#Spencer Reid OC fic

[alana-reid-2005]

they really told us to trust the process

[qlossytbh]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeuQ8EA6/

I am obsessed with this edit!

Can you do a spencer reid x bau reader where she is very closed off emotionaly so he doesnt know if she likes him back or not until she does the little "tuck her hair behind her ears thing"?

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you were someone spencer found very hard to read. that is until the day of your birthday, where you accidentally do the infamous double tuck

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 PURE FLUFF, my beloved awkward spence <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 2.5k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 this is so sickeningly sweet. my heart is literally about to implode, they’re so awkward and wholesome. this request was so fucking cute i just had to do something with it

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"Garcia!" You smiled sweetly, immediately infecting those around with a mirror of your very smile. You held one of your favorite candles between your hands, tracing the glass beneath your fingertips— You had just been meaning to buy a new one.

Garcia beamed proudly, knowing she had nailed your birthday gift, a task many deemed imposible. It’s not that you were hard to please, not at all. You had always been closed off with those around you, opting to talk very little about yourself and allowing people to talk a lot about themselves, which is what people nowadays loved doing. As a profiler, you knew exactly how to prevent prying eyes from seeing anything past the depths of yours.

However, to Spencer particularly, it was absolutely infuriating to not be able to read you properly. Any hypothesis he made up in his head based on any of your gazes, your gestures, your small quirks and antics— only turned out being proven wrong since you'd completely redirect him in an opposite direction to what he believed you were thinking.

He was constantly thrown off by you, and Spencer wasn't the type of person who particularly enjoyed being wrong or not being able to perfectly calculate and analyze a situation. His job was profiling after all.

There was a single reason and he tried to remain completely oblivious. But he knew that the only reason as to why he wanted so desperately to know about you was because he liked you— he really liked you.

As in 'became a blabbering mess around you' liked you, as in 'couldn't formulate a coherent sentence around you' liked you— It was so hard for him to act normal around you. Anytime you appeared out of no where, asking how his day had been, and offering another one of those teeth-rottening sweet smiles, he'd go blank and feel utterly stupid. Every aspect of being a genius vanished into thin air when it came to you.

Morgan teased him persistently, being able to see his fuming crush from a mile away. Spencer sat down quietly, watching you hug Garcia happily as you sat the candle down onto your desk. When you pulled away, you tucked a single strand of hair behind one ear, smiling brightly.

"So, has she done it yet?" Morgan inquired, appearing right behind Spencer as he watched you silently from his own desk. Spencer flinched, turning immediately in his chair, looking over at his fellow co-worker and friend like a deer caught in headlights. He used his hand to push Morgan's face away from his with a shove. Garcia, who accompanied Morgan, stood by the side, bemused entirely by the situation .

Morgan lowered his tone, lacing it with implicit teases that flew past his familiar smirk. He leaned against Spencer's desk. "So how's the stalking going Lover boy?"

Garcia laughed to herself unwittingly while she mixed her coffee around in her mug with a spoon. Spencer glowered at the two of them.

"I'm not stalking," He defended matter of factly. "And stop with the 'lover boy'"

"But that's what you'd call someone who's head over heels for our dear little—"  Morgan began saying in a sing-song voice as he poked at Spencer's cheek, desperate to get a reaction out of his constant teasing. With a firm slap, Spencer shooed him away, blushing profusely.

"I'm not.!" He fussed. Garcia let out a soft snort, to which Spencer was not amused by. In the slightest.

"Really?" Garcia asked, almost in amusement. The only one truthfully believing what Spencer was saying was himself.

"I'm just looking t-to—" Spencer pulled his lips into a flat line, unable to come up with a plausible excuse quick enough. "—to figure out what she may want for her birthday."

Garcia and Morgan exchanged a brief glance before simultaneously regarding Spencer. He sputtered, still glaring at them.

"What?!"

"Oh nothing.." Garcia took a sip of her coffee with a smirk. "Has she done it yet?"

"I asked the same thing!" Derek turned to Garcia. They laughed together as if one big secret was being tossed around in front of everyone and no one else knew. Spencer furrowed his brows, looking at them oodly.

"Done what?" Spencer couldn't help but ask, curiosity tickling him.

"The double tuck," Garcia stated, looking back over at Reid. The furrow in Spencer's brow deepened as he opened his mouth to speak.

"The—what?"

Derek then proceeded to give a very specific demonstration of whatever it was Garcia was talking about. Derek batted his lashes, putting on the most innocent face he could muster and giggled nervously as he pretended to tuck hair behind both ears. Spencer cringed at his antics while Garcia let out a laugh.

"When she really likes a guy and gets nervous she tucks her hair behind both ears at the same time,"

Spencer looked back over at you as you handed a fellow co-worker a few files, talking aimlessly. You threw your head back laughing at something the woman who chatted with you had said and Spencer couldn't stop a small smile from creeping it’s way onto his face.

"She hasn't," He said, still looking at you intently. Garcia and Derek shared a look and with one more sip of coffee, she added.

"She will.”

"Watch out lover boy, she'll catch you staring—" Morgan whispered in Spencer's ear, which only caused him to reach back in protest and slap Derek away. He turned to glare at him while Morgan laughed.

You thanked Garcia one final time and turned your attention over at Morgan who was now laughing in a way that you felt intrigued enough to want to be involved in whatever it was the two of them were laughing at. You tilted your head slightly to the side, furrowing your brows with a smile.

"What's so funny over there boys?" Penelope asked, lips curving into a sly smirk while she crossed her arms across her body. Spencer froze, looking over at you immediately.

"Uh— we, uhm—" He stammered, cheeks beginning to buzz with heat. Before he could dig his grave any deeper, JJ and Emily walked into the room singing happy birthday with a tray of cupcakes in their hands.

You turned to them, eyes blowing wide. A nervous laugh erupted out of you, causing you to lower your face and hide it in your hands, feeling profusely embarrassed. Getting this kind of public attention wasn’t something you preferred, and it made you wonder if there was anyone that truthfully enjoyed getting their chants of happy birthday’s in public.

Spencer’s could practically feel and hear the way his heart bursted in his chest as he watched you crinkle your face in embarrassment. It was evident on every single fraction of his face— the awe that pooled behind his irises and the way his cheeks were tainted a specific shade of pink.

"Someone's fallin'—" Derek started.

"Shut up."

The day had gone by swiftly. It had been a slow and uneventful day, so no crimes were up for reviewing. You had instead, been drowned in paperwork that had your back aching by the end of the day.

However, being surrounded by all of your friends and receiving so much appreciation and love on your special day had been a plus, urging you further to push throughout the rest of the day.

Hotch had given you an okay to leave early, and knowing that your parents were waiting for you to take you out for your birthday dinner, you hurriedly packed up your things into your purse.

On your way out, you shot a goodbye to everyone with a bright smile plastered across your features. As you walked past Spencer's desk, you offered him a brief glance accompanied with a small wave. “Bye Spence,"

He waved back woefully, blinking rapidly and pressing his lips into a tight smile that inched sideways. Not wanting to give himself the pleasure of gawking at you further, he turned to his files, swirling his pen in his hand nervously.

Someone cleared their throat, catching Spencer's attention. He turned seeing JJ, Emily and Morgan peering over at him from their respective desks.

"Really?" Emily pinched the skin between her eyebrows with frustration.

"What?" Suddenly he was feeling mortified that all his co-workers had been watching his entire inner-turmoil.

"Did you even give her the gift you spent weeks putting together?" JJ tested, resting her chin in her hand. Spencer looked away sheepishly, scribbling something onto his paper and not entirely sure how JJ knew about it.

"I— I forgot.." He said, voice small while he tripped over his own words.

"Reid, just get out there," Derek urged. He was beginning to get restless with watching the two of you ghost around eachother like two idiots.

Spencer stopped scribbling and glanced over at you briefly as you walked out the main door that lead towards the elevators. He looked back over to the others who all shot him a look of encouragement. He supposed that it wouldn't be a bad idea just to— you know, give you your present.

The impulse in him was screaming and yelling at him to just get up and chase after you. But another part of him was forcing him to stay glued to his desk, letting you leave yet again.

It really didn't help him not being sure where you stood when it came to your friendship. At times, he’d get the smallest intuition that maybe, just even possibly, you were on the same page as him, but the insecurity that lingered within him was loud enough to prevent him from ever doing anything about it.

He had to get over himself— it was just a present. Everyone had given you one except him, and he didn't want you thinking he didn't care. He knew he didn't give it to you not because he didn't care but because he cared too much and he felt really scared that maybe by giving you his gift you may not—

He clapped his eyes shut, realizing he really had to stop overthinking and just, in the ‘wise’ words of Morgan, 'shoot his shot'.

Spencer, peered down at his pocket, and back over at the door.

You pushed the glass door open, looking down at your phone and tugging your scarf up to cover your nose from the piercing cold.

"Y/n!" You turned, surprised to see Spencer running through the lobby and out the main door, catching up to you.

You watching him, wide-eyed and taken aback as he jogged up to you, opening his mouth to say something but having to lean over to catch his breath. He didn’t know if it had been the brief run or the unforeseen anxiety that caused him to run out of breathe— whichever it was, he needed to work on it.

You let out a soft laugh, finding his behavior amusing. “You okay?”

You followed him with your gaze while he finally straightened himself. No words were said as his chest heaved. He looked into your eyes, immediately regretting it as his rapid pulse hammered against his head. You too began to feel your heart begin to pick up its pace until you found yourself reaching up and tucking your hair behind both ears, looking at the floor sheepishly

And there it was.

Spencer's mind stopped running the second he registered your movements and Garcia's words flashed across his mind so quickly he almost didn’t remember.

"When she really likes a guy and gets nervous she tucks her hair behind both ears at the same time,"

"I, uhm—" He started, trying to prevent a grin from rising onto his face at his newfound information.

You watched him curiously, starting to wonder if his cheeks were turning pink due to how cold it was or if he was possibly blushing.

Spencer reached into his pocket and took out a small chained bracelet. It was small and dainty— nothing too flashy or flamboyant. He held his slightly trembling hand out to you, revealing the small, nearly minuscule butterfly charm that sat on center of it. You stared at it in awe, reaching over and grasping it.

As you stared at it, you recalled the first conversation you had with Spencer. It was nearly spring and you were on one of your first cases with the team. As you inspected one of the crime scenes, a butterfly had suddenly latched onto your wrist.

You looked at the small insect, briefly startled, but once realizing the absence of danger, you quickly allowed yourself to gaze upon the bug with curiosity and awe.

Spencer watched you intently. He knew close to nothing about you, but something inside him twisted with your tender gaze towards something so small and fragile. He couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth and beginning one of his endless rants on that specific species of butterfly and how butterflies were a symbolism of good luck and, oh so on.

He couldn't stop talking and that was the first impression you had gotten from Spencer. He was profusely embarrassed afterwards, realizing he had probably overstepped a boundary you had yet to set given since— he really didn't know you all that much.

However, you smiled at him and asked him to tell you more. Since that day, butterflies had become your favorite.

And since that day, Spencer felt his heart double in size any time you were near him.

"Spence," You looked back up at him. "This is beautiful."

He smiled awkwardly, and shuffled on his heels, feeling his pulse quicken. How fast can one’s pulse beat? "I didn't want you thinking I had forgotten about a gift I just, didn't really know when to give it to you and I though—"

You watched his every movement intently, noticing the small pool of fog leave his mouth with each breath due to the cold, not even trying to avoid lingering your gaze on his lips.

"No! No—" You waved your hands in front of him frantically, panicking at the thought of him feeling in any way obligated to get you stuff, even if it was your birthday. It felt too indulgent from him— especially from him.

“It's okay..! You didn't have to get me anything, much less something so special,"

"I—" Spencer looked to the side. With the simple confirmation of your little hair tuck, he decided to push his luck, relying completely on Garcia’s analysis. "I wanted to."

You felt heat all over your face. You grabbed the small chain and easily slipped it onto your wrist, looking at it in awe. You once again, unconsciously tucked your hair behind both of your ears. Spencer noticed this but this time, he allowed himself to smile widely like kid on christmas morning.

You smiled down at it. Spencer watched you, eyes pooling with affection. You looked back up at him, realizing the way his gazed lingered on you. There was some form of affection that was quite evident, but you couldn’t allow yourself to think anything of it. Nothing was said, and that made you incredibly nervous.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something but not being able to. The mix of the piercing cold and the invasive anxiety wasn’t doing him any good as his shoulders shook lightly. You took notice, and it made sense since he had chased you down in nothing but a blue button up shirt. Without a single word, you reached for your scarf and unwrapped it from your neck. You’d do okay with the cold. You had enough layers— and you were blushing enough to heat your whole body up.

You pushed yourself onto the tip of your toes, wrapping it around Spencer's neck in order to give him some sort of warmth. Spencer immediately grew dizzy, failing to ignore how the scarf smelled just like you always did— a burnt vanilla mixed with the sweetest notes of sugared petals, warm and inviting. He also failed to ignore how close you suddenly were.

Something in you flipped and with a slap of encouragement, you once again pushed yourself onto your toes and planted a tender kiss onto his cheek, staining it ever so slightly with the soft red chapstick you were wearing.

"Blue looks good on you," You said, hands still playing with the blue scarf that sat comfortably around his neck. You wish you could’ve taken a picture of his face, starstruck and dizzy.

You caught the small red stain on his cheek. You smiled, reaching up and smudging your thumb across the stain. "So does red."

Spencer had nearly felt his knees buck. Your sudden bold moves were causing him to spin. It had always been so hard trying to decipher your intentions and antics, but with you standing so close to him, for the first time, he found everything so clear and evident. Like the last layer of secrecy had been ripped off in the matter of seconds and he was entranced.

That could be part of the reason as to why Spencer couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and placing a firm kiss onto your lips.

You froze momentarily, completely caught off guard, especially since you had always thought what you felt for Spencer was one-sided. But soon enough, you eased and smiled into the kiss. It was sweet and soft, innocent and pure, and it was perfect.

He pulled away harshly, suddenly realizing what he had done. "I’m—"

“No!—“ You were surprised at the lack of stability in your voice. “T-that was fine,”

Oh if one could kick themselves. Fine?!

He cleared his throat, words caught deep into his throat. You blushed profusely, wanting to slap yourself back into reality as you grew more and more fidgety and nervous.

"I—" You both said simultaneously. This was embarrassing.

You shot him a nervous smile as you both proceeded to stumble upon each-others words, neither being able to form a coherent sentance.

"Are— Are you doing anything tomorrow..?" Spencer asked, anxiety clawing at him relentlessly.

"No," You felt anticipation in your chest as you shuffled your grip on your purses strap.

"Would you want to?—” He asked, voice small, as if testing the waters and terrified to how you would reply. “You know, do something..?”

A giddy smile grew onto your face, as your hands reached up, and for a third time, tucked hair behind both ears.

"I’d love to," You said. Spencer felt like he was on cloud nine.

"Great! Uh—" He glanced down, pursing his lips. "Cool..”

You stifled a laugh, as he peered over at you with a smile. "I'll text you,"

"Cool.." You pointed over to your car, realizing that it was getting late. "I'm going to, uh—"

A grin that stretched from ear to ear was plastered across Spencer face as you began walking away, also smiling to yourself giddily. Once your back was turned to him, you squeezed your eyes shut, nearly jumping with joy.

"Happy birthday..!" He shot out. You turned, offering him a wave. Spencer watched until you climbed into your car and left the driveway, with the widest, most stupidly huge smile plastered all over his face.

Of course, when he reappeared at his desk, wrapped in your scarf, cheek stained slightly, and the most dazed look splattered all across his features, Morgan didn't skip the opportunity to tease the hell out of him— again.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[incognit0slut]

The Last Laugh

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spencer is forced to share a room with his rival. This is part two of Lose Control but can be read as a standalone.

warnings: sexual tension, a lot of banter, female oral, edging, rough sex, unplanned creampie (is that a thing?) words: 5,3k a/n: someone requested a part two with a one-bedroom trope and since this is one of my favorite stories, I had to do it

...Thinkin' you're winnin' with all of your grinning but I got the last laugh...

"I'M NOT SLEEPING WITH REID."

The idea was absurd. Ridiculous. Insane. Out of all the people in her team, why was she paired up with him?

According to Garcia, the only choice she had to spend the night in this remote town was with the person she least wanted to engage with. Did Garcia not know how much she had been trying to avoid him? How much she had been attempting to act as if the mere proximity with him wasn't making her lose her mind?

"Why not?" Garcia asked, handing her a key. "He's not that bad of a roommate, well, if you overlook his tendency to share random facts in the middle of the night, then he's really not that bad."

"Do you not hear yourself?" She steadied her gaze to her friend. "You want me to share a room with the person I hate the most?"

Garcia rolled her eyes. "You guys really should stop with this nonsense. You're both grown adults."

"I'll treat him like an adult if he starts to act like one." Her eyes drifted toward the man of the hour, standing at the other end of this old-looking hotel that seemed too close to falling apart, engaged in conversation with Luke. She then glanced back at Garcia. "Why can't he share a room with Luke?"

"Because I'm sharing a room with Luke."

She shot Garcia an incredulous look. "You're rooming with Luke? Since when?"

"Since always. We're buddies, remember?" She cocked an eyebrow and Garcia sighed. "Don't look at me like that, we're just friends. Besides, you and Reid are the only ones left without a roommate. Consider this your opportunity for personal growth or whatever."

"Personal growth? More like a crash course in patience. And what's the deal with Reid anyway? Why does he always have to be the exception?"

Garcia leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. "Well, let's just say Luke and I enjoy our peace. Reid, on the other hand, is like a walking encyclopedia. I figured it's your turn to experience that charm up close."

She scowled, a mix of annoyance and resignation on her face. "Charm? That's a generous way to put it."

Garcia stared back with an air of nonchalance that only seemed to amplify her exasperation. "Look, it's only one night. What's the worst that could happen?"

She shot her friend a withering glance as if the absurdity of the situation needed no further clarification. "The worst is that I might end up committing another crime in this town before the night ends."

Garcia raised an eyebrow, her amusement evident. "You're exaggerating, Reid is harmless. Plus, all the other rooms are fully booked. Consider yourself lucky we even found a place to stay."

"Lucky is not the word I would use right now."

"Just try to survive the night without killing each other," Garcia chuckled, ignoring the glare shot towards her way. "Give him a chance."

Her incredulous stare intensified. "A chance? Garcia, the man tried to argue with me about the most efficient way to organize my desk. And you know what's ironic? His own desk is a complete mess."

Garcia sighed, her playful demeanor softening. "One night, Y/n, that's all I'm asking."

She pursed her lips together. She could go on about how bad it would be to share a room with him, but the thing was, it would raise questions she did not want to answer. There was a limit to how much her disdain could stop her from entertaining the idea, and her avoidance, she realized, was more than just mere hatred.

Annoyed that she couldn't do anything to escape the situation, she shot a disapproving glance at him, who was still engrossed in conversation with Luke. With a resigned shake of her head, she turned back to Garcia.

"Whatever." She sighed, begrudgingly accepting the key Garcia handed her. "But if he starts reciting facts about, I don't know, the history of dental floss or something, I'm blaming you."

Garcia laughed. "Fair enough." She shoved her shoulder playfully. "But who knows, maybe you'll discover he's not as bad as you think."

That was the problem. Spencer Reid, in her eyes, was starting to... change. And she hated that. Why was the man she had never bothered to befriend occupying her mind more than she wanted him to? Was it because she now knew what it felt like to have his body pressed against hers? What it felt like to have him grunt in pleasure right in her ear? Just because they had sex?

Nope. Nuh-huh. She wasn't going to think of him differently tonight—or ever, for that matter.

She gave Garcia one last glare before making her way across the creaky floorboards toward him. Noticing her presence coming close, Spencer looked up and a slight tension filled the air as his gaze locked with hers. She quickly shook her head.

"You're sleeping on the floor," she declared with a point of her finger when she reached him.

A small amused smile played on his lips. "We're sharing a room?"

"Unfortunately," she grumbled. She then focused her attention on Luke. "Do you want to switch roommates?"

Luke chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm stuck with Garcia. Besides," he patted Spencer on the shoulder, "Don't act like you're not eager to spend the night with him."

Her eyes went wide. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Luke simply shrugged with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and walked away, leavingher staring at Spencer with a mix of confusion and suspicion. "What did you tell him?"

Spencer frowned. "Nothing." He sighed when her stare didn't back down. "Nothing, I swear. Luke tends to have his own way of interpreting things."

She narrowed her eyes, not entirely convinced, but decided to let it go for the moment. She turned on her heels, not waiting for him as she walked to their destinated room. She felt his presence close behind her but kept her mouth closed.

Spencer, on the other hand, found the situation amusing. He really shouldn't find any entertainment in her visible annoyance towards him, but he did. He couldn't help but notice that despite being angry, she still looked unbelievably attractive. The scowl on her face, her pursed lips, her chest heaving in anger. He took a step closer.

"This must be hard for you," he commented.

"What is?" she shot back, maintaining her brisk pace.

"Staying the night with me when you've been avoiding me."

