#dr Spencer reid x you

[reidmania]

post it note | s. reid

summary; when yours and spencer's schedules begin to clash making it hard to see each other - even while living together, a silent act of affection in the shape of a post it note helps make all better.

warnings; fem reader, reader has a job that needs her to wake up early, literally no angst really at all, this is pure fluff, the fluffest fluff ever, established relationships, this was gonna be a no dialogue fic, but there is dialogue and its the sweetest ever. spencer is clingy, spencer is SOO in love.

an; this is the fluffiest shit ive ever written, also i finally figured out how to make custom colours on this silly thing. 2k words yay.

It was a month since Spencer had asked you to move in with him when it all started. You wanted to be able to see each other more, since it was difficult to do so when he was being called out to cases constantly. While you would see each other when he got back, see each other whenever you could, between your work, and his, it made it difficult. You already had clothes at his house. The first time you had ever come over, he had given you a drawer in his dresser, dedicated to whatever you wanted to put into it.

That drawer grew to your necklaces and rings being left on his side table, a version of your perfume next to his cologne on top of his dresser, a toothbrush next to his in the white mug he used as a makeshift toothbrush holder, a pair of your shoes by the door, a few of your coats hanging up next to his by the entrance, your favourite snacks and drinks stocked in his pantry and fridge, you basically already lived there – because Spencer wanted you to be comfortable in the place of his house whenever you were there

So you moving in was a no brainer.

Unfortunately, it seemed the issue wasn’t such an easy fix. While you got comfortable in his home, and saw him somewhat more than before, new issues occurred. He didn’t get home most nights till you were already fast asleep, curled up on the side of the bed dedicated to you, he would shower and change as quietly as possible not to wake you, then he would slip into bed and pull you into his arms. You would shuffle and ease into his touch, he would fall asleep holding you, you would remain asleep in his arms.

Then, in the morning you would wake up before him to leave for work. You hated that, having to unwrap his arms from you and watch him shuffle uncomfortably before finding a replacement to your warmth in the thick covers. You would get ready quietly, before you would spend a moment sitting on the edge of the bed, making sure he was comfortable as you brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, admiring his peaceful features, placing a kiss on his forehead before you left for the day.

When you did see each other, properly, consciously. Everything was fine, it was great. It was mostly when Spencer got to finish work earlier, being able to be home for dinner when you made it. Sometimes he would call you and ask you to hold off making dinner till he got home, just so he could make it with you. You always would. Those evenings the two of you would spend in the kitchen making dinner with each other, he would wrap his arms around your waist, pressing his chest against your back as he leant down to rest his chin on your forehead. You’d sway softly together to whatever music you had been playing quietly in the background while he mumbled gently whispers of love into your ear.

On the mornings you didn’t have to work as early, you’d sleep in, Spencer would wake up earlier those days to spend the morning with you before he had to leave for work. He would pull you closer so you were basically laying on his chest, he would pepper your face with kisses as you let out a string of sweet laugher that made his chest swell. It was the same routine, he would lean in for a kiss, you’d complain about morning breath and then kiss him anyways before you brushed your teeth together making sweet jokes. 

The sweet evenings and giddy mornings made those nights and mornings you didn’t get to properly spend time together a little easier to cope with.

The idea came to you one night while you were cleaning up before bed. Spencer had called you a few hours ago to let you know that he was going to be there a little later. He always lets you know. He didn’t want to leave you hanging, and he never did. You understood the demands of his job, you’d never blame him for that. You two were handling the difficulties the best you could. However as you cleaned the kitchen your mind drifted. 

Moments later you were digging through the drawers in his home office, pulling out a pile of dulled out pink post it notes (ones he had started using rather than yellow ones because you said you liked them.) You grabbed a pen from the collection he had laid out, neatly organised on the side of his desk, and wrote a soft ‘I love you’ on the top note, before pulling it away from the rest of the collection, placing the rest back in his draw and putting his pen back, exactly how it was, before you stood and paddered through the house.

You stuck it to the door where you knew he would see it. You didn’t have to worry about him missing it. Spencer spent time making sure the doors and windows were locked, not only because he knew the dangers of otherwise, but he had taken that small routine so much more seriously since you had moved in. You knew he would notice it. That's all you wanted. Sure, you could’ve just sent it as a text, but chances are Spencer would see it as soon as you sent it. That wasn’t what you wanted. The nights you weren’t up to see him when he got home, you weren’t able to mumble the soft reminder to him before you fell asleep, give him any sort of affection later in the night. It was a small thing, but you hoped he found it sweet.

The next morning you woke up tangled in Spencer’s arms. He was fast asleep, eyebrows furrowed in comfort, lips slightly parted as soft breaths left his lips. Your heart pulled as you untangled yourself from his arms and left the bed. You watched for a moment as his brows furrowed further, arms reaching out for your body in his sleep and your stomach flipped. That moment you looked away, knowing if you didn’t you would end up back in his arms and not at work. You moved around the room quietly, getting yourself ready trying your best not to wake him. 

“Come back” You heard his voice and your head spun to see he had shifted to sit up a little bit more, watching as you moved around the room. His eyes were lidded with sleep and he was clearly unimpressed by your absence. This was why you tried to be so quiet in the mornings. He had said numerous times you could wake him up before you left, but then the one time you did, it ended in you both calling in sick to work and staying in bed for way too many hours.

“Good morning” You replied as you pulled on your jacket before you walked over to him. Not giving into his request despite how much you wanted to. You hand reached out to brush strands of messy hair away from his forehead, then getting distracted and running your hand gently through the soft strands of hair. His hand caught your wrist softly, pulling your hand to interlace his fingers with yours before he pressed his lips against your knuckles softly, your chest warmed.

