous thoughts clouded his brain, with the light slowly filtering through as the fear dissipated and my love lullabies him back to me, back to reality. 

“Are you going to work today?”

I leaned my head on top of his, nodding. “Yes, but in the afternoon. Do you want me to call in sick?”

Spencer released a frustrated sigh as he went quiet. 

I knew what he was thinking: he wanted me to stay at home with him, but he knew he couldn’t ask me that. Replacing me at work wasn’t easy, I knew my co-workers wouldn’t have appreciated that. 

However, I was willing to do anything in my power to help Spencer out.

If he needed me to be with him for the whole day to hold his hand, to cook him some food, to read him a book, I was ready to do it. I didn’t want Spencer to feel bad for keeping me away from my colleagues and my work, I didn’t want Spencer to think that I resented him for asking for help. 

I would’ve never done that. 

Asking for help is one of the hardest things the human kind has ever learned to do, and some people still struggle with it. Spencer always kept everything to himself before prison, but then he realised that there was no need to fight all alone.

There was no need to use all of his strength and keep on fighting when there was no one by his side because he pushed them away, because he built this hard, cold wall all around his heart. 

But he had to come to it on his own time, at his own pace. 

Unfortunately, what made him understand that asking for help wasn’t a weakness, was prison. In that shit-hole Spencer understood the power of love, the power of his own words and that his feelings were valid.

They were a part of him, they were what made him a person. 

Spencer had a really hard time processing that, but never did I push him. Never did I force him to speak when he didn’t want to. Never did I tell him that everything he did hurt me, because he knew that.

Deep down in his bright, warm heart, Spencer knew that by keeping quiet and never speaking he was hurting me. But who was I to tell him that? Who was I to kick a man who was already down? Spencer was well aware that communication meant everything to me, but I couldn’t force him to speak if he couldn’t. 

He had to find his own voice, he had to find the strength to ask for help.

And when he did, his whole world changed.

Spencer found everything more difficult as soon as he spoke the first time. He didn’t look into my eyes, he didn’t hold my hands, he didn’t get close to me because he thought that talking about his feelings would make me hate him.

It didn’t. On the contrary, it made me love him even more. 

Dealing with your own feelings is hard and dealing with your partner’s feelings, who’s not a big fan of processing them, is even harder. Sometimes people told me that it would’ve been much easier to leave him, to let Spencer deal with his own shit all alone and move on.

What kind of human being thinks that? What kind of person gives up on another person who just learned how to recognize and explain his feelings? What kind of person would let another deal with such a burden on their back, all alone?

Not me. 

“Alright, I’ll call Francis.” - I kissed Spencer’s forehead, looking down at him - “Do you want to go to the bookshop later? We can pick a book and…”

Spencer shook his head, interrupting my sentence. “No. I want to stay at home.”

His fingers gripped me tighter as I tried to sit by his side. “That’s okay. Do you want to take a bath? Or bake something?”

“A bath would be nice.” - his voice was small, shaky - “Can we do that?”

I smiled at him, bringing both my hands on his cheeks. “Of course! Whatever you want, my love.”

Spencer followed me to the bathroom in silence, basking in the excitement that was clearly rolling off each one of my movements. He knew how much I loved taking baths together, because it was one of the most sensual and romantic experiences one could have. 

In prison Spencer never had time alone, especially not in a room like a bathroom.

But now, in the comfort of our own home, Spencer could finally relax in the warm water as I massaged his shoulders and peppered his neck with kisses. He could bask in the happiness he brought me and the love I tried to shower him with, in order to make him feel like he didn’t change. 

Because his love for me didn’t.

Spencer leaned his head to the side, sighing softly as I ran the sponge up and down his neck. Drop of water ran down his skin while the soap covered the soap’s path and I wrapped my free arm around his chest.

“Does that feel nice, hm?”

Spencer nodded, intertwining his fingers with mine over his heart. “I’ve missed doing this with you.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, my love.” - I whispered, closing my eyes as I rested my head against his back while I moved the sponge down to his shoulder - “But…”

Spencer turned his head to the side, never letting my hand go. “But?”

Humming, I pulled away from him and started to bathe him again. “Maybe we should buy a bigger bathtub.”

A low chuckle escaped from his lips. “Hm, maybe we can buy a Jacuzzi.”

I laughed with him, shaking my head. “Spencer, that’s too expensive! But we can book a weekend at the Hot Springs they just opened to have that experience.”

“Yes, please. I want to go away with you for a few days.” 

“I’ll make a few calls later, then.” - I pressed a kiss on the back of his neck - “Okay?”

Spencer didn’t answer me but he gently tugged my arm, forcing me to press against his body one more time. With my cheeks against his back, my whole body was pressed to his while I stayed silent. 

The idea of going to the Hot Springs with Spencer filled me with joy, because it was our first get-away after he came home from prison. I didn’t know if he was going to fully enjoy it, but I was going to try my best to make him forget all the feelings he had within himself.

“Can you sit in front of me?”

Spencer’s voice interrupted my train of thoughts, echoing inside the bathroom.

He couldn’t see me, but I nodded as I stood up from the water. Spencer held my hands in order for me not to slip and fall onto the floor, making sure that I was steady enough to exit the bathtub. 

I didn’t know why he wanted me to sit in front of him, but I wasn’t going to say anything about it. It was probably because he needed to have me closer to him - and by closer, he desperately needed to have me on his thighs just like in the living room.

I wasn’t going to complain.

Spencer helped me get back inside the bathtub, watching me.

Those honey-coloured eyes were staring back at him with all the love and tenderness they’ve been showing me throughout the years, looking at me as if I was Spencer’ most precious possession - and I was, as he kept reminding me each day. 

I brought my hands on his cheeks, leaning forward to kiss his lips while Spencer lifted my hips and gently sat me on his thighs. 

“You look pretty.”

I bumped my nose against his. “Are you trying to get into my panties? That’s shameful, Doctor Reid. I am a lady.”

My words made him laugh as my heart swelled in my chest at the sight: when Spencer laughs, he has this cute, dumb, adorable smile on his lips and the most beautiful dimples on those soft cheeks. 

He was so fucking beautiful and he didn’t know.

“I don’t think I need to have you sitting on my thighs to get into your panties, lady.”

I hummed against his lips, running my fingers through the curls at the base of his neck. “True, you can have me anytime you want.”

Spencer closed his arms around my waist and hid his face in the crook of my neck, breathing in and out through his nose. I kept caressing his hair and playing with his curls, hoping that my words didn’t make him uncomfortable. 

It wasn’t unusual of me to make sexual innuendos at the most inappropriate times, Spencer knew me that well, but… I felt bad for saying that. I knew that Spencer didn’t want to have sex - if he wanted to, he would’ve told me or probably grabbed me by the waist and dragged me to the bedroom.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Shaking my head, I brought my hands down to his face and tilted it upward. “I decide whether you deserve me or not, Spencer.”

His eyes never left mine. “But it’s true. You’re always so good to me, and I haven’t been myself lately. I keep shouting, crying..”

“So? Do you think those things are enough to make me walk away?” - I asked, pressing a kiss over his lips - “I’m not going to leave you just because you’ve experienced something that caused you so much pain. I promised to stay by your side, I’m here for the long run.”

He didn’t have to speak because the way he leaned forward and closed the distance between us told me everything I needed to know. He was apologising through the kiss for claiming he wasn’t enough for me, but I understood his point of view.

Spencer knew he was being difficult to be with, but he also knew how much I loved him and cared for him. I wasn’t going to give up my love for him just because he had to go through such a traumatic experience. 

I was willing to do anything in my power to help him, even if it would’ve taken me years to get him back.

But Spencer never went away. He was still himself underneath that glass shell. 

He was still the man I fell in love with, just a bit bruised.

“I love you, Spencer. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I know.” - he replied with no hesitation - “But I really don’t understand how you manage to stay with me.”

I raised my brows, pulling away from him. “Did you forget what I just said?”

“Sometimes love is not enough.”

My heart broke at the pain in his voice. 

“Not in my case, my love.” - I reminded him, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip - “In my case, love is more than enough. I’m with you because I love you and I don’t think I can survive without you, honestly.”

Spencer kissed my thumb. “That’s not healthy.”

“Drinking almost six cups of coffee in one morning is not healthy either, but you do it anyway.”

“Actually, four or five cups of coffee a day…”

Interrupting him with another kiss on the lips, I huffed. “Spencer.”

He chuckled, running his fingers up my back. “Sorry. It’s just… hard for me to understand why you would want to be with me when I’m being like this.”

“I’m with you because I’m in love with you.” - I answered him - “I’m with you because the day I agreed to be yours, I promise you I’d do anything for you. And I’m not going to give up on you just because you think you’re difficult.”

Spencer looked down, sliding his hands over my thighs.

“You’re not being difficult, Spencer. You’re traumatised, there’s a big difference.”

“I’m scared that I will push you away because of what I’ve been through.”

I shook my head, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’m doing the best that I can to be with you, Spencer. I know that I’m not a psychologist or a psychiatrist, so I can’t give you medical help, but I’m willing to support you and be with you every step of the way. That’s what a partner does.”

Spencer released a sigh as the water inside the bathtub moved under us. 

“I love you.”

I kissed his lips. “I love you too, more than words can say.”

In silence, I washed his curls with my strawberry shampoo. Spencer didn’t complain, keeping his eyes closed the whole time as he basked in the kindness of my touch over his scalp, his shoulders, his chest, his face. 

I took your time to rinse off the shampoo and the soap off his body, to make sure he was clean and felt like it as well. 

I couldn’t catch a glimpse of his thoughts, but I knew that at that moment Spencer felt safe in my arms. The way his body moved underneath mine made me understand that he didn’t want to let me go, that he was grateful to have me by his side and that he was going to do anything to be okay.

To get through this moment of his life. 

When I was done with his bath, I cleaned myself and got out of the bathtub with his hands in mine. I struggled to move inside the bathroom as Spencer kept me close to his body the whole time, not daring to step away for a second.

It felt like I had a koala attached to my back, but I never once complained.

Spencer’s skin against mine felt perfect.

Following me to the bedroom, Spencer left his phone on the nightstand while I pushed the blankets down. He was looking at me the whole time, admiring how my naked body looked under the faint lights of the bedroom. 

There was nothing sexual in what he was doing, even though I was naked and not afraid to show every part of me. I became so used to his eyes and his hands on me that when Spencer took a step back, I felt lonely.

I suddenly missed the warmth of his fingers on my waist and the hardness of his chest pressed to my back.

“I want to stop thinking for a while.”

I looked over to him, laying down on the bed. “How can I help, my love?”

Spencer didn’t speak, sitting on the edge of the bed. He twisted the little curls right behind his neck, with his eyes looking elsewhere. He was trying to gather the right words on his tongue.

“There is something, but…”

“Anything for you.” I frowned when he didn’t look at me

Lifting myself up, I crawled closer to him and wrapped my arms around his neck from behind so that my chin was pressed over his shoulder. I left an open-mouthed kiss on the side of his neck. 

“I’d do anything to make you feel better, my love.”

Spencer turned to his side, looking at me before gently grabbing my hand. Our fingers locked together as he looked to the window right in front of us: he was still silent, probably pondering the words and picking the better ones. 

I knew what he was silently telling me with the way he behaved, but I needed the words to come out of his lips. I needed Spencer to be honest and fully in control of the situation, because I wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

Spencer brought our joined hands to his chest. “I don’t know how to ask this.”

I crawled closer to him until I was sitting, again, on his thighs. Our hands were still locked together, but Spencer moved them from his chest to mine and slowly, he pushed them down right above my belly button.

It was clear what he wanted, and I understood how difficult it was to ask for that kind of comfort in such a moment but I was willing to help him. 

I had to do all the talking, I wanted him to feel safe. And I needed him to know that I would’ve done anything for him.

“Do you want to make love to me?”

Spencer looked up at me as if I finally put a voice to his thoughts. Nodding his head, his lips touched mine as our hands separated. 

My fingers immediately travelled up to his neck as I kissed him even harder, hoping that the love I was pouring into the kiss could be felt. I needed Spencer to know how much I loved him, how much I cared about him.

Spencer deserved to know every emotion I felt for him.

By the way he laid back down on the bed, with his hands pressed to my back so that our chests couldn’t separate, Spencer hinted at me that he felt everything.

Every beat of my heart, every breath I took, every smile and laugh… They all belonged to him. 

There wasn’t a single part of my body that didn’t belong to him.

It didn’t take long for our bodies to connect, with me still sitting on his thighs and Spencer’s staring at me with those sweet, honey coloured eyes. I tried my best to stay still as Spencer brought his hands behind his neck, smiling at the sight of my body tightening all around him. 

I moved as slow as I could, kissing his lips and whispering how much I loved him while Spencer couldn’t do nothing but take all of me, feel my body welcome him and show him that nothing changed between us. 

We were still the same old us, wrapped in our own love bubble that nobody was going to burst - prison didn’t, Spencer understood that as I praised his name, whining in pure ecstasy the more our kisses became erratic and his hands flew on my waist.

His fingers dug into my skin, leaving the same marks my mouth was peppering his neck with. I painted his skin the way he painted mine, owning his body the way his was owning mine. 

I made sure to remind Spencer of how good I felt as he looked at me completely breathless, struggling to move his eyes off me. I didn’t want him to - he deserved to know that he was still able to make me crumble, to make me whine his name, to make me his all over again. 

Moans spilled from my lips like a chorus of prayers while Spencer kissed my throat. 