Her jaw tightened. "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Really? So you haven't gone out of your way to avoid looking in my direction ever since what happened?"

Her steps faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, refusing to show any vulnerability. "That doesn't mean I've been actively avoiding you. It just means I have better things to do than engage in pointless conversations."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Pointless conversations, or conversations you're trying to avoid?"

She shot him a sharp look but didn't respond. "You know," he began again. "You do seem to be acting differently ever since that day."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Spencer couldn't resist a faint smile at her denial. "You really don't know what I'm referring to?"

She huffed, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. The narrow hallway seemed to amplify the unresolved tension between them as they stopped right in front of their room. She could feel his gaze on her, and it only fueled her annoyance.

She tried to ignore him by unlocking the door, but as she pushed it open, she felt his presence looming behind her. His proximity was so close that she held her breath as he gripped the edge of the door in front of her. His breath brushed her neck and her eyes involuntarily fluttered close when his other hand slowly rested on her waist.

"Should I help you jog your memory back?"

Her eyes shot open. She shoved him aside and stepped into the room. "No funny business, Reid. Keep your dick in your pants tonight."

His laughter lingered in the air as he followed her inside, closing the door behind him. "The question is," he taunted. "Can you keep it in my pants?"

She scoffed. Who was he and what did he do to the Spencer she once knew? The guy she remembered lacked any humor and always kept his distance from her. It was hard to believe a simple encounter—could you call sex as simple?—had turned him so crude, or maybe, she considered, this was his true self all along.

She decided to ignore his words as her eyes scanned the cramped room, containing only an old dresser, a nightstand, and a queen-sized bed, which she pointed at assertively. "That bed is mine."

His brow furrowed. "Why do I have to sleep on the floor?"

"You want me to sleep on the floor?" Her hand gracefully moved to her chest in a dramatic gasp. "Where is your chivalry, Dr. Reid?"

"We could share the bed."

She simply stared back at him, her eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and incredulity. Spencer, unable to resist stirring the pot, shot back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, it won't be so bad. Did you know that the concept of sharing a bed has been a cultural practice for centuries? It symbolizes unity and—"

"Reid," she interrupted, shooting him a pointed look. "If you're trying to annoy me, you're doing an excellent job."

He grinned, clearly enjoying her irritation. "I'm just stating a fact. Sharing a room, sharing a bed—it's all deeply rooted in human history."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I highly doubt our situation is deeply rooted in anything other than poor hotel arrangements."

Spencer chuckled, undeterred, his laughter resonating in the dimly lit room as he took a step closer to her. The worn-out floor creaked beneath his feet, echoing the subtle tension that lingered in the confined space of the room. "You never know. We might be making history right now."

She shot him a skeptical look, her gaze unwavering. "I doubt historians will be interested in this disaster."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this skeptical, or is it just reserved for me?"

"It's just reserved for annoying people," she retorted, not missing a beat. She took a deliberate step closer to him, the air thick with a blend of tension and... something else. Her heart quickened as his gaze swiftly swept over her lips before dragging back to her eyes.

"Really?" He closed the distance between them, and she held her ground, tilting her head back to meet his gaze due to his towering height. A subtle trace of his scent hung in the air, his presence enveloping her. She felt a sudden shift in the air, her senses heightened, and her eyes traced the contours of his face—the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth reflected in his hazel eyes. She also could sense the initial surge of longing coursing through her body.

Shit.

"Believe it or not," he added, his voice a low murmur that resonated in the confined space. "I find your company quite fascinating."

"Fascinating?" She responded, but it came out more breathless than she had intended. She took a deep breath, trying to act as if his close proximity wasn't affecting her. Her pulse, however, betrayed her composure. And it was evident in her voice. "T- That's a stretch."

"Really?" His lips curved into a subtle smile, catching the shift in her demeanor. "I think there's a small part of you that's enjoying this."

"Enjoy what? Your random facts and annoying habits?"

Spencer leaned forward. A tension crackled between them, and it swam in his eyes and played on his lips. It pulled at her chest, making her heartbeat flutter in her throat, and to her surprise, he extended his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch left a searing sensation on her skin.

"Admit it, you're starting to see a different side of me."

She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge his point. "One night doesn't change anything."

"You're right." His hand made its way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. "It can change everything."

Before she could register what he was doing, he closed the distance between them, holding her still as his lips crashed on hers. A thousand things flooded her mind all at once—each of them revolving around him. The way she melted into him felt oddly natural. The way his hands began to roam her body, the way her mouth opened for his tongue, the way her kisses became hungrier, also felt natural.

Which was bad. Really, really bad. This wasn't supposed to happen. One time, she could call it a mistake. But allowing him to have his way with her for the second time... there was no one to blame but herself. She should push him away and set the boundaries she was supposed to set the moment he invaded her personal space. But it was hard to think rationally when he tasted so good.

It was hard to stand her ground when his teeth softly nibbled her bottom lip. It was hard to think straight when she was already pulling hard at the locks at the base of his neck as his tongue explored her mouth, blindly walking her back until her back was pressing onto the wall.

"Look at you," he laughed against her lips. "You're not pushing me away."

"Shut up," she hissed, trying her best to keep her tone icy. But then again, it was hard to stay angry when he was touching her like this. His greedy hand traveled up her thighs, massaging the plush flesh. His fingers finally found the hem of her pants, and he swallowed her moan when they dipped underneath the material, slipping right underneath her panties.

Her breath hitched when two of his long fingers slide between her folds, spreading her slick before finding its rightful place on her clit. Spencer didn't hesitate when he started rubbing at her nub, smooth and deliberate, it made her toes curl and her body jumped in a moment of surprised bliss.

Her sound of pleasure was music to his ears, urging him to satisfy her even more. He was quick when those same fingers dipped inside her core, her inner walls tensing at the sudden yet pleasurable stretch. There was a distinct sound along her needy whines, wet and slapping as his palm makes contact with her clit every time he was knuckle-deep inside her. Her head fell back to the wall, mouth agape, face flushed—a sight Spencer secretly wanted to commit into his memory.

Without even noticing it, her hips started grinding to chase his fingers, desperate to reach that familiar pleasure twisting in her core. Her movement didn't go unnoticed by him, an amused, deep chuckle reverberating from his chest while he pulled his fingers out of her, rubbing her clit aggressively, knowing it would make her reach her high faster.

"You're going to cum, aren't you? This quick?" She glared at him through half-lidded eyes, not giving him an answer. His smile widened at her resistance. "Do you think I should let you?"

Her heart quickened its pace, knowing well enough what he was about to do. He was going to tease her, or as she liked to think, he was going to torture her by not giving her what she wanted. Her theory was proved right when he leaned down, his face inches away from hers, a sly smile on his lips.

"Beg me."

She quickly shook her head. A hand snaked up her back until it found the base of her skull. His fingers brushed through her strands before gripping hard, sending a jolt of pain down her spine as he yanked her head back.

"Beg me."

"Fuck you—ah!" A sudden pressure of his fingers sent pleasure shooting through her, pushing a moan from her that filled the room like a ringing bell—a bell that signaled the fact that despite how much she knew she shouldn't, she was already surrendering to his touch.

"No?" He taunted, his breath brushing against her ear. "Then I'm not letting you cum."

And just like that, the pleasure rippling through her body was ripped away.

He swiftly pulled his hand from under her pants with a smirk she wanted to wipe off before turning his back to her, leaving her all flustered. She took a moment to collect herself, her mind racing to grasp the situation. She loathed him. She really did. She despised the way he was so full of himself.

With a determined exhale, she shook off the flustered feeling that lingered. He may have momentarily unsettled her, but she was not one to let her guard down easily. She was not going to let him get under her skin. If he could make her sexually frustrated, then so could she.

If he was going to play dirty, she was going to get filthy.

Her shirt was the first thing that came off. Then she unbuttoned her pants, pulling them down over her legs. Dear god, she was going to regret this, wasn't she? But she couldn't stop. Not when the rustle of her clothes echoed in the quiet space and Spencer turned around, jaw slacked, a startled expression crossed his face as he watched her.

"W-What are you doing?"

There. That was what she wanted. That priceless, wide-eyed, disbelief face. She had to keep going.

"Taking matters into my own hands."

Her hand reached around to unclasp her bra before she intentionally took her time sliding the straps down her arms, enjoying the way his jaw clenched as you did. Eyes still focused on him, she tossed it to the side. Her hands lowered afterward, and an audible gasp escaped his lips as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of her underwear, sliding them down her legs.

"You're always so smug," she murmured, taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Thinking you have control of me."

Right hand reaching up, her fingertips just lightly swept the length of his stubbled chin, just below his lips. The corner of his mouth only drew up further at her touch. She smiled at his reaction, and her fingers dropped down to grip his chin firmly.

"But I can satisfy myself just fine."

And then she pulled away, the smirk now missing from his lips as she backed out of his reach. She then settled on the bed, and with her eyes never leaving him, she spread her legs wide open. She watched as a breathless sigh escaped his lips and smiled triumphantly, especially when the bulge growing in his dark pants was impossible to ignore.

With her gaze lingering on his steadily growing erection, she trailed her hand down her stomach, the tips of her fingers paused just over her clit. "What's wrong, Reid?" She hummed out, watching his chest heave. "You seem to be speechless."

Because he was, how could he not be when the pad of her middle finger slowly started to lightly circle over her clit. He watched as she teased herself, fingers gliding between her folds, gathering her arousal before slipping a finger inside. She gasped, the wet sound was audible even to her own ears as she gradually pumped her finger in and out.

He took a step closer, and her fingers moved faster as his eyes raked over her body—her luscious breasts fully exposed, legs spread apart, fingers between her thighs. A faint moan fell out of her, her eyes partially closing all the while her fingers never ceased their movement, vigorously thrusting into her cunt.

She then proceeded to put on a show for him, throwing her head back and rolling her hips. He was standing close to her now, eyes focused on her body, his tongue sliding along his lower lip. Her cunt immediately clenched at the sight of him, a bulge straining at the fabric of his pants. The sight sent a surge of warmth through her body, spreading from between her thighs to her cheeks as her fingers quickened in pace and her legs spread farther for him to see.

He was trying to hold himself, it was obvious in the way he held his composure. But then she watched with satisfaction as he stalked towards her, and just because she wanted to fluster him, she couldn't help herself from letting out a needy whine as she slipped her fingers out before rubbing her clit desperately, her eyes boring into his.

"Spencer," she moaned.

That was precisely when he lost it. He didn't even hesitate. He marched straight to her, and her finger stopped in its movement as she watched him settle between her legs, sinking to his knees. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and roughly yanked her over the edge of the mattress, and she fell on her back with a squeal.

"You're a goddamn tease, you know that?" He sneered, his warm breath brushing over her heat. "Fine, I'll let you win this time."

A gasp escaped her lips when he wasted no time leaning in, burying his head between her thighs. He wasted no time as she grabbed onto the sheets, feeling his tongue draw circles around her clit before flicking up and down at a rapid pace. Her thighs tighten around his head. and her whole body trembled beneath him, encouraging him to move his tongue faster.

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding them apart as he took his time. Ever so slowly he licked up her slit, gathering her juices on his tongue until he reached her clit, groaning every second of the way until she was shivering beneath his touch. She was breathless, mind buzzing and the room spinning as he thrust his tongue into her warmth, face becoming so deep between her thighs that heat rushed through her body.

When her thighs trembled and threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag deeper inside her. With a roll of his tongue, he was lapping at her walls, swallowing every drop until the second he heard her begin to whine.

It was embarrassing, letting him hear how worked up she was. But she couldn't help it, not when she was losing control of her mind and body. Her hips were starting to buck to meet his tongue. Her jaw slacked. Low moans spilled from her lips as he continued to ravish her, and her fingers dug into the sheets beneath her to hold onto her sanity as waves of pure overwhelming pleasure took hold of her.

"Oh my god," she whimpered, voice two octaves higher before growing silent. She was so, so close to the edge, his tongue relentlessly sucking her clit, licking, swirling over her entrance until her mind fell blank from the bliss. The heat began swelling from between her thighs, tension tightening and all she did was screw her eyes shut.

But seconds before the pleasure was nearly too much to bear, he suddenly pulled away.

"Reid!" She hissed, looking down between her legs. "You're fucking annoying."

He looked up at her with a teasing glint in his eyes, then his mouth parted a second before his tongue swiped over his lip to taste the remnants of her arousal. "What?"

Unbelievable. After pulling that stunt, he had the audacity to feign innocence. She huffed and opened her mouth to retort something but when he started to undress himself, she couldn't think of anything. Her mind was too busy taking in his slightly toned arms, his broad chest, his slim waist, and that patch of soft hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing underneath his pants.

And that was gone too, and now he was standing without any shred of clothing, and it then dawned on her that they were both very much naked. Their first time in that dusty storage room happened too fast that they didn't bother taking off their clothes, but now she had the time to sink in the way he looked wearing nothing but a smirk.

"I didn't bring a condom," he said as he climbed onto the bed. Like that was going to stop them, it didn't stop them before and it most definitely won't stop them now.

"It's fine," she mumbled just as he settled between her legs again, but when his eyes lit up at her words, she smacked his shoulder. "But you're still not finishing inside me."

He merely hummed a reply. Then seconds later he was lining up the tip of his cock with her entrance. His eyes meet hers as he teased her, and she noticed the smirk appear once again on his lips. She pushed her hips toward him, gripping his arm irritatedly, and released a breathy 'hurry up' before she could change her mind.

He wasted no more time pushing himself into her without warning, earning a gasp while he stretched her completely. He pressed his body into her, allowing her lips to collide with his and moan into the kiss when she felt him pull away just enough to slam back into her with one harsh thrust. His hands suddenly reached for her wrists, and he gripped them above her head, pushing them onto the mattress.

His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, and she quickly shut her own as he pumped himself into her cunt over and over again. His motions were aggressive, sloppy, and wild. The moment a particularly deep and brutal thrust hit her at the right spot was the moment she finally gave in to weakness as she let out a loud moan, her mind going blank to everything but the pleasure he was giving her.

Then he pulled back again, and his thick cock slid out of her partway, glistening with her juices, splitting her pussy apart around it before snapping forward, his hips going at a brutal pace, making her whole body bounce from the contact.

"God, you feel incredible," he groaned out just as she gasped from the intense pressure of him inside her, head falling above her, jaw slacked, sweat dripping down his temple. Her eyes fluttered open before exhaling a heavy breath, feeling him tightening his grip on her wrists. "We need to do this more often."

Though she didn't say it, she agreed with him. And it pained her to even consider making this a habit. But it was tempting. It was so tempting that the thought of having him inside her anytime and anywhere had her clenching around his cock, earning a low grunt deep within his chest.

Then something snapped inside her. She had started off holding back, keeping herself in check against the rising wave of sensations. But then, in a moment that felt like a long-awaited release, she decided finally to let go when he continued to hit that perfect spot inside her, and she almost felt ashamed at the noises she was making. She wasn't as vocal when she was alone, nor with other men, yet the man she claimed to hate earned every whimper, every desperate moan.

Hearing her cries urged Spencer even more. He leaned over to her and pushed himself deeper, earning a gasp from her as her legs fell apart even further, letting him sink himself as deep as he could. He pushed her hands above her head and hovered above her, letting his temple fall against hers as his hips rutted violently.

The pressure rose and the tension coiled in the pit of her stomach. Sweats beaded over her skin just the same as him, crying out for him, moans mixing with filthy noises of him thrusting into her wet cunt. His powerful thrusts then quickened, causing her to grow weak her body began to quiver in his grasp.

She cried out, wanting to warn him she was growing close to the edge, her mind growing numb, everything around her fading into black. But didn't give her the chance to speak before he pressed his mouth on hers in a heated kiss, all sloppy and wet and desperate, latching on her lips with so much fervor.

She felt him everywhere. On her lips, biting on her soft flesh. On her breasts, his chest rubbing against her hard nipples. And between her legs, his cock stretching her deliciously, a pleasant feeling that had her whining against his mouth.

But before she could whimper anything else, the pleasure erupted inside of her, red hot heat unraveling to every limb. Her release was a fiery blast—white-hot and overwhelming, turning her into the image of destruction. Her hair stuck to her skin, her back arching off the bed, feeling overwhelmed as his cock hit her deeper. She succumbed to the bliss, eyes shut tight, and her furrowed brow as she surrendered through her orgasm. 

He held her tighter, pumping himself into her as she finally let go, calling out his name in a breathless whimper. She came so hard her legs were shaking uncontrollably, but he didn't stop. He pounded into her harder, reveling in the way she fell apart for him.

"I-I'm close," he grunted. "Where... where do you want me to—"

"Inside."

He looked down at her, trying to hold himself to not combust right there and then. "Are you—" he groaned when she clenched around him. "Are you sure?"

She was already too deep in her climax that any worries faded away. It was like time slowed down, and all that mattered was the intense sensations taking over her body. It was wrong, but it was what she wanted. She wanted to be full of him.

"Yes. Please, just—please," she whispered. "Cum inside me."

It was enough for him to let go, chasing his own pleasure inside of her, hitting deep within her walls as her own arousal dripped out around him. The slick and messy noises mixed with his groans filled the room, heat continuing to rush to her face as her entire body became overly sensitive.

With one final, sharp inhale, the bliss took hold of him. His hips slowed as he began to release inside of her, filling her up with a few huffs and grunts, creating a bigger mess between her thighs. He thrust one last time as the last few drops spilled from him, continuing to press his body against hers as closely as possible.

Then everything went silent except the sound of their ragged breathing. He pulled out of her with a heavy sigh, just as spent as her, breathless beyond belief. He collapsed on the bed, his chest rising up and down as he tried to gain some sense of control, his mind trying to grasp on the euphoria that happened moments ago.

"Well that was—"

She quickly nodded beside him. "Yeah."

Spencer turned his head towards her, and she could already feel him gloating that before he had the chance to say anything, she covered his mouth with her hand. "Do not say anything."

His reply was muffled underneath her palm, and she didn't understand what he was trying to say. She didn't even bother wanting to listen to him anymore. So she got off the bed, wincing when she felt the mess dripping down her thighs as she walked over to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a shower," she called out. "I feel... sticky."

She then heard some rustling and she turned to see him hopping off the bed, following behind her. She narrowed her eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I feel sticky too."

"Spencer."

His lips twitched into an amused smile. "You called me Spencer."

She groaned and turned around. "We're not showering together, Reid."

"Why not?" He pressed, following her behind. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

She looked at him, assessing the way he was practically begging with his eyes. She was pondering whether it was a good idea to spend more time with him in an enclosed space. Probably not, but considering all the filthy, nasty things they had done, sharing a shower seemed harmless. 

"Alright, fine," she caved in, letting out a sigh. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

He nodded eagerly, but she should've thought better when the spray of water finally hit their bodies and he closed in around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he held her waist. Then he pressed her against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, and it was safe to say that he could not, as a matter of fact, keep his hands to himself.

Not that she was complaining.

.

a/n: I know this was supposed to be enemies to fuckable enemies but they're really starting to grow on me, they kinda cute

.

Oneshot taglist: @simpingforharryandcevans @strawbeerossi @lightvixxen @dim-i-try @annabellexox @baby-banana @natarataca @wolfbeanpotion @nagemasstuff @alexander-arcturus-black @rosieee491 @s00dastereo @no-honey-no @donttrustlove @tylevx @kailey-rae @sailorholly @ducksong @infinitegalaxiesworld @dreamsarebig @brilliantreid @boimlers-gonna-boim

PLEASE READ: The crossed-out ones are blogs I can’t tag. And if any of you asked me to be added and you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I can see it. But make sure your blog can be searched by anyone or I can't tag you. Thank you :)

[bklynsboys]

Rest On Me (And I'll Lean On You)

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: what surprised the unit chief was that your head, as if drawn by an invisible string, had laid rest on spencer's shoulder—a stray strand of hair tickling his cheek. and not only that, spencer didn't seem to mind, not one bit. or, you fall asleep on spencer's shoulder and the rest of the team sees.

genre: fluff

word count: 1.3k

author's notes: back with another spencer fluff! i miss seeing my baby on my screen. i had to rewatch old episodes right after seeing the new ones because i miss him so bad. anyhow, enjoy reading this one.

RAIN LASHED AGAINST THE WINDSHIELD, BLURRING THE NEON GLOW OF THE CITY LIGHTS INTO A SMEAR. Inside the car, the air was filled with the silence of exhaustion. The BAU just narrowly captured another unsub—fortunately, just in time to save the most recent victim. Hotch, who was driving, glued his eyes to the rearview mirror. He had caught a glimpse of the scene unfolding behind him.

Spencer, usually busy poring through whatever piece of literature on his legs, was nestled into the corner, his head resting against the cool glass of the window. While, you, the newest member of the team, sat beside the male, curled up in the backseat, and brow furrowed in light sleep. Hotch recalled earlier how you were fighting back a yawn and wasn't surprised that he had found you passed out cold.

What surprised the unit chief was that your head, as if drawn by an invisible string, had laid rest on Spencer's shoulder—a stray strand of hair tickling his cheek. And not only that, Spencer didn't seem to mind, not one bit. In fact, a faint blush had dusted his cheeks, and his own eyes, momentarily fluttering open, held a hint of something akin to fondness.