“Hi angel,” he mumbled back, looking up at you. His hand gently tugged on yours trying to silently plead you back into his arms. It took a lot of self control not to give in and bury yourself into the place next to him, forget about work and any responsibilities and lose to him.

But you had a moment, and if Spencer was awake, you would spend it with him.

“How was work?” You asked, a lot of the time the question came the day after. Not hearing about his day immediately didn’t make you any less interested in hearing about it. You allowed yourself to shuffle closer to him, your forearm resting gently against his chest as he continued to press his lips against your knuckles softly.

He huffed out a warm breath of air against the skin of your fingers, “Fine, I missed you” he said gently. You were sure every time he said something your heart doubled in size, because although you had heard the words from him maybe a million times, it didn’t change how sweet he sounded saying them. The rest of the time you had before needing to leave for work was a mix between getting ready, and trying to deny Spencer’s soft plea’s for you to stay just a few minutes more before he finally gave in to letting you leave for the day, not without a few soft kisses to your lips, and your loving complaint about morning breath.

When you left the bedroom, ready, you made your way to the kitchen to make coffee like every other morning. You and Spencer liked two different types of coffee beans, he always made sure to keep them both stocked. You got the travel cup ready before making your way over to the pantry to get out your coffee beans, your heart swelled almost painfully at the sight when you opened the door.

The post it note you had stuck to the door, was placed on your bag of coffee beans. You had almost forgotten about it, but with the silent acknowledgement that he had seen it, you couldn’t help the smile on your face. The fact he could have just smiled and binned it, but instead moved it to a place he knew you would see it, like you had for him. It was the silent act of love and affection that made the nights and mornings you didn’t get to spend time together so much easier.

When you got home, before you went to bed you moved the post it note to his desk in his home office, when you woke up to leave for work, he had moved it to your work bag. From that point on it became a silent game between the two of you. Neither of you vocally acknowledged it, you didn’t need to. Each night before you went to bed you would move it for him to find when he got home, each morning you would find it in a new place. It became something you looked forward to everyday, finding out where he had placed it.

It had been a year since it started, the same post it note was used every time, the same one that you had placed on the door the first time. You both kept up with it, there wasn’t a single day either of you skipped moving it around, even the days you had off, or the days Spencer finished early. Whoever woke up first would move it, and whoever went to bed last would move it again. 

You were wrapped in Spencer’s arms, one of the nights he was able to finish early. You were pretty sure he had already moved the post it note since he had pressed kisses against your forehead before telling you to stay in bed, before he left the room for a few minutes, then returned with a giddy smile.

He was half asleep when he murmured out your name, your head resting on his chest as his arms remained tightly wrapped around you. You had let out a soft hum in response, the tiredness affecting you just as much as him. He had leant down and nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo before pressing a soft kiss against the top of your head.

“When I propose, I'm gonna do it with a thousand post it notes” He spoke so gently, voice laced with sleep. Your breath hitched slightly even in the tired state, your mind fogged and your chest aches – in the best way at the mention of him proposing. The vocal mention of the game you two had been playing for the last year of your relationship, the fact the silent ache was so insanely important to him, just like it was to you.

“Yeah?” you whispered back. You felt him nod into your hair as his fingers came to slowly brush through the strands.

“Mhm, Then I wanna be buried with the original.”

[lavenderspence]

her possessive trigger | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader | Word Count: 1.5K

Content warning: professor!spencer, jealousy, a lil bit of possessiveness, cuteness at the end

Summary: they could look at him all they wanted, but they needed to know he was yours. or the reader announces to spencer's students that he's taken

A/N: this was actually written back in june and i’m just now coming around to posting it. But lavenderspence writing for her husband spencer is back. Heavily inspired by my love for professor!reid and my desire to slap all of his student fangirlies and proclaim him as my own in a heavily possessive manner. you too? Oh, enjoy then🤭

masterlist

The auditorium was dark when you first walked in. His voice rang around the space, successfully gathering the attention of everyone present. Words like “victimology”, “modus operandi” and “signature”, the same ones you’d used for years, left him in quick succession, as did their explanation and usage in your profession.

He was captivating, an educator’s role suited him just right, but that was hardly new information. You’d seen him thrive on sharing his knowledge for years, be it as an FBI agent, or as a guest lecturer over the years. 

When he’d been offered to take on a class for the semester, alongside his work with the BAU, he’d been more than happy to. 

He loved it, and he told you as much regularly. And even if he didn’t, you’d still be able to tell. He loved challenging young minds, hopefully shaping the next generation of BAU profilers. 

His students loved him too, that much was evident in the way they hung onto his every word and explanation. Their hands raised with questions, taking part in the discussion, and diligently taking notes. They were dedicated to their studies, and to the subject Spencer taught. 

Or, most of them were. 

The other part, multiple young women it seemed, were far more dedicated to checking him out, than the class itself. 

You didn’t need it spelled out for you, you didn’t even need to see their faces. The art of reading people from a distance was deeply engraved into your being after years of working with the best. And then another part of it was your love for the man at the front. 

Your eyes ran around the room, the profiler in you working over time. 

Two brunettes sat near the front, third row, right side of the auditorium. Both their bodies turned towards the center of the room, following along with Spencer’s movement. One was casually leaning back in her seat, trying her hardest to mask her interest in her professor, and for anyone less vigilant, she might have been successful.

The girl next to her twirled a piece of hair around her finger, head moving left and right, but judging by the lift of her cheek, you could tell she was smiling, probably a little shily. It wouldn’t surprise you if her eyelashes fluttered too. 