He dragged his nails up to my thighs, whispering my name in that soft tone I loved more than anything in the world. He looked breathtaking, just like every night I’ve spent on top of him, underneath him, by his side, all around him. 

We were one, that night.

With our eyes locked, I felt the euphoria crashing through my body as soon as his warmth filled me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I struggled to kiss Spencer while I let my pleasure blind me to the point I didn’t know where I started and Spencer ended, but I didn’t mind.

His hands were all over me, touching every inch of my skin as his eyes closed. Tears fell down his cheeks and mixed with mine, clashing onto our chests while we collapsed against one another. 

Still enthralled in our pleasure and our love bubble, we clung to each other as if we were pathetic grass in the middle of a tornado. A perfect metaphor of our life ever since his sentence, ever since he got locked him and I stayed out, waiting for him in our bed, in our shared home. 

But we were free, that night. 

We were with one another, because Spencer came back to me. 

He was still mine, he has always been mine even when his brain told him that I didn’t want him anymore, that I wouldn’t be able to be happy with a man like him by my side. 

When the air filled our lungs again, I rolled off his body. 

His right hand immediately clung to mine, with his fingers intertwined with mine. 

“I love you,” Spencer blurted out.

I turned to the side, looking at him. “I love you more, my love.”

Brushing the back of his free hand to his cheek, Spencer cuddled closer to me. His nose pressed to the side of my throat while his whole body shuddered, as more tears spilled from those beautiful eyes I kissed. 

I hugged him and held him as tightly as I could, caressing with the tip of my fingers his cheeks, his lips, his nose, his forehead. He kissed the skin he bit before as I sighed, holding back the tears. 

I hated to see him so broken, and I hated not being able to help him just by snapping my fingers. I knew it was going to be a long and difficult process, but I was going to stay by his side every step of the way. 

“Thank you.”

“For what, my love?”

Spencer looked up at me and his nose twitched. “For making me feel like a human being who deserves to be loved.”

I was going to turn this into my life’s mission.

With a weak smile, I closed the distance between our lips. 

Remember that liking, reblogging or commenting on the fic are the only ways for you to give me feedbacks - which is always appreciated. Being ignored is a shitty feeling.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 6 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric.

Chapter Summary - Spencer embarks on his first therapy session. More people from his past haunt his dreams.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - therapy, withdrawals, pain, pain medication, talk of suicidal thoughts and attempted suicide, drug use, swearing, vomiting, paranoid behaviour, scars and stitches, track marks, featuring Alex Blake.

WC - 4K

Chapter 6 - If You Could See Me Now

It was early evening when Delaney knocked on Spencer’s door to bring him dinner. 

They didn’t usually condone eating in rooms as it strayed from routine and the socialisation with other patients was highly encouraged. 

But Spencer’s routine hadn’t really started yet so for today he let Spencer eat in the peace of his room.

Delaney sat at the desk and watched the man wolf down his food with the ferocity of a wild animal. 

Spencer had no idea when the last time he ate was and he hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the food was presented to him. 

He ate every last scrap and washed it down with nearly every drop of a litre bottle of water. 

Even after his rest his legs still showed the remains of the tremors but it was to be expected. 

After he’d eaten as promised earlier, Delaney trimmed Spencer’s nails so they were completely blunt and could cause no more injury to himself. 

Then he helped him into his wheelchair and wheeled him to his first therapist appointment which Spencer dreaded with every fibre of his being. 

He wished he had the energy to fight it, but even after a decent meal and hydration he was exhausted. 

“What day is it today?” Spencer mused as he was wheeled down corridors. 

“It’s Wednesday.” Delaney replied.

“So tomorrow is visitation day?” Spencer rubbed his eyes with his palms.

“Indeed.” 

“I don’t want to see anyone.” Spencer told him as they came to a stop outside of one of the doors in the corridor. 

“I really do think that-“ 

“Not yet. I’m not saying never, but not yet. Please.” Spencer clenched his teeth. 

“Ok.” Delaney agreed, knowing if he pushed him he might never let anyone visit. “I’ll call Ms Prentiss in the morning.” 

“Thank you.” Spencer’s hands retreated up his sleeves like tortoises retiring to their shells when threatened as Delaney opened the door and wheeled him inside. 

“Spencer, this is Maggie. She’s one of our specialists in dual diagnosis. She might not be your permanent therapist but she’s going to assess you and we’ll go from there, ok?” Delaney parked his chair next to the plush leather couch before helping Spencer onto it. 

Spencer just nodded. 

He wanted to pull his legs up to his chest to protect himself but he knew his injury wouldn’t allow it. Since waking up this evening he’d been noticing the pain properly for the first time. And not just in his leg. 

Both of his arms seemed as though they were on fire, searing in pain. Maybe he’d have to ask about getting some pain medication because it was almost unbearable. Delaney left the room and Spencer kept his hands hidden inside of his sweater for some kind of security. 

Maggie smiled at him softly. She was probably around his age, pretty in an understated way. She reminded him a little of Tara and it put him slightly at ease. 

“Hi Spencer,” she was soft spoken and had kind eyes. 

His eyes grazed down to the file in her hand and he could only imagine what it said about him there.

“Hi.” He offered her a tight lipped smile. 

“I know this must be hard for you, so I want to start by telling you a little about myself to try and help relax you if that’s ok?” 

Spencer simply nodded again, trying to dig his fingernails into his palm but now they’d been clipped so short his fingertips just pressed into his flesh. 

It didn’t ground him the way he needed it to. 

“My name is Doctor Maggie Sherman. I have a PhD in Behavioural Psychology. I’ve been a licensed therapist for fifteen years and I’ve worked here at PIW for six years. I specialise in treating patients with drug addictions and underlying mental health disorders. But this is just an assessment as Doctor Delaney said, so if we don’t gel or you don’t like me as your therapist that’s ok. Also to give you a little personal insight into me, I am married with two children, a boy and a girl. My wife and I have been together since we were in high school. Would you care to tell me a little about yourself?” 

Spencer’s eyes widened when she stopped talking, realising he was going to have to speak now. He tugged on the sleeves of his sweater awkwardly. 

“Uh…I also have a PhD. Well, three of them. Engineering, chemistry and mathematics. I worked for the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI from when I was twenty two up until seven months…” he trailed off with a small sigh. “Two years ago. I’m a drug addict, dilaudid and cocaine. I have PTSD, major depressive disorder and panic disorder.” 

“Ok that’s good.” She nodded encouragingly. “But why don’t you try and tell me something I couldn’t read in your file.” 

“Like what?” 

“Anything you like.” 

Spencer chewed on his bottom lip while he thought about this. He wanted to talk about you, you were the only thing he ever wanted to talk about. But now was not the time. 

“I like to read. I can actually read twenty thousand words a minute which is really useful for work when we need to get through hundreds of case files in a short amount of time but when it comes to reading for pleasure it can get a little frustrating.” He rambled. “I like playing chess. An old friend of mine taught me how and we used to play all the time. I never could beat him though. I can beat anyone else, just not Gideon.” 

It was a nervous babble. Once he started he couldn’t stop himself. Spencer always prattled when he was uncomfortable. 

“What about your personal life? Are you married, do you have kids? What about your family?” 

“Uh no, not married and no kids.” He sighed sadly. “Family is just me and my mom. But she’s a paranoid schizophrenic with early onset dementia and she lives in Las Vegas so I guess it’s just me.” 

“Doctor Delaney told me about your old team. Would you consider them family?” She tilted her head to the side a little. 

“Uh, I guess so.” He tugged at his sleeves again. “I’ve worked with some of them for over ten years and I guess they are the closest thing to a family that I have.” 

“It’s good to have a support system.” She smiled, threading her fingers together. “I do need to ask you some tough questions now ok, Spencer?”

“Y-yes.” His leg was still trembling much like it had been all day. The pain coursing through his whole body was causing him to sweat. The withdrawals were making him sweat too. 

“Are you ok?” Maggie narrowed her eyes on him a little. 

“I’m uh…in a bit of a pain.” A bit of pain was a huge understatement. His whole body swelled in agony. 

“You’ve not been given anything for your pain?” 

“N-no.” He shook his head. “But that’s probably because I didn’t tell Doctor Delaney I was in pain.” 

Maggie glanced down at her notes on him before pushing herself up from the chair and heading to a locked cabinet behind her desk. Once opened, Spencer saw an array of medication bottles which she quickly sifted through before pulling one of them out and locking the cupboard. 

“Have you heard of methadone?”

“Yes.” Spencer felt himself perk up a little. 

Methadone was an opioid like dilaudid, but ironically was used for treating opioid addictions. It was used for extreme pain relief which Spencer so sorely needed. Methadone changed the way the brain and nervous system respond to pain to give some relief. He knew it offered similar feelings to other opioid drugs like dilaudid, and would aid his cravings. And if he couldn’t get his hands on dilaudid or cocaine it would have to do. He knew he wouldn’t be given enough to get him high, but anything was better than nothing. 

“This will help with your pain and aid in relieving your withdrawal symptoms.” Maggie uncapped the bottle and Spencer unsheathed his hand to accept the pill. 

She poured him a cup of water from a machine in the corner of the room and handed that to him also. Spencer quickly tossed the pill and water back with shaky hands. He knew it took a little while to kick in, he hoped he could cope with this encompassing pain until then. 

“See how you get on with that tonight and we’ll discuss dosages tomorrow ok?” 

Spencer nodded, hands quickly snaking back inside his sweater. 

“Now I’m going to need to ask you some hard questions. If at any time you want to stop, just say so and we’ll stop. But I do need complete honesty from you ok, Spencer?” 

“Ok.” He was already grinding his teeth against the pain but now he started doing it more furiously. 

“How did you get involved in drugs?” She poised her own above her notebook. 

“About ten years ago. I was abducted during the course of a case and the unsub…uh, unknown subject…bad guy, he would inject me with dilaudid. I got addicted and kept using for almost a year after. But then I got clean and I didn’t start using again until seven…two years ago.” He watched Maggie take some notes before nodding. 

“What happened two years ago for you to start using again after such a long period of sobriety?” 

“I was arrested for a crime I didn’t commit. I spent three months in prison. I tried not to turn to drugs but it all got too much. And after a while the dilaudid wasn’t enough so I started using cocaine too.” He was impressed by how easily he was talking about this, least of all to a stranger. 

Maybe that was why it was easier to talk about. But he wouldn’t be so quick to answer all of her questions. 

“Was it after prison you self-harmed for the first time?” She tapped the nib of her pen on the notebook. 

Spencer winced a little, snaking his arms around his waist and hugging himself, despite how much his arms hurt. 

“I uh…” he swallowed, eyes darting around the room so he didn’t have to look at her. “I was prescribed Prozac by my therapist. It made me feel worse than I did before. It made me s-suicidal. I think I hurt myself trying to stop from killing myself.” 

“That makes sense.” Maggie nodded in understanding. “Everybody has coping mechanisms, Spencer. Unfortunately yours are not very healthy. My job is to help you find healthier ways of dealing with your emotions.”

“Logically I understand that. Rationally I know that drugs and hurting myself isn’t sensible. And honestly they didn’t even work. I don’t even know how I’m still alive if truth be told.” He grinded his teeth harder, wishing he could pick at his skin to relieve some tension.

“You’ve attempted suicide before? I mean before the other day.” 

“Yes.” He tightened his hold on himself, hoping if he squeezed tight enough he might just disappear all together. 

“Can you elaborate?” Maggie put the pen down and gave him her full attention. Honestly that made him feel more uncomfortable.

“I sometimes play Russian Roulette with my gun. Leave it up to fate to decide if it’s my time to die.” His eyes glossed over with tears. “I’ve tried overdosing before. I’m incredibly smart and I should have known exactly how much I needed to end it. But the drugs must have scrambled my brain and I kept fucking it up.”

“Was this overdose a deliberate one?” 

“I’m still trying to piece that together but I’m pretty certain it was, yes.” A few tears crept from his eyes but he was quick to wipe them away on the sleeves of his sweater. 

“What do you think would happen if any of your attempts had been successful?” Her question threw Spencer through a loop and he frowned at her. 

“I don’t understand.” He toyed with the hems of the sweater. “I’d be dead. I don’t believe in heaven or hell or reincarnation or anything like that so I’d just be dead?”

“No, I don’t mean it like that.” Maggie smiled. “Let me rephrase the question. What do you think would happen to your mom, your friends, if your attempts had been successful?” 

Spencer’s frown deepened. He’d never thought about that. Not once. He’d never even thought about you. All he’d ever thought about was how much he needed to end it all. 

“I uh…I don’t know.” 

“It’s ok not to know. The sad fact is Spencer, depression is a very selfish illness. It doesn’t allow our brains to think of the consequences of our actions. It’s ok not to have thought about the effect it would have on those who love you.” Maggie picked her pen back up and jotted something down. 

“My mom probably wouldn’t even realise. She doesn’t even know who I am most of the time.” He heard the self-pity in his tone and he hated it. Once again he tried to dig his nails into his palms but failed. 

“I’m sure a lot of people would miss you if you were gone, Spencer. Your mom included.” 

“Hmm.” That was Spencer’s sign he was done talking. 

He’d opened up a lot more than he’d expected to and now he was done. Maggie clearly sensed this and she closed her notebook. 

“Do you think you’d like to come back and talk to me more tomorrow?” She asked softly. 

“I don’t know if like is the right word.” He gnawed on his lip. “But sure.” 

He was still fidgeting with his hands under his sleeves and he saw Maggie’s eyes flick to where his hands lay in his lap. She pushed herself up from the chair and rounded her desk. He watched as she pulled something out of the top drawer. 