Hotch watched, a small smile tugging at his lips. You and Spencer had been partnered for a particularly grueling case—a string of arsons with a unique signature. The long hours and emotional toll had clearly taken their toll.

Yet, even in exhaustion, an intimacy has bloomed between the both of you. Spencer, ever the gentleman, hadn't moved a muscle, seemingly content to act as a human pillow. On your part, like magnets, you had unconsciously gravitated towards his warmth, your breathing slowing into a peaceful rhythm.

Beside Hotch, a knowing grin spread across Morgan's face in the passenger seat. He glanced back at you and Spencer through the rearview mirror, catching the tender scene. He stifled a chuckle, it was endearing to see the boy genius to be intimate with someone, knowing that he wasn't known to be keen on physical affection.

With a playful nudge to Hotch's arm, Morgan kept his voice low. "Looks like someone found a comfy pillow, Hotch."

Hotch chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving the rearview mirror. "Seems so, Derek. Seems so."

But Morgan, ever the tease, couldn't resist adding another jab. "Just don't drool on him, kid," he called back in a mock-serious tone, knowing full well you were fast asleep.

Hotch shot him a withering look, but a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. He knew Morgan wouldn't disturb the peaceful tableau unfolding in the back. They all needed a moment of rest, a stolen fraction of comfort in the storm.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the rhythmic drumming of the rain. It was then, with a slight bump in the road, that the car dipped, causing Spencer to jostle ever so slightly. His head, as if following the car's movement, dipped as well, and his hair brushed against yours in a soft, unexpected touch.

You stirred in your sleep, a frown momentarily creasing your brow before smoothing out again. Spencer, wide awake now with a jolt of surprised awareness, froze. His hand instinctively reached up to brush the stray strand of hair back from his own face, but his fingers lingered in the air, hovering just above your head.

Heat flooded his cheeks as he realized the intimate position you had found yourselves in. He wanted to apologize, to gently move away, but a strange sense of peace settled over him. You looked so peaceful, nestled against the cool leather, and your brow finally relaxed. The exhaustion of the case seemed etched on your face, a shared burden they both carried.

With a silent sigh, Spencer decided against disturbing your slumber. He leaned his head back against the window, his gaze fixed on the blurry cityscape outside.

The car continued its journey through the city, the gentle sway a lullaby against the harsh symphony of the storm. You drifted deeper into sleep, the weight of Spencer's head on yours a grounding anchor.

As dawn painted the horizon with streaks of pink and orange, the rain finally subsided. Hotch, ever vigilant, announced they were nearing the precinct. Morgan, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, nudged Hotch again. "Think they'll wake up before we get there?" he whispered.

Hotch chuckled. "Knowing them, they'll probably jolt awake the second we stop. But for now, let them sleep."

The car pulled into the familiar parking lot of the BAU headquarters. Hotch gently nudged the brakes, careful not to disturb the peaceful scene in the back.

A trace of sunlight peeked through the clouds, illuminating the interior of the car. It danced across your face, warming your cheek and causing your eyelids to flutter open. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before the events of the previous night flooded back.

A blush crept up your neck as you realized your head was resting on Spencer's shoulder. You were about to mumble an apology when you noticed his head turned towards the window, a thoughtful expression etched on his face.

Gathering your courage, you cleared your throat softly. "Spencer?"

He turned his head slightly, a surprised look flickering across his features before a gentle smile softened his expression. "Good morning."

You felt a tug in your chest, a mixture of awkwardness and something else, something warmer and more exhilarating. The sound of the car door opening startled both of you. Spencer's eyes flew open, a look of surprise mirroring yours.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You felt a renewed warmth bloom in your cheeks. "I… I think so," you stammered, suddenly self-conscious. "How about you?"

Before you got the chance to hear what Spencer had to say, Morgan's voice boomed from behind you. "Well, well, well. Looks like someone slept well."

You scrambled to sit up straight, your face burning. Spencer mirrored your movement, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Uh, good morning, Morgan," you stammered.

"Morning, kids," Morgan chuckled. "Hotch is grabbing coffee. You two coming in, or are you planning on catching some more shut-eye in the parking lot?"

You stole a glance at Spencer, who was gathering his things with a focus that seemed almost deliberate. The memory of his hair brushing against yours sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure if it was the exhaustion of the case or something else entirely, but the shared touch felt undeniably intimate.

"We're coming, Morgan," you called out, your voice a little shaky.

As you were about to exit the car, Spencer held the door for you with a shy smile. "Thanks for letting me, uh, borrow your shoulder," he mumbled, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink.

"No worries, Spencer," you replied, forcing a casual tone. "We both needed the rest. And thank you, as well. I used your shoulder first, so I guess it's only fair I let you borrow mine."

Spencer chuckled at this which caused your cheeks to pinken.

"About earlier," Spencer started. "When you asked me how I'm doing? Much better than I expected, considering the circumstances," he admitted with a hint of a chuckle.

The air crackled with unspoken words, a tension that felt both electric and strangely comfortable. You stole a glance at his profile, the way the soft morning light highlighted the planes of his face.

"That's good," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "We should probably get going."

Spencer seemed to hesitate for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "Right. We have forms to fill up."

Before you could unbuckle your seatbelt, Spencer beat you to it—his hand brushed against yours for a fleeting moment. It sent a jolt through you, a silent echo of the intimacy from the night before.

Stepping out of the car, you took a deep breath of crisp morning air. The city stretched out before you bathed in the golden hues of sunrise.

"Ready to face another day?" Morgan uttered loudly ahead of you, his voice laced with amusement.

You turned to face him, sighing at his teasing. You weren't oblivious to the fact that Morgan liked seeing you and Spencer together. "As ready as I'll ever be, Morgan."

[reidmania]

blackfish | spencer reid

summary; being in the early stages of your relationship, spencer has yet to hear your passionate rambles, until you watch a documentary together and the topic of animals in captivity comes up.

warnings; fluff, so much fluff fem!reader, early seasons spencer, marine biology major!reader, start of relationship things, talking about animal abuse, animals in captivity, talks about orca’s and the documentary blackfish (i know the time line is unrealistic use ur imagination please)

an; self indulgent as a marine biology major and someone very passionate about the fact animals should not be used as apart of a circus act. Very very short, and sweet.

Your legs were resting over Spencer’s, the heels of your feet pressing against the side of the couch arm, while his hands massaged the skin of your calf gently, the credits to the documentary you had spent the last hour and a half watching together rolling over the tv. His hands were gentle and hesitate in every one of the movements, a little shy.

“Did you like it?” He asked, turning his head to look at you, thumb pressing against a tender muscle in your calf, the sensation causing a soft sigh of relaxation throughout your body, which contradicted the annoyance that had been filling you as the film went on.

You hummed, unsure of how to answer the question. “It was interesting.” You mumbled out, your head rolling to press against the back of the couch cushions. He smiled slightly as his hands continued to work out the tension in your legs.

“Yeah?” He hummed out. You nodded, interesting was a safe way to describe your feelings on the documentary you had watched. It wasn’t that it was bad, it wasn’t at all. And you had been interested, the entire time. Just the more the details were revealed the sicker the feeling got in your stomach.

He shuffled slightly, “What are you thinking about?” He asked, his hands pausing their massaging movements to instead rub gently over the smoothness of your skin. Obviously he had noticed the slightly sour look on your face and the way your mind seemed elsewhere.

“How horrible the human species are.” You answered honestly although you were aware Spencer was already aware of this fact. He worked to stop all the horrible things the human species did everyday. He witnessed it firsthand.

“Annoyed?” He asked. You nodded.

You shuffled slightly, pulling your legs away from where they had been resting over his thighs to sit up a little straighter, tucking your knees underneath you as your hands came to rest on your thighs.

“I don’t understand how anyone can look at animals in aquariums or even animal’s in zoo’s and think that it’s just.. okay?” You huffed out, annoyance lacing your tone as you spoke, every word coming out just as disgusted as the last. “i mean— These are wild animals and people act so shocked when they act like wild animals. Like that poor orca had been put through hell since the age of two— ripped away from his family and everything he knew, starved, beat up by other orca’s all for what? A quick buck?” You huffed out in frustration.

Spencer hadn’t expected the ramble but it definitely wasn’t unwelcome, your voice was laced with so much passion and intent, every word that left your lips showed how deeply you had thought about this. He had hummed in response, not wanting to interrupt.

“Marine mammals — they are isolated more in captivity than they aren’t which is absolutely insane since every aspect of their being is based on their social and emotional connections— I mean they have a whole part of the brain that human’s don’t have thats dedicated to their emotional bonds. Which means they feel everything probably double the amount that we do” You continued in frustration as your arms came to wrap around your stomach, and irritated pout on your lips.

Spencer raised his eyebrow but nodded, you were right. “They don’t belong in captivity” He agreed simply, you nodded passionately in response to what he had said. He couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face as you rambled, because this had never happened before. Normally you were pretty quiet, not in a way that you were shy or awkward, you just didn’t ramble a lot, not like he did. This was a nice change and he couldn’t help the way his heart swarmed at the sight of you getting all worked up over something you felt passionately for. He would listen to everything you had to say, and a million times more.

“It’s— so gross. Like it genuinely makes me feel sick how they take these animals away from their families and then exploit them for money. Like dolphins — Teach them tricks and then act like it’s just an extension of their natural behaviours — it’s not. You know marine mammals in captivity die way earlier than marine mammals in their natural habitats? Especially Orca’s. Orca’s could live up to 100 or even more and they hardly make it to 30 in captivity.” You huffed out.

“I didn’t know that” He did.

“And Orca’s— Oh my gosh. Each family speaks in their own set of vocalisations, no two families will communicate the same way. They literally have their own languages. And— and people want to throw Orca’s from different pods together in a pool and call them a family? They can’t even communicate with each other, or understand each other at all!! You know that can lead to aggression between Orca’s? Nearly half of Orca’s deaths in captivity is because of a different whale being too aggressive—“ You paused when you finally realised you were rambling.

Your cheeks burnt at the realisation, meeting Spencer’s eyes which were filled with nothing but love and admiration only furthered the burning sensation in your cheeks. “Sorry.” You huffed out sheepishly. “I got a bit carried away” you let out a laugh.

He shook his head instantly, his hand reaching out to rest gently against your knee, “No. Don’t apologise. Keep talking, what were you going to say?” He asked, almost desperately begging you to continue on with your passionate ramble, continued to further discover this side of you.

“I-“ you started but your brain short circuited at the look in his eye, pleading, sweet, gentle, loving, admiring. How could he look at you like that and expect you to be able to form a coherent sentence — you could hardly form a coherent thought. “I- forgot.” You huffed out.

He smiled widely, “Whales being too aggressive which can lead to that frustration being taken out on other whales, especially if they feel challenged or uncomfortable.” He finished for you, making your smile widen.

“You’re so smart” you huffed the compliment as if he wasn’t told it so often. He didn’t mind, it always meant more coming from you.

“Go on, angel. What else do you have for me?”

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin]

Kiss

Spencer leans over you as he gets your attention. He’s gone from a germaphobe to an affectionate lover. You cup his face in your hands and kiss him softly, you shift on the couch in case he wants to join you. He knees the couch as he sighs into the kiss, deepening it as he gets closer. He leans more into you pushing you lower into the furniture. He tries to put a hand behind you to stop him from crushing you but you stop him pulling him against you. He yelps giving your tongue access, you grin against him, his blush growing. His knees are on either side of you.

“Angel…” he mutters against your lips. “ M’heavy.”

“Don’t,” kiss. “Care.” kiss.

Spencer’s tongue seems to explore every crevice in your mouth, his hands running up and down your sides. He pulls you slightly into him before setting you back down again.

“Your neck.” he explains but you can hardly care.

You try to move out of the kiss, the need for oxygen winning but he whines and slots his lips back on yours. He’s breathless as he ruts into your leg, his hands sneakily going under your shirt. He reminded you of an animal going into heat.

“Spencer?” you break off the kiss again, turning your head for air.

“M’yeah, need you, need you really really bad, please.” he kisses down your neck still rutting into your leg. “Please, Please, Please.”

“Where do you need me?” even though the answer is glaringly obvious.

“Stop teasing.” he whined into the crook of your neck.

“Alright.” you chuckled. He looked up at you, his hair was a mess, his glass were so lopsided that you took them off for fear of them falling, his face was flushed and his eyes glossy, his lips were swollen and he was a complete mess. You could feel his ‘need’ evident in his pants.

“Use my leg.”

[reiderwriter]

Everyone Looks Better in a Sundress

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (GN + AFAB)

Summary: The AC at the BAU decides to take a holiday during a summer heatwave, and when you decide the FBI’s dress code is merely a suggestion, you unwittingly catch Spencer’s eye.

Genre: smut (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, semi-public sex, fingering, car sex, degradation, name-calling, edging, praise-kink, dumbification, basically Spencer is a tease and the reader really gets off on using his official title.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: Hello! This is my first posted fic, so any feedback is welcome and absolutely appreciated (I tried to keep it GN!AFAB but if you notice any gendered pronouns pls lmk immediately!) I finally decided to start writing again after a few years, so I might be a bit rusty but I recently started rewatching Criminal Minds and I am so in love with Spencer! This little fic was inspired by @imagining-in-the-margins CM Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge, so big thank you to them for the inspiration! This could also develop into a multi part fic in the future, so if that’s something you’d be interested in, please let me know in the tags and comments! XOXO K

Part two!

After three years in the BAU, you should know that summers in Quantico, Virginia are nothing to play about. Sure, it could be cloudy sometimes, and summer rain did allow for some relief, but with a heatwave on the way and a week of office work ahead of you, it seemed every member of your team was excited for the office AC. 

That was, of course, until the maintenance department sent out an office-wide email telling you it was “undergoing work” for the foreseeable future. 

You received the email during your commute, and immediately turned around to change. There was no way you were surviving in your slacks and long-sleeve shirt, and, truth be told, you knew that your bosses wouldn’t mind if you were a little more relaxed in your workplace attire if you weren’t going to be spending time in the field. 

It took all of thirty seconds to shoot a message to Garcia, telling her that you’d be a few minutes late for your daily carpool, letting her know the situation so she didn’t hack into your car GPS (which she still claims she absolutely did not do the last time you accidentally slept in, but would in an emergency just to know you were safe). 

She quickly sent you a reply: “put on that floral number we picked up last week! Between you and Morgan, I'm hoping my eyes will be feasting today 😉.” 

You let out a little chuckle as you read the message, and quickly complied. A sundress didn’t sound too bad right now at all. 

The dress in question was perhaps pushing it slightly for office work. It was short, and you knew immediately when putting it on that you would spend the day pulling it down to a more appropriate length. But the shade of blue fit your skintone perfectly, and the floaty material was exactly what you needed to beat the heat. 

Grabbing your keys again before you could second guess yourself, you didn’t let your mind linger quickly on the thought that perhaps the dress was a little attention grabbing. And perhaps there was someone in the office whose attention you wanted to grab. 

-X-

The commute into the office wasn’t bad, but stepping out of your nicely temperature regulated car into a wall of heat made you thank yourself for your foresight. And it seemed that the rest of your team was dealing similarly. Walking into the office, you noticed that Prentiss had divested herself of her shirt, sitting comfortably with an iced coffee and red tank top, an electric fan inches from her face. Morgan was similarly outfitted in lighter clothes than usual, and you could audibly hear Penelope’s brain working to come up with the best heat related compliment for her work husband. You couldn’t see Hotch or Rossi, but you knew they kept their own back-up units in their offices, so they wouldn’t be struggling at all today. You assumed JJ, too, was in her office.

“Well, look at you Cutie. You’re gonna break some hearts today, I know.” You roll your eyes as you throw your bag down. You were used to Morgan’s playful teasing by now, but compliments and affirmations were always welcome. You grimaced looking down at your desk chair and realised you had another problem. Your very recent purchase of a black leather office chair was going to absolutely make your day a living hell. Before you resigned yourself to a day of sitting in the orthopedic seventh layer of hell, your heard the angelic call of your office BFF.

“It feels like the devil’s armpit in here, god, do not expect an miracles from me today, I’m collecting my laptop and immediately moving away from all the heavy heat-producing machinery in my cave. Anyone got any space at their desk for me to work at?” 

“Yes!” You replied a little too quickly. 

“Feel free to make yourself at home, Pen, I have to look over some files with Reid later anyways so I’ll just pull up a spare chair to his desk, it’s all yours.” You thanked your lucky stars that everyone was too hot to tease you about your imminent proximity to the office’s Boy Wonder. 

It turns out hiding a small, tiny, stupid crush from a team of FBI profilers wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but you were confident in thinking the only one who had clocked on so far was Penelope. And that was only because of your weekly girls nights and an unfortunate habit of spilling secrets while intoxicated. Sure, the others still teased sometimes, but that was only because the two of you were the easiest targets. And they just didn’t know how on the nose they were sometimes. 

She gave you a quick look, of the ‘we will be discussing this later’ variety but didn’t say anything else and quickly excused herself to collect her things. 

You quickly pulled up a (non-leather) chair next to Reid’s and straightened out your dress as you started searching for the file you were looking for. Although you absolutely had an ulterior motive to intruding on his space, you actually did have work to do. But the heat, and the knowledge that you’d be working closely with Reid again any minute now did nothing to help you stay focused. 

Of course, having worked on the same team now for three years meant that you’d been alone together before. In all honestly, he was your partner of choice for any field task and you complimented each other well. The two of you worked together on Geographical Profiles for the majority of your cases, using your people skills, and his practical knowledge to gain insight into the locations unsubs lived, worked, murdered and hid their victims. And of course, you were friends outside the office, too. But you felt there was a distance between the two of you that made itself known the minute you stepped off the Jet or out of the bullpen. 

As you searched the desk, you let your mind wander to what he would look like in this heat. You knew he didn’t deal with the heat well, and could often be found with his shirt sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone on the cases in the warmer climates. You thought about him panting in the heat, pushing his hair out of his face, glistening with sweat and grumbling quietly about the heat. You specifically thought back to a case from a few weeks back, where the two of you had an awkward run-in with an automatic sprinkler when you made your way to interview a witness. His purple shirt had ended up soaked, and on day six of the investigation, his go bag was thankfully short of replacement clothing. So he’d sat in the precinct, shirt semi-transluscent, completely oblivious to your brazen oggling and sudden lack of anything intellectual to say. Or anything to say in general. 

It was only as you felt yourself getting warmer (a particularly impressive feat on today of all day’s) that you had to pull yourself out of the fantasy. But of course, as you stood up to get yourself a cool drink, you realised you were face to face with the man of your fantasies. 

“Y/N? Did you need something?” He looked down at you, with a soft smile on his face. 

“Oh! No, it was Garcia, she, um, she needed somewhere to work because her office is practically a sauna with all those computers. And I was thinking, we still need to work on that report on the geographical profile from the last case, so I offered her…my…” You trailed off, noticing you were rambling and allowed yourself a second to look at the man in front of you properly for the first time that day. 

It was going to be a miracle if you got any work done ever again.  

Like you, he’d opted for a change in uniform. He’d rid himself of his usual waistcoat-cardigan combo and was left in a button down shirt. It was, as you’d hoped and prayed, open slightly more than usual at the top. You frowned unconsciously as you realised he had also pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, unhappy that you wouldn’t get to watch him do it in-person, his veins popping out as he exerted himself in the smallest way. 

A few seconds of silence passed, and you had to make yourself tear your eyes away from a droplet of sweat that was neatly making its way down his throat, tracing a line that you could only hope to one day follow with your lips.  When you snapped your eyes up to his, he nervously did the same, gripping  his bag a little tighter to him. 

“Oh, yeah that sounds good, um, let me just put my bag down and we can, uh, get started I guess.” 

“Yeah of course. I was just gonna grab a drink first, do you want one?” 

“Sure, yeah, a coffee would be good.”

“Okay, I’m no expert but that cannot be healthy in this heat. I know you’re practically a caffeine addict at this point, but I’m getting you a glass of water and you’re going to thank me, okay Doctor?”

He rolled his eyes and settled comfortably into his seat, but made no complaints as you walked away. 

-X-

“This is ridiculous, how can they expect us to work like this?” Agent Prentiss grumbled from her desk. 

“Oh, come on now, Prentiss, you can’t be complaining about a little heat, now.” 

You rolled your eyes at your coworkers playful back-and-forth, doing your best to not melt into your borrowed seat. You’d been working side-by-side with Reid for the last three hours and the heat was now unbearable. You were stuck to the seat in an uncomfortable way, especially with the extra exposed skin from your dress. It had ridden up your legs more than you expected it would, so you were constantly shifting in your seat attempting to keep yourself decent. 

The heat rolling off your teammate didn’t help. You had assumed that his love of cardigans, scarves and layers in general meant that he usually ran on the cooler side, but he was practically burning up next to you, making any and all accidental touch near intolerable. 

Each accidental brush of his fingers as you passed files between the two of you, each knock of your knees together under the desk as you moved to read over one-anothers shoulders, and every time you got up for another drink, it’s like he’s read your mind because he stood up at the same time and you had to awkwardly untangle yourself from the mess of desk chairs and office furniture. With every touch, you feel yourself getting hotter and hotter, the heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly.