A row in front of them sat a blond, hand constantly touching her hair, or her face, even fanning it. It was mid-March, the room wasn’t hot, but quite the contrary, a bit chilly. 

And then there was a girl, a few places to the left of the blond, whose hand was constantly in the air. Her voice was smoky, with questions that hardly contributed to the topic at hand, but Spencer let her ask them anyway. He even went so far as to answer as he would any other question.

Even though you knew he’d long ago picked up on her behavior, much like you had, he still indulged her, just like any good educator would. She looked just a tad too interested in the class, but maybe far more interested in him. If you had to guess, she had it bad, judging by the way she readjusted in her seat, every time her eyes met Spencer’s, even for a second. 

You knew Spencer was handsome, maybe even more so than that. He was beautiful in ways you found hard to explain sometimes. His curls, soft and golden-looking in the sun, the barely there scruff you could still feel against your palms and lips as you kissed him goodbye this morning. The suit, and how well it fit him, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and the cardigan vest that made him look soft, when you knew he was anything but when needed. 

But there was so much more beauty on the inside, just as long as you wanted to see it. A heart that spans miles, big, always ready to give, but rarely willing to take. A godfather, proud to be one, and a smile that could light up whole skies, out of happiness, out of love. Your own little search engine in a body, facts, and statistics, as long as you wanted to listen, and you always did. 

How he was with you, his love like no other, and his eyes lighting, the green in them even more prominent, just with you in the room. How calm he was, whenever in your presence. Patient, even when you couldn’t be, and he could bring you back down from any ledge you found yourself stuck on, or whatever worry sat heavily on your mind. 

He brought out the best in you, and you let the best of him out too. 

And even knowing him as well as you did, and loving him as much as your heart allowed you to, and knowing how he loved you, with everything he could, there was a part, if small at that, that couldn’t help, but feel taken aback by this behavior. 

Maybe taken aback wasn’t the right word, but jealous felt more appropriate. 

There was no need for those feelings to arise, insecurities that bore no weight. Your relationship was as secure as the sun was bright if the stunning rock on your finger was anything to go by. 

But maybe it wasn’t really jealousy either, but the desire to protect, maybe even to possess. 

It sounded ridiculous, to an extent, because Spencer could protect himself just fine. He wasn’t an object that could be picked up from a shelf, and owned. 

He was your equal, in every way that counted, your other half, your best friend, your closest confidant. 

And maybe that’s where that protectiveness stemmed from.  

Because as you looked around, women, without knowing him, and who he was beyond his looks, and as deep as you and your BAU family knew him, sat there, gawking. 

And as the lecture was coming to a close, the desire to cement the fact that Spencer Reid was happily in love, and soon to be much more than just a boyfriend, arose. It was petty, very much so, but at that moment, pettiness won over. Because the man in front, the same one those students were thirsting over, was very much your own, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

“Before we end today’s lecture, any questions?” 

No hands rose at the question, except one, your own. 

He pointed at you, giving you permission to ask the question, and his hand reached for the light switch. 

Just as you started speaking, the room was illuminated in light, and his eyes focused on yours, and you winked.

“Uhm, Dr. Reid, I was wondering, do you happen to have a girlfriend?” A silence so defeating followed, as every head turned in your direction as you stood from your seat. Spencer, the dork smiled big, and then he laughed, surprised, and maybe a little bit proud at that moment. His laugh was rich, attracting a part of the attention back to him, as you started walking in his direction. 

“Wasn’t expecting a guest lecturer today,” He raised a brow just as you reached him, and you just shrugged, smiling. “Class, this is Supervisory Special Agent Y/L/N” Spencer introduced you, as you looked on over his class. 

“Soon to be SSA Y/L/N - Reid” You added, looking at his students sitting in multiple stages of processing the information. He laughed, and instead of looking shy or even embarrassed by the display, he just looked happy, and proud. Maybe it was the knowledge of the fact that you were his, and his desire for everyone to know. 

Soon after that, he dismissed the class and you watched as the auditorium emptied, students turning to look at you both as you pulled him into a big hug, followed by a gentle kiss. 

When you separated, he looked at you with a huge smile, lifting a brow, “You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He picked your hand, bringing it to his lips to lay a kiss right on your ring before he rubbed it with his thumb. 

“No, no I couldn’t. They were looking at you like you were a piece of meat on a platter.” Your reply was swift, a smile just as big.

“Is that jealousy I detect, and a bit of possessiveness?” He was amused by the fact that you wanted to stake some kind of claim on him in front of his students, but secretly, he felt happy you loved him enough to do it

“Noooo…” You didn’t meet his eyes, playing stupid, but you knew he saw right through you.

“Wait until I tell Morgan about this,” He said as he picked up his satchel. 

“Aww, that’s just mean, Dr. Reid.” He pulled you towards the exit, arm wrapped around your waist, possessively. You may have seen the girls looking at him, but he saw the boys checking you out just the same. 

Maybe that was why he felt happiness when you stated you weren’t just a colleague, but rather his soon-to-be wife.

“Don’t I know it, Mrs. Reid.” And then he pulled you into another kiss, this time, a little more urgent, and very much possessive.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[temporarywelcome]

Late - Spencer Reid

Wordcount: 969

Summary: getting ready for a Halloween party with Spencer

Warnings: some swearing

A/N: technically a pt 2 of "Costumes" (can be found on Masterlist), but can 100% be read stand alone

_________

Spencer was lucky as hell she loved him to bits.

She stood in this fuck ass costume as he yapped and yapped about some fantasy series. She was dressed as the main woman, he was the main man. 