“I want you to wear this.” She came over to him and handed him a simple rubber band. 

“Uh, why?” He frowned but took it from her all the same. 

“Wear it around your wrist and when you feel the urge to hurt yourself, give it a firm snap. It will help alleviate the need to harm yourself.” 

Spencer nodded stiffly, rolling the band over the bandages on his left wrist as it was the arm that hurt less. 

“I’ll call Doctor Delaney to take you back to your room. Tomorrow you’re going to let me know how you got on with the medication ok?” 

“Ok.”

While Maggie made a phone call he snapped the band around his wrist once, twice and three times. And then three more times for good measure. It would be a miracle if the band was still intact come morning. 

***

The pain continued to flood his body to the point he thought he may actually pass out. Although admittedly that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world because he was supposed to be asleep. The methadone should have done something. It had been hours since Maggie gave him the medication and Spencer was sure if anything, his pain was worse. 

He was simultaneously on fire and freezing. He was dripping with sweat and he’d already vomited in the trash can in his room three times. Despite his lack of nails he’d already picked off the bandages on his knuckles and was working on picking at the one on his right arm. Why was the methadone not kicking in? This didn’t make any sense. And that left him with one of two theories. 

One: she’d given him a placebo. She’d given him a pill that was simply meant to placate him. It was nothing more than a sugary tablet to make him think his pain and cravings would lessen.  

Or two: it was all in his fucking head. He’d created the pain in his own mind and it didn’t really exist in the first place. 

What if the bandages were only there to make him think he was hurt? Of course his cut up knuckles should have told him that wasn’t true. But suddenly Spencer didn’t know what to believe. 

He picked and picked at the dressing on his right arm until he was able to remove it entirely. He expected to see untarnished skin beneath it but of course, that wasn’t what happened. Underneath the dressing was a wound running the length of his forearm with the seventeen stitches Delaney had told him about. Without meaning to, Spencer pressed his fingers against the wound, applying pressure and feeling the pain heighten. 

He did it again, harder this time and yelped at the feeling. But he still did it two more times. Not one to be easily perturbed, he ripped off the bandage on his other arm revealing hideous, pulsating track marks and a series of slowly healing gouges and burns. Once again he pressed his fingers to the open wounds, feeling the pain swell aggressively as he did so. 

Soon he was on top of his sheets, wriggling out of his pyjama pants and unravelling the dressing around his thigh. The bullet wound looked better than he’d imagined, already seeming to heal very nicely. It was the array of cuts above it that made Spencer’s stomach turn a little. Some scars were old, probably made at least a year ago. Others were fresher, still healing. Spencer pressed his fingertips against every single one of them. 

He was dizzy with the pain but he continued prodding and poking his wounds, hypnotising himself with the repetitiveness of going from limb to limb over and and over again. 

Left arm. Right arm. Leg. Left arm. Right arm. Leg. Left arm. Right arm. Leg. Left arm. Right arm. Leg.

He repeated this cycle for hours, groaning at the pain it caused but for some reason it became oddly comforting. He was utterly restless. He couldn’t get his brain to shut off long enough to give over to sleep. At some point, completely forgetting about the fact he couldn’t walk, he swung his legs out of bed. As he placed his feet on the floor, pain shot up his leg but he ignored it. He pushed himself up, wobbling a little as he did so. He stepped forward on his good leg first. Then slowly his bad leg.

The pain alone almost caused him to collapse but he was determined not to be bedridden. He would push himself to his limits if it meant he wasn’t stuck in that damn bed. By the time he reached the door he couldn’t see straight anymore for the intense agony swirling through his body. He clutched the handle, tugged on it. The door didn’t budge. 

No, no, no! He screamed internally. No, I can’t be locked in! Not again! Not again! 

He tried to thud on the door but he was too weak and just slapped his hand pathetically against it. 

No, please. I can’t be locked in. I can’t go back to prison. 

His leg suddenly gave out, his mind giving in to the pain and he collapsed onto the carpeted floor. With the last of the energy he had in his body he tried to crawl back to his bed but he didn’t make it all the way and somewhere between the door and the bed, he blacked out. 

***

“Spencer?” A soft voice roused him. “Spencer, what are you doing on the floor?” 

He lifted his head from the carpet pillow and squinted upwards at the figure standing over him. 

“Spencer? You need to get up.” Your voice was stern and held a hint of frustration. 

“What happened?” He croaked, rolling himself onto his back and rubbing his eyes with his palms. 

“I don’t know, you tell me.” You crouched over him and held your hands out for him to take which he did. Your skin was like ice. 

You helped him into a sitting position and he blinked rapidly, trying to dislodge you from the haze you were in. 

“Why can’t I see you properly?” He mused out loud. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. I don’t have the answers for you.” You pulled him to his feet and when he stood there was no pain in his leg. There was no pain anywhere. 

Blinking a few more times he looked around and found himself in his bedroom of his apartment. He let you lead him to the bed where you both sat down on the mattress. He tried to concentrate on your features but everything was just slightly out of focus. 

“I’m forgetting you.” He grinded his teeth. 

“It’s been a long time.” You shrugged. 

“I don’t want to forget you. I never want to forget you!” He wailed pathetically. 

“At some point you have to let me go, Spencer.”

“No, no I don’t want to. I miss you Y/N, I miss you so fucking much. I don’t want to let you go, I don’t want to forget.” 

“It’s already happening, Spencer. It’s out of your control.” 

“No, please.” He whined, sniffing loudly. “Please, I can’t forget you. Please tell me what I need to do to remember.”

“Your brain is becoming clearer.” You sighed a little as you spoke. “The drugs are washing out of your system and making you see clearer.” 

“If that were the case, surely I’d remember you more clearly?” 

“Your mind is trying to tell you something, Spencer. At some point you’re going to have to listen to it.” You briefly touched his cheek before standing up from the bed. 

“What is it trying to tell me? I don’t understand.” 

“You’ll see soon enough. Everything will become clear. Just try not to blame yourself when it does.” You started backing away, slipping away from him. 

“Blame myself for what?” 

“Any of it.” You replied simply and then your image vanished completely. 

“Y/N!” He jumped up from the bed. “Y/N, come back!” 

“She’s gone.” A voice behind him startled him. 

He quickly spun back around to see someone sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“A-Alex?” He frowned at her, scratching the back of his neck. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t ask me.” She laughed. “It’s your subconscious.” 

“I’m losing it.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I am fucking losing it.”

“Oh Spencer, you lost it a long time ago.” Alex smiled wistfully at him. 

“That’s not true.” He shook his head. 

“Isn’t it?” Her smile turned into a frown. “You’ve never been well Spencer. You were cursed with that giant brain. That giant, sick brain. Everyone thinks it a gift but they have no idea what a hindrance it really is.” 

“Well given that you’re just a dream, excuse me for not believing anything you say.” He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m an extension of your subconscious Spencer. I’m only saying what you’re thinking.”

“That’s not true.” 

“We both know that it is.” 

Spencer heaved a sigh and fell back to the bed next to her. 

“Am I ever going to recover from this? Am I ever going to be ok again?” 

“That’s up to you. You’ve gotta want it Spencer.” 

“And if I don’t? What if all I want is to spend the rest of my life high out of my mind?” 

“Then you’ll never recover.” Alex shrugged. 

“How do I keep my memories of Y/N? Why would they fade when my mind is clearer? It just doesn’t make sense.” He huffed. 

“Somewhere in that big old brain, you know the answer to that. You’ll find it eventually, but I can’t help you.” 

“Alex, I’m scared.” He confessed, tears springing to his eyes. 

“I know you are. But I know you and I know you’ll be ok.” She pushed herself up from the bed and turned to look down at him. “Or alternatively you won’t be ok and you’ll end up dead.”

“Wow, great pep talk.” He scoffed. 

“Again, I’m only saying what you want me to say.” 

“Can I wake up now? This is getting kind of annoying.” 

“A nurse is going to walk through your door in approximately thirty seconds to wake you up.” She pointed to the door over her shoulder but it wasn’t the door to Spencer’s bedroom in his apartment anymore. He was back in his room at PIW. “Good luck explaining why you’re on the floor by the way.” Alex chuckled and then, like you, she was fading away. 

Taglist

@andiebeaword @measure-in-pain@takeyourleap-of-faith @dirtytissuebox @smurphyse @ssa-uglywhore27 @reidselle @reidsbookclub

@tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator

[mggslover]

Angel

In which Spencer sees his girlfriend fresh out of the shower for the first time, you looked angelic, and he was about to ruin you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Girlfriend!reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: spencer being horny, reader wears glasses, teasing, fingering, some spanking, p in v sex, facial, soft!dom spencer Word count: 3,8k A/n: this was supposed to be a short, smut no plot fic, but I got a little carried away...

The familiar goodbyes and sorrys were exchanged as you hung up the phone.

What was meant to be a romantic date out of town with your boyfriend had quickly turned into another one of those last-minute cancellations. It wasn’t surprising—Spencer’s work as a profiler came with its own set of unpredictable demands, and you were used to him being pulled away at a moment’s notice. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. You’d been looking forward to spending some time together.

You’d been dating Spencer for about three months, and things had progressed naturally from casual coffee dates to longer dinners and, eventually, a few trips to his place afterwards. As much as you enjoyed those nights, you wished they would last longer. You and Spencer made a habit out of quickies, knowing that at any moment his phone would inevitably buzz with a message or call from his colleague, Garcia. You couldn’t blame him for leaving, serial killers unfortunately didn’t work a nine to five. Spencer hated leaving you as well, making sure he offered you enough apologetic kisses and promises that he’d be back as soon as he could.

He always insisted that you could stay over at his place until he’d be back, but you never felt comfortable enough to do so. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy being at his place—you could already picture yourself curled up on the couch with one of his books, or take advantage of his bed, which was a lot bigger and more comfortable than yours. But it wasn’t quite home yet, at least not without him there.

With a resigned sigh, you decided to make the best out of the situation. It had been a long week, and you could use a night of self-care. As you set your phone down on the bathroom counter, you hit play on a playlist you’d made for such occasions—soft, calming melodies that would help you unwind. You pulled your hair back with a headband, took out your contacts, and started removing the makeup that took you half an hour to do earlier.

The bathroom mirror fogged slightly as the warmth of the shower filled the room. You hummed along with the song in the background, while you moved the cotton pads over your skin in a familiar motion.

As you finished, you carefully stepped out of your dress and turned toward the shower. The steam hit your skin as you slid into the stall, closing your eyes for a moment as the water hit your shoulders.

Without realizing, you spent a good hour in the shower. Once comfortably dressed, you let yourself sink into the plush cushions of your couch. A fuzzy blanket was draped across your just shaved legs, and the TV remote was within arm’s reach. You let out a content sigh, almost feeling as satisfied as you would be when being with Spencer.

—

Spencer’s signature melody of knocks broke your focus on the documentary you were watching. You swiftly moved up from the couch and checked the peephole on your door, just to be sure. A smile spread across your face as you saw Spencer rocking back and forth on his feet, plucking at the bouquet in his hands, straightening out each flower to perfection.

You opened the door with a big smile. “Hi, I wasn’t expecting you. I thought we cancelled tonight.”

He hesitates, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “You’re right. I finished the case early, and I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just… wanted to see you.” His words came out more nervously than he intended. “I saw the lights were on, so I assumed you were awake.”

“I wasn’t asleep. Don’t worry,” you answered warmly. You glanced down at the bouquet in his hands. “Are these for me?”

“They are,” he replies, his voice softened as he handed them to you. “You said you liked lilies.”

“I do, thank you. They’re beautiful.” You accept the bouquet, moving to your tiptoes to give him a kiss. Having a boyfriend with an eidetic memory really is perfect.

“I’ll put them in water, come in.”

You moved to the open kitchen, so in awe of his sweet gesture that you were completely unaware of the way Spencer’s breath caught the moment you opened the door, how his pupils darkened when he inhaled your sweet scent and noticed the state you were in. Hair still damp from the shower you must’ve taken, wearing only a shirt, and your face bare besides the glasses you were wearing. Fuck… he didn’t even know you wore glasses.

He couldn’t deny how incredibly cute you looked. Spencer has only seen you during or after dates, and he loved how he could tell that you took the time to get yourself ready. Always wearing an outfit that fits you perfectly and having your makeup done in a way that enhances the features of your face. But it felt so intimate seeing how effortlessly beautiful you looked moving around in the comfort of your own home. You were beautiful in a way that seemed almost unfair, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the most captivating version of you he'd ever seen.

Spencer wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you as you walked to the kitchen, your breasts swaying with every step you took. The outline of your nipples were visible, because of the cold that escaped when you opened the door for him. Your bare legs reflected the warm kitchen light. He felt like he was about to lose his mind as you reached up to grab a vase from the top cabinet, the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath the shirt that you're wearing.

He felt guilty for the warmth that was spreading through him. He shook his head slightly, trying to reset his thoughts, but the temptation was there. Your easy grace, the way your bare feet padded across the floor, the gentle hum of the air between you—it all combined into something too alluring for him to ignore.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he moved behind you, placing a careful hand on your hip as he reached out to grab the vase. You turned around with a smile as he placed the vase on the kitchen counter.

“Thanks,” you beamed, and he mumbled a ‘You’re welcome’, though his response came out as more of a soft hum.

Before he could think better of it, he leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was slow, deliberate—his lips meeting yours with a tenderness that made his pulse race. His fingers tingle with the desire to pull you closer, but just before his hands slid around you, you pulled away, making him swallow back a groan.