It’s only when, later in the day, he brushes the seam of your skirt with his fingers when reaching over you with his other hand for a file you know for a fact he does not need, you realise that all of those accidental touches may have been absolutely intentional. 

Lowering your voice to a whisper, you bring your lips closer to his ears.”Spence, what was that?” You try to keep your voice steady, but his fingers are stil lingering closer to your sensitive areas than you found comfortable.

He drops his eyes to yours, looking you in the eye for the first time since you started working together in a comfortable silence. 

“What was what?” He asks innocently, his cheeks flushes as he starts drawing small circles on your thigh.

“You’re touching me. You’ve been touching me a lot today, Doctor.”

“Oh, I’m Doctor now, am I?” He smiles at you before quickly moving his attention back to the file he was reading. 

“Don’t change the subject.” You feel your whole body flush, as he ignores you and continues his reading, not removing his hand from your leg the entire time. 

“S-Spencer, I’m serious.”  He looks at you again then, and your heart jumps into your throat as you realise he’s removed his hand from the hem of your skirt, only to have it return under the material, moving closer and closer to where you really wanted him. 

“You know,” he whispers under his breath, so quiet you’re sure that no one could overhear, “you look really pretty in this dress.”

Your brain is short circuiting as you feel his hand on your inner thigh, failing to register the implication of his words as you do your best to stammer out a reply. 

“A-actually, Garcia chose it out for me. She said that you would-” you cut yourself off before you can say anymore. You’re surrounded by a room of your close friends and teammates and you’re doing your best not to beg your incredibly attractive coworker to push his fingers into you right then and there. Biting your lip so you don’t say anything else, you try to stand and shift away. 

But Reid is there, and with his other hand he maneouvers you even closer to him somehow.  

“She said I would what, beautiful?”

He’s so close now and you find yourself again staring at his exposed neck, wanting nothing more than to bury your head in him and kiss and lick and bite until he gives you what you want. The little circles he’s drawing on your legs are removing your inhibitions quicker than any alcohol could. 

But then he grips you a little tighter, and forces you to look up into his eyes again and respond. 

“She said that you would, uh, she said that you would’nt be able to take your eyes off of me. We were shopping together and she was just teasing and, well, yeah.”

“All dressed up for me, then? You thought you’d test the theory and see if she was right?” 

And suddenly he’s ghosting his fingers across your panties and you’re doing your best to not make any other noises as he looks you deep in your eyes.

“Do you think she was right, Y/N?” He asks. But before your brain can catch up and choose whether or not to answert, he’s pulling away. He’s standing up and he’s walking over to Morgan, file in hand, asking questions about another previous case file, and you’re left sitting at his desk questioning if any of that actually just happened.

-X-

You spent the rest of the day in a daze. Luckily, your team was so busy complaining about the heat that you were sure none of them noticed the tension you carried through the rest of your day. With the AC still not working, Garcia had gained permission from Hotch to head back to her own apartment to finish up the day with more appropriate equipment, and had quickly evacuated your desk, allowing you to retreat back to your own space. 

Emily had finished her own paperwork early due to a well-timed bet with Morgan, and had taken herself off to JJ’s office, and Morgan was meeting with Hotch in his office to discuss a potential death row intervew. So with the end of the workday in sight, only you and Reid remained in the bullpen. 

After your little run in, you knew that you weren’t going to get any effective work done. Emily had once joked that Reid’s high IQ gets slashed to 60 every time he comes in contact with an attractive woman. At the time, you’d laughed, joked along. Nowthat it was your reality, it wasn’t as funny to you. 

He’d played with you, called you beautiful, had his hands on you in the most frustratingly dizzying way- and then just as soon walked away from you. It wasn’t as if you wanted him to take you right then and there, in front of the entire office. 

In fact, you’re quite sure that no matter how horny you were, you’d have stopped him before he went any further that publically. But you weren’t as sure you wouldn’t have dragged him off to a supply closet and forced him down on his knees and under your skirt. 

To be short, you were pissed. He had left you, hot and bothered, on a day where you literally could get no relief from the heat. 

You watched him work for a while after that. His desk faced away from yours, which meant you could covertly watch him whilst he worked and he would be none the wiser. After catching yourself staring a hole into the back of his head for the fifth time in an hour, you  grunted out a curse and started packing your things up for the day. Unfortunately, you were just loud enough to catch the man’s attention. 

“Leaving so soon, princess?”

“Yes. It’s hot and I’m tired and I just want to go home and take a cold shower and get into bed.” You started packing your things up again, but you quickly noticed that Spencer was doing the same. 

“Are you leaving as well?” You asked, your stomach doing a small flip in apprehension of his answer. 

“Yeah. I’m also hot, and tired and a cold shower sounds amazing right about now.” 

You flushed at even the slightest change of a double meaning. Did he want to shower with you? Was he really going to step over that line? 

He continued to pack up his things calmly, and you did the same. You walked towards the elevator, and it wasnt until he reached from behind you to press the call button that you realised he was so closely following you. 

“And besides, your bed sounds amazing right about now.” The hairs on your neck stood up as he whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck as you felt heat pool between your legs for the second time that day. You froze up like a deer in headlights, and as the elevator dinged open, you felt Spencer walk you in, press the button, and close the door before making his next move. 

“You didn’t answer me earlier, you know? When I asked about the dress? Do you think Garcia was right?” He had crowded you into one corner of the elevator, and your brain was still short-circuiting. Shit, maybe you were the one whose IQ was cut in half, because the man in front of you seemed more confident than you had ever seen him before. 

His placed his hands on the guard rail either side of you, as one of his legs found its way between yours and you let out a small whimper, then cursed yourself when you saw the smirk growing on his face. 

“Come on, Princess, use your words.” He teased again. 

“She wasn’t right.” You breathed out. “You looked at me a few times, but nothing too long and nothing…inappropriate, but-”

“But what?” He pushed his leg further into you, moving his hands to grip the fabric at our waist,  and suddenly you were counting your blessings that no other agent in the building had decided to use the elevator right now. 

“But you can’t keep your hands off of me.” His lips crashed into yours the second you finished your sentence, as you desperately grabbed at his hair, desperate to feel more and more of him against you despite the sticky heat. 

He pulled away reluctantly as the elevator came to a stop in the basement carpark, but you still desperately clung to him, pressing kisses into his jaw and down his neck as you breathed in the scent of his sweat on his skin. Your words had failed you, but your body was desperate to communicate exactly what you needed. 

He chuckled as he pulled you off of him, stroking your hair as he pulled you to your car. Opening the passenger side door for you and taking the keys from your bag, he placed a kiss to your temple, pulling away only enough to whisper into your ear. ”Which one of us can’t keep their hands off the other now?” 

You were hot and delirious and you were not going to interrupt him now. He climbed into the driver’s seat, something you knew he didn’t do often, and placed his hand on your leg again as he drove. 

“Spread your legs,” he ordered as soon as you were far enough away from the building. You complied immediately, not wanting to interrupt anything the man might do to you. “Good girl,” he mumbled as he immediately picked up where he left off earlier, rubbing your sensitive nub through your underwear. Your dress was pushed up now 

“You know, Garcia was right” he spoke again, his fingers snaking their way under the elastic of your underwear. You could only moan in surprise, desperately close to getting exactly what you wanted.  

“I have been staring at you this whole day. You came in this short dress, practically on display for anyone to see.” His fingers were now slowly circling your clit, going torturously slowly as you bucked up your hips for some much needed friction.  

“When you got me that glass of water, I followed you, you know. Watched you reach for the glass on the top shelf, saw your skirt riding up. We’re you so desperate for me to notice you that you put yourself on display for the entire office like a little whore?” You moaned in surprise as his words registered in your mind. 

You tried to reply, to deny and protest your innocence, but he chose that minute to thrust a finger into you, the awkward angle forced by your position in the car creating a beautiful friction. You started rocking your hips quicker against his hand, opening yourself up to him fully, and grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t pull away for a third time that day. 

“You can’t even deny it, Look at you using my hand to get yourself off. Are you gonna come for me? Gonna do it right here in your car?”  You moan out a yes as he adds another finger, stretching you out further as you whimper around him. 

“Fuck, yes Spence, I’m a whore, your little whore.” You feel that familiar coil in the bottom of your stomach tighten and soon your releasing yourself all over his hands.  Gasping for air, your head falls back on the passenger seat, and you release your grip on Spencer’s hands. 

“Good job, princess, you did so well for me. We’re almost home now, let’s get you in that shower.” You whimper a little, nodding as you allow your brain to settle once again, completely comfortable with letting Spencer take control and do whatever he needs to do with you for the rest of the night. 

-X-

[hereforhalstead]

Shall I try someone else?

Spencer/MGG x Reader

Listen, I have no shame in using this gif

NOT PROOFREAD

*******

‘ I cant believe I’m gonna text him’

You scoffed to yourself, eyeing the phone you held in your hand, thumb hovering over his name on your chat list on whatsapp.

Almost daring yourself not to give into the desires you knew you craved and that he could so easily fulfil.

‘are you awake?’

You sounded like a foolish teenager, thinking that sounded better than the stereotypical ‘you up?’ at 3am text.

Spoiler alert, it didn’t .

You almost threw your phone on the ground, it landing face up beside you as your knees were instinctively bought to your chest in panic, regretting sending the text as soon as you pressed send.

Almost instantly, the screen lit up. You could see it from the corner of your eye, reluctant to look down.

You peered over your arm, wincing as you read the message through squinted eyes.

‘Of course, darling’

Your heart melted, your stomach flipped, your heart rate quickened.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t feel this way.

He told you not to fall for him.

Yet what did you do, oh yeah.

You fell absolutely head over heels, 100%, life consumingly in love with him. Good one.

Mere moments had passed, you hadn’t unlocked the phone as you sat and mustered a response.

He hardly gave you much to go from, did you completely out yourself and admit why you messaged him or did you play it off with a simple ‘cool’?

Your phone once again, lit up in your hand. Your eyes darting to the screen without a second thought or hesitation as you scanned the words on the screen.

‘any particular reason you wanted to know, pretty girl?’

Shit, even through a screen he had you backed against a virtual wall. Making the hunger for him to have you actually pushed up against a wall, ten times more intense.

‘just wondered if you wanted to come over, cant sleep ☹’

You laughed at the innocent sad face added to the end, feeling the complete opposite and knowing he would see through it.

The grey ticks turned to blue as soon as you sent the message, quickly exiting out of the chat as though you didn’t want to seem desperate.

Not like your phone was now stuck to your hand with your eyes not leaving the screen as you wait for his response.

‘Poor baby, not sure how I would be able to help though?’

You could practically see the smug grin on his face, arm folded behind his head to prop himself up against the headboard of the bed. Thumb dancing over the keypad as he probably typed out all the ways in which he could help, before deleting them as if nothing happened.

‘oh no!’

You yet again, sarcastically added the exclamation. Clearly having too much fun with the situation yourself now.

‘guess I will just have to try someone else’

Ordinarily you wouldn’t have sent such a text, you didn’t have anyone else you could ask, you weren’t one of those girls who had the ‘lucky’ bunch stored in your phone who you could text at early hours of the morning to come over.

Even if you did, you wouldn’t want anyone else. Just him.

You wanted to see how far you could push him, knowing the way his eyes would’ve darkened with reading the message.

Probably reading it a few times to ensure he read it right, phone clutched in his hand, bringing it up to his pursed lips in frustration.

It took a significantly less amount of time to yet again see ‘typing’, flash up next to his name on the chat. Your heart rate though the roof as you hear your phone chime.

‘baby you are funny, we both know you wouldn’t dare’

You sat on his response for a minute or two, letting him sweat as he could see you’d read the message.

‘goodnight sweet cheeks’

You were proud of yourself for your blunt response, even if he didn’t reply, you’d sure be obscenely offended but you wouldn’t be shocked.

If he had sent you a message even close to that, the phone probably would’ve been launched across the room and loud groan that could’ve been heard from down the corridor of your apartment building.

The grey ticks, stayed grey for what felt like an eternity. In fact, you stared at the screen for 4 solid minutes, waiting.

You huffed, regretting your text. Had you ruined it? Took it too far?

He could be an annoying prick sometimes and knew exactly how to push your buttons, especially when it came to making you jealous but in all honestly you couldn’t imagine him sending you a message like the one you had sent.

The room was silent, you took yourself over to the mirror as if you needed to take a long hard look at yourself, but in actual fact you just chuckled. Grow up.

You needed to test him, needed to see how he felt. If he wanted you, he would.

Simple as that.

If you were going to keep falling for him, the least you could do was find out if you were both kind of on the same page, even the same book would be good.

You continued to stare in the mirror as you got ready for bed, accepting your defeat and pondering on how you’ll deal with such rejection on a clear mind in the morning.

Scraping your hair into a ponytail, you saw your phone light up on the bed. Seeing his name flash at the top of the screen with the green and red ‘accept’, ‘decline’ buttons staring you in the face.

You froze.

He knew you hated phone calls, especially when he hadn’t told you he was going to call. Prick.

Your thumb hit the accept button before your brain could scream at you to let it go to voicemail, holding the phone to your ear to hear that raspy voice you so desperately craved.

‘I’m outside, little one. You gonna come and let me in or should I try buzzing someone else?’

[st4rgzer]

can you do Spencer x fem reader where she doesn't work for the bau but they have been together for like a year and live together and she's really sad that Spencer is gone all the time and always leaves and cancel dates bc of work and it makes her feel unwanted. She tells him this and he gets annoyed and calls her clingy bc he's stressed and then feels so bad and requests a week off work and spends it all with her doing whatever she wants!

CLINGY. (spencer reid)

summary: reader is having a hard time getting the attention and care she needs from her partner, spencer reid.

genre: angst + fluff

cw!: drinking, swearing, feelings of unwontedness

a/n: i went down a slightly different route but i still hope you like it!! tysm for requesting!🫶🏼

you were practically brimming with excitement as you shimmied into a mauve colored silk maxi dress that hugged your figure perfectly. you had your makeup done hours prior and you bought this dress with all the joy in the world. you were giggling in anticipation as the clock ticked closer to 9pm, the hour you and spence had settled on after a week of him canceling and postponing your date. this was a special one. you bought him a beautiful chess set, very valuable. he had had his eyes fixed on it for months, and you bought it for him as a special gift in hopes that he would ease up on you after a few little arguments you had been having over his work. it was just a little rough patch and this date would surely fix everything up back to normal.

time passed as you waited with a glass of wine in your hand for him to get home. the clock struck 11:30 and you started to get worried, he hadn’t answered any of your calls or replied to your texts.

the sound of rattling keys followed by the twist of the doorknob made you jump up. as the door opened, it revealed a very disheveled looking spencer reid, he was in no form ready for a formal dinner.

“spencer” you walked towards him, a prominent look of worry on your face

“what the hell happened? i had to cancel our reservation- i thought you were in trouble! i tried calling you but you gave no signs of life, i was worried sick!” his hands anxiously pushed his hair out of his face as you went on and on.

“can you just- just shut up! okay? stop talking. god you’re suffocating me you are so clingy!” he spoke with annoyance dripping from his words. your mouth fell slightly agape as you processed his words. clingy. he called you clingy, and he told you to shut up. you felt like a fool. the chess set wrapped neatly in purple paper and tied with a black bow that was placed on the kitchen counter, the lipstick stain on the wine glass. you felt like your whole world just fell apart. everything you did was stupid and you felt like a fool, and maybe you were clingy, but you thought that with spencer, you didn’t have to worry about being too much.

you didn’t say a word before turning on your heel and stepping out, running to the bathroom as tears threatened to drop. he tried to reach for you but you were already gone.

he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, cursing to himself. he wasn’t mad at you, he wasn’t annoyed with you, he could never be annoyed at you. you were everything and more to him and he vowed to himself to never take you for granted, but that was exactly what he had done. and he regretted his words the moment they left his mouth.

he knew it was too early and the wound was too fresh to apologize yet, but it killed him to not go running after you and just hold you against him. his heart ached and broke even more when he saw the gift on the counter. he already knew what it was, of course you bought the chess set he had only mentioned once but yet, you remembered.

his head dropped between his arms as he shut his eyes tightly. his frustration was seeping through him, the anger wasn’t aimed at you, it was aimed at him. he spoke without thinking and wasn’t able to control his own emotions, thus making you feel unwanted, a feeling spencer never thought he would invoke in you.

meanwhile, you sat in the bathtub, knees tucked in and pressed against your chest. you squeezed your eyes tightly as tears fell loosely and at a rapid pace. quiet sobs could be heard in the silent room, leaving room for only your thoughts, a perfect recipe for you to spiral.

three knocks interrupted your crying. you looked up and sniffled, wiping your cheeks with your arm before talking

“what do you want” your voice was broken and fraile, hesitant to your annoyed tone.

“can i come in? please?” his voice was soft and gentle, his tone familiar and welcoming. very different from the harsh reid that presented himself to you earlier.

he could hear you sniffle as you hesitated to respond.

“sure…” your voice was uncertain, but it was enough for him to open up the door softly and enter. he sighed at the sight of you curled up in the bathtub. his eyes wide and puppy like, a look of remorse and lament on his face.

he waveringly stepped closer to you, getting into the tub with you. you shifted and let him maneuver you onto him, back pressed against his chest as he held you tightly. you turned your head and looked up at him with red eyes and mascara running down your cheeks, yet he still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the whole world. he tucked loose strands of your hair behind your ear and stroked your head softly, eyes scanning your features before he found a way to articulate his words.

he cleared his throat before talking, “im sorry. i know you probably hate me right now, and i deserve every bit of anger you have towards me, but i want you to know that im sorry. i never meant those words, hell, i shouldn’t have even opened my damn mouth. im stupid for taking your love for granted, because you deserve so much more than what i’ve been giving you recently. but it isn’t because of you, if im mad at anyone its at myself. i love you more than life itself and you should never settle for 2am phonecalls and postponed dates. that being said, you know that its been because of my work and i cant do anything about that, but i can do something else. i told hotch whats been going on over the phone and he agreed to giving me 3 weeks off of work, i know it’s not much but i promise i’ll spend every minute making everything up to you.”

your bottom lip quivered at his heartfelt apology, and you broke down in tears at his overwhelming care for you. you felt stupid for ever doubting him.

“i love you” you said as your head dropped to his chest, his hand rubbed your back soothingly.

“thank you for the chess set, i love it, and i love you even more” he smiled down at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head

“you’re welcome, i love you too” you sniffled, tiredly speaking as your eyes fluttered shut.

he caressed your hair and felt your heartbeat slow down, followed by quiet snores. he laughed quietly. he sat up slowly and managed to pick you up bridal style without waking you up. he propped you onto the bed and changed you into one of his sleep shirts, the ones you liked. he got into bed with you and covered the both of you with the blanket. you moved in your sleep, missing spencers warmth, curling up to his side. spencers arm came behind you and wrapped around you waist, letting you nestle further into his side. he pressed a kiss onto your forhead before clicking the lamp light off and eventually, falling asleep as-well.

taglist: @ilovesadiesink @sp3ncelle @lvtilzs @sunshine-on-marz

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Vice.

Synopsis - Everyone on the team has their vices. It just so happens that yours is sat across the table looking at you.

Pairing - Luke Alvez x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. luke has a gorgeous filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 1.6k

Author's Note - my baby my baby my BAAAAAABY!! I have been in love with this man for years and years and I can't believe I haven't written more for him. if you ever have a luke request, please send it to me. love him with my whole heart <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

Vice - a weakness of character or behaviour; a bad habit. "Cigars happen to be my father's vice."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Italian food."

The entire team laughs, faces illuminated by the warm yellow lights in Rossi's backyard.

"Yeah, no shit," Tara retorts, looking pointedly at Dave. "Doesn't take a behavioural analyst to figure that one out."

"Look, you asked the question, I answered."

He reclines back in his chair and takes a sip of his wine, looking around the table.

"Okay Tara, you go. What's your vice?"

She chuckles to herself before confessing.

"Super steamy period romances."

Everyone bursts into more laughter.

"Wait, what?"

"What kind?"

She's clutching at her sides as she answers.

"All kinds! Movies, books, TV shows. If it has corsets and sex, I'm in."

Your cheeks are aching from smiling so hard. You're not sure who first raised the initial question, but it's really allowed you to get to know each other a little bit deeper.

"Okay, enough about me. Simmons, what's your vice?"

"I have six kids. I don't have time for a vice."

He sounds serious, but he's grinning as he says it.

"I think the six kids are a result of an old vice."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, several glasses of wine almost obliterating your verbal filter. Your team howl with laughter.

"No comment," Matt wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. "Golfing is a safer option now. No risk of unplanned surprises."

"I had to change mine after kids, too," JJ chimes in. "I used to smoke cigarettes after bad cases, but I can't anymore. What kinda mom would I be if I lectured the boys about the dangers of nicotine, and then got caught chain smoking in the backyard?"

"A cool one," you shrug, yelping when she jokingly punches you in the arm.