Y/N could care less for Halloween. But because her boyfriend and his persuasiveness (he just had big brown eyes, for fuck’s sake) (oh, and he offered to let her handcuff him) demanded they got into the holiday spirit, she folded. Almost instantly. 

So, being as whipped as she was for him, she did fall activities like pumpkin carving, apple picking, making a billion pastries with said apples, corn mazes, fall movies (some not even horror, to her disdain), and of course, dressed up for a Halloween party as a nerd character he wanted her to dress up in. 

To add, she took the time to sew them herself. Anything to make that brat happy. 

“I spoil you too much,” she grumbled, forcing him to still so she could fix his costume. 

“I feel it is a perfect amount,” he grinned at her through the mirror, “I know I complain about dating someone in the arts literally all the time, but I take it all back. You’re awesome.”

“Gee thanks, glad I’ve now become of used to you,” she deadpanned, “Glad my costume design abilities are to your standards,”

“They are, it looks so realistic,” Spencer replied, not catching her sarcasm, “I love it, thank you so much for doing this for me. I know you didn’t want to,”

She hummed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder from behind. Luckily, she was in heels, because he’s tall, “Yeah yeah yeah. You know I can’t say no to you,” she squeezed his hip lightly before pulling back, “Now hurry up, we’re going to be late,”

“You sound eager,” he said smugly, taking a seat to slip on some boots (that she had to buy, of course).

“No, I don’t,” Y/N huffed, “I just don’t want to hear the passenger princess complain and complain while I’m forced to drive,”

“I don’t complain,”

“Oh my Goddddd that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard,” she rolled her eyes before doing a quick eyeliner wing, being the expert performer she was. Always had to be quick. “The fact your team doesn’t know this is crazy, you must be saving the brattiness just for me,” 

“You bring it out of me, I guess,”

“See? Spoiled,” she laughed, doing the other eyes. 

“Well, do you want me to be like this with other people?” he raised a brow at her.

“No, I have to make the sacrifice to protect others,” Y/N said dramatically, being the woman of the arts she was. 

“You’re so selfless,” Spencer said dryly, biting his lips to hold back a little giggle, “Sacrificing yourself so others don’t have to hear my mouth,”

Y/N stood back up to grab her bag and the prop sword he forced her to buy, “You’re lucky I love you, brat,” she playfully bonked his head with the sword.

“You’ll mess up my hair!” he swatted it away with a huff, “Asshole,” 

She bonked his head again, “I think I’m allowed to be a little playful considering what you’re forcing me to do,”

“A Halloween party, the horror,” he rolled his eyes as he stood up, arms going around her waist, “You’re so dramatic,” His eyes lit up, “Wait! Can you help me?” he holds up an eyeliner pencil to her.

“Ah, babe, I’m a liquid liner person, but I’ll try,” she laughed softly, pushing him to sit down. Straddling his lap, she carefully began applying the eyeliner to his waterline.

“Ah ah ow! Ow! Holy shit how do girls do this shit shit shit!” On reflex, he slapped her hand away, blinking repeatedly.

“Stop moving and it won’t hurt,” Y/N grumbled, gripping his chin in a semi-tight manner, “Now stay still,” she came at him with the pencil again.

As soon as the tip pressed against his waterline, he was cursing again, “Shit shit shit shit ow ow ow!” he pushed her hand away again, “How do you do this every day?”

“I use liquid,” she reminded him before scolding him once again, “Now stop moving,” 

“It’s hard,” Spencer whined, biting his bottom lip.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Baby you go face-to-face with unsubs without even blinking. I think you can handle an eyeliner pencil. Now stay. Still.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grumbled back at her, hands going to her hips as she went in to do the damn eyeliner once again, “Can I squeeze you if I get scared?” Spencer asked teasingly, leaning closer.

“Move one more time and I’ll poke your eyes out,”

“I love you too,”

“Hardy har har,” she rolled her eyes, finally able to do the waterline, “A miracle has graced us! It has been done!”

“Thank you, babe,” Spencer practically threw her off of him to see how he looked in the mirror.

Of course, she dramatically crumpled to the floor, “Oh, how I despise this treatment. Always used, never loved,”

“Get off the floor you’re going to ruin your costume!” Spencer gasped, yanking her to her feet.

“Wow,” she brought her arms around his neck, “You care more about the costume than the fact I feel used and unloved?” 

“Ignoring you,” he said dryly, leaning his forehead against hers, “Save the drama for the stage, I beg of you,” he turned his head to the clock on the wall, checking the time, “Shit! We’re late!” he gripped her hand, dragging her out of the room in hurry.

“Great, now you're going to be on my ass the whole ride,” Y/N grumbled out, following him. 

Spencer glared at her over his shoulder, “No, I'm not.”

He so was.

[spencahreadreid]

Wasteland baby! I'm in love, I'm in love with you.

3.0K words, purely fluffy and innocent, mentions Halloween, no Y/N, no gender specifics! If you have requests, please send them!

"That's not how it goes!" Spencer's voice calls from the kitchen, you were in the living room, setting up the fake spider webs for tonight's Halloween party. The Alexa you'd recently brought (which terrifies Spencer) is playing whatever the Amazon AI thinks are "Spooky songs", and you'd been shouting all the wrong lyrics. Loud and proud.

"What?! I can't hear youuu!" The sing-song tone in your voice made him laugh, the kind of airy chuckle that faded in through the doorway, to your ears. The living room was mostly empty, having cleared out most of Spencers books from the shelves and replaced them with fake bats, spiders, plastic severed arms.