“Ooh! I was watching this documentary that I think you’ll be really into,” you said, quickly putting the flowers in the vase and tugging him by the hand toward the couch. He followed like a stray pup, too caught up in the way you moved to protest.

“Oh, yeah? What’s it about?” He asked, hoping the conversation would steer him away from the other thoughts tugging at him. You settled on the couch beside him, and he instinctively pulled your legs onto his lap, cupping your feet in his hands to warm them.

“It’s about space. The universe, really. It’s fascinating, but honestly terrifying if you think about it for too long.”

Spencer nodded, though his mind was far away. He was more focused on the way that his fingers traced the soft lines of your calves. He gently started kneading the muscles, placing just the right amount of pressure.

“Would you go to space, if NASA invited you?” You asked, eyes still glued to the TV.

“Only if you’d come with me.”

His response made you turn around to look at him. The sincere and loving expression he gave you warmed your face. He squeezed your legs gently, and, just like that, you noticed the hint of desire hidden in his eyes.

“Come here,” he said in a whisper, patting his thigh. In a second you managed to crawl yourself onto his lap, and he held you steady by your hips.

You reached up to remove your glasses, but before your fingers could touch the frames, his hand found yours, halting the movement.

You noticed the slight squint in his eyes. “I can’t properly kiss you with my glasses on,” you explain.

"Then let me handle the kissing," he murmured, voice dropped low.

Before you could register his words, his lips had found your neck. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing along the line of your jaw, holding you close as his tongue licked a firm stripe up your sensitive skin.

“Oh, god,” you shuddered in a breath.

“Shaking already?” he teased, voice laced with amusement as he grinned against your skin.

“No,” you lied.

“Are you sure about that? Then why are you doing it again?” He comments before squeezing your breast, your nipple caught in between his long fingers.

You jumped at his touch, a moan escaping your lips. You shook your head as you saw his satisfied expression. “You’re such a dirty tease.”

“I haven’t heard any complaints so far,” he smirks, making you roll your eyes.

His breath was warm against your skin as his lips found their way back to the soft curve of your neck. Slowly, with a tenderness that sent a shiver through your body, he placed several more kisses to your skin. Once pleased, he bends his head down to capture your clothed nipple in his mouth, his hand still kneading your other breast.

“Fuck, Spence,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. He took his time, his mouth sucking slowly on your nub, savoring the feel of you beneath him. Tonight, he was in no rush—he wanted to taste every inch of you, show you just how much he loves every detail of your body.

You were writhing in his lap as he flicked his tongue against your nipple. Heat forming between your thighs with every stroke of his tongue. He removed his lips from your breast with a pop, and sat back against the couch. His gaze was locked on the now wet, see-through patch on your shirt. He licked his lips, watching you like you were a piece of art he just created himself.

“Beautiful,” he stated.

The compliment sent a rush of warmth straight to your core, your body responding with a soft shiver. Without thinking, you began to grind yourself against his lap, a surge of excitement rushing through you as you felt the firm bulge beneath his pants. Spencer exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh, his warm hands slipping beneath your shirt as he cupped your breasts, squeezing them gently.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he said, his gaze lingering on you.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Oh, so that’s what this is all about, huh?”

His expression softened, “Actually, it’s about all of you.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, turning you almost shy.

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, his fingers teasing the hem of your shirt. You nodded wordlessly and raised your arms. Spencer pulled the fabric over your head, his eyes tracing the curve of your bare chest. He cursed under his breath, his hands immediately finding you—fingers digging into your skin as he leaned in, nuzzling his face between your tits with a satisfied moan.

A string of giggles and moans spilled from your lips as his curls tickled your skin. His pink lips grazed you gently, pausing to leave sloppy, lingering marks—each one a reminder that you’d carry with you for the following days.

You moved against him, rolling your hips, finding release in the way that your barely covered heat rubbed against the rough material of his pants. Spencer noticed the change in your rhythm, the need in your movements. He guided you with steady hands, his fingers moving to your hips and then sliding lower, finding the curve of your ass, tightening his grip to help you find the pace you craved.

“Can you handle more?” His voice was laced with desire. Without hesitation, you nodded, your body already screaming for more. His long fingers traced your inner thighs, goosebumps forming on your skin, his touch light but electrifying. When his thumb pressed against your covered clit, a jolt of heat shot through you, making you squirm helplessly. You moaned, your body arching toward him.

“You’re always so wet for me, angel.” The word slipped from Spencer's lips. It was the first time he’d called you anything other than your name or a shortened version of it, and somehow, angel felt more fitting than any word he'd ever used. You looked like heaven to him—your soft skin glowing in the light, your eyes sparkling behind the frames of your glasses, and the way you responded to his touch, every small brush of his fingers making your expressions change so delicately.

He slowly tugged the damp fabric of your underwear to the side, savoring the reveal of your glistening pussy. You lifted your hips, giving Spencer the access to slide a finger through your folds, spreading your wetness.

“Feels good,” you breathed out, your voice shaky as his fingers ran back and forth between your lips, each pass teasingly close to your entrance, but never quite slipping inside. The sensation made your hips buck against him. You weren’t used to being teased for this long—Spencer had a way of getting you dripping without even fully touching you. Usually that led straight to sex, which makes his slow touches feel almost torturous.

“Please, Spence,” you moaned.

“Please, what?” he mused, his eyes dark with desire as he watched how your arousal coated his fingers, his gaze never leaving your glistenings folds.

“I need more,” you begged, your voice a whimper.

“You can have more, angel. My fingers are right here,” he hummed.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you shifted, positioning yourself so his fingers were just below your entrance. Spencer’s breath hitched, and his mouth fell open as you sank down onto his fingers, inch by inch, taking him in. Your hand gripped his shoulder tightly for support as you moved, the sensation of fullness making your body tremble.

Spencer was the first to make a sound, his head falling back slightly as you adjusted to him. His moans only spurred you on. You pressed your forehead against his, your breaths shaky as he pumped his fingers in a steady, insistent rhythm.

His other hand moved to your ass, fingers spreading across your cheek as he squeezed, pulling you closer to him. You were grateful he was doing most of the work—your legs were already shaking, straining to keep up with the building pleasure.

Spencer’s fingers curled inside you, pressing deeper, and the angle was perfect—hitting spots you never managed to reach on your own. Spencer groaned at the sight. Your body was tightening around him, your slickness coating his fingers, and he couldn’t help but imagine it being his cock filling you up.

The sounds he made drove you crazy. Each deep groan, every stuttered breath, showed you how much he enjoyed making you feel good. His enjoyment only intensified your own pleasure.

You were so close, your nipples hard against his chest, your breath mixing with his as your hair tumbled over his face, the scent of it intoxicating to him.

Your breathing quickened, sharp and shallow, as the pressure built within you, pooling low in your belly. Your vision blurred, the edges of reality dissolving as you neared the brink of your climax.

“Baby…” you breathed, your voice a desperate whisper, barely more than a plea. You locked your eyes with Spencer, hoping—praying—he could see the need in yours, feel the frantic urgency building inside you.

And then, with a nod and a final twist of his fingers, you broke.

A flood of pleasure crashed through you. You gasped, your whole body seizing as your orgasm hit, sending shockwaves of heat through every inch of you. You cried out, unable to hold back the sounds of your release, your hips bucking against his touch, your hands gripping his wrist to anchor you to the world as it spun in a blur.

He withdrew his fingers from your heat, and the sudden absence left you breathless, a soft sound escaping your lips at the loss. When you blinked your eyes open, Spencer’s warm gaze met yours, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You smiled back at him, a little dazed, as he brushed your cheek with his untouched hand.

He carefully took your glasses off, placing them on the armrest of the couch. His thumb tenderly wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes. He then cupped your chin, pulling you toward him, and kissed you deeply, his lips soft and lingering.

“Thank you,” he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“I should be the one thanking you,” you softly laughed.

He shook his head, smiling. “No need for that,” he replied, his voice reassuring.

“But I want to,” you insisted. “Though… I think you’ll find I’m better at showing than telling.” You playfully whispered, as your nails grazed the outline of his dick.

You turned yourself around on his lap, your knees still planted on either side of him, but now with your back facing him. Leaning forward, you braced yourself on the coffee table, your elbows digging into the surface. You arched your back, making Spencer hiss sharply at the sight of your ass displayed before him, your arousal trickling down your thighs. The inviting shake of your hips made him lose his patience, and his fingers fumbled hastily with his belt.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hurriedly pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free, hard and eager, the flushed head brushing against the faint line of hair trailing up his abdomen.

He gripped himself firmly, pumping his length a few times before lining himself up with your slick entrance. The weight of his hand settled on your hip as he pressed the tip of his cock against your warmth, teasing you for the briefest moment before you sank down on him.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as he filled you, the new angle making him hit depths you’d never felt before. The stretch was deliciously overwhelming, stealing your breath as your fingers clawed at the table. You shakily tried to lift your hips, but your legs quivered under the strain.

Spencer noticed immediately, his hands finding their place—one on your waist, steadying you, and the other trailing down to your calf. He began guiding you, his strength effortlessly lifting and lowering you along his cock. The room filled with the symphony of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of meeting skin.

“God, look at you,” he rasped, mesmerized by the way your body took him in. His gaze focused on the bounce of your ass, hypnotized by the way it moved with each thrust. On instinct, he brought his hand down in a firm smack against your cheek.

The sudden impact made you jolt, as you let out a sweet, startled cry. The sound sent a surge of need through him, and he swore he felt himself harden further.

“You liked that, huh?” he mused in curiosity. Without waiting for an answer, he did it again, revelling in your shivering response.

Pulling you against him, Spencer adjusted your position until you were seated in his lap, your back pressed flush to his chest. One arm wrapped around your waist to hold you close, while his other hand rose to cup your breast. His hips snapped into you roughly, each thrust pulling an uncontrollable whimper from your throat.

“You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he praised, his voice hoarse as his fingers pinched and rolled your nipple. The combination made your head loll back against his shoulder, surrendering to his touch. He seized the opportunity to claim your lips in a needy, devouring kiss. Tongues tangled messily, swallowing your shared moans.

As your pleasure mounted, your walls began to flutter around him, drawing a strained groan from his throat.

“Are you close again, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper against your lips.

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to form the word. “Spencer… fuck, I’m so close.”

“Then cum around me,” he encouraged. “I know you want it.”

Your breath hitched. “Will you cum inside of me?”

For a heartbeat, he stilled. “I…” His gaze flickered with hesitation, cheeks flushed. “I want to cum on your face.”

Your pupils blew wide, desire sparking anew at his confession. A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His fingers dipped between your thighs, circling your clit in rapid, precise motions. The pressure tipped you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you let go.

Barely able to recover, you slid from his lap onto your knees, settling in front of him. Spencer’s breath hitched at the sight of you—flushed and disheveled, your sweat-slick skin glowing in the low light. Your lips, swollen from his kisses, parted expectantly.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away. You looked angelic… and he was about to ruin you.

It didn’t take long. His cock twitched, thick ropes of cum spilling over your face and dripping down to your chest. His jaw went slack, his chest heaving as he watched you collect some of his release with your thumb and slip it into your mouth. The sight of you sucking on your finger almost unraveled him all over again.

Unable to bring himself to leave your side, he grabbed his sleeve, using it to gently clean you up. Once satisfied, you leaned forward, resting your head on his thigh, basking in the comfortable silence that followed.

His phone buzzed suddenly on the couch, shattering the moment. Spencer groaned, grabbing the device and quickly silencing it with a flick of his finger.

You laughed softly, your voice tinged with amazement. “What was that about?”

Spencer shrugged, tossing the phone aside without a second glance. “I can be late for one day.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

[alana-reid-2005]

we all joke about and objectify this man, but do we stop to think how sad his story is? he grew up friendless and ruthlessly bullied for being a literal genius. constantly picked on by his coworkers, and he’s never in on the joke. he’s always being laughed at, never laughed with because no one understands his existentialist humor. he never has plans or places to go on the weekend after work. he goes to work then goes to his lonely home with all his books to keep him company. on occasion, he haunts the chess table at the park or meets with an old professor. no one takes the time to appreciate his weird little quirks. no one took the time to ask him if he was okay after the several traumatic incidents he endured. no one takes care of him because everyone’s too busy leaving. he could be a male model, yet he’s never thought of himself as attractive. when he does find love, he’s brutally stripped of it before he can blink. spencer reid, the lonely genius who learned of love too late and loss too soon.

[reidmotif]

I’ve Got My Eye On You

Summary: Reader is a Special Surveillance agent assigned to spy on Spencer. He manages to see through her cover, and thoroughly enjoys the confrontation that follows.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, f!masturbation, slight dubcon regarding recorded sex, heavily based on that one scene in scandal, iykyk.

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

I’d always been good at watching people. 

My life had been spent mostly to myself, divulging the information people offered without even realizing. When you talk less, you learn that body language, passing remarks, or even the quirk of an eyebrow gives away more than anyone ever realized– maybe more than an actual conversation at times. 

And I took it all in stride, not a single detail left unanalyzed. People were always surprised when I’d mention my observations, finding a way to explain a seemingly unexplainable situation, those around me wondering how on Earth I could’ve been privy to that. I’d always shrug at their queries. 

Pay more attention, I guess. 

It wasn’t a surprise that I’d ended up here, I suppose, in the end, as an Investigative Specialist for the FBI. I doubt that my listening skills were exactly what landed me the job, but I’d like to believe they contributed more than they actually did. Regardless, I’d never expected the result of the decisions I’d made over the years to lead to this– involved in spying on an agent of our own. 

The infamous "Dr Reid".