"What about you, hotshot?" she asks, the whole team turning their attention to you. "What's your vice?"

You desperately avoid any eye contact, trying to play it cool. You just know Luke has that glint in his eye as he looks at you pointedly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Oh, fuck," you groan, fingers threading into the dark curls of his hair.

"Shhh, honey," he murmurs, lifting his head from between your legs to look up at you. "You and I both know how much trouble we'll be in if we get caught."

He dives back in, tongue gliding and flicking all the spots that make you keen. You slap one hand over your mouth, the other grappling to hold onto the leather beneath you.

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he taunts, condescension dripping from his tone. "The thrill turns you on, doesn't it, baby? The risk of getting caught only makes you hotter."

You whine against your palm, bucking your hips to urge him to keep going.

"What do you want, princesa? Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."

He loves this. Loves hearing you beg. Loves having you relinquish complete control and let him take care of you. Loves that he can turn you, the most independent, headstrong woman he knows, into a whining, needy mess.

"Fingers," you croak out. "Make me come, Luke, please."

He grins up at you like the cat who got the cream, self satisfied smirk never leaving his lips.

"Okay, baby," he soothes. "Since you asked so pretty."

He slides two fingers into you with embarrassing ease, crooking them in the way he knows you like.

"Oh, sweet girl, what would the team think? Huh? What do you think they'd say if they saw you like this, letting me finger fuck you in the backseat of my car in the parking garage?"

He's muttering lowly, under his breath, but you hear him clear as day. He loves to patronise you, tease you, get under your skin. In everyday life, he treats you with the utmost respect. In bed, not so much. You love it.

"Couldn't even wait until we got home. Poor baby, just had to take the edge off."

His eyes meet yours, like a magnetic force. His gaze is so dark, it has you squirming in place.

"It was the shirt," you choke out. "Fucking shirt."

"Hmm?" he hums against you, the vibrations pulling you closer to the edge.

"Your shirt," you moan as his thumb finds your clit. "Makes your arms look so, fuck, so big."

Oh, you shouldn't have said that. You can practically see his ego inflating.

"I'll let you wear it tomorrow morning, if you want. If you can still walk by then, that is."

You're right on the precipice, orgasm almost within reach. If he keeps talking to you like this, you'll be at the finish line in no time.

"Oh, I've got a better idea. Why don't I fuck you in it?"

The idea makes your head spin, sending you straight into your climax. Sharp white heat licks up your spine, curling your toes and arching your back. Your grip tightens in his hair and he groans, low and honeyed.

"That's it, baby," he's murmuring. "Ride it out. Good girl."

You finally relax, melting into the leather seats. Luke crawls from his position to lean over you, resting his body onto yours. He kisses you gently at first, then dirtier as you come back to yourself.

"My place or yours?" he whispers against your lips.

"Yours is closer."

"Mine it is."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hello? Earth to Hotshot?"

JJ nudges you playfully, grinning at you from ear to ear.

"What you thinking about?"

"Nothing," you stutter, clearing your throat. "Nothing at all."

You make the mistake of lifting your gaze from your lap. There, staring at you from across the table, is Luke Alvez. You almost wish you could slap that smug smirk off of his face.

"Come on, girl!" Tara hollers.

"Everyone has a vice," Spencer begins. "You have to. Especially in our line of work. We have to have some kind of outlet. Some sort of release."

Release. You almost choke on your wine, patting yourself on the chest.

"Yeah, no. I, uh, I like British reality TV. I guess that's mine."

The team laugh, everyone teasing you relentlessly. You risk a glance at Luke, and regret it immediately. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and chuckles, knowing look in his eye. You're petrified for a moment that he can read your mind.

"Okay then Spence. Your turn," you prompt, desperate to take the attention off yourself.

Spencer starts rambling about quantum physics, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Relief.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Yeah, this is what you needed, isn't it baby?"

You try to respond, but Luke's huge hands wrapped around your throat are making it a little difficult.

"My poor sweet girl, just needed some relief huh? You sick of being in charge all the time? You want me to take care of you?"

His tone is low and melted, the timbre of it settling into your bones. All you can do is whine and nod your head in response.

His hips repeatedly snap into yours, his body melded to you. He's completely smothering you with his weight, but you don't mind. You like the closeness.

You lean up to kiss him, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. He's swallowing your moans, leaning his head forward to rest against yours.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty," he groans. "You gonna come for me, mama? Give me what I want?"

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes. Please, baby. Please."

"Who am I to deny you when you beg so fucking sweet?"

The hand that's not around your throat snakes between your sweat slicked bodies to rub circles on your clit, throwing you over the edge.

Your back arches, hips writhing on Luke's soft cotton sheets. You're squeezing him so tight he's seeing stars.

"Oh fuck baby, oh fuck."

Luke goes boneless, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. He releases his grip on your throat and wraps both arms around you, pressing you together impossibly closer.

"We get better at this every time," he chuckles.

You smack him jokingly, before bursting into laughter. Soon, the two of you are crying happy tears, revelling in the afterglow.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"I'm gonna get a refill. Anyone need anything from the kitchen?"

You stand from your seat and make your way inside, taking note of the replies.

"I'll help you," Luke says, rising to join you. Neither of you see the way everyone at the table looks at each other knowingly.

You're barely through the door when you feel him against you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He presses a kiss onto your shoulder, murmuring in your ear.

"I'm your vice, aren't I?"

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh.

"In your dreams, Alvez."

He nips at your neck before continuing.

"Admit it. I'm your dirty little bad habit that you just can't kick."

You turn in his arms to face him, running your fingers through his hair.

"Talk the talk all you want, Luke. You and I both know this works both ways."

Your quirk your brow at him, and he leans in and kisses you chastely.

"Old habits die hard, huh?" he grins.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," you smirk back.

Outside, the team decide they'll continue to let you both lie to them for a little while longer. It's more fun for everyone that way.

[alana-reid-2005]

i need some air-

[qlossytbh]

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 in which you and spencer almost say i love you four times and one time where you actually do.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 16+ minors dni!, fem!reader, established relationship, spencer is down bad, so is reader tho, idiots in love, they’re both lowkey rlly hormonal bro, pet names (love, handsome), this one’s a rollercoaster, fluff, angst, lots of suggestiveness because reader likes to tease lol, allusions to smut (didn’t actually write it tho sorry!) fighting, spencer kinda acts like a bitch, makeoutshesh, mentions of reader being insecure of her physical appearance, mentions of typical cm content, mentions of blood, mentions of reader getting hurt, protective!spencer, derek and reader have a cute friendship, lots of mentions of maeve so spoilers on that end, pls let me know if i forgot anything!!!,

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 8.1k (damn)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 so i had many cute loose concepts and i kinda meshed it all into one fic. this is also loosely based on birds of a feather by billie eilish! im in love with this piece ugh

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The first time

“You look different,” Derek mumbled, mostly to himself, but loud enough to catch on. You turned towards his voice. The only thing different was that Hotch had let you come in later than your usual schedule since you had a random doctor's appointment— Oh, and the recently purchased light-blue button up you were wearing.

Your brows furrowed at Derek, one hand adjusting the strap of the purse that hung loosely on your shoulder as a light brown bag sat comfortably in the other. “Different..?”

Emily followed Derek, joining in as she glanced over at you from her own respective desk. “Actually he’s right,”

“I’m wearing a new shirt..?” You fiddled with the first button of your shirt, pursing your lips in bewilderment.

“No—“ Emily squinted at you. “It’s something else..”

Your mouth hung slightly open, not really sure how to respond to their prying eyes. They both were glancing at you, then at each other, then you again, but this time up and down—

“I hope it’s a good difference,” You commented as you waltzed past them and towards your boyfriend's desk. Spencer was hunched over at his desk, eyes practically burning holes into the files that sat in front of him.

His lips were pursed familiarly, just like he always did when he was so concentrated, along with the familiar furrow in his brow. His hair was tousled, a strand or two falling flat in front of his forehead. He looked so good it made you dizzy.

An instinctive smile had already reached your face once you made it to his desk. You leaned over him, slapping the brown bag on top of the files he was reading. He flinched slightly, but nevertheless, was finally pulled out of his deep concentration pool. You placed your palms on his shoulders, running them down his chest as you leaned over to hug him from behind.

You placed a kiss underneath his ear. “Hi handsome,”

He sank in his desk, realizing it was only just you and immediately easing. He hummed placidly, entranced by the sound of your sickeningly sweet voice. You pulled away to which he took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at you.

You gave him a soft smile, one you used that made his heart soar. How your eyes grew lenient and lips curved gently upwards as you scanned as much of his features as your brain could possibly take in.

You placed both hands on his shoulder and nudged your chin towards the bag. “Brought you your favorite,”

His hands were already on the bag before you could say anything else and when he looked inside he was in fact correct on his suspicions when he saw two chocolate sprinkled doughnuts.

They smelled heavenly and he knew they were enough to cure his very major and very much present sweet tooth he had woken up with this morning. A large uncontrollable smile slapped right onto his face as he opened his mouth. “I—“

He stopped, clamping his mouth shut abruptly.

Thank god. He swallowed those three words that had nearly left his mouth, pushing them right back into the back of his throat before the damage could be done.

It wouldn’t necessarily be the first time this week where he let the confession accidentally slip. He realized that as of recently, he would catch himself with more and more of a necessity to tell you how he felt.

The two of you started seeing each other romantically about six months back. It was completely out of nowhere when he asked you out for the first time. The second— and third, and fourth and continuing times after were more than expected.

It didn’t take much for the two of you to realize how much of an importance the other partook in your day to day basis, even despite being friends for so long prior to the dating.

And everyday he saw you he felt this big tightening in his chest that made it actually impossible for him to breathe. He felt all this pent up emotion that was getting harder for him to manage with every passing day.

It scared him, how much he cared about you. How much he wanted you to be a part of his everyday life and how much he wanted to tell you how it made him feel— how you made him feel.

But that fear was exactly the reason why he’d clamp his mouth shut every single time he felt like he wanted to tell you.

“I—uhm,” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, really I—“

You watched him, titling your head to the side with a prying gaze. “Have I ever told you how amazingly perfect you are?”

You purse your lips, leaning over his shoulder and pretending to be deep in thought. “I’m not sure— I think you’re gonna need to jog up my memory.”

He shook his head, huffing a laugh as you leaned down and pressing a long kiss onto his lips. You hummed in contentment, feeling the fuzziness in your chest reach every nerve in your body.

“Hey,” You pulled away, glaring over at Derek from Spencer’s desk. “Calm your hormones or I’m telling Hotch to hit HR up,”

“Actually hormones aren’t something you can consciously control, they’re a biological response to situations we find—“ Spencer quipped, earning a loud groan from Morgan.

You rolled your eyes, looking down at Spencer and reaching a hand up, running it ploddingly through his thick brown curls. “Are you coming over tonight?”

He nodded. “Yeah,”

“Looking forward to it,” You pecked his lips once more. Before rounding his desk and making a b-line for your own.

Spencer scanned you up and down as you waltzed away, not realizing you were wearing the shirt you bought last weekend. The one that enhanced the beauty of your hair and skin color, mapping a perfect picture he wanted to get lost looking at. He also couldn’t fail to avoid the way the shirt deliciously hugged every curve and bump your body had to offer. And those dress pants—

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning internally. He then thumped his forehead onto his desk, cheeks blazing with heat, knowing he was more screwed than anyone in this whole building, a lost cause if you will.

As you strutted past Derek and Emily’s desk towards your own, Emily gasped loudly. “I think I finally got it,”

“Yeah, I completely agree with you,” Derek followed. You looked at them both quizzically.

“Could it be?— No,” Emily gasped once again and you immediately noticed that it was fake, alarming you of whatever game they were getting at.

“Yeah, I think it’s finally happened.” Derek leaned back in his chair, clicking his tongue and smirking over at you. “Pretty girl here is in love,”

Your cheeks turned hot, as your eyebrows shot up defensively. “What?”

Derek liked to say the two of you were still in your ‘honeymoon phase’ and you couldn’t disagree with him— it was the most accurate description of your relationship with Spencer.

But saying in love triggered something— physically and emotionally.

“No wonder she looks so different,” Emily tutted. “She’s got that ‘happy in love’ glow to her.”

“Shut up,” You have the strap of your purse on a death grip as you opened your mouth to protest but failed miserably as all the words died in the back of your throat. Thank god Spencer seemed preoccupied with the donut you had just given him.

“I’m—“ You shuffled, slapping yourself internally. Way to give it away. “You guys need to find a better hobby.”

And with blazing cheeks, a dry throat and a concerning pattering heart blaring against your throat, you stalked your way back to your desk.

The second time

“But that isn’t fair Spencer!” You groaned, gripping your bag as if your life depended on it. “You can’t expect to save everyone and then blame yourself when it doesn’t go well,”

There had been a sensitive case today, clearly an unsuccessful one. Spencer, like usual, jumped at the first opportunity to start blaming himself— for not being quicker, for not being smarter.. Whatever reason he could nitpick at, he was currently doing so.

You tore your purse off your body and tossed it into a small basket by your front door. You roughly tore your heels off, slightly relieved at the feeling off the palms of your feet on the wooden floor.

“There were flaws in the profile— flaws in the geographical profile,” He huffed, frustrated, filling every fiber of his words. He tore his satchel off his body, grabbing his files from it prior and slapping them onto your coffee table. “We couldn’t even correctly pinpoint the Unsubs M.O before he started sadistically killing again, we couldn’t—“

You felt for him, you truly did. Spencer was one of the most kind hearted, considerate people you knew, but that came with a lot of self-demands. He had to be everything at once, and be there for everyone at once and if he didn’t reach the bar he’d set up for himself, this would happen.

He pushed past you and towards your kitchen. “Spence, we aren’t going to solve every case, no matter how good our work may be.”

“You think I don’t know that? The average percent of homicides cleared or "solved" is 60 to 65 but around 35 to 40 percent go unsolved.” You opened your fridge, grabbing a pitcher of water and grabbing a glass from your cabinet as you listened to Spencer.

“35 to 40 percent, do you know how high that is?!” He stressed. You realized his irritation was heavy because he was reaching his peak of rambling.

Spencer just couldn’t stand when things like this happened. When people did horrible things and got the luxury of roaming free— he couldn’t help but feel like he was at fault for that. If he was just quicker, or smarter maybe they would’ve caught whatever bastard was terrorizing people.

“I know you know that!” You huffed a breath of frustration. “But that’s the way this job works Spence!”

“What would you know about how this job works?” He turned, hot on his heels, facing you with an indescribable exasperation pooling around his eyes.

You stopped in your tracks, looking up at him sharply and setting the still empty glass of water and pitcher back onto the table “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes were deeply upset— cold and hard and so much different from the soft and welcoming gaze of your partner. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about being a profiler. You joined the team around three years after the rest of us.”

You stared at him with incredulity. When in a relationship with somebody, as well as learning all of their admirable virtues, you also learn their defects. And one of Spencer’s defects was that he had no filter whatsoever when he got angry. He just said the first thing that came to mind and spit it out and towards whichever person was unlucky enough to fall victim.

Not that the two of you fought often because you quite literally never did— but you’d see him pissed at people and his petty side sometimes felt the need to make an appearance.

You, however, had never had to experience this firsthand. You’d seen it happen at work, with JJ, with Derek, with the press. But two of you had never spoken to each other the way you were doing now. And if he thought you were gonna let him slide, he’s got another thing coming.

“What about Rossi?” You challenged as you crossed your arms across your chest. “I was accepted into the team just months after he was, you’re gonna tell him he wouldn’t know the first thing about being a profiler?”

“That’s different—“

“How?” Your veins were pumping with adrenaline. Your fingers shook violently, and the back of your throat suddenly burned with the need to cry. “I had jobs before getting called into the BAU, and I busted my ass off in college—“

“It’s not the same!” He spat. “You had never worked with the team before, it took you months to learn how we processed things, how we handled them.”

You could visually see Spencer bite down on his tongue only now attempting to reel himself down back to earth. And if you didn’t know him better, you wouldn’t be able to recognize the identifiable regret that appeared in his eyes while you continued on.

“And who are you to hold that against me Spencer?”

He swallowed thickly and let out a heavy sigh. You ran a frustrated hand through your curled hair. “All i’m saying is that—“

“I know what this job is like, which is why I’m telling you to get out of your goddamn head.” You didn’t scream at him, but there was a firmness in your voice that could scare practically anyone off.

“The things that have happened, happened today or will happen are never going to be in our control,” You told him. “Never.”

“Just because you’re angry and pissed does not give you a free card to attack me,” You slammed the glass cup onto the counter and pushed past him, making your way out of the kitchen. Spencer didn’t follow you to your room, he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

So as your bedroom door slammed shut, he stalked over to your couch, opening up the paper files onto your coffee table, and rerunning them once again. He wasn’t able to concentrate at all though, knowing you were in the other room tossed in bed and probably crying because of him.

A few long hours later, Spencer closed his files and looked over towards your door. There had been no noise emitted whatsoever from your room, which he wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

He felt like an idiot. Presumably so, he was so stupid for just lashing out like that on you. Your intentions were never ill intended, yet he still pushed you away and he hated himself for that.

He stood up, making his way into your kitchen and grabbing the empty glass. He poured some water into it and went over to your door.

You were lying down, blankets wrapped around you protectively as your back faced him. He couldn’t help but smile, feeling the endearment tighten in his chest.

You stirred in your sleep as the bed sunk beside you, groaning softly. Spencer hovered over you, setting down the glass of water on the nightstand beside your head.

“Hey,” His voice was very soft, maybe even enough to send you back into the nap you were in— until you remembered what had happened earlier and thought that maybe talking to him was a better idea.

Your eyes burned and your head hurt. You sniffed away the buildup that the crying had caused. You then blinked away the grogginess from your eyes, along with the slight burning sensation due to the tears you had shed earlier. “Hey,”

Your sleepy voice was enough to send Spencer into a whirlwind. It tugged at the strings of his heart and all he wanted to do right now was grab you in his arms and hold you there forever.

He laid on his side beside you, running a soft hand across your arm with the encouragement for you to turn around and face him.

A slight sense of anxiety was coursing through him. He was scared that a part of you was still mad at the way he spoke to you, and the worst part was that he couldn’t blame you, because he had in fact acted like an idiot.

You blinked up at him from over your shoulder. “What time is it?”

“Around nine?” You hummed, flipping on your side and turning to face him. Spencer slapped at the nerves inside him and shifted slightly in his position.

“Hey,” He reached his hand over to yours and intertwined his fingers with your own. “Were you crying?”

“Yeah,” His tone hadn’t been patronizing or ridicule intended, it was more so concerned. You reached up to rub your eye.“You were pretty fucking mean.”

Spencer wanted to kick himself. Truly. There wasn’t anything else to say but how utterly stupid he had been for causing you any type of harm when his main promise was to prevent you from any of it.

“You should drink some water,” He lifted himself up by his elbow, hovering over you again and reaching for the glass.

“I’m not thirsty,” You mumbled, snuggling closer into your pillow.

“You should still drink love, you haven’t had a single drop of water since we got here and you’re probably dehydrated,” You didn’t look at him. “I added those watermelon electrolytes you like so much.”

You peered at the glass, suddenly feeling deathly thirsty. With a huff, you reached for the glass. “Fine,”

You downed the whole drink in a matter of seconds, melting at the taste of the sweet watermelon tartness on your tongue. Once you finished the glass, you handed it back to Spencer who set it on the opposite nightstand.

“Can we talk?” You nodded. “I’m sorry,”

You looked up at him, opting him to continue. “I shouldn’t have snapped the way I did. You were trying to help me, and by attempting to push you away I said stuff I really, really shouldn’t have and I’m so sorry,”

With a few seconds of silence, you reached down, intertwining both of your hands. Your thumb glided over his knuckles as you listened to him.

You mumbled. “It’s okay Spence,”

He shook his head. “It’s not, honestly. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”

Yeah, good point.

“I know,” You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “But you said that you're sorry and next time we’ll learn how to manage these things a little more efficiently.”

You quickly pulled his arm over your body and scooted forward, too tired to dwell in an emotionally exhausting conversation, nuzzling your face into his neck while his arms instinctively tightened around your frame. “We’ll get the hang of this, okay?”

There was silence after that. One that could’ve been filled by anything, honestly.

Those three words were all you wanted to say right then and there. It had been on your mind a lot recently, how Spencer was making you feel a ton of scary and big and complicated feelings— all amazing but terrifying. And those three words felt the most accurate when it came to telling him how you felt about him.

You really wanted to tell him at that moment. You don’t know where the necessity came from but it hit you like a tidal wave. Strong and capricious. Uncontrollable almost.

But then the fear settled in and you’d obstruct yourself from doing so.

So you didn’t say it, even though you may have wanted to.

Instead you just held him tighter and nuzzled into him as close as you physically could, hoping that somehow the message would get across. He placed a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Okay.”

The third time

You smiled into the kiss, tugging at his hair as you leaned back, supporting yourself solely on his grip around your lower back. Your legs rested on either side of him, sitting in his lap while his hands raked across your back in a way that made you feverish.