He didn't mind it, he loved Halloween himself, but it's not until he met you that he started going all out. His apartment now looked like the local decor store around October time, and you both absolutely love when you get to go 'crazy'.

The cobwebs were now fully hung up around the ceiling, at first you'd begged Spencer to do it, he's taller after all. That's when he'd suggested he start on the cooking instead, not three nights ago, you'd set fire to a pancake. You blamed it on Spencer of course, he was insane for coming and kissing you (being a pure distraction) while you were trying to make breakfast.

With most of the decorations put up, you decided to sneak into the kitchen, behind your boyfriend and scare him somehow. Creeping in through the doorway, you used the music as a coverup for your footsteps, walking along to the beat so it sounded like some kind of special effect.

Arms out, ready to pounce on the innocent man by the oven, who was putting on your oven mitts. Before you could even say or do anything, the doorbell rang, which made Spencer turn, and there you were. Standing there with your hands above your head, scrunched up facial expression, solely to add to the scare. It had failed.

"Honey, what are you doing...?" He looked genuinely confused, tilting his head. You'd quickly relaxed your face and placed your arms back by your sides with a sheepish smile. The two of you awkwardly stood there, Spencer looking extremely confused, until you found a cause to leave.

"Uh... I'm gonna go get the door" without another word, you were gone. Straight through the living room, down the hall and into the porch. The screen door was translucent, and through it, you could see a small blonde woman. Immediately smiling, you swung the glass frame open with an eagerness.

"PEN!! How are you?!" Welcoming her with open arms, you were careful not to smudge the black, painted whiskers on her face. She smiled back, you didn't work at the BAU, but you'd met Penelope before. Apparently Spencer had gotten teased at work by her continuously until you found out and gave her a joking telling off.

"Where's boy-genius? I have presents!" She squeaked, handing you a small pink gift bag.

You thanked her and led her to the kitchen, where Spencer was placing the food onto a tray, so the others could help themselves later. His lips curved up as soon as he saw you, walking over and letting his lips press to your forehead, then your cheek, tip of your nose, and your lips. Yes, he greeted his co-worker, but you were more important at this moment. Penelope had already started giggling, and as she was about to take her phone out for a picture, you both pulled away from the kiss.

"You two are adorable!" She still tried taking a slip, but it wasn't as blackmail worthy now your lips had come out of contact.. to your dismay. The slight pouting from you had Spencer laughing, then followed Penelope's, soon enough your own.

"It's okay, precious.." His hand coming to your chin, cupping it softly, you stared up at him. Your eyes were wide, his eyes were just as soft and affectionate.

'CLICK '

Both your heads snapped to Penelope, her phone held up infront of her face, she'd clearly already taken the picture.

"Garcia!" Spencer called to her as he realised what she'd done, but all she responded with, in her usual cheery voice was:

"You can hang it up on your wedding day!"

[usmsgutterson]

Nothing Feels As Good As Going Home - S.R

Okay!! My ao3 did see this one first (I had edited it late last night and honestly?? I was too lazy to post it on both platforms because I edited it on ao3 and was too lazy to copy, paste, and then write an authors note lmao) and I'm pretty unsure about this as a whole because I'm only eight seasons in and I haven't written for Spencer before, but I'm conquering my fears tonight.

Despite my bio (which will be changed at least fifteen minutes after this has been posted--I have two accounts and I want to do some maintenance for this one because it needs a little TLC I fear) my requests are currently open!! They're wide open to Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner, even though I'd also likely be willing to write for another criminal minds character if you asked.

Fic type - this one is tooth rotting fluff because I couldn't resist

Warnings - spencer might be a tad ooc because this is the first time I've written for him. This is also set either in or around season eight as, when I wrote this, I was about halfway through that season and I'm currently close to 2/3rds of the way done with it. Cats are also in this one, if you aren't a cat person.

Spencer used to hate going home. He felt like he’d never really know what would be going on the minute he opened the front door and stepped inside, and after his father left, that fear intensified bit by bit.  

After his father left, he never knew what it would mean, going home, so he stalled. He’d go to a local park and sit on a bench and read a few books in an hour, maybe two, in order to escape the fear he felt at the idea of going home when he had no idea what would be going on in that house, whether his mother was okay that day or not.  

When he went to college and was living in the dorms, he hated going back because it meant more isolation. More loneliness, more of the same, really. Only his books to keep him company and just about nobody else, unless Ethan called, which he usually did two or three times a week. Ethans calls were one of the only things that really helped him when he wasn’t looking after his mother whenever he was on break, typically around the winter and during the summer.  

After having his mother institutionalised, he feared going home because it meant that she wasn’t there, and the guilt that came with having her taken into a facility when it wasn’t something she wanted weighed down on him very heavily.  

In those last two years pre-FBI, he hated going home because it meant more of the same. More loneliness, more of the same nature documentaries he'd seen a thousand times before if he wasn't putting on the news, and more books that he’d already read several times before haunting him from wherever it was that they sat on his bookshelves, which had been scattered throughout most rooms in his apartment.  

But he joined the FBI at twenty-one and managed to meet you somewhere along that year, found out that you’d just started working with the Marshals and had lived only twenty five minutes out from Arlington, which put you about fifteen from Quantico as a whole, and he started hating going home a lot less after you guys had been together for four months.  

After four months of dates and getting to know each other, getting home usually meant going on another date or Spencer finally getting the opportunity to call you and stay on the phone for longer than fifteen minutes.  

Spencer is very careful about your relationship, though—very secretive, though he doesn’t really mean to be, to avoid teasing from Derek and, four or so years down the line, Emily and JJ, though even Rossi joined in on occasion.