His specific circumstances had been shrouded in secrecy and mystery, apparently having just been let out of prison. (Prison? How’s he an agent then? Anyway, not my problem).

 The Bureau had been curious about erratic behavior on his part, and the string of discrepancies involving the unit he was involved in. Apparently, there had been multiple unforeseen and unprecedented events all occurring under the same team in a relatively small time-frame, and despite smaller investigations, nothing came out of them to warrant any real disciplinary action.  Probably why they brought me in, in the hopes of changing that. 

I’d been assigned to put up small, virtually undetectable cameras and listening devices within his apartment. 24/7 home surveillance, no exceptions. I couldn’t help but think that the guy really should invest in better apartment security, despite how easy his naivete made my job. His lack of caution surprised me, given the details I’d been given. For a guy who had a penchant for being framed by the ghosts of his past, he sure didn’t live like it.  Even as an FBI agent, he essentially had no technology to counter my own, and the height of his protection was a standard deadbolt. Was he insane? Unaware, somehow? Only time would tell, I suppose. And I had plenty of that, to watch and deduce the nature of his mind on my own terms. 

My time spent with Spencer resulted in one, overwhelming conclusion. Spencer Reid lived a relatively quiet life. His apartment was barely used, honestly, given the sporadic nature of his job. (Which was a shame, in my opinion, because it’s a nice apartment).  When he was at home, he seemed to remain quite unassuming. The positions I’d see him assume often were that of being hunched over on an aging leather sofa, pouring himself into grading papers, or creating lesson plans for his students. Oh, right. Did I mention he was also a professor? He is. I’d assume he likes the job, given how much of himself he gives into it, or maybe that was just who he was as a person. I wasn’t sure yet. 

I monitored his life outside of the apartment occasionally as well, just to see what intel I could gather with further investigation. There wasn’t much. Coffee shops. Book shops. Coffee. Books. Coffee- God, does the guy do anything else with his life? 

Most days, though, I’d liken him to butter spread too thinly over toast. Sleepless from nightmares that would have him walking around his apartment until daylight broke through the window panes. I felt exhausted just watching the guy, and it seemed insane that he could continue to live on when he left that apartment at the break of dawn. It didn’t seem like he had anyone to talk to, honestly. From what I was seeing, he wasn’t a threat to the Bureau, just a sad, middle-aged man who’d been dealt the most unfair of hands in life. 

I’m sure there’s a moral somewhere in all that. To waste your potential on something that gives so little back. Oh, well. My report was nearly finished at this point, and the most I could recommend the higher-ups was to get Spencer a better therapist, maybe. This one wasn’t really helping, it seemed. Besides that, his personal behavior wasn’t indicative of anything worrying to the interests of those managing him. 

At long last, it was my final night of watching him. Coincidentally, the date lined up with Halloween, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to finally be free of this specific survey job. Don’t get me wrong, Spencer seemed nice- but God, his life was boring. I don’t want to say it was like watching paint dry,  out of respect, but previous targets had offered at least some part of their life to be interested within. Spencer had nothing. No friends over, no gossip-like phone conversations, no drunk wanderings home. Nothing! I know he didn’t sign up to be watched, but God. 

Like, come on. Give me anything here. 

Needless to say, I’d become accustomed to the quiet, and this night was no different. If he was following schedule, he should be home right about … now.��

Now? 

Now… 

Silence. 

Spencer was definitely a creature of habit, so to not see him adhere to the routine he’d so meticulously stuck to in the past was a bit jarring, but I assumed he was just running late. 

A few hours later, I reasoned he must be running really really late. It was bordering on midnight, and he still wasn’t home. I checked train schedules, possible reports of a car crash, just about anything that could keep him from his scheduled appearance at home. 

I was just about to call my supervisor to look into whether or not he’d been called out on a surprise case, but that’s when the door of his apartment creaked open, and I felt my shoulders deflate in relief. Okay, he was home. He was going to go to bed and- 

He wasn’t alone. 

Spencer was dressed in all black, a leather belt adorned with a gold belt buckle being the only color his outfit brought. He wore tiny devil’s ears upon his head, the headband pushing down on the mop of curls that sat atop his head. He looked absolutely delicious, if I must say myself, and it seemed the woman in his arms would agree with me. 

He practically pulled her into his apartment, kicking his door in with his leg before slightly fumbling with the lock. As soon as the mechanism slipped into place, his hands were all over her, pressing her flush against his body, as if he couldn’t bear to have any space between them. 

For all the time I’d been watching him, none of his behavior indicated the presence of any kind of significant other, so this girl must be a stranger. If this is how Spencer treated strangers though, I was surprised he didn’t have a barrage of women lining up at his door every night. 

His lips absolutely devoured the girl, his hand cradling the side of her face, before his thigh slipped in between her legs, possibly to soothe a building ache that had built up there in the time they’d spent together, which I found entirely possible, considering I, personally, was heated from simply watching. 

I watched the pixels on the screen with such precision, innocuous shades of red, green and blue painting the most sinful of images. I found myself noting the way his hand snuck up the girls’ dress, the way her breathing hitched as she pulled back, watching as Spencer presumably played with her clit. I could feel myself squeezing my thighs together, recognizing just how wrong it was to be turned on by the scene in front of me, but I couldn’t stop myself. It wasn’t as if this was the first time a target had behaved sexually in front of me. (Or in front of the camera, I suppose.) I’d seen and heard just about anything you could think of, but this was different- in a way. To see Spencer so filthy, so confident, so- interesting. It lit a fire in me that burned with every passing moment he touched this girl. 

I’m able to watch him circle over her panties in a way that has her groaning directly into his ear, a smug grin plastering his face as he watches her every reaction. 

“Like that?” He murmurs, and I’ve never heard his voice so fucking deep.

She nods frantically, and it only serves to widen his grin. I can feel myself rocking slightly in my own chair, doing anything to try and soothe the fast growing arousal within me, unable to stop from imagining myself in her place. His hands, the feel of hot breath down my neck- 

I’m stopped dead in my tracks, however, when his eyes suddenly shift to the camera closest to him, his eyebrow raising, as if in challenge. He continues to whisper in the girl’s ear, and has the galls to wink. I’m horrified, a very sudden and intense heat rising to my cheeks. I can only watch for a second more, before he’s suddenly pulling her away, and I realize he’s taken her  within one of the only blind spots within the apartment. 

I’m scrambling to turn off the feed, stunned into silence whilst, my heart beating uncontrollably and eccentrically. Oh god. He knew. He knew and he did that?! 

I stare into the empty space, a multitude of thoughts inhabiting my brainscape. On one hand, the aplomb shown in that situation was commendable, since most people would react to the knowledge that they’d been secretly watched in their own home for the past few months in a much more hostile way. On the other hand, how did he even acquire that knowledge? The cameras were virtually undetectable, and he’d never let on that he was aware of their presence, and I’d know, considering how closely I’d watched him. 

I shake off the thoughts, focusing on something other than the overwhelming mortification coursing through me now.  

Alright, tomorrow, get into his apartment, remove the cameras, and hopefully never have to look at the man again. In any capacity, honestly. 

When daylight broke, I turned on the cameras for the final time, a bit more sheepish, knowing he was aware of the devices plaguing his home. However, it seemed like he was once again pretending like he wasn’t aware of the looming existence of them, sending his female companion off her merry way once they woke up, before going about his normal routine, heading out of the apartment for what was most likely his morning coffee and then afternoon lecture at the university. 

That was my cue. I turned off the cameras,  quickly making my way out to sneak into his residence, the heavy door offering little resistance to my advances, my movements quiet and undetectable. 

I’m  in the process of removing the final camera I had placed in his bedroom, hidden behind a copy of  The Sign of Four. Doyle. He had good taste, I could give him that. 

I’m just about to turn around and get the hell out of there, when I hear a voice behind me. 

“I noticed that one first, you know.”

I turn around slowly, embarrassed and slightly fearful to find Spencer’s eyes meeting mine. I’d watched him for so long, but seeing him now– his eyes were so beautiful. The camera didn’t do him justice.

He continues, despite the silence. “The other ones were harder to spot, I’ll give you that, but once I knew where they were, it was a bit obvious, don’t you think?” 

I’m speechless. My mouth is agape, and all he seems to do is smile at my lack of prose. 

“Don’t look so surprised. I know this apartment. I’m not here a lot, but I spend enough time to know when things have been shifted around.” His tone is cheeky, and he pauses, almost theatrically to add on:

“I’m sure you knew that though.”  His smile turns into more of a smirk. 

God, did he have to be so hot?

“Are you going to complain to the Bureau?” I manage out, keeping my eyes steady on him. 

“Did you find anything of note to tell them?” He responds, tilting his head with curiosity. 

I shake my head vehemently. “No, um. Nothing pertinent to say.” I get my words out in a hurry, my gaze continually trained on him. 

He meets my eyes with the same stare. “Then I don’t have much of a reason to complain.” 

I nod solemnly. I’m wondering where this situation will lead- what either of our next moves are. Before I can ponder long though, he surprises me and takes a step closer.

“I saw you, you know.” He says. “Thought I was going insane when the same pretty girl kept showing up at the bookstore and coffee shop out of the blue, but I’ve never been one to believe in coincidences.” 

“Oh.” I whisper. I really wasn’t as good as I thought I was. 

“You really shouldn’t beat yourself up.” He says, chuckling with some mirth. “Again, I’m observant. I notice these things. That, and you’re pretty.” He says, forward. “So, more of a reason to notice.” 

“Oh.” I reply, yet again, dumbfounded by the events currently transpiring. 

“Yes, oh.” He chuckles, before he starts to move closer yet again. “Tell me. Were you watching last night?” He murmurs, his voice dropping a bit deeper as he directly addresses the elephant in the room. 

I give a movement of affirmation, because at this point, what could he do? What could I do? 

“So you saw.” He mumbles, moving to position himself right in front of me, his eyes darkened and laser focused on my figure. 

“Yes.” I whisper, my voice hushed as our proximity decreased, his breath fanning out over my face now. I’d be uncomfortable, if I wasn’t so distracted. 

“Tell me.” He whispers, letting his calloused finger finally touch my skin, running down my neck. “Did it turn you on? Watching me with her?” 

I feel the familiar heat of embarrassment rise to my cheeks, my eyes suddenly widening not only due to the sudden proximity, but also the scandalous nature of his words. Did he mean for me to watch? Was that his plan all along? What was this sick and twisted game he was playing?

“Did it.. get you off?” He whispers, his lips leaning in to kiss lightly at the side of my neck where his finger once was. 

I freeze, leaning into his touch and going statue-like all at once. I can’t help the shakiness of my voice when I reply. “I.. wasn’t neutral.” 

“Mm.” He murmurs, kissing now at my jawline. “Did you get off? When she did?” He whispers.

“I didn’t watch that long.” I reply, helplessly, as I feel his hands start to envelop my waist, pulling me closer to him. 

“What a shame.” He mumbles. “I think you would’ve liked the show. I did it for you.” 

At this point, I can barely speak, a slight moan escaping me instead of a coherent reply as his lips continue to leave warm, wet kisses on the expanse of my flesh. 

“I’m sure you’re curious.” He says, his voice soft and seductive. “Would you like me to show you what we did?”

There’s no hesitation, finally, a resounding thought I can translate from brain-to-mouth for him, in complete certainty.

“Yes.” I manage out, breathlessly. 

He makes a noise of satisfaction, quickly pushing me onto the bed. 

“I’d already gotten her wet by touching her before, but if my suspicions are correct.” He murmurs, his hands working deftly to undo my jeans and feel the wetness that had accumulated in between my thighs. “You already are.” He finishes. 

I let out a small whimper as his fingers touch the heated flesh, unable to help my sensitivity to his small, calculated strokes over my clit through my underwear. His fingers starts to move a bit more aggressively, upon feeling the wet patch that had formed there, the flimsy fabric doing little to hide the stickiness he was now collecting on his fingers. He quickly pulls them off as well though, bringing his slightly damp fingers to his mouth, tasting the hint of my arousal that had accumulated there. His eyes were dark, watching my face for any reaction, and in that moment, I know all he can see is pure want. 

I can see the same hunger within his eyes, and I feel a rush of pride as the approval radiates off of him. 

“What next?” I whisper, already desperate for his next slew of ministrations. I don’t care how needy I looked. I was needy. I’d spent so long watching him, and now he was here.

“She wanted my mouth.” He murmurs, kneeling at the edge of the bed. His thumb brushes over my clit, his tongue running against plump, pink lips, wetting them, watching over me with a predatory gaze. 

Before I can respond, he’s suddenly everywhere, ducking his head and allowing his tongue to brush over my sex in broad, wet strokes. My response is immediate, my hips bucking up to meet him in a frenzied motion. It seems that he relishes in whatever control he can have in this situation, because he quickly holds down my hips in a firm grip, squeezing the fat there while he continued to ravage me. 

I can barely look at him, pretty brown locks splayed in his face, his lips moving hypnotically against my cunt. Little whimpers escape me, absolutely aching for more. He seems to catch on, and flicks his tongue over me, before suckling against my clit. It’s wet, messy, and the picture of debauchery– and it’s enough to drive me over the edge, my hands gripping the sheets as I cry out his name. 

He seems to be unaffected, getting off his knees, his mouth glistening with my release. The sight makes me wish he could do it again, but before I can get a word in, he’s positioning himself over me, caging me against the bed. 

“Then I fucked her.” He whispers, starting to undo his belt with his free hand. “Can I?” 