His lips moved swiftly across yours. He squeezed your hips, fingertips slipping just slightly underneath your shirt. You shivered at the contrast of his cold fingertips against your blazing skin. Spencer pulled away, voice breathy. “Is this okay..?”

“Yes,” You whispered back before pulling him onto your lips again.

Your relationship with Spencer was something that made your heart feel so light and airy— something so pure and easy. It made you grow dizzy just thinking about his hands on you and all the sweet things he’d whisper in your ear constantly. How he was always so considerate and sweet and perfect.

You were staying the night at Spencer’s apartment, too tired to drive back to your own apartment after work. But some things lead to others and well— yeah.

When having to restrain so much physical contact at work, strictly wanting to remain as professional as possible, you could merely blame yourself for needing him like this once back at eithers apartment.

You hummed against his lips, raking your hands slowly through his hair. The kissing hadn’t stopped for the past half hour or so— honestly you lost track of time.

Spencer pulled away breathlessly and placed a few messy but calculated kisses on your jaw and neck. You smiled almost stupidly. He pulled away, looking at your dozy face and feeling his chest tighten.

Your lips were slightly pinker than usual, and puffier. Your hair was just slightly tousled while your cheeks glowed a beautiful red hue. Your fingers remained tangled in the locks of his curls.

“You look pretty,” He was saying that as if it was another one of his scientifically proven facts, as if no one could say or believe otherwise. You tucked a small curl that had slipped onto the side of his face behind his ear, humming passingly. However, you never found his eyes, only focusing now on the curls that sat comfortably framing his face.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed, fiddling with the hem of your loose shirt. “You do that often,”

You look down at him, questioning him with a hum. “Do what?”

“Overlook the things I say when I compliment you,” He remarked. “Like you don’t believe me.”

You still didn’t move your attention from his curls. You didn’t believe him most of the time.

You weren’t an insecure person, not entirely anyways. You put a lot of focus on your physical appearance, always maintaining your clean look intact to the public eye. To many, you were considered extremely attractive. But unlike popular belief, you had many insecurities that you always tried to overlook. Sometimes it was hard though.

It was just hard for you to understand how he saw you so perfectly, like you had not a single flaw. ‘Beautiful’ and ‘breathtaking’, just like he always says when he sees you at work or back at your apartments. How he’s able to litter you with a million compliments

“I don’t overlook your compliments,” You let out an airy laugh, pulling back slightly to look at him properly, hands resting on his shoulders.

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t..!” You laughed, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a long kiss. He drew away, only by a few centimeters, desperately trying to get his point across because god forbid Spencer keep his thoughts to himself.

“You’re deflecting,” He whispered over your lips before you laid another feather-like kiss into his lips. You hummed dismissively, assuring him that you weren’t avoiding anything.

But god, if you didn’t stop kissing him so softly and so painfully slowly, if you didn’t stop shifting around on his lap the way you were and if you didn’t stop your hands from wandering their way across his shoulders and chest— he was going to have a hard time remaining composed.

“You’re—“ A kiss.

“trying to—“ Another kiss.

“distract me,” It was as if you were a magnet he was so desperately trying to detach himself from, but failing miserably. Gravity itself pulled him towards you, he couldn’t help nor control it. He couldn’t blame himself either.

“Is it working?” You whispered, voice dangerously close to a taunt. Your hands began fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt, popping the first two undone.

Spencer found himself growing dizzy as his hands dug into your hips. “Unfortunately,”

You kissed his jaw, and Spencer let out a stifled groan. With the willpower of the gods themselves, he reached up and grabbed your hands into his own, stopping their mission at undoing his shirts buttons. You pouted with a glare, pulling away from him as his thumb gilded affectionately across your knuckles.

“So wait,” You pulled back. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want to sleep with me.?”

Spencer choked. “What?— No!”

Spencer groaned as you stifled a giggle. Oh, how you loved teasing and getting him all flustered. “That’s not— No.”

You tilted your head. His hands rested on your hips, as he sighed looking up at you. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

You blushed. “You tell me often,”

“I know you’re beautiful,” He shook his head and sat up, trailing his hands across your back. “Do you?”

“People tell me often,” You smirked and when he glared at you all you could do was kiss it off him. “But I only like hearing it from you,”

“I asked you something,” He let out.

“Sort of,” You admitted meekly, finally responding to his question. His hands came back to the hem of your t-shirt, tugging at it as his lips found yours again.

“You’re probably the most beautiful person I know,” He whispered above your lips matter of factly.

“Probably..?”

“Definitely,” His hands gripped at the plush flesh of your hips in a way that was making you want to fall to the ground and melt into a puddle of goop. It was so gentle yet there was a specific urgency to it.

He pulled away, kissing your cheek immediately after. “You’re also so smart and kind,”

He kisses traveled across your cheek, to your temple, towards your jaw and that damn spot on your neck that he knew drove you crazy. All while whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Your witt was slowly melting away with any trace of self control you had left in you as you closed your eyes, arching yourself into his addictive touch. ”And funny,”

“Spence..” You warned.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” He looked back at you, reaching up and cupping your cheek in his hand. “I—“

His words failed him as they whipped all the way back into his throat, daring not to leave his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to say it, there wasn’t anything else he wanted to say to you, because no matter how much he’d wash you in compliments, those three words were the closest thing to allowing you to understand just how much you truly meant to him— hell, it didn’t even feel like enough sometimes.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Which is why he quickly thought of the closest thing to those three words and spat them out, avoiding any growing suspicions. “I love the way you make me feel.”

You weren’t gonna lie, the first two words had gotten your hopes up in ways that were too pathetic to admit out loud. But his words had other intentions, so it seems, and you had to force yourself from slouching your shoulders foward in disappointment.

Beside, it’s not like the things he was saying weren’t causing a wonderful heat to pool in the pit of your stomach— and among other places.

You watched him, for a second or two, trying to maybe tell him with your eyes what you couldn’t tell him with your words. But it still wasn’t enough, and if you didn’t release the neediness that was starting to take shape within you, you'd quite literally explode.

You tangled your fingers within his hair and pulled his mouth onto yours in a steady but desperate kiss. He responded pretty well, given since his hands found your waist instantly and tugged them towards himself in a feverish manner.

He began pulling at the bottom of your shirt, signaling he needed it off of you and pulled away, whispering breathlessly. “Can I?—“

“Please.”

The fourth time

“Ouch,” You hissed as Morgan dabbed a piece of gauze onto the now stitched up cut on your head. “Are you trying to give me another concussion?”

Derek deadpanned at you, slightly relieved that you still found the energy to pick on him after being whacked in the back of the head with a pipe by the Unsub.

The team was searching for a local Serial Killer that targeted young women around the area, per usual. You and Morgan were put in charge of entering the Unsubs apartment since Garcia had been able to track it down while you and Morgan were on call.

It wasn’t anything past ordinary. This was your job, you had done this more than a thousand times before— much less carelessly and it wasn’t like you to be so careless. But sometimes you get so comfortable and cocky with your job that you forget about the actual risks of it.

Eventually that cockiness would have turned around and bit you in the ass.

When you and Morgan busted down the door, guns in hand, you split up, each directioning yourselves into different rooms of the apartment— in hindsight that was a horrible idea.

When you walked into what seemed to be an empty room, you stupidly failed to check the back of the door. Which was why a second later, when you opened your mouth to inform Morgan that the room was clear, something solid and cold wacked you across the back of the head, knocking you out unconscious.

You weren’t aware of what happened after that, given how the blunt force had knocked you out profusely and you really couldn't recall anything prior to the attack when you regained consciousness. All you knew is that you were alive and the Unsub had been caught, which was all that mattered honestly.

Derek was now wallowing in the self inflicted guilt of not knowing better. But to be completely fair, you didn’t know better either— you were as much to blame as he was.

But Derek was convincing himself that because of his lack of observation, you had ended up with a concussion, six stitches and a bruised cheekbone.

“Derek—” You pleaded, watching him dump the ice pack onto the counter of the back of the ambulance with an angry toss.

All he was doing right now was huffing in anger. “Come on,”

He turned to look down at you. Shot him a stiff thumbs up and a smile, signaling that you were more than okay. Sure, your head was throbbing, but you weren’t dying.

“Stop doing that,” You rolled your eyes and squashed your eyes shut, attempting to relieve your headache.

“Doing what?”

“The sulking,”

“I’m not sulking,” Derek scoffed. Now it was your turn to deadpan him. He opened his mouth, intending to jump instantly to his defense.

“Where is she?” A panicked voice from the depths of the crowd caused you to grimace, immediately recognizing it to be Spencer’s. Derek suddenly felt dread when realizing he now had to face him.

Spencer could be rather ardent when it came to you and your safety— you knew you were fine, but having to convince Spencer that you were fine as well was a tougher job.

Spencer pushed through the vast amounts of people, finally breaking through the last line of them and finding you sitting placidly in the back of the ambulance. The panic Spencer felt coursing within him was something he wished upon no one.

When Hotch told the team that you were down, Spencer couldn’t help but freak out. He hid it well, knowing he had to stay focused on the case, but god was he slowly crashing. His usual sharp intellect was fogged, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your wellbeing. His head was flooded with questions and worries and he needed to know that you were okay.

He strided over to you, quickly crouching and taking your cold hands into his own. His distressed eyes flew all over your face, scanning it as his hand came up to cup your cheek. His thumb gilded gently over your bruise and the deep furrow in his brows was enough to tell you that his mind was going haywire.

“Hey you,” You said, humor glistening your tone while smiling sweetly and oblivious to the gravity of the situation. Spencer forced a weak smile to spread across his own face.

“Hey,” He cooed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine actually,”

Spencer straightened himself out, turning to Derek. “What did the paramedics say?”

“They gave her six stitches for the superficial cut on the crown of her head and some ice for the bruised cheekbone,” He crossed his arms. “They say it’s probable she has a concussion.”

Spencer felt his blood run cold. “A concussion?!”

You could tell Spencer was trying his hardest to remain calm. It was evident in the deep breaths he was taking and the tapping of his fingers against the side of his leg. He was doing a horrible job at it though, although you wouldn’t tell him that because he’d just freak out some more. His voice was getting all pitchy and his shoulders shook feebly. He sucked in a deeper breath, closing his eyes and attempting to regain his composure.

“Spencer,” You didn’t need him panicking more than he already was. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, probably to scold you or maybe even defend himself, Hotch's stoic voice cut through.

“We need to deliver a statement. Morgan, Reid,”

Spencer looked down at you. But you pushed him to head over to wherever your chief needed him to be. “Go. You can—“

“Hotch, I’m going to stay,” He told the chief, almost finally.

“For the first 24 hours after the injury, it’s important for someone to stay with her to keep an eye out for any new symptoms that develop.”

You clamped your mouth shut and looked at Hotch, who remained neutral watching the two of you. You offered him a shrug, and the two of you knew there was no getting through to him. Hotch hesitated momentarily, but knew Spencer would be more of use if he wasn’t with him worrying about you.

Spencer was as smart as they came but god could he be stubborn.

With a final nod from Hotch, he and Morgan pushed through the group of press. You followed Spencer’s movements with a sweet smile glued onto your face. He sat next to you, close enough so that you could feel the side of his thigh warm against yours.

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asked again, voice small, worrying that if he spoke too harshly or too loudly it would hurt you further.

“Surprisingly good for someone who was smacked in the back of the head with a metal pole,” You shrugged indifferently. Spencer, however, did not find your humor amusing.

“How sleepy are you on a scale from one to ten?” He asked urgently. You pulled back, pursing your lips quizzically.

“Like three? I slept like shit last night—”

“How about your neck? Does it feel stiff?” His hands reached up, cupping the sides of your neck as his thumbs traced your jaw.

“No,”

“Are you unable to move any part of your body?” His questions were spewing out of him uncontrollably, and it was getting hard for you to keep up.

“I don’t—“

“What about your pupils? Did the paramedics check them?”

“Spence,” You whined, slumping your shoulders forward while your face still rested in his hands. “The bright lights and harsh noises are giving me slight headaches, but that’s it.”

He stared at you. Long and hard, he just looked at you and wondered what he wanted to say out of all the things swirling around in his head.

“What were you thinking?” He asked finally. You stared at him and his eyes hard with annoyance, but still shining an amount of concern. His voice was barely above a whisper. You let your shoulders fall, licking your bottom lip.

You reached up, grabbing his hands steadily from your face and lacing your fingers with his. “We weren’t,”

“We jumped in head first and didn’t think coherently,” His frustration was rational, but to a certain extent. You really wanted to validate his concern, but he was not allowed to get mad at you. “Spencer.”

As you called his name firmly, he only looked away, jaw and shoulders tense and constricted. You sat there, silently waiting for him to react however it is he needed to in order to process.

“I should’ve gone with you, I should’ve—” His head ducked low. His voice was full of frustration, at himself mostly. It didn’t have to be because this was not something he could have prevented.

“Spencer,“ You gave his hands a firm squeeze and tugged on them slightly. “What did we talk about when it came to personal prevention?“

He remained silent. “I’m serious, there isn’t anything we could’ve done to prevent this.”

Spencer couldn't call to mind the last time he had felt this strongly about someone. Maybe Maeve, but he knew deep down it wasn’t the same. He was almost positive he really hadn’t ever felt this way about someone— he’d been in love, but never like this.

Your entire existence ameriolated his entire being. There wasn’t a moment in the day where he didn’t think of you, where he didn’t wonder what you would think of things, where he wasn’t excited to see you every morning for work. A life without you didn’t exist to him anymore— he didn’t want it too.

That could be the main basis as to why Spencer felt so implausibly terrified at the idea of losing you.

His hand left yours, replacing it with a cold emptiness. His free hand flew up to his eyes urgently, pinching them simultaneously to get rid of the minor tears that had welled upon them. He ducked his head low, not wanting you to notice that he had started tearing up.

Immediately, your whole face softened at the realization that he was crying. It tugged on the strings that held your heart up and made your stomach churn in the worst way possible. “Spence…”

Seeing him cry, possibly because of the fear of losing you, made you feel— funny. It gave you this airy feeling in your head that caused you to feel lightheaded and filled your chest with blithe. You weren’t sure if it was your concussion or the affection you felt towards Spencer that made you feel this way.

You smiled meekly, fondness across every one of your features. Spencer cleared his throat and spoke, voice wobbly and unsteady. He sat up, trying to recollect himself. “Sorry, I— I don’t know what i’m crying for—”

You looked into his eyes, eyebrows swooped downwards. At that second a million thoughts ran through your head, but only those three freaking worlds were the only ones that felt adequate enough to say in that moment.

“I—“ You started.

It was right there. It sat in the back of your throat irksomely. You were ready to jump off the edge, to slip into the abyss— to say those words that you’ve been holding off for the past weeks, months even. Spencer watched you, simultaneously growing nervous because he could tell by the way you swallowed thickly that you were about to say something.

“I think I’m seeing double,” You opted. Just the way his eyes blew wide was enough to make you giggle.

Next time.

“What do you mean?! Like actually double or are you—“ His voice died down at the sound of your snort and soon enough you began laughing. He blinked a few times before he glared at you.

“That is not funny.” It irked him massively how you had the capacity to always joke when he wasn’t at all in the mood to. But it also unraveled the itching anxiety that had grown in his chest and replaced it with a deep affection that surged throughout him entirely as he watched you laugh. “I’m serious.”

“Did you know that you look so cute when you’re mad?” Your hands reached up, cradling his face in your palms. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

When you pulled away his frown was still present. The pads of your thumbs rested on both corners of his lips, pushing them upwards and creating a makeshift smile.

“I’ll let you baby me these next few days all you want,” Your voice was soft and sweet, making his head spin as you hovered your lips over his, placing another slow kiss there. “But right now, I’m promising you that I am fine, okay?”

His jaw clenched, eyes flying down to avoid your prying one’s. “Spence.”

You were saying his name one too many times that he was finding it increasingly hard to compose himself. He glanced up at you, nodding weakly. “Okay.”

The fifth time

You leaned forward in the mirror of Spencer bathroom, poking at the scarring on the crown of your head. “It feels weird,”

“It’s scarring tissue, it’ll feel weird for a bit, love” He watched you silently from his seat on the edge of his bed.

“Do you think it’ll leave a scar?” You mumbled, voice tight with concern. “The bruising on my cheek is fading but god help me, if this leaves a weird bump on my head I’ll physically seek this psycho out in jail and give him his own bump to worry about,”

Spencer stopped himself from laughing, finding your pouting adorable.

“After an injury, the inflammatory process signals fibroblasts to lay down new, protective tissue in the form of scars,” Spencer quipped. “But it won’t be noticeable since it’s hidden underneath the rest of your hair.”

You huffed, poking at the bruise on your cheekbone and admitting. “It’s hard to feel pretty when I’m all busted up.”

“You always look pretty,” You continued to poke at your cheekbone to which Spencer stood up, walking into the bathroom and planting himself behind you.

“Stop poking at it like that,” He scolded, reaching behind you and grabbing your wrist. You focused on your face, huffing a breath of frustration.

This past week has been utter hell for Spencer. A newfound persistent anxiety managed to find him after your injury and sink its teeth into him, claiming him victim. You've been staying with him since your concussion, ensuring him that you were safe, but he noticed he’d grown more vigilant to his surroundings when he was at work, more possessive when it came to you and your wellbeing and more conscientious.

You didn’t obtrude, since you understood it was a perfectly normal reaction for him to have.

But he hated it. He hated this clawing anxiety he was having. He hated having the persistent fear of losing you. He tried to decipher whether it truly was all related to the recent events or if there was something deeper. But he knew for sure that the thought of you getting hurt was making him sick to his stomach.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. You grabbed his arms, rubbing soft circles onto it with the soft pads of your thumb.

“Bruises make me feel ugly,” You miffed. “Except the ones you give me, I love those,”

Spencer looked up from your neck, catching your gaze and watching your mischievous smile lighten up through the mirror as he cocked a brow at you. You giggled out a laugh.

Spencer zoned out. He just looked at you, watching your pretty eyes latch onto his through the mirror, seeing your body safe and warm and alive in his arms. His throat tightened and as much as he hated it, his mind immediately thought of Maeve.

Not because he was comparing, of course not. He could never— the two of you meant very different things to him and they were very different relationships.

But he could remember how he wasn’t able to tell Maeve that he loved her— he wasn’t given the chance.

And it made him think about your recent accident, and all the times he'd been stopping himself from telling you. Fear, worry— whatever it was, he had been stopping himself time after time from telling you how he felt.

The thought of him losing you before he could ever tell you how he truly feels is something that made him want to throw up.

“Hotch said I could go back to work on Monday,”

“I love you.”

He said it because he could, he said it because he meant it, and he said it because he didn’t want to live a second longer without you knowing how he felt despite its reciprocity.

He won’t ever forget the way your face just fell. Just stopped moving, mouth hanging open and eyebrows shooting upwards. How your mind just went blank. God, his heart was in his throat and your silence wasn’t helping.

“What did you just say?” You asked, mostly in disbelief— entirely in disbelief.

“I love you.” He’d repeat it for you as many times as you wanted him too. He’d do anything for you.

You turned and his grip around you loosened. Now facing him, your eyes shot around every fraction of his face to determine that this wasn’t a lie or a joke or something cruel he was planning.

“Say that again,”

“I love you.”

And it definitely wasn’t.

You pushed yourself onto the tip of your toes, leaning up and wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a suffocating kiss. One that was desperate, and urgent and full of passion and all over the place.

He pushed you against the marble counter, quickly hoisting you up onto the cold tile as your mouth moved along his perfectly. Your hands dug themselves into his hair, your legs wrapped around his waist, tugged at his body, pulling him impossibly closer to your own.

He pulled away breathing over your lips. “I love you,”

He kissed you again before pulling away and whispering once again. “I’m in love with you.”

He rested his forehead onto you, reaching up and tangling his hands in your hair. The two of you heaved. Your chest was hammering against your rib cages, the oxygen wasn’t fully reaching your head or lungs and you were pretty sure you were going to faint. It was too much. “You are?”

You both peered your eyes open, looking at each other deeply. He whispered, voice crackling slightly. “How could I not?”

You kissed him, this time slowly and softly, wanting to show him how much you loved him back— needing to tell him how much you loved him back.

“I love you,” You said, wavering an unsteady laugh. He opened his eyes and pulled away, looking at you and infatuated with every part of your existence.

“Really?”

“Spencer..!” Your voice cracked in a protest, ludicrously referring to such a stupid assumption— you’d love him till the day you died. You pulled him closer. “It is physically impossible for me not to love you. Don’t act so surprised.”

He smiled. A big, wide and stupid smile that probably made him look like a kid on christmas morning. He kissed your forehead. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to say it.”

You perched up, hands falling onto his chest. “How long have you wanted to say it?”

He cringed bashfully, letting his hands fall to your waist as he shook his head shamefully. “Too long,”

“Well that makes two of us then,” You leaned forward, placing a relaxed kiss on his jaw. “Was there a point you realized?”