It’s not until he’s on the jet, Alex sitting to his left, JJ across him and Derek diagonally so, that he has to spill the beans.  

He gets a text from you and it’s the way that he smiles that gives it away.  

Hey, Spence! I cleaned up the house a little bit and went to grab your favourite coffee beans from the bodega we both like. Also: meet Megatron. Her name deceives.  

Attached is a photo of a kitten that can’t be more than four or five weeks old, dark brown everywhere except for her paws and chin, which are white.  

“Who’s the lucky one, boy genius?” Derek asks.  

“Huh?” Spencer looks up, eyes widened slightly. “It’s nobody.”  

JJs head tilts. “You wouldn’t smile like that for a nobody,” she says. “Who is it?”  

“Is it the one with the dark blue Prius--” Alex starts before she pauses, realizing where she's fumbled. That gets Rossi and Hotch interested, both of whom come to sit in the seats across from the four.  

Alex is the only one on the team who knows about you apart from Penelope, which is pure happenstance—his car had broken down once when both she and Spencer had worked a late night, and so you’d offered to pick him up from work so that the two of you could go back to the house you shared and indulge in a shark documentary and some pizza.  

“It is,” Spencer nods. “Their name is Y/N.”  

“How long have you had a Y/N?” Derek asks.  

“Since I was twenty-one,” Spencer admits. “About a decade now.”  

“You kept a romantic partner hidden for a decade ?” Derek asks. “How? Does--”  

“Penelope knows about them because they’re in the group she goes to on Tuesdays,” Spencer says. “The one for knitting and crocheting—Y/N does the latter, mostly, but they did knit the cardigan I was wearing last week.”  

“And how did Penelope figure out about the thing you two have had going on?”  

“It’s more than a thing , Derek,” Alex says. “If it’s been going for a decade, it’s more than a thing.”  

“We’d gotten done with a case early, and Penelope had left pretty much as soon as we were on the jet so that she could make it to the aforementioned group. I asked them where they were and picked them up with their favourite tea as a surprise. Penelope saw me there, watched us hug, and just about lost her mind. Have I satisfied your thirst for knowledge yet?”  

He turns to Alex briefly, nods a bit to answer her earlier remark. “I just proposed last weekend, so you’re right. It’s more than just a thing I would say.”  

Derek and JJs eyes widen until their shock is clearly conveyed, and Spencer laughs.  

“You have a fiancee, and you just—didn't think to fucking tell anybody?” Derek laughs. “Were you ever going to tell us?”  

“I was—we've been busy with work, and it didn’t occur to me.”  

“Okay,” JJ nods like she believes it, and that’s good enough for Spencer because he’s telling the truth anyway. “What was the text about?”  

Spencer shrugs, paraphrases.  

“They wrote me to tell me they’d cleaned up the house and picked up a stray, I think,” Spencer answers. “I mean, the stray part wasn't explicitly stated but—the kitten doesn’t look more than four weeks old, so the assumption was immediate, but they know I can’t say no to cats. They’ve been hoping that they’d find a stray while I was on a case since we first moved into a condo together. We bought our house six months ago now, and they’ve joked, every single time before I’ve left for a case, that it’s the perfect time.”  

“What’d they name it?” Rossi asks. “Assuming they didn’t ask for your input. I wouldn’t--I’d have a kitten named Einstein who could never live up to that.”  

Spencer can’t help the loving laugh that bubbles up from his throat as his fingers absently locate the chain around his neck, with an engagement ring of his own weighing the chain down just slightly so that the ring sits comfortably at the middle of his collarbone.  

“They named her Megatron,” he says nonchalantly. “Smallest cat I’ve ever seen, and still, she’s got big shoes to fill. Massive ones, actually.”  

That is enough to get Hotch to crack a smile. For a second, Spencer feels like he’s winning even though a game isn’t even being played.  

“Okay, so—how did you do it?” JJ asks. “I mean—ten years and a recent engagement? With only two people on our team discovering through that entire time? How?”  

“Penelope figured it out three years in,” Spencer answers. “Alex only figured it out recently, which is kind of surprising because I’ve never exactly hidden their existence. I just haven't talked about them because nobody has ever really asked but—I don’t know, either. We kept it low key because we both work law enforcement and it was just easier that way for the first little while, and then we both decided we liked the quiet so we kept things that way.”  

“They work in law enforcement?” Derek asks, his eyes narrowing. “Are they FBI?”  

“They’re a Deputy US Marshal, actually,” Spencer corrects. “They work in the Virginia office, which is 45 minutes outside of Quantico, up in Arlington. It’s why I have a twenty five minute commute—we both like our jobs a lot, and twenty-five minutes for me one way is only eighteen minutes for them the other, but I like driving so I don’t mind. They’re in talks for a promotion right now, and they were meant to hear about it today but so far their texts haven’t indicated anything about that.”  

It’s the most Spencer has told anyone except his mother about you since you’d gotten together, and while you both normally like to keep things quiet, bragging about you to the people he routinely trusts with his life is a very nice feeling.  

“US Marshal?” JJ asks. “They pretty commonly hire ex-military,” she says.  

“They’ve never been anywhere near the military,” Spencer laughs. “They did a two year degree at a community college, went to Glynco for training, and were employed by the US Marshals by twenty-one, around the same time I joined the FBI. We met each other at a coffee shop when they were off of work and their local one was closed, so our meeting was kismet.”  

Spencers phone buzzes again, and he ignores it that time. 

Alex grins at him, while Derek tuts and JJs eyes go to his phone as it buzzes once, then twice more, the fourth buzz coming four and a half seconds after the first, second, and third.  