I nod, feeling a wave of anticipation, before registering the sensation of the head of his cock nudging my entrance. I feel my chest tighten, watching him with bated breath, absolutely exhilarated. 

“Relax.” He whispers, kissing the lobe of my ear. “You’re in good hands.” 

He utters the last word, before sliding into me, a hushed gasp leaving the both of us. He groans in pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the feel of my warm, wet cunt around him. He takes a moment, before he’s setting a steady pace, his hips bucking rhythmically into me in a way that’s designed to bring us both so much pleasure. 

I can’t help the string of moans that come out with every slide of his cock inside me, my legs wrapping around his waist, urging him closer than he already is. My hands grip onto his shirt, clawing onto the fabric to find any purchase, wanting– no, needing him on me. 

Is it odd to wish a stranger could crawl into your skin itself? 

“Fuck, Spencer.” I moan, unabashedly. “You feel so good.”

“You do too.” He groans, his arms braced on either side of my head before gently lowering himself to crash his lips against mine in a messy kiss. 

I can feel myself barreling towards release, as is he, if the twitch of his cock inside me were to mean anything. It’s not long before his hand reaches in between where our bodies are met, rubbing my clit in fast, small circles. It’s intense in the best way possible, my body barely being able to process how good it felt in the moment. 

“Come for me.” He moans, in between kisses. “Wanna feel you around me. Please.”

I can’t help but obey his words, my cunt convulsing around him in obedience as he subsequently finds his release inside me, groaning loudly as his hips thrust erratically. 

He pulls out, and we’re a tangle of limbs, sweaty and sated, breathing heavy. 

Of course, it’s him, yet again, to break the silence. 

“Two things.” He mumbles, breathlessly. 

“Mm.” I reply, weakly, my head a mess of airiness and complacency after the orgasm he’d just brought me to. 

“One. I want your name.” He says, rolling to his side to get a better look at my face. 

“That can be arranged.” I murmur, nodding dreamily. 

“Second.” He whispers, kissing my cheek. His voice takes on a teasing quality to it, before leaning to brush his lips against my ear.  

“You missed a camera. Behind the plant. They don’t stop recording, do they?” 

okay wowww. clearly this was meant for halloween, if you couldn't tell! this is one of those pieces where i'm like.. hmm .. do i like this? question mark? do i want to put it out? hmm .. but regardless, i hope you guys enjoyed it!! please, please like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed!!! it is sooo important as an author that i get some feedback and know what you guys think, in any capacity. i truly appreciate all of it <33 thank you for reading, thank you for everything!!!

[astrophileous]

Love Bugs (Pt. 06)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: You and Derek Morgan have an arrangement. At work, your relationship is strictly business. Under the sheets, it's all about pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less. Until, of course, your feelings start to get involved. Your situation is complicated enough without the unexpexted predicament that suddenly befalls upon you. But with a maniac serial killer on the loose, will you ever get the chance to make everything right?

Warning(s): cursing--there's a lot of it--like a lot, psychopathic behaviors, being held captive, verbal and physical violence, degrading nicknames, talks of death and unaliving someone, strangulation, PLS READ WITH CAUTION BECAUSE THIS PART IS REALLY GRIM I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING

Word Count: 4200-ish

Tag(s): I'm tagging everyone who requested to be tagged prior to the long hiatus, pls tell me if you'd like to NOT be included in the tag list for future updates, thanks! @marvelousgoldroses @jay-2s-world @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @maxinehufflepuffprincess @cat-or-kitten @littleshadow17 @itzz-me-duh @geeksareunique @paisleebubbles @whateverrrrrrrrs @crazyunsexycool @louderfortheback @wifeyofeveryone

Author's Note: HI EVERYONE HOW ARE YOU?? I know this is long overdue, but pls enjoy the new part of love bugs! I'm so happy to be posting again and I hope you like what I've got in plans for this series. I think we only have one or maybe two chapters left for this story (depending whether I want to write an epilogue or not lol) but in the meantime, pls enjoy this part and don't forget to LIKE+REBLOG+COMMENT !!! thank you 🌹

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

The bullpen of FBI headquarters was still reeling in the aftermath of a Derek-Morgan-shaped hurricane.

Emily was just about to enter the vicinity again when she heard the tail end of Derek's furious words, right before Hotch had ordered him to retreat.

"What was that about?" Emily asked as she approached Rossi's side, eyes never straying from the two men who soon disappeared into Hotch's office.

Rossi never addressed Emily's question. Instead, he gestured for her--and everybody else in the room--to be quiet with a finger on his lips, before he pressed the unmute button on the telephone.

"Hello?"

The UnSub's head jerked at Rossi's unfamiliar voice. You were barely successful in getting him to calm down following Derek's unexpected outburst, but the sound of Rossi's voice was threatening to throw all of those poor attempts straight out of the window.

"Who is that?" he demanded warily. "Where's Agent Hotchner?"

"He had to step away for a second," Rossi notified. "I'm SSA David Rossi. I also work with Agent Hotchner and Agent (Y/L/N)."

"I know who you are."

"Yeah? I still don't know who you are, though."

A responding groan vibrated from the other line. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Do you think I'm fucking dumb?"*

"No one thinks anything here, pal. Just wanted to know who I was speaking to, that's all." At the UnSub's clear signs of agitation, Rossi quickly added, "It'd be nice to know the person who clearly means a lot to (Y/N)."

Rossi's reassurance obviously managed to trigger the intended effect it had sought. Everyone could see how the UnSub physically deflated at Rossi's words, meaning that hopefully he was soon going to let his guard down.

"I can't tell you who I am," your assailant said, still adamant, although his resolve was wearing thin with each word he had stated. "You're just gonna use it to track me down and keep us apart."

The last syllable of his sentence was emphasized by the weight of his dagger on the side of your neck. You instinctively winced at the unwelcomed touch of the blade before schooling your expression once more so your captor wouldn't notice.

"I promise you, no one is going to do that," Rossi said.

"He's telling the truth," you decided to chime in, surprising everyone including the UnSub whose grip of the dagger had teetered dangerously closer to your pulse point at the sudden proclamation. "They are good people. They don't break promises or tell lies. I promise you, nothing will come between us."

The silence that fell next was heavy with the UnSub's hesitation. Bracing yourself, you forced your head to tilt back, locking eyes with him who was still standing like a guard dog right behind you.

"I swear, Darling," you vowed.

The lull in your voice--or perhaps the fact that you had called him darling in front of your team, which he could arguably take as a display of affection--must have stirred up something in his twisted mind. He actually preened at you before his eyes went right back towards the direction of the camera on the wall.

"My name is Arthur," he confessed.

A particular thread of memory in your brain immediately lit up.

Back in the bullpen, JJ and Spencer were finally returning with documents containing your phone records that they had promptly asked Kevin to gather. Spencer didn't waste any time before perching himself on his desk to start rummaging through the thick pile of files.

"Arthur?" Rossi repeated the name, eyes flicking over to Garcia with a silent request to start cross-referencing the name with the other names they had acquired so far in the investigation.

The tech analyst didn't need to be told twice. She began typing furiously on her laptop as Rossi's attention was drawn back towards the projector.

The UnSub hadn't moved an inch. His hand was still just as sturdy on your shoulder. The blade was also still just as cold as it pressed onto your skin.

One wrong move, and you would end up no better than a slaughter animal on the cold hard ground.

"Do you have a last name, Arthur?" Rossi asked.

The entire bullpen held their breath in anticipation. Rossi had planted the bait as strategically as he could. It was up to the UnSub to take it and slip up the one information that would give them a major lead to end this case once and for all.

But before the UnSub could respond, a muffled beeping resonated in the air, through the telephone line, and finally into the bullpen. The sound was enough to make your assailant faltered.

"I have to go."

It was the last thing he uttered before the line, along with the livestream, went completely dead.

The atmosphere was laden with restlessness as everyone tried to make peace with the fact that they had just lost the only mean of communication they had with you. Without the feed from the livestream, no one could possibly know what was going on. The team would have no idea if something were to happen to you.

They would have no idea how to determine whether you were alive or dead.

"Did you find anything yet, Garcia?" Rossi questioned, although in all honestly, it sounded more like a desperate plea.

The thick regret behind Garcia's eyes gave Rossi the answer he needed to know.

"I can't find any Arthur in our files, sir," Garcia informed.

"Anything from her phone records? What about the hospital?" Rossi tried again.

Emily shook her head almost remorsefully.

"Nothing yet," Spencer spoke up from his place on the desk. "Not a single thing stands out from her records."

"What now?" JJ sighed, exhaustion and worry beginning to decorate the lines on her face.

The whole bullpen stood still, as if everyone was waiting for a slice of miracle to descend into the room, holding a map that would eventually lead the team to where you were still being held captive. But such a map didn't exist in this piece of reality, and the BAU knew that they were running out of time.

"Garcia, did you record the livestream by any chance?" Spencer asked at last.

"Yeah, of course I did."

Penelope punched a few keys on her keyboard before the projector once again came alive with the footage from the livestream.

"Can you fast forward to the very end?" Spencer requested. "And then play it again backwards to the beginning."

"What are you thinking, Spence?" JJ wondered.

"I don't know. I just... maybe there's a detail we missed. At this point, even the smallest piece of clue is worth pursuing."

Several pair of eyes glued themselves on the screen as the livestream footage ran backward at a faster speed. Bated breaths waited in tension for just the tiniest hint that the team could scour to determine your location.

"Wait. What was that?" Spencer interjected. "Garcia, play that again."

"What? What is it?" Emily spoke up.

"Look at her hand." Spencer stood up from the desk, approaching the screen to get a better look. "She's knocking against the chair. Garcia, zoom in on her hand. The left one."

Penelope did as she was asked. "Is that--"

"It's morse code," Rossi muttered, realization overtaking his countenance.

"What is she saying?" JJ questioned.

"A-U--" Spencer began spelling out loud, "--T... Auto. She's spelling auto."

"Auto?" JJ's forehead creased. "As in... auto shop?"

"Her records said she went to a mechanic a week ago," Spencer recalled. JJ immediately rummaged through the papers on Spencer's desk, but the pages flipping inside of Spencer's mind moved at a thousand times more speed than any normal pair of eyes ever could. "Dinozzo's Auto Service, 894 Southwell Street."

"Got it," Penelope chimed in from her place in front of the laptop. "Dinozzo's Auto Shop. Originally owned by Carlo Dinozzo before it was passed down to his two sons after his death a year ago."

"Any of them named Arthur?" Rossi asked

"Nope. Luca and Piero."

"What about the employees?" Emily suggested.

"No. I'm not seeing any Arthur anywhere near that place."

"We profiled that the UnSub could be holding down a steady job in his everyday life," JJ said. "He might not even be related to that place. Maybe (Y/N) encountered him there by chance?"

"Nah, I doubt it." Rossi shook his head. "The bastard's too sophisticated to leave anything up to chance like that. He must have found a way to orchestrate it one way or another."

"There must be a connection somewhere, then. No way he just chose a random place off the map," Emily muttered. "We should cross-reference the name to anyone associated with the Dinozzos."

Penelope began to frantically type something into her laptop. "We've still got three names here. Oh, never mind. Two names, 'cause one of them is dead."

"What do we have on them?" Spencer asked.

"First is Arthur Doyle. He went to high school with Luca and Piero Dinozzo, works in a local company, and looks like he travels a lot for his job," Penelope explained. "There's also an Arthur Harrison, works as an accountant in the heart of Arlington. His dad and Carlo Dinozzo were long-time pals. Apparently, his dad was an accountant too and used to handle the shop's finances before Arthur inherited the office. Oh."

"What? What'd you find?"

"Arthur was engaged," Penelope murmured, "to a Claire Dumont. They were gonna get married last year but the wedding was called off just one month before the D-day."

"Where's Claire now?" JJ asked.

"She moved to Ohio shortly after the breakup, and... oh my God. Guess what?" Penelope looked up, her eyes widening almost comically. "She just announced her engagement three months ago."

Spencer hummed. "That could be the stressor."

An image of a woman suddenly appeared on screen, right above the paused footage of your hand. Everyone stared at the picture in shock.

"That's Claire Dumont," Penelope murmured.

JJ held her breath. "She and (Y/N) could be sisters."

"We've found our guy," Rossi declared. "Garcia, pull up every known address associated with this man. And hurry, we don't have much time."

"I have three properties so far connected to Arthur Harrison. Sending the addresses to all of your phones."

As JJ, Spencer, and Rossi rushed to exit the bullpen, Emily turned around and called out to the others, "I'm grabbing Morgan and Hotch!"

Without stopping to knock, Emily pushed open the door to Hotch's office, ignoring the slivers of tension dancing around in the air.

"We may have something," Emily announced to the room. "We think we know where (Y/N) is."

Your assailant--Arthur, as it turned out--pulled his phone out and pressed a few buttons in, silencing the beeping. Once the noise was gone, the room was quiet again.

He looked at you, then. Piercingly. You squirmed underneath his scrutiny.

"Wait here," he eventually said. "I'll be back."

Without taking a second to breathe, Arthur flew past you and towards the direction he had appeared from earlier.

"Wait! Wait. Where are you going?"

The sound of steps ceased on top of concrete. You waited with bated breath for his response. But the only sound ever came was that of the metal door, and as quickly as you could count to three, he was gone.

At last, you were alone once more.

The traces of adrenaline had begun to dissipate out of your system, leaving you in a shivering mess inside that damp concrete room. Once again, you attempted with all of your might to free yourself from the state of confinement you were in. But the metal cuffs binding you to the chair only dug further into your skin the more you tried to escape, while the chair itself stayed nailed in place no matter how hard you tried to rock it.