He shook his head. He’s pretty sure that after a month of going out on dates and seeing you consecutively outside and inside of work, he knew he’d fall in love with you. How could he not? “My breaking point, however, was the day you were wearing your new shirt,”

He kissed your neck, giving your hips a tight squeeze. “Which by the way, looked absolutely incredible on you,”

“Is that so?” You mumbled, lips curving up in a smirk.

“I love how it looked on you,” He admitted. “I love you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that,”

“I’m never going to get tired of saying it,” He responded. “When did you realize?”

“It was either that time after our first big fight or on that night on the couch when we,” You shot him a sneaky look, to which his cheeks turned pink, recalling the events of that night. You shrugged. “You know.”

You were going to be the literal death of him.

He kissed your jaw twice more. He loved you and you loved him. It seemed like something too good to be true. “I think I’m going to need you to jog up my memory,”

You giggled at the reference, heart doubling in size at the amount of affection you were feeling towards him at that moment. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, emitting a loud shriek followed by a string of laughter as he hoisted you up and carried you over to his bed.

[uranometrias]

goodbye love, you flew right by , spencer reid

this was inspired by the season fourteen episode 'truth or dare'... it's my take on the jeid confession aftermath. listen to ceilings while you read, but don't think too deeply into it, because the story has a happy ending... this is only part 1 though, and it ends on a awkward/angsty note, so sorry. reader passes out from a head blow.

i wanted it to be short, but i have no self control.

you tried to keep your mind on your training, you didn't really have time to panic, you needed to stay calm. you focused all your energy on your breathing, willed your fear away with thoughts of better things. you didn't even want to focus on the fact that spencer was across from you, hands pinned behind his back as he stared up at the manic man that was currently holding you, your boyfriend, and your closest work friend hostage. you believed in your team, and what you were capable of, you knew without a doubt you'd make it out alive.

"casey..." spencer speaks, his voice has matured over the years, rightfully. he sounds so official, and you find yourself sitting a touch straighter at the sharpness behind his words. jj was standing up, eyes glued directly on your captor, her face was pinched up with the proof of her worry. she catches your eye, and looks forlorn, you only hope that she sees the resilience resting in your own eyes, as you try and offer a semblance of hope through your own gaze.

"shut up!" he shouts, and his gun is aimed at spencer. he spits the words out, quickly stomping towards jj as he forced her to the floor.

"okay, okay!" she exclaims, and it's clear that he's hurting her. his patience has run thin, and jj's plan of getting through to him by playing along with his sick 'truth or dare' game was proving to be all for not. your foot unconsciously begins to tap, likely a nervous habit that you have no time to unpack. you're still too busy trying to appear unbothered, it always seemed to tick the unsubs off when it seemed like their bravado meant nothing. that's what you needed. you couldn't afford to let him think that he scared you.

"last chance." and his gun's trained directly at jj's head. "something you'd never say aloud, not even to your friends here." and casey's whirling around to point the gun in your direction, you think it might have been a mistake for him to turn around. when he sees your foot tapping his face contorts, he's annoyed with you, angry with you. your arms are uncomfortable from the way they were taped together behind your back, and the foot tapping has become involuntary.

his reaction is almost instantaneous, and you think you understand why the team's always telling you not to get so lost in your own mind.

casey's grabbing you by your arm and it hurts, especially as his nails manage to pierce through the skin. he seems to be doing it on purpose, yanking you up to your feet as jj and spencer both surge into action. "wait, wait, please-" jj's leaning forward, eyes wide and full of fear for the first time since this whole ordeal began. spencer's scared too, but he hides it much better you think.

"please, don't hurt her." he begs, and you find it a bit annoying that he's brought them to the point of begging, of using manners to appeal to his ego. casey's eyes jump from spencer to jj, and then to you, and he's sneering. he whirls you around, arm looping around your neck as he presses the barrel of his gun directly to your temple. you sing along to your favorite song in your head, using it as a way to stay grounded, it likely made you look like a mad man.

you supposed that it was your superpower, your ability to look death in the eye, and not flinch. the team often mentioned they weren't sure if you or emily was more stone-faced in a crises situation. "oh, you don't want me to hurt her?" he mocks, and you don't look at spencer, no, you keep your eyes on jj, because she's the one that has to play the game. if you didn't know spencer so well, you never would have noticed the slight movement of his arms, he was up to something.

he was fine.

jj was the one in the hot seat, and she needed you to be calm. freaking out would only make her all the more anxious. so you offer her a stern look, a look that expressed that you all would be okay. she doesn't look convinced. "i want your deepest, darkest secret." he insturcts, "impress me, or i'll kill her." and he slams the gun deep into your temple, the action dizzying as you try and maintain your balance. you feel pain blooming behind your eyes. "and then i'll kill him." he nods his head towards spencer, and jj's on the verge of tears.

you have no choice but to watch her, he's given you a first-class seat to the action. jj's eyes don't land on you though, instead she's looking over to spencer. he looks back at her, face pensive, but otherwise calm. she shudders for just a moment, and it looks like she's trying to work up the courage. "come on!" casey suddenly screams directly in your ear, and you flinch violently. it garners both jj and spencer's attention. casey tightens his hold on you, gun at the ready. "do you think this is a joke? do you think i won't blow this bitch's brains out?"

you're not too fond of being called a bitch, and the drama of it all, takes you out of the moment a bit. why were all unsubs so cliche?

jj takes in another shuddered breath, this one bordering on a sob as she takes in a puff of air. it takes her a moment to get her bearings, but then she's looking at spencer again. she offers him a weak smile, and you get a tingle up your spine, it feels like a warning for disaster. "spence..." she says his name weakly, voice harsh as she croaks. he's looking away from you finally, meeting the gaze of his best friend. "uh..." she inhales sharply. "um..." she looks at you then, and you're eyes are wide, confusion swirling there and she's exhaling.

there's a heaviness, a guilt that stares back at you, and you find yourself scared for the first time, but not of casey. no, you're scared of your friend. "i'm sorry." she mouths to you, and you watch as she looks back at your boyfriend, the clear love of your life. you feel dread then, because you know jj, you know her too well, and you know what's coming. why else would she be so worried, why else would she be looking at you with so much shame in her eyes. "i've-" she stops.

spencer's none the wiser, he wouldn't get it until she said it in full. so while you spiraled into despair, he sat patiently, doe-eyes wide and full of whatever innocence he still had left. you wish you could go back to before, you wish you hadn't been assigned to go with jj and spencer, if you were with the team you'd be none the wiser. you wouldn't feel so heartbroken, displaced, uncertain. but you're here now, and all you have to do is wait for the other shoe to drop. jj inhales, and you wish she would get it out. "i've always loved you."

and there it is.

you'd come to recognize the signs and signals of tears, it always started with your eyes burning like you'd been sitting in smoke. your nose stings next, and you bare down harshly on your tongue to keep them from falling. "and i was just too scared to say it before." it's a gut-punch, it would have likely knocked you on your ass had casey not been forcing you to take it all in. "and now things are just really too complicated to say it now." and she's crying, and that's how you know that she means it. that only makes you feel much worse.

jj, for all intents and purposes was a great actress, she could make any story believable, but she'd never been a good 'fake crier'. she could hide every single one of her tells when she spoke, but emotions were harder to manage. you remembered how she'd told you that one day while the two of you were hanging out. you don't know what brought you there, but she'd made it clear, that tears for her were hard to fake. which left you with what? a best friend that was in love with your boyfriend?

"i'm sorry, but you should know." and you'd hoped she'd at least have the decency to look at you. she doesn't. instead, she's still looking at spencer, and you feel like you're intruding. more than that you feel so stupid. spencer's got this look on his face, this shock and awe and confusion that makes you want to vomit, it makes you want to throw yourself to the ground and throw a tantrum. you want to open your mouth and scream, remind them that 'hey, you're here too'... remind them that you were apart of this, that this was a very very bad thing.

hope was not the sort of look he should be wearing, it's not how he should be responding. you don't know what you'd expected, but certainly not for him to look so relieved, not while you were sitting right there in front of him with a gun to your head. he gives her a half smile though, and you crumble. casey's suddenly chuckling, shoulders rocking as they're pulled out of their little moment. "hot damn!" and he's releasing the gun from your temple, holding it like a little prop, as he forced you back to the ground.

you don't resist, your knees slamming into the floor as you conceal your wince, conceal everything.

"now that's what i'm talking about." casey mutters excitedly. "now those are some last words right there..." he nods his head. he then looms over her, gun pointed directly in her face. "but not good enough to save your life-" before he can hope to pull the trigger, spencer has shot him. the shot echoes all around you, but it doesn't seem to pull you from your muffled mind. casey falls to the floor, jj jumping as he lands down next to her. she shudders violently.

then she's looking back at him, at spence. your spence.

you don't like how it makes you feel, that they've conjured this small habit of getting lost in one another. you clear your throat, and they're finally, finally looking at you. jj looks mortified, but you can't read spencer at all. he doesn't look at jj again, doesn't say a word, instead he's looking at you. you should feel something other than rejection, but you don't. not even when his eyes seem to brim with all those feelings that you know he has for you, because now it feels fake.

he's quick in the way he rushes towards you, kneeling as he inspects you like porcelain. his dominant hand moves to gently brush over where you'd been hit with the gun. you don't want him to touch you though, so you pull back, it's more like a hard jerk, like you were frightened of his touch. you try to play it off, pretend it never happened, but you know that he knows. it felt like the beginning of the end, like the prerequisite to something god-awful.

he looks so upset, hurt by the action, but you think out of the two of you, you're the one who's really hurt. "can you just get me out of these, please?" you don't sound like yourself either, instead you sound hollow, like a grieving woman. you probably are, grieving that is. spencer gives you a worn down nod, but maneuvers until he's behind you. he gently tugs at the tape, but it still hurts as it strips at your skin. you bare your teeth, but don't say anything, head hanging low, until he was done. he offers you his hand, you ignore it.

"y/n." jj calls, and she sounds so distraught. you ignore her too, you don't know what other choices you have. the room's not big enough to hide in, so instead you find yourself rushing over to melissa. you think it's silly, to leave the two of them alone while so much hung in the air, but it was better that way. "melissa." you say her name quietly, kneeling in front of her, despite how shabby they felt. "i need you to hang on, okay?" you exhale shakily.

"help will be here before you know it." you promise, and you're pressing on her wound, blood smearing your hands and your fingertips as she winced painfully. you don't hear anything from jj and spencer, but it doesn't make it better. clearly a glance was all it took for the two of them now. you hate the way this has thrown you, you don't exactly know why you're so fearful. jj was married, she had two sons she adored, and a marriage she was happy in. so why did it feel like the confession was the start of something bad.

were you so insecure that you felt like you didn't stand a chance?

you don't want to think about that, it might actually be enough to make you upchuck. instead, your masochistic mind has you chancing a glance back to where it all went down. you see that spencer has taken the tape off her hands. she's looking up at him, and he's staring down at her. you think that you hate them then. the door bursts open a second later, and you're glad. soon enough a medic would come to see to the wounded, and you could get the hell out of dodge.

"we're going to need an EMT, we've got three down." you exclaim. the room immediately jumps into action. you hear the incessant thrum of conversation as everyone jumped into action, and you're more than grateful when you feel someone looming. your mistake was believing it would be a medic, your face falls flat when you're met with the sight of jj. she had always had a bad habit of trying to force the hard conversations. today though, you were determined to stand your petty ground. you avert your gaze, attention back on melissa.

"y/n, please don't do this." she says this quietly, and you hear the genuine anguish in her voice. it doesn't sway you, it can't possibly.

"it's already done." you quip, and you're grateful to have slowed the bleeding of melissa's wound, as a medic takes your place, finally. you stand to your feet, bloodstained hands itching to smear against your jeans, but you refrain. you ignore rossi and tara's questions, not really in the mood to answer different variations of the 'are you alright?' game. you needed air. silly you to think it'd be over just because you'd willed it to be. just as you're stepping outside, you feel a warm hand encompassing your wrist. you don't want to stop, but it's habitual.

"let me go, spencer." you try quietly. you don't want to be that girl, the one that lashes out, and causes a scene. diplomacy was the name of the game. your eyes are glued to the ground, you didn't want to picture him with that stupid hopeful look on his face anymore. you knew that night when you closed your eyes you'd see it over and over. it would taunt you, play on an endless loop while you tore yourself to shreds. what was it about her? why was this happening to you?

"i can't." he replies, and you wish he'd spoken to you earlier. you wish that he had communicated with his mouth, rather than with his eyes. maybe you wouldn't be so far gone. it didn't have to be a big deal, because at least you would have known that it didn't matter. that her confession hadn't changed anything, but he'd stayed silent, and he'd looked at her in a way he'd never looked at you before. you knew there was history, you'd heard whispers from derek and penelope about a football game from years and years ago.

you had never expected for it to matter now.

"you can, you're just choosing to hold me hostage." you mumble, and despite your anger, you can't lash out. you can't be irrational.

"i'm not going to let you leave angry with me." and you hate how he knows you so well. you think it's something you'll miss. "i want us to talk about it, i think that we need to." he says in that voice he often used when he was trying to gently guide you towards the right choice. you don't want to be policed or treated like you were the one that had messed things up. all he'd needed to do was shut it down, all you'd wanted him to do was not look so happy, like it was something he'd spent his entire life waiting for.

"what's there to talk about, spencer? it's happened, okay? let's just move on, before this turns into something it doesn't need to." you shoot back, and he's not convinced, nor is he willing to budge.

"you're treating me like some stranger, as if i don't know you well enough to see when you're lying to me." he's gaining that disappointed lilt to his voice, and you think long gone are all your chances of getting out of this place without it turning into a full blown soap opera meltdown. "we're not going to get anywhere if you can't be truthful with me." he adds, and you don't want a lecture, because you'd done nothing wrong. you were the one casey had held, you were the one that had a gun pressed to your temple.

you weren't the one that made the life changing confession.

"i'm asking you to drop this." you say sharply, and you're hoping to snatch your arm away from spencer. he doesn't let you, and on any other occasion you'd feel so protected, so wanted. now though, you feel claustrophobic, trapped, you didn't feel safe. "i understand that you're trying to preserve our relationship, and i wish i could tell you that this doesn't change anything..." his face morphs, eyes screaming at you not to proceed. "but i just need a second to wrap my head around all this, okay? can you give me that? space?"

to him space always felt like the beginning of the end. he thinks that's why he's determined not to let you go. "will you come back? if i let you go?" and he's already dropped you wrist, so you know that he's not really talking about right now. he sounds uncertain, scared, and it does remind you that there was love he felt towards you. the fear wraps around you, and you're not sure how it really makes you feel. you exhale shakily, and you don't want to give him the wrong answer.

"agent l/n." you're both being pulled back to reality, back to what was going on around you. you note the bleeding gash in his hand, likely from the shard he'd used to free himself from the tape and you sigh.

"i don't know, spence." and it's true. "i'm just a little bit confused right now." you admit. "and my feelings are hurt," you shake your head rapidly. spencer doesn't know how to express the way his mind is running. all he knew was that jj's confession would not be enough to make him want to throw away his time with you. he wanted you to know that you weren't a consolation prize, but he didn't know how to say it now without seeming ingenuine. he knew how it looked, he knew how he'd feel if he was in your shoes.

but, he wasn't in love with jj. he remembered a version of himself that tripped over himself at her gaze, the version that stayed up late at night replaying conversations in his head. a part of that guy would always exist, he couldn't lie and say it didn't. he loved her so wholeheartedly that sometimes it still managed to scare him, but she was an illusion, a fantasy. realistically he doubted they'd make sense in a romantic sort of sense, it was only something to think about... not something to uproot lives behind.

more than that though, he'd never felt for jj the way he felt for you. he remembered the first time you'd waltzed into the bullpen. you'd knocked him right on his ass, took every thought in his head, and made it your very own. you consumed his time, and he was willing to let you. he wanted you to be the only thing that could quiet his running mind, he wanted you to be the only person that could help him sleep. he didn't want to give this anymore attention than it needed, because he was set in his heart. it wasn't a question.

he didn't know why he couldn't just say that. why everything felt so lopsided and off focus now. his lips curve down into a deep pout.

"my head hurts." you mumble, your bottom lip trembling as spencer's frown deepens. he wants to hug you, but after your initial rejection he doesn't know if he can take another one. you feel a bit drowsy, likely a side-effect of the way casey had manhandled you.

"i know, you'll need to get checked out." he says quietly. "you might have a concussion, he really did a number on you." and despite his initial protests, and your earlier reaction, he's reaching for you again. you don't know if you're insecure, or if your profiling skills are allowing to see him for who he is, but the look in his eyes pushes you to relax. his fingers are gentle in the way they cradle your face, and instinctively you're leaning into his palm, cheek pressing against his hand. "i'm sorry." and you don't know which part he's apologizing for.

"can you come with me?" a quiet and still hopeful question. "we could sit together in the ambulance, pretend everything's alright just for a second?" you offer, and you think that's an answer to his question in itself. you didn't know how long it would take to get checked out, you didn't know how long it would take for them to bandage his hand and assess him for other scrapes and bruises, but you could take advantage of it, just the two of you. you could sit in silence, and dance around in that space between love and betrayal.

it was possible.

"y-yeah." he didn't stutter much anymore, so it stands out and makes you want to frown. "we can do that." his expression is torn, and you want to know what's on his mind, what he was thinking. you needed to know, you wanted some sort of sign, anything, that would show you he hadn't given up on you all because jj was in love with him. you hoped you weren't that disposable. "i want to." he adds, and he blinks harshly, almost like he's warding off tears, and it feels so awkward. the usual banter, the back and forth, the flirty remarks that always managed to leave you both shy were all gone.

in a matter of moments.

"good." and at the very least, he's here with you right now. "give me your hand." and you're careful not to grab the one he'd split with the glass, instead stepping around him to pull his clean palm into your slightly stained one. your fingers interlock, and it's a habit, a natural one at this point. "don't think too hard about it." you instruct, and he scoffs at you. he's upset, he's disappointed, hurting, angry, confused, you can see it. all his emotions seem to pile up on one another.

"how can i not?" he asks, and he sounds so tired. "it feels like you're seconds away from telling me that you're done with me." you're a not surprised at the pivot in his demeanor.

"isn't that what you want now?" you've started to walk, and spencer's letting you lead him, not quite ready to let your hand go once you reached the medic that was currently trying their hand at getting your attention. "i mean the girl you've always loved just put herself on a silver platter." you adds with a quiet sneer a second later. "what do you need me for?" you question, and he hates the feeling of his heart mimicking the sensation of pulling and squeezing. it hurts.

"y/n..." he tries, and you shake your head. "you have to know that nothing has changed." he promises, and you scoff. it stops you in your tracks.

"everything's changed!" you hiss. "she's in love with you. jj, our friend. she's been harboring feelings for you for years, but nothing's changed?" you huff, a tear seems to find joy in slipping from your eye in that moment. it's just one, but you know it's a opener to the main event. it's probably because despite everything, he makes you feel safest. part of that safety came an inability to shield your emotions and reactions from him. you'll have to try your darndest to do so now.

you don't really know if you can conceal them, but you don't want them to turn into full blown sobs. a few stray tears were easy to ignore, but the second it became a meltdown you knew you were finished. this wasn't your secret to share, and despite how angry you were with jj, you knew that it wasn't her fault. things were complicated, and you couldn't fully blame her for how she felt. you just wondered if she was biding her time, if she thought she was better suited for spencer than you. did she actually like you?

did she actually believe all that she'd told you regarding your relationship with spencer?

'i've never seen him smile so big' ... 'you guys are actually perfect for each other' ... 'tell us y/n, are you gonna be the one to give spence a few baby geniuses? the boys need some cousins'. your heart aches at the thought of it all being nothing but lip service. but you'd never expose her to the team, you'd never hurt will and the boys like that. which meant you'd have to shape up before the team was back.

"i mean for myself. nothing's changed for me and the way that i feel for you." he presses. "i wouldn't just toss our time together away like that." spencer looks stern as he scolds you. "was there a time that i thought about what it would be like? to be with jj... to-to have her love me back? yes... i won't lie about it." he says, and your face crumples up, and you want to run away. you don't know what he's getting at, but his words don't help as much as he might've hoped.

it causes you to yank your hand away, head shaking back and forth as you step back. "i said that i didn't want to talk about it." and you feel hypocritical because you'd thrown a few rocks to get you to this point in the conversation. "so stop it, okay? we're going to let it go, and we're going to talk about something else." you try your hand at deflecting. spencer's got an exceptional amount of patience, you see it wearing thin on his face, but you're not willing to budge.

"no, we need to talk about this." spencer argues. "i'm not going to pretend with you, and we've been together long enough for you to realize that you don't have to pretend with me, either." he adds. "if we don't now... i'm scared that we never will, and you're- you're angry with me, and i need you to tell me why." he pleads. "if we can't deal with things like this, we'll never make it past the hard stuff." he exhales, "i really want to make it past the hard stuff with you."

"i don't want to talk about it." you feel yourself getting a bit more irrational, angrier. your head feels like it's hurting even more, throbbing as it passed behind your eyes.