“Check it,” she urges. “The jet is going to land in fifteen minutes, Spencer, so if it’s good news, you might as well.”  

SPENCER!! 

I have really really REALLY good news 

Please tell me your jet is landing soon or the very minute it’s landed call me please because you work twenty five minutes away and that means I can call and order from Antonios and by the time you’re home, you’ll only have to wait five minutes for pizza.  

Also, Megatrons full name is Megatron Ichabod Reid. Just so you know. I love you so much you stupid smart handsome tall man.  

Spencer doesn’t even try to fight his laugh as he reads.

“Good news?” Derek asks.  

“I think they got promoted, but I won’t know for sure til I’m home,” Spencer answers. “Also--Megatrons full name is apparently Megatron Ichabod Reid—their texts read like they’re hyper.”  

“I’d be pretty hyper if I got news of a promotion,” Rossi says. “Let us know if they did, though, kid. I’m hosting a dinner to celebrate your engagement regardless, but if they got promoted, it’s another thing to celebrate on the roster, and all the more of an excuse to meet the person you’ve kept hidden from the likes of us for a decade.”  

“You guys ordering Antonios?” Alex asks. “You mentioned getting Antonios for dinner the day after I saw you two together. I’m assuming it’s their favourite pizza spot—you don’t really seem like the pizza type. More like a pasta guy.”  

“We both love it,” Spencer answers. “There’s no pizza like Antonios—not where we live, anyway. It’s the middle ground between Quantico and Arlington, so there’s not a whole lot to do unless you drive either way.”  

“Antonios makes a good pizza,” Rossi nods.  

“Their pasta is better,” Hotch interjects. Spencer shakes his head, tries to go back to the book that’s sitting on the table in front of him but fails miserably, waits for the fifteen minutes til the jet lands to be done whilst the rest of the team talks amongst themselves.  

The second the jet lands, as he’s walking out of it, he dials your number and you pick up on the first ring.  

“Spencer Walter Reid, light of my life and giver of astoundingly lovely forehead kisses, please tell me you’ve landed,”  

Spencer laughs. “Just did,” he says. “The team knows about us now, by the way—I smiled when you texted and that lead to Derek questioning me, so there’s that. Also, if the good news is what I think it is, Rossi wants to hold a celebration dinner as an excuse to meet you. He fronted it with our engagement first, but I think he’s just shocked we’ve kept each other under wraps that long.”  

“You like Megatrons name?” You ask, giggling a bit, seemingly in spite of yourself. “I’m sorry, Spence—I'm hyper as hell, bouncing off the walls type. I’m going to open a bottle of wine, see if it calms me down a little. Get home as fast as you can, though! I miss your handsome face!”  

“Just gotta finish a file or two and then I’ll be home,” he says. “If you order the pizza now, I’ll only be like, five minutes late—the pizza won’t be scalding, like it usually is because of their ridiculously well-working warmer bags.”  

“I love you, Spence,” you say, tone turning a little serious. “Get home safe, please.”  

“I will,” Spencer nods. “You okay?”  

“Hyper but yearning,” you laugh. “I just miss you, ‘s all.”  

“I miss you too,” he says. “I’ll be home in forty minutes, tops. I promise.”  

The phone call ends, and he doesn’t miss the knowing smiles that are on Derek and Rossis faces. JJ is looking at him mildly confused as the tone of the conversation changed near it’s end, but he doesn’t want to explain, and so he chooses not to say anything.  

He goes back into the office, completes what remains of the files he has to work on, and after he submits the paperwork in to Hotch, he just about speed walks out of the office, toward the elevators.  

Derek is leaving at the same time as he is. “Goin’ home to Megatron and the singular person who’s managed to keep up with you for the past decade?” He asks teasingly as the doors close.    

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs. “I know you guys will tease me about it til the end of my time here, but—yeah. I get to go home to a stray cat the love of my life probably found in the parking lot of a Joanns, and the love of my life themself.”  

“I’m all done with my teasing, for now,” Derek says. “I’m just a little confused—why'd you keep them from us for this long?”  

“I don’t know,” Spencer admits. “When we’d first started dating, they’d just started out with the Marshals and they were scared having a partner in the FBI would get them special treatment, and then, when the stuff with Tobias Hankel happened and I got into Dialudid, I was scared that I’d make an enemy and then they’d find out about Y/N and use them to hurt me, and it just—we’re the quiet type, so we had reasons til we stopped needing them. I was going to tell you guys before we got engaged, but stuff has just kept happening so quickly in these past couple of years, and it’s kept slipping my mind.”  

Derek shrugs, but smiles understandingly. “I get it,” he says. “Lookin’ forward to that dinner Rossi is planning, though. I can’t wait to meet the singular person who probably would let you talk their ear off because they find you handsome or like your voice or something else that’s really sweet. You have a good night, Spence.”  

The elevator dings and the doors open, and the two leave separately. Spencer drives a little above the speed limit in the interest of getting home, which isn’t something he’d ever thought he’d do but is doing that night because it’s been a week since you’d last seen each other and he misses you like mad.  

When he inserts his key into the lock, unlocks the door and steps inside, he’s not filled with dread or fear or anxiety or loneliness or anything like that—instead, it feels like exactly what it’s supposed to.  

As he steps out of his shoes, hangs his bag on the coat rack and hears the sound of your laugh, he registers just how much the place he calls home feels like the word used to describe it.  

As he greets you with a hug and a few kisses to the forehead, it feels so much like home that it almost causes an ache in his chest. As you tell him about your promotion from Deputy to Chief Deputy and he hears Megatron the cat meow for the first time, happiness swells within him. Home, for the first time in his life, truly feels like a home. A place where he can unwind and be with those he truly loves, a place in which happiness is practically never-ending.  