After a few more minutes of futile attempts, you were forced to face the reality of your situation.

You were never going to get yourself out of that dingy place alone.

Huffing a breath, you knew that there was nothing more you could do except to hope that your team found the hidden message you had left for them to solve.

And with that last thought conquering every room your head, you let yourself succumb to the impending darkness.

You woke up gasping for air.

It took you a few seconds to remember where you were, to remember that you weren't back in the comfort of your apartment and instead, you were still holed up in the darkened cold room where your abductor had been keeping you captive.

It took a few seconds more to realize that the drowning dream you just had might have been a tad bit more real than you initially thought.

Still reeling in shock, you peered up and locked eyes with your abductor, eyes barely registering the empty bucket he was holding in one of his hands. It didn't take a genius to conclude that he was the one responsible for your drenched state.

"W-what?" you stuttered meekly. "What's going on?"

He only stared at you in response.

"Arthur?"

You shrieked loudly when Arthur threw the empty bucket against the wall, sending a resounding "bang" throughout the whole room and breaking the plastic object into two misshaped pieces.

"Arthur--" you gasped, searching for your voice that seemed to have disappeared beneath the layers of brewing fear, "--w-what... what are you... what's going on? Talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to you, you fucking bitch."

The beating inside your chest fastened. Before you could ask yet another question, Arthur had lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging your head back so you could stare directly into his eyes.

"You're a fucking liar," he seethed. "You lied to me. Everything you said was a lie, wasn't it?!"

"I don't--" you hissed, trying to ignore the biting pain in your scalp, "--I don't understand what you're talking about."

"Stop fucking lying!!!"

A sharp smack reverberated in the air.

It was only when the ringing in your ear grew louder did you realize that Arthur had slapped your cheek.

Hard.

Ignoring the tingling on the side of your face, you lifted your head once more. The room was spinning, tilting your balance left and right, but you held your ground through it all.

"What did I lie to you about, Arthur?" you asked carefully.

He threw something at your feet. It clanged against the hard ground below before landing face up near your toes.

It was your phone.

But the fact that Arthur somehow had your phone in his possession wasn't what caused the sick feeling to stir northward in your belly.

It was what you were seeing on the now cracked screen of your phone: a picture of you and Derek. A selfie that you had impulsively taken of the two of you in bed after one of your nighttime escapades.

For awhile there, you had briefly forgotten about that photo. It was another lost memory in the ocean of rubble left behind in the wake of your fallout with Derek. Seeing that photo again after such a long time triggered waves of emotions that you had been desperately burying for the past few weeks.

The longing, the guilt, the heartache.

The regrets.

The regret of ending your little arrangement so abruptly in such a hostile manner. The regret of not telling Derek sooner about the baby. The regret of maybe never being able to see Derek for one last time.

But most importantly, it was the regret over not revealing the truth of what your heart felt for him that was eating you alive.

"You're fucking him," Arthur fumed, eyes blazing with an indescribable fury that made your entire body shudder.

"Arthur, please... I can explain--"

"Shut the fuck up."

He stepped forward once more, crowding your personal place and rendering you helpless underneath his psychopathic gaze.

"Tell me the truth, and if you dare lie--" Arthur paused, his hand disappearing behind his back before it appeared again with a dagger that he promptly pressed against your abdomen, "--don't ever dream of meeting your child."

"Okay. Okay, I'll tell you the truth."

"You're fucking him, aren't you?"

The bile in your throat had tripled in size. Swallowing it down, you tried to even your voice out as you answered, "I was."

"Ha," he scoffed. "I knew it. You fucking whore. You're no better than any of them."

To your relief, he eventually chose to retract the dagger and stepped away from you, opting to circle the room like a distressed lion in a cage. But even with the blade no longer touching your skin, you knew very well that the danger wasn't over yet and that things could escalate even further in a matter of seconds if you weren't careful.

"Arthur," you called out to him softly, slowly, as to not startle him and risk doing something that would trigger a psychotic break. "Arthur, please. You have to listen to me. That arrangement ended long ago. It meant nothing to me. It happened long before I met you."

Arthur's voice echoed coldly as he replied, "I don't believe you."

"Please, Arthur--"

"That's his child, isn't it?" he cut you off, pointing the tip of the dagger at your belly. "What he said on the phone. He said my child. That's because it's his. You're having Derek Morgan's child."

"No--"

"I thought you were different. I thought you were the one." The dagger in his hand shook with venom. "But you're just the same as the rest of them."

"I'm not. Please, I'm not--"

"I have to start searching again. For the one. You're not her, which means she's still out there."

"Arthur--"

"I'll have to get rid of you."

"Arthur, please!" Your voice cracked, leaking of terror and desperation larger than anything you had ever known. When something wet touched the side of your nose, you realized then that you had started to cry. "Arthur, you have to believe me. I've ended everything with him. There's nothing between us anymore."

The words you uttered kept lingering in the air in a bubble made out of despair. But as if every single one of them had fallen on deaf ears, your captor paid no attention to them. Not even a single acknowledgment to your pleas.

Instead, he had begun taking careful steps forward. Silent and deadly, like a predator stalking its prey.

"Arthur, please! I choose you!"

To your shock, his steps faltered upon your words.

For a moment, you could taste relief on the tip of your tongue before it was washed away by the knowledge that you were not entirely out of the woods yet. But from the corner of your eye, you could see the slight loosening of Arthur's grip around the dagger. It filled you with enough hope to push forward.

"I'm choosing you, Arthur," you stated confidently, trying to convince him of your sincerity. "I don't care about Derek. I'm done with him. I'm done with my old life and everyone in it. I'm ready to leave everything behind to be with you. I choose you."

"You choose me?"

"Yes. I choose you to take care of me. To take care of this baby. The three of us can be a family. How does that sound?"

Seconds ticked into minutes. Minutes stretched into a long silence. The anticipation threatened to break your chest in half.

When he finally began to move once more, Arthur surprised you. He threw the dragger towards a darkened corner in the room, far away from his reach and, most importantly, far away from the possibility of it harming the growing life inside of you.

When Arthur took off the ski mask he had been wearing since the first time you opened your eyes in that harrowing place, you weren't at all surprised to see the face staring back at you. After all, it was the same face belonging to the man who had stopped his car for you when your own car had mysteriously broken down in the middle of the road just around two weeks prior. The same face who offered a business card of his friend's auto shop where you eventually went to get your vehicle fixed.

In retrospect, you should have been at least a little bit suspicious by the whole ordeal, but was it really your fault for choosing to put your trust in the good of humanity?

You knew there was no point in dwelling over what-ifs anymore. Arthur would've found a way, like any psychopath would, and you would've still ended up being tied up in this dismal room with him.

"Did you mean it?" Arthur asked.

You put on your best fake smile before answering, "Yes."

He grabbed you in his arms in just two long strides.

You wanted to throw up. You hated the feeling of his fingers stroking your back. You wanted to kick him away and get this piece of shit as far away from you and your baby as possible. You wanted to rid yourself of the lingering smell of him that had now undoubtedly transferred into your skin.

And maybe, you would've done all of those things if it was only your life that was on the line.

Unfortunately, fighting back was a luxury you couldn't afford anymore. So, you were forced to stay quiet instead, letting your captor whisper sweet nothings in your ear as if it didn't repulse you even being in the same room as him.

You were close to counting towards the 200s in your head when, suddenly, a clanking noise in the distance ripped your attention away.

In a split second, Arthur had peeled his arms from around you and got back on his feet. You knew then that he must have heard it, too.

You watched as he stepped away, dragging a crate from one corner of the room and placing it strategically underneath the only opening on the walls. He got on top of the crate to allow himself to peek outside, but whatever he saw must have startled him greatly. Because the next thing you knew, he had backed away from the wall in the blink of an eye, face crumpling in what could only be described as panic.

"The cops are here," he managed to sputter out.

"What?"

Your heart was hammering inside of its cage. The cops are here. You realized then that the team must have solved the clue you left them. They had solved the case, and they were coming to save you.

Derek was coming to save you.

"What did you do?!"

In a moment of weakness, you had allowed yourself to rejoice in the promise of freedom that you momentarily forgot you actually hadn't possessed it yet. The slip-up was miniscule, but it wasn't fleeting enough to escape the attention of your captor.

"You tricked me!" Arthur's voice boomed throughout the room, carrying rage unlike anything you had ever known. "I trusted you, and you lied to me! Again."

"Arthur--"

This time, there was no room for negotiation.

Arthur didn't even waste a millisecond before he dove forward. He was a lion, and you were the deer. His sharp teeth were calloused fingers, and they dug into your skin as Arthur tightened his grip around your throat.

"You lied to me. You lied to me."

He repeated those words like a mantra, his voice drowned out by desperate gasps as you tried to scour for what little bit of air you could still revel in. Your feet and arms shook beneath their restrains. Your head pounded from the pressure that had gathered inside your skull.

In that moment, death was imminent.

You could feel it coming. You could feel its claws clutching every single drop of life that was still remaining in your bloodstream. It was a battle between the two, and unfortunately, death was winning.

As the dark spots in your vision spread into a massive blotch, you allowed yourself to say goodbye. To life. To the world. To the memories of your loved ones whose faces you wished you could've memorized one last time.

To Derek, the one who could've been, the one you wished had been.

And to the child in your womb, the one you wished you could've met, the one you wished you could've saved.

When darkness came, you expected it to be cold and unforgiving, but as it turned out, darkness was easy. Simple. It welcomed you into its home with open arms, shielding you from the cruelties of the mundane world.

As it pulled you deeper into its abode, you could faintly hear the sound of your name being called repeatedly. It sounded similar. It sounded like home.

But this was your home now, so without turning back, you allowed darkness to lead you further down the dim path. Away from the pain and the heartbreaks of life. Far from the evil that lurked in the streets behind their well-crafted masks.

In the darkness, there was nothing.

In the darkness, you were nothing.

And nothing was exactly what you were going to be.

[reiderwriter]

Elevator Pitch

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 2k!!

Warnings: Smut, fingering, semi-public sex/ foreplay, praise kink-ish, some pet names completely ignored Spencer's germophobia to make this work 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Getting trapped in an elevator is never fun, but at least the attractive you're sharing the metal box of death with has an interesting idea about how you can pass the time.

A/N: This is just a really quick drabble for @imagining-in-the-margins Meet Cute challenge for this month!! I have an idea for another one that I'll post closer to Halloween too, so look forward to that alongside all the kinktober fics 👀

Check out my masterlist here!

You weren't planning on running late on your very first day on your new team, but here you were. You were scheduled to meet Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner in his office at 9 a.m. sharp, and here you were at 8:57, trapped inside an elevator. At least you weren't alone, but alone with a stranger, and one who seemed to be talkative in the worst way wasn't exactly ideal either. 

"Hey, don't panic. There are about 6 elevator-related deaths per year and about 100,000 injuries. I'm pretty confident about those statistics." He said, taking a sip of his coffee as he stood calmly by the door, pressing buttons and waiting for something to happen. 

"Oh god, I'm gonna die in here." You whimpered a little bit, falling to your knees and screwing your eyes shut. 

"No, I said we're not gonna die. Or its at least very unlikely." 

"And I'm supposed to trust you?" 

"Yes, I'm very good with numbers. Elevator accidents account for 0.00024% of all elevators in service in the US. There you don't have to panic anymore." Almost punctuating his words, the elevator gave a low groan and fell an inch lower, pushing him off balance and toppling to the floor right next to you. 

"That was just unfortunate timing." He said, his breath hitting your face. Your eyes opened again finally, and you noticed that due to his topple, he was way closer than before, face merely inches from your own. Whoever this overconfident stranger was, he was attractive. Distractingly so, as you didn't respond to his sentence the entire time he was there in front of you, words suddenly escaping you as you stared into his dark, wide eyes. 

"Mechanical issues are the cause of about 15.3% of elevator incidents. Since we're in Quantico, we can probably rule out foul play, which means that they'll probably have us back up and running in around 27 minutes." Opening his mouth ruined the fantasy for a minute, waking you up to the reality of your situation. 

"Did you work an elevator case or something, why do you know so much about this?" You regretted the question as soon as you asked it, as he launched into another speech. 

"I read the statistical reports published by the CPSC and the OSHA. It’s really interesting stuff actually, there are-”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way but I need you to shut up. I don’t think I can take any more statistics about my inevitable death by elevator. Can we do something else instead?”

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Can you… Can you hold my hand?” You felt yourself flush red the second the words left your mouth, and suddenly it was your turn to talk too much. “My mom used to do it when I was scared as a kid, and obviously you’re not my mom, and you don’t even know me, but I thought it could help comfort both of us. Human contact and touch is supposedly comforting in times of distress so I just thought…” He cut you off by silently grabbing your hand and settling into a seated position beside you and you sent a little prayer up to god to spare both your soul and your heart. 

Because Jesus Christ it was beating hard now.

“Oxytocin,” he said and you looked up at him with a questioning look. “Oxytocin is released when you come into contact with other people, it’s the reason newborn babies benefit from skin-to-skin contact and why humans enjoy petting domestic animals so much. And the whole sex to destress thing.” He nodded and looked away, but you could have sworn the oxygen was completely sucked out of the room when he mentioned sex. 

“Sex?” He turned to you as you said the word, as if processing the conversation you were in the middle of it. 

“Yeah, never heard of it?” You rolled your eyes and squeezed his hand in your own for a second, but his body was leaning closer into yours now, his entire attention on you, as if he expected you to answer the question. 

“Of course I have.” 