"why are you acting like this?" he's growing a bit frantic, he's got abandonment issues, and it feels like you might leave. he's lost a lot of people in his life, he's never been the best with change, he's never been the best with moving on, getting past the hard stuff. he doesn't want to push you too far, but he feels like he's got to hold on tight or risk losing you forever. "why can't you just tell me what you're thinking? if you're gonna vent, why not with me? let me help-"

"i don't want you to do anything for me!" you snap, and you're getting looks from the officers outside. you see rossi and his eyes are directly trained on the both of you. the rest of the team is scattered about, but much like rossi they're looking your way. it's officially become a scene. you run your hands across your face, dried blood caking over your skin, as you press your hands together, taking in a shaky breath. "i told you that i didn't want to talk about it." you remind him harshly.

"y/n-" you don't give him the chance to say much else, because you're immediately cutting him off.

"no!" you're ensuring your volume stays at appropriate levels, especially now that you seemed to have garnered a small audience. tara's still looking, and you know that every so often jj's taking it all in too. you at least owe it to the both of you to not go too far. "i want you to respect that maybe this isn't something you can fix with your extensive knowledge." you proceed. "you're smart as a whip, but boy do you still have a lot to learn about emotions." and you think you might have gone too far. you've definitely gone too far.

your head is really hurting though, and your vision's getting spotty. you don't have it in you to be politically correct, but you see the way his face morphs, how he looks so hurt. he towered over you, but he never looked more like a little boy than he did in that moment. "and my feelings... whatever they may be aren't just something that you can push out of me to make yourself feel better. this isn't just going to go away and be fixed by bed time, doctor reid."

he blinks.

"i wasn't-" he exhales, heartbeat wanting to rise in his chest. "that's not-" he's not prone to panic attacks, but he knew a lot about them. he knew how they could come out of no where, and be crippling. he was panicking, freaking out, mostly because he was being misunderstood. he never wanted you to misunderstand him, especially as it pertained to his intentions and his feelings towards you. "i wasn't trying to manage your feelings... i-" he's trying to breathe. "i just want us to be okay, i don't want to lose you."

you want to reply, really you do. you don't think you can though, because your brain feels like it's about to erupt. your knees lock, and you almost jerk. spencer's eyes widen and he's surging forward to catch you the second you start to fall. it brings him to his knees, split hand be damned. "y/n." and his suspicions about your concussion were confirmed, it makes guilt lash at him instantly. if he'd just bit his tongue, you wouldn't have passed out. he'd let you get too overwhelmed, you'd told him your head was bothering you.

he's so busy beating himself up, and trying to ensure that you were breathing, he doesn't even realize that matt's trying to garner his attention. "hey, what happened?" and he snaps out of it when tara's gently shoving at his arm. he feels like everything's going in slow motion now, he's just concerned about you. that's nothing new.

"i think she has a concussion..." he mutters. "casey-" he tightens his hold on you. "casey hit her in the head." he explains, and he wonders why he hadn't been more diligent earlier. the EMTs are joining next, and he should feel more relieved that you'll be getting the care you need. he knows most times unconsciousness wanes about fifteen minutes from the time that the victim passes out, but it doesn't calm him down. guilt was one hell of a problem.

"she's gonna be alright." tara is telling him, as they're rising to their feet, eyes following the stretcher you were laid out on. "she's a real fighter." and he already knows that, he thinks you're the strongest person in the world, but he should've never pushed you.

"spence!" jj's calling him, and she's approaching before he can reply. "what happened?" she sounds about as worried as he feels. guilt clearly was a dinner for two. "is she okay? w-what's wrong with y/n?" she fires off, and spencer thinks he should be the one talking to the EMTs and not tara and matt, but he can't seem to move. or respond, based on the way jj's face contorts. "spence!" she calls him again.

that snaps him out of his reverie.

"she's got a concussion, it's all my fault." he says what he's thinking. "i shouldn't have tried to force her to talk-" and he hates that right now is the moment he decides to word vomit. "i just-" he looks up at jj, who's got a mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes. "i should have let her go get checked out." he explains.

"this isn't your fault. spence, you're not the one that gave her a concussion. you're not the one that hurt her, casey was." she insists.

"casey's not the one that blew everything up." his retort is quick, and in hindsight, he doesn't blame jj for anything. he knows things are complicated, tricky, weird. but he doesn't want her to be the one to comfort him, and tell him everything was going to be fine. not right now.

"what? are you blaming me now?" jj asks, and she sounds heartbroken. spencer thinks he's getting used to the feeling of his foot being in his mouth. there's a moment of tense silence, a stare off that occurs where neither of them knows what to say. they don't know how to proceed, and he doesn't know why he keeps getting caught in this limbo of not knowing what to say. "i didn't mean to make things difficult." she finally says. "i never-"

they're pulled from this moment by tara. "spencer." and his head turns. "are you going to ride along to the hospital?" and it should've been the natural decision, except he's not feeling particularly ready. he takes a small step back, and it's one everyone seems to notice. the only people that were privy to what went down in that room were you, jj, and himself, and yet it felt like in that moment the entire team was given a front row seat to the obvious aftermath.

something had shifted, changed.

"y-" he shakes his head. "you go ahead." he offers, and tara's eyebrows raise. her shock makes him feel worse, but she doesn't question it. she climbs into the ambulance, and soon enough they're peeling out. his hand still hurts, the gash gnawing at him, but it's a welcomed pain. he'll have to bandage it soon though.

"spence." jj's wearing this look, a mixture of emotions he doesn't want to deal with. "it wasn't your fault." she insists. it doesn't make him feel any better, instead he's forced to come to terms with the decision he'd just made. you'd been taken to the hospital, and he'd stayed behind. he'd stayed behind and been reassured by jj.

you were never going to forgive him.

[incognit0slut]

All I Need

Spencer realizes how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. What better time is there to propose if not in the middle of making love? Based on:

Warnings: 18+ mature content but nothing too explicit, this is just sweet love making

words: 2077

A/n: I’m supposed to finish my last kinktober and update my series, but both are very heavy and I needed something sweet to defrost my writer's block. I hope you don’t mind me squeezing something else until I finish my other WIPs🥲

“…every time I look into your eyes I see it, you’re all I need…”

SPENCER KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. There wasn't a single thing he wasn't familiar with—from every mole, every scar, to every stretch mark. Any imperfection you considered of yourself he found to be perfect.

He was well aware of the small scar on your hip bone. Or the mole resting at the back of your thigh. Or the way you disliked caffeine, because every time you drank it, it increased your heart rate drastically. Which was why you always judged him every time he had a cup of coffee in his hand, especially with the amount of sugar he never seemed to stop adding.

"That is definitely not healthy," you would always say, to which he simply responded with a small peck on your lips. It was his way to shut you up without saying anything.

He also knew how soft you actually were underneath that hard exterior you always carried. You were an enigma the first time you joined the team, but Spencer always had a soft spot for mystery, and solving you became his mission even when he wasn't the best at maintaining conversations. He remembered making a fool of himself when he talked to you, stuttering about one of the random facts engraved in his brain.

But you still listened to him, and for once in his life, he finally found someone who didn't mind hearing him talk. It was nice to have somebody who found his knowledge interesting, and with that thought in mind, it didn't take long for him to take an interest in you.

Not that he wasn't interested at first, because honestly, you were a splendid sight when you first walked through the door. It was more so an interest that was considered surpassing a simple friendship. An interest that had him push his confidence into asking you out.

Spencer never pegged himself as someone who would be content having a significant other in his daily routine—his past relationships never seemed to work out, after all—but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he was actually in pure bliss. It seemed as if you had cast a spell, drawing him deeper into your presence, a magnetic force of affection that went beyond the superficial. Every smile, every touch, seemed to emanate a radiant heat, and he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnitude of your warmth.

Especially at this moment, staring into your eyes as they slowly fluttered open from a long night of slumber, he found himself leaning forward. You were so warm, so inviting. The soft light coming from the curtains cast a shadow over your curves and he couldn't help himself from trailing down your body.

You were fully awake now as he pressed his lips on every part of your skin. The slight movement of your arms wrapping around his neck had him grunting, and somehow he was suddenly positioned between your legs, pressing his hot length onto your wet folds, wanting nothing else but to push himself deep into your warmth.

As he watched you beneath him, eyes half closed, mouth open in anticipation, he couldn't help but mutter his next words because you looked breathtakingly beautiful. Heavenly gorgeous covered in a sheen of sweat, so damn pretty with eyes full of desire. You looked like a siren, an angel, and a lustful woman all rolled into one.

Everything about you was so divine, and the desire to consume every part of your existence became an insatiable hunger. It was a need, a yearning that made the idea of spending a lifetime without you seem unfathomable as if oxygen slowly drained from his world, leaving him breathless. 

The words bubbled up from the depths of his heart, and before he could second-guess himself, he blurted out, "Marry me." 

Your eyes snapped open as he finally sank his hips into you, and before you could even respond, before you could even register his words, his rough thrust stole the breath from your lungs. Rational thoughts shattered as he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was slightly painful yet completely pleasurable.

He slowly pulled out, then pushed back in, your back arching, legs wrapping around his waist. "Spence," you moaned as he started a steady pace, trying to gain your focus but failing miserably. You couldn't think of anything else except the sensation between your legs. "Oh, God."

Languid and smooth, his hips continued to roll into you. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

The feel of his cock sinking in and out of you had your head falling back against the mattress. Your fingernails tightened upon his back, and he drove you gently into the bed with low grunts. His voice was rough, broken by focused breaths. "We could do this every morning."

A whine broke out of you.

"I'd wake up first," he told you. "I'd make you breakfast in bed..." He slipped out again before thrusting into you slowly, dragging his cock along your inner walls that had you mewling. "...right after I wake you with my tongue between your thighs."

You let out another moan. He drank in the sound with a smile before lowering his mouth to the base of your neck. Heated kisses trailed along your skin as his fingers trailed down the outline of your body before they stopped at the warmth between your legs.

Your mouth was wide open against his shoulder, eyes watering with the force of pleasure from having his cock smacking through your wetness, his body forcefully shoving your knees apart. You felt his fingers trailing your clit in slow circles and you arched your back, each tender brush tightened that coil of heat simmering in the pit of your stomach. The simulation drove you further into a haze of pleasure that a soft yes finally escaped your lips without you realizing it.

The barely whispered word didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Yes to this," he wondered as prompted his weight on his other hand. "Or to my proposal?"

You glanced up at him, your face a mixture of pleasure and alarm as you gave him a look. "You're crazy."

He watched you closely, mesmerized by the way your hips were bucking every time his cock hit that soft spot inside you while his fingers continued their tease. "Maybe." He leaned down and softly bit your shoulder. "But I am crazy in love with you."

When you didn't respond, he slowly pulled away and fixed his gaze on you. Your reaction, or lack thereof, spoke volumes, and as his eyes met yours, he found himself captivated by the reflective pools of emotion within. There was a hint of fear and concern, shadows that danced with the flicker of uncertainty. Yet, beneath those layers, he could see the distinct longing in your eyes. It was hard not to distinguish it as it matched the same look in his. Your stare was warm and domineering.

They were so full of love.

And that moment, Spencer realized, that was what you were to him—love. You were the greatest passion he had ever known.

You felt completely in the moment with him as you let your gaze scan over his features. His eyes appeared darker in this light of the room, but you could still see the soft lightness of them. Then, you leaned up, noses brushing gently against each other before you pressed your lips onto his. His body moved again in response, hips bucking into you and you felt him pulsing inside your core as his mouth worked harmoniously along yours.

"Marry." Thrust. "Me." Thrust.

You whimpered. Everything was too much. The intensity of the pleasure was almost intoxicating, a heady concoction that wrapped around you, rendering you momentarily breathless.

"Having you for the rest of my life is a privilege." He continued, grunting as you clenched around him. He lost himself with one final, jagged plea. "Marry me and make me the happiest man alive."

His words, touch, and the stroke of him inside you—it all blurred together. It pushed you so wildly that the coil in your stomach twisted sharply through along your body. He lunged down to kiss you again, tongue pushing deep as he stole your moan before it could break into the air. He tugged you into him at the same time that you submitted to his pull.

There were times when you would appreciate this. The contact, the intimacy, the warmth of your boyfriend connected with you. Right now though, you needed release. So you buried your hand in his curls, all messy and askew.

"Spencer," you breathed out against his lips. Each of his thrusts fed the growing flame in your body as your body turned pliant for him. “Oh god, yes,” you cried, head thrashing side to side as your eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by pleasure.

He peppered kisses over your neck, your jaw, your temple, desperate to be even closer to you, to melt into you. "Yes to what?"

Your senses were heightened, every touch and every breath seemed magnified in the intensity of the moment. Your body shuddered with every vicious thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes." A desperate, needy little whine slipped past your lips and you opened your eyes wide to give him a pleading look. "Spencer, please, please."

You were panting, your breath hot and your skin even hotter, and you could barely hear him when he spoke, "Yes to what, Angel?"

Angel. The syllables carried a warmth that resonated deep within your heart. Sometimes you were his Angel. Sometimes you were his Sweetheart. While you cherished the way he expressed his affection, a yearning for more had taken root.

Marry me.

You could be more than his angel. You could be his wife. But it wasn't just about the affectionate words anymore; it was about a promise, a shared future, and you realized as he hovered above you, all sweaty and desperate, that you wanted to feel this bliss every day. How could you not when he fits so perfectly inside you that you could swear he was made for you?

And then you felt it, his hand trailing down your arm before it stopped right along your fingers, intertwining them with his. Your hand clutched onto his as his thrust sped up a fraction—but it was still deep and lazy, enough to make you squirm. His cock was achingly hard inside you and when you clenched down on him, you adored the twitch and resounding moan it drew out of him.

You wanted this for your life. You wanted him every day. You wanted to wake up each morning in his arms, him whispering sweet nothings as he buried himself inside you.

You wanted him so much you would be a fool not to accept his proposal.

"Yes," you breathed out. "I'll marry you."

He grunted against your lips. "Say that again."

His thrusts were now fast and ruthless, his groans filling the room while the sound of skin slapping together echoed with it. Every time you could feel him deep inside you, it brought you closer to that familiar coil in your stomach. It was a heady sensation, an intoxicating blend of desire that quickened your pulse and set your senses ablaze.

"I—shit," you cried out, legs shaking at the pleasure traveling along your body you were starting to wail desperately for your release. "Fuck, baby, I'll marry you."

A sound of satisfaction erupted from him as he kissed you with every ounce of power he had. He kissed you as he had never kissed anyone before. He kissed you deeply, possessively even, and it was messy and rough and probably looked horrific from different angles, but it felt perfect.

You felt perfect. Your lips. Your curves. Your scent. It was as if you were made especially for him. He was fully consumed with you, consumed by you, and yet he couldn't get enough. Though you were beneath him, he was at your mercy, and the fact that you could still have such control over him made his stomach twist even more.

He was so in love with you. He was so sure of it, so sure of this abundance of passion, for Spencer Reid could sometimes be dense when it came to sudden bursts of emotions, but he was not stupid. He wasn't oblivious, nor was he lacking in perception. It wasn't about intelligence or lack thereof, it was simply about the purity of his emotion. 

And he was deeply, unequivocally in love.

.

Oneshot taglist: @simpingforharryandcevans @strawbeerossi @lightvixxen @dim-i-try @annabellexox @baby-banana @natarataca @wolfbeanpotion @nagemasstuff @alexander-arcturus-black @rosieee491 @s00dastereo @no-honey-no @donttrustlove @tylevx @kailey-rae @sailorholly @ducksong @infinitegalaxiesworld @dreamsarebig @brilliantreid @boimlers-gonna-boim

PLEASE READ: The crossed out ones are blogs I can’t tag. And if any of you asked me to be added and you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I can see it. But make sure your blog can be searched by anyone or I can't tag you. Thank you :)

Don’t forget to interact with the story!

[bklynsboys]

The Theory on Other Halves

pairing: spencer reid x reader summary: "there's an old buddhist saying, i once read, that when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making." genre: fluff word count: 1k author's notes: i wrote this because this particular line of spencer's is one of my absolute favorites! i think it's really beautiful how all of the people we love were meant to be in our lives since 500 years ago. and of course, as a fan of space & constellations, i had to insert it into this fic. enjoy <3

THE AIR HUNG HEAVY WITH THE AFTERMATH OF A PARTICULARLY BRUTAL CASE—TYPICAL FOR A DAY IN THE BAU. Dust specks danced in the pale slivers of moonlight filtering through the blinds. Hotch decided it'd be best to give the team a few hours to rest in the motel before heading back home. If it were up to you, you'd be back in your bed as soon as humanly possible, but rooming with the resident genius, Dr. Spencer Reid—the object of your unspoken affections—is an opportunity you wouldn't miss.

For months, the two of you have shared a silent dance of exchanged glances and shared interests. Your colleagues, particularly the girls whom you confided in, seemed to think it was mutual. Now, you sat across from each other on motel beds, a comfortable silence blanketing the room. You traced a thoughtful finger along the rim of your empty coffee cup.

"You have a constellation," he said softly, breaking the stillness.

Your gaze flicked to Spencer, then down to your arm where his hand had landed. A faint scattering of moles dotted the inside of your forearm, resembling a modicum of stars. A small smile tugged at your lips.

"Looks like Ursa Major," he mused, tracing the pattern with his finger. "Though perhaps a little worse for wear, and without the usual bright light, of course."

You chuckled, mirroring his action on your arm. There, nestled just below your elbow, was a crescent moon birthmark, a surprise you always enjoyed revealing.

"Here's another one," you offered.

He turned his hand, examining the crescent with a childlike curiosity. " It's beautiful," he said simply.

"Did you know," Spencer added softly, his voice barely a murmur, "that the ancient Greek saw Ursa Major as a bear?"

You tilted your head, surprised by the random fact. " A bear?"

A smile played on his lip. " Apparently, the constellation's asterism resembled the animal to them. Makes you wonder what they saw in the night sky that we don't."

"Well, my mom had a different take on that," you began, a fond memory surfacing. " She used to say my moon and stars meant I'd meet a space nerd someday who'd love these marks, and we'd be orbiting each other, kind of like the Earth and the sun. She was into soulmates, you see, and space."

The conversation flowed easily, a map of your bodies sketched through shared stories. You pointed to a jagged scar on your knee, the fading memory of you running around and ending up with a scrape on your knee. He, in turn, showed you the faint line on his palm, a souvenir from a particularly enthusiastic attempt at a science experiment as a child.

Your fingers trailed down the faint scar near his hairline, so faint one wouldn't notice it if they weren't looking at Spencer's face intently. "What's this from?" you asked gently.

Spencer chuckled. " You know, how I have really bad coordination?" He sighed. " I was lost in a book, I ran straight into a doorpost. My mom called me 'Crash' after that."

You squeezed his hand gently, a silent understanding passing between you. You knew how much Spencer cherished his mom, especially with her health declining. Sharing stories about her felt like a tender offering of his vulnerability.

He returned the gesture, his thumb tracing the faint outline of a mango-shaped birthmark on your back. " My mom swears it's from all the mangoes she craved while pregnant," you said with a laugh, remembering your childhood debates about the science behind birthmarks.

As the night wore on, your exploration became a conversation without words. You ended up curled up on one bed. You ran your fingers over the slight dip in his lower back, a lingering ache from a wrestling match between an unsub gone wrong. He skimmed his thumb across the freckle dusting your shoulder, a map of sun-drenched summer days.

There was no urgency, no pressure. Just a quiet appreciation for the way your bodies, like your minds, fit together, like puzzle pieces worn from being fitted together—entangled from experiences, both big and small. In the faint intimacy, you found a deeper connection, a comfort that transcended beyond just physical.

Suddenly, Spencer spoke, his voice soft. " Maybe your mom was right, you know."

"Right about what?" You murmured, head tilting at the man's question.

His gaze met yours, a thoughtful crease furrowing his brow. " About finding your soulmate," he said hesitantly. " There's an old Buddhist saying, I once read, that when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making."

A thoughtful hum escaped your lips. " That's beautiful, Spencer," you whispered.

He continued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "Plato once wrote humans used to have four arms, four legs, and two faces, but Zeus split us in half as a punishment for our pride, and we were destined to walk the Earth searching for our other half."

A soft blush crept up your neck. You hadn't expected such a personal turn in the conversation.

"Plato," you murmured, surprised." The one who wasn't a big fan of the soulmate idea, right?"

Spencer's lips curved into a small smile.

"True," he admitted. "But even a brilliant mind like his couldn't deny the undeniable pull we sometimes feel towards certain people. Maybe the Greeks weren't so far off . Maybe the stars, the constellations, these little imperfections on our skin... Maybe they all tell us a story of where we belong."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You found yourself captivated by the way the moonlight glinted in his eyes.

"So," you finally spoke, your voice barely a whisper, "are you saying we're destined to be wandering halves searching for the other?"

Spencer shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. "No," he said, his voice a smooth cadence. " Maybe... Maybe we already found each other."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken sentiments. The air crackled with a tension that both terrified and exhilarated you. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat to the quiet reverberation of the night. Curled beside him, Spencer's arm draped casually across you, its weight a comforting presence, you drifted off to sleep.

A faint smile touched Spencer's lips as he listened to your soft snores. "Good night," he whispered into the darkness.