Going home has never felt so good as going home to you, and Spencer is unsure anything will ever beat it.  

[sapphirecobalt-1]

Would You Still Love Me The Same? || S.R.

Would You Still Love Me The Same? - Chapter 1 - sapphirecobalt - Criminal Minds (US TV) [Archive of Our Own]

characters (so far): Reader, Spencer Reid, Luke Alvez, Emily Prentiss, OCs

relationships (so far): Spencer Reid x Reader

tags (so far): angst, established relationship, minor Cat Adams/Spencer Reid/Reader, Canon Divergent, AU - Mafia, angst with a happy ending, first person pov

chapters: 2/?

summary:

Shortly after her execution was scheduled, Cat Adams came up with one last plan to ruin my husband's life. As much as I hate to admit it, it was a brilliant plan, not to mention well executed.

There's just one itsy bitsy little detail she forgot to account for:

Me.

snippet:

I took a shuddering breath and it hit me that I haven’t used the bathroom in ages.

And so I finally did. And when I wiped myself clean, I could (almost) pretend the blood on my hands was period blood.

But when I went to wash my hands, I couldn’t pretend anymore. There was no more denying that the blood on my hands wasn’t from my period. It wasn’t my blood at all. The soap that smelled like it belonged in a hospital turned a sick pink color as I scrubbed, trying not to have a Lady Macbeth moment in the middle of BAU’s bathroom. But fuck, for a few seconds, I could have sworn the blood on my hands wouldn’t come off, no matter how hard I scrubbed. But it did. And I know it did because the hot water ran red, then pink, and finally clear. But I still kept scrubbing. As if the soap and hot water could wash away the feeling of her hands on mine, of her skin on mine, of the memories we made. It couldn’t, but nevertheless, I tried. Only when the scalding water nearly burned me did I stop, exclaiming as I yanked my hand from under the sink.

“Are you alright in there?”

“I’m okay!” I responded to the agent posted outside the door. I turn the knobs to make the water run on the cooler side of room temperature and all but waterboard my hands under the stream.

Sufficiently washed and cooled off, I wash my face, with water only, as quickly as possible, mindful of how sensitive my hands feel. I dry myself off with some paper towels and turn to the clothes waiting for me.

As I remove my soiled clothes and slip on the spare ones Emily brought me, the observation I made when Emily first gave me these clothes gets catapulted to the forefront of my mind. It’s like my brain won’t let me ignore it now that I’m face to face with the clothes. With Spencer’s clothes. A plain black t-shirt that reads ‘FBI’ across the chest in big bold letters and — yeah, okay, I don’t think this one is actually his. But the sweatpants definitely are. They fucking smell like him. Book pages and lavender and something that’s distinctly Spencer. The sweats are really long, not surprising given how freakishly tall he is, but still. I have to roll them up a bunch of times so they actually fit, which isn’t easy given how they’re cinched at the bottom. The hoodie Emily brought me is also definitely Spencer’s. It smells like him, yeah, but it’s also got the ‘Caltech’ logo emblazoned on the front and Spence’s the only person I know who went there.

[shortnspidey]

SPENCER REID

“It doesn't matter what she looks like. I mean, she's already the most beautiful girl in the world to me.”

➩ Series:

↳ coming soon …

➩ One Shots:

Icebound Devotion

↳ a case involving a couple of hockey players makes Spencer doubt if you deserve better.

[mggslover]

Angel

In which Spencer sees his girlfriend fresh out of the shower for the first time, you looked angelic, and he was about to ruin you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Girlfriend!reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: spencer being horny, reader wears glasses, teasing, fingering, some spanking, p in v sex, facial, soft!dom spencer Word count: 3,8k A/n: this was supposed to be a short, smut no plot fic, but I got a little carried away...

The familiar goodbyes and sorrys were exchanged as you hung up the phone.

What was meant to be a romantic date out of town with your boyfriend had quickly turned into another one of those last-minute cancellations. It wasn’t surprising—Spencer’s work as a profiler came with its own set of unpredictable demands, and you were used to him being pulled away at a moment’s notice. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. You’d been looking forward to spending some time together.

You’d been dating Spencer for about three months, and things had progressed naturally from casual coffee dates to longer dinners and, eventually, a few trips to his place afterwards. As much as you enjoyed those nights, you wished they would last longer. You and Spencer made a habit out of quickies, knowing that at any moment his phone would inevitably buzz with a message or call from his colleague, Garcia. You couldn’t blame him for leaving, serial killers unfortunately didn’t work a nine to five. Spencer hated leaving you as well, making sure he offered you enough apologetic kisses and promises that he’d be back as soon as he could.

He always insisted that you could stay over at his place until he’d be back, but you never felt comfortable enough to do so. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy being at his place—you could already picture yourself curled up on the couch with one of his books, or take advantage of his bed, which was a lot bigger and more comfortable than yours. But it wasn’t quite home yet, at least not without him there.

With a resigned sigh, you decided to make the best out of the situation. It had been a long week, and you could use a night of self-care. As you set your phone down on the bathroom counter, you hit play on a playlist you’d made for such occasions—soft, calming melodies that would help you unwind. You pulled your hair back with a headband, took out your contacts, and started removing the makeup that took you half an hour to do earlier.

The bathroom mirror fogged slightly as the warmth of the shower filled the room. You hummed along with the song in the background, while you moved the cotton pads over your skin in a familiar motion.

As you finished, you carefully stepped out of your dress and