“And what do you think? Can it help you de-stress?” 

Your mouth moves before you can stop it. “Can we stop talking about this please, I’m already scared, I don’t need to be scared and horny.” You close your eyes and groan as his widen again, and suddenly you’re praying again, but this time you wouldn’t really mind if you became one of those six elevator malfunction deaths. 

“I don’t know, maybe it would help you. There are some studies that show that stress can have aphrodisiacal impacts in women, you know?” His voice was light, but your entire body stiffened as you looked into his eyes, trying to gauge what this stranger was offering. 

“So what, you’re suggesting I just get more and more turned on until I’m not worried about death?” 

“No, I’m suggesting I close the gap between us and distract you for a while.” You spared a glance down to his lips then, his tongue darting out to lick them and pulling you in closer. You nodded quickly, a small movement and he pushed his lips down into yours. 

He was soft at first, and you almost felt like pulling away and scalding yourself for engaging in risky behavior during a near-death experience. But just as you moved to pull away, his hand came up to your hair and you melted right back into him, the kiss deepening as you slanted your neck up to give up more of yourself to him. 

You barely feel his hands pulling you into his lap, but you’re suddenly there and so happy you are. Your free hand wanders up to his chest as he squeezes your connected digits again, sending your heart into a fit of palpitations. In a panic you pull away, groaning a little as you can feel his not stiff member poking between your legs. 

“Sorry, I don’t think we exchanged names. I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N..” 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” His lips fall down to your neck as he whispers the words into your skin, and you let your head fall back as his hands untangle from you and fall to your hips, encouraging your movements as you begin grinding over him.

“And you said we had twenty-seven minutes before we’re free, right?” 

“Whose the one talking too much now?” He bit into your neck sharply then, and you moaned out, battling the urge to let him take you there on the elevator floor. From it’s perch on your hip, his hand slips down and pops the button in your pants, pushing inside and finally touching you through your panties.

“That’s it, good girl, just keep grinding down on me.” Unconsciously, you press your hips into his hands, the pressure leaving you letting out a whistful sigh of relief. 

“God,… Should we be doing this here?” Your words were unsure, but your movements weren’t as you pushed yourself into him again and again, desperate to feel more of him as he rubbed circles into your clit, driving you closer and closer to your peak. 

“Let’s assume for now that the elevator malfunction has wiped out the CCTV,” he says, lips pressing against your skin as you lose yourself in his touch again. “We absolutely should be doing this.” 

His words fell straight to your core, and you felt yourself grow more aroused as you pondered being caught in such an intimate position with a stranger.

“You think you can cum right here, baby? Think you can give me one soon?” His words almost sent you over the edge, his smile widening as your hips twitched over his. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, please, don’t stop.” 

“Not so scared about this elevator anymore are you? Or did you want to spend your last moments coming undone in my hands?” With his words, you lost the ability to speak, simply moaning out your agreement to his every word. 

“I think I can hear someone talking through the walls, baby, you’re going to have to cum now for me, can you do that?” You nodded to him as he increased his pace on your words, and within seconds, you were letting it all out, head falling against his shoulder as you twitched through your orgasm. He pulled his hands out of your pants quickly and pressed a kiss to your lips, pulling you up to a standing position and making you look presentable as the doors to the elevator were finally pried open from the other side. 

“Hey, how are you guys holding up in there?” The call came from the maintenance staff, and you were sudden;y thankful that he’d finished you off when he did because as horny as you’d been, actually getting caught like that was something entirely different than the fantasy of it. 

You’re almost sorry that you have to leave when you do, suddenly absolutely involved in helping him “destress” the same way he’d helped you out. But he removes his hands from you and strikes up a conversation with the maintenance staff working to get your elevator level with the floor doors. You gravitate to the back of the stall, gripping the railing while your brain catches up to the circumstances. 

In no time, the elevator is back in working order, and you and your stranger are stepping foot on steady ground again, and saying your goodbyes.  

“Aaron Hotchner’s office is through those doors. Up the stairs to the left.” He smiles and nods at you before turning down the corridor and leaving you there by yourself. A glance at your clock tells you you’re too late to question his words, and how he even knew where you were going. You take off down the hall, ready to profusely apologize to your new boss and pledge to take the stairs for the rest of your days. 

When Hotch finally greets you, he has already heard about the elevator malfunction, and all is thankfully forgiven. You have to bite your tongue before asking if everyone on this floor is psychic. But you’re still late, and you have a case, so your introductions have to take place in the briefing room and you half-run, half-walk behind the older man as he makes his way down the hall. 

“Everyone we have a new team member today, please help her out for this first one and show her the ropes.” He introduces you by name, and you’re suddenly doing your best to memorize the names of a Prentiss, a Rossi, a Morgan, a JJ, and one Penelope Garcia. They seem to be waiting for someone else, but with the clock ticking, Penelope begins debriefing you on the next case.  

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice calls from the door, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand up in shock as everyone slowly turns to greet the newcomer. 

“What time do you call this?” Morgan laughs as the familiar man approaches, and a quick glance around tells you that the only seat left at the table, which had been so obviously reserved by the pile of paper files in contrast to everyone else's digital alternatives, was right next to you. 

“Spencer, we have a new team member, this is Y/N. She’ll be joining us on cases from today onwards.” Hotch quickly says, and you lock eyes with the man just as he falls into his seat. 

“I think we’re acquainted. Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Spencer Reid.” The room falls silent as he holds out his hand for you to shake, and you do your best to not show your shock and embarrassment on your face. You let your hand fall into his, the same one that you’d held earlier, the same one that had worked you up to the edge and then helped you pour over it, the same one that had pulled you together afterward. You said nothing after you’d finally pulled apart, waiting for him to make the next move once again. 

“I look forward to working with you.” 

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Dinner Time

Summary: Reader makes Spencer his first homemade dinner after getting out of prison, and they both realize he's got some adjusting to do.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Content warnings: Eating, mentions of weight loss, hurt Spencer, ambiguous ending

Word count: 1k

Spencer sat at the small table in your kitchen. You set it up with funky-patterned napkins, an extra big spoon, and a used candle lit in the middle; the whole shebang. You prepared his serving of your vegetable soup, the meal he requested to celebrate his arrival home. “Are you comfortable?” You ask as you hover over the stove.

He nods and picks up his napkin, observing the pattern and weight. “Where did you get these?”

“Your mom found them when we were shopping. She said they reminded her of your socks. Isn’t that sweet?”

He blew air through his nose before saying “Wow.” He rubbed his thumb along it, following the vivid stripes. You didn’t want to tell him how she teared up when she spotted them. How she held the set close to her chest made you feel sorry that she remembered without help.

“She took it as a sign you were coming home.” Half true. More like you convinced her it was. She asked you to buy them for that reason, to celebrate. “And now here we are.” You beamed as you say the words.

“That’s wonderful.” He looked up at you and smiled. You saw it in your peripheral as you opened a pack of oyster crackers. You knew he wanted to thank you for making time for her. He wanted to, but you insisted the thank yous were enough after he said it the fifth time in 24 hours. You flashed him a brief grin as a muted response, and he appreciated it.

“Alright,” You held the bowl carefully, mistakenly filling it to the brim. Due to the sheer joy of having him home, safe, and innocent (in the eyes of the law), you almost didn’t notice he had lost weight. The first time you saw his spine after getting out of the shower, you didn't even think it was possible for him. “Extra potatoes, per your request, mon amour.” You emphasize your terrible French accent which makes him chuckle.

“Merci, mon amour.” His flawless accent almost ruined the joke.

“Okay, show off, so happy you're home.” You sneered, and his smile was even wider. You grab your own bowl and sit by his side. His elbows somehow naturally find their way to the table, boxing in his soup like he was cornering prey. Spoon in hand, he dipped in the hefty bowl. Then he shoveled in some of those extra potato chunks with some tomato-y broth. Hungry, you thought, as he leaned over the bowl, steam gliding over his rough stubble. He took a second and third bite, despite his mouth being nearly stuffed.

You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t want to imagine the food he had to eat or meals he might have skipped because of poor quality (or other reasons). As he chewed hastily, for a moment, it gave you hope he'd gain weight quickly.

But then he reached out for his water to drink like he needed to soothe something too spicy.

Or something too hot.

“Honey?”

Bite four, five, and six. He chewed.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?” Bite seven, eight —

You put a hand on his arm and Spencer’s head immediately turned to you. It made you pull back, not touch him. His face was red and his mouth hung open, similar to a dog sticking its tongue out to cool off. “Spencer. You can let it cool.”

He swallowed, not chewing enough, and it pained him. “I can’t. I want to finish before bed.” His tongue barely touched the roof of his mouth as he spoke.

“Are you that tired?”

“No.” His eyebrows furrowed at the question, looking just as confused as you. “We only have 30 minutes for dinn—” And somehow his face of realization was even more upsetting to witness. There's a silence, brief but heavy as his whole face fell and he covered his eyes with one hand. “I’m sorry.” He sniffles.

“It’s not your fault.”

"I'll… take my time." He leans on his elbow and looks down at his meal, staring, waiting for the steam to stop. It was seconds later that his eyes were lined with tears again.

You were afraid to ask the question. “How’s your mouth?”

“It hurts.” He bites his lip as tears trickle.

You drop your spoon and scoot your chair closer to his. You ask him to sit up straight and drink water. Once he’s done that, drinking as much (or as little) as he can tolerate, you gently press his face into your shoulder. Tears collect on your skin, but you keep him close and encourage him to let it out.

And he does. His chest caves with every sob he's locked away for two months. His arms wrap around your waist, the first time he's touched you since he’s been home, apart from the delightfully suffocating hug you trapped each other in when he was released. And for a moment, you’re hit with the reality that the Spencer you’re holding has changed. His survival instincts are still active, you're just now noticing it.

You still hold him as he heaves. You rub his back to let him know you’re still here, but you stare at the blank wall in front of you. Your head is spinning, running through therapists to call and books to read that could help you. To help Spencer. Because that’s what he needs.

Spencer pulls away for a minute to look over his soup.

“It’s still there.” You say, and wipe his tears with your thumbs. “No one’s taking it, I promise.”

“It’s going to get cold.”

“I’ll heat it up again, don’t worry.”

Spencer looks down at you as you hold his face. The dark circles around his reddened eyes were prominent, and you brushed the mess of curls off his forehead. Tiredness isn’t enough. He’s scared. From what he’s seen or become, you don’t know. But his stubble pokes your skin and you realize that you don’t know what to do. As you look at the man you love, you wonder how much you can do to help. You hope you can help.

[magical-reid]

Prompt List

Make a request! Pick a character and then pick a number or numbers! My goal is to get all 50, so I’m crossing off the ones I’ve done to keep track, but that doesn’t mean you can’t request them!

The Characters I currently write for:

Spencer Reid

Lip Gallagher 

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Sebastian Sallow

Draco Malfoy

Bucky Barnes

Prompts:

“I just cant see myself ever living without you.” 

“If there was ever anybody meant for me, it’s you.”

“The closest thing to love at first sight I’ve ever experienced happened when I first laid eyes on you.” 

“I didn’t believe in soulmates until I met you.”

“Did you just tell the person I was gonna go out with that we’re dating?” 

“You owe me a kiss.”

“Go with me?” “Only if you hold my hand.”

“I’d feel much better if you’d let me walk you home.” 

“If I asked you to stay, would you?”

“You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe.”

“I’ve never felt this way before, and truthfully it scares me. But, the idea of never trying scares me even more.”

“You’re telling me you believe in love at first sight?” “I’m starting too.”

“I promised to love you forever, and that is a promise I intend to keep.”

“Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?” 

“You give me a reason to be better, to do better.”

"All I’ve ever wanted was a place to belong. Somewhere I could call home. And you gave me that. Because you are my home.”

“They don’t compare to you. No one does.”

“I thought I had the worst luck, until I met you.” 

“No matter how much time we’ve spent apart, I never stopped loving you.” 

“I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve met.” 

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

“You brought me breakfast?” “Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

“Everything feels right when you are with me.”

“I don’t care what others say, I want to be with you and that’s all that matters to me.” 

“You bought me flowers?” “Yeah, well I noticed you’d seemed kinda down, so I wanted to cheer you up.” 

“I’ll be damned if anyone makes you feel like you aren’t worthy of being loved.” 

“I wasn’t sure what love really felt like until I met you.” 

“You owe me.” “I owe you $20 not a day of pretending to be your partner to get your parents off you’re back.” 

“I can braid your hair for you- I mean, only if you want.” 

“Maybe if you stopped staring at them and actually talked to them, you might have a chance.” 

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me.” “I lied.” 

“I want you. All of you, and not just halfheartedly, but wholly. And maybe that’s selfish, but I don’t care.”

“Can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.” “'l’ll stay for as long as you need.” 

“You are my family.”

“We’ve been by each other’s sides for years, you think I’m gonna leave now?”

“Take my jacket, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

“I’d wait a thousand lifetimes for you, because you are worth waiting for. So when you are ready. I’ll be right here.”

“I will never stop fighting for you. I will never stop protecting you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. No matter how hard I try, you’re always on my mind”

“Don’t go on that date.” “Why?” “You know why.” “Say it.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I don’t want you to die for me, I want you to live for me.”

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.”

“How long have you had this planned?” “Since the moment I fell in love with you.” 

“You came all the way here for me?”

“Why are you staring at me?” “Because I think you’re beautiful.” 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” “I think I’m okay with that.” 

“What are you doing here?” “I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

“The world gets a little brighter when your around.”

“They say we wont last.” “Then lets prove them wrong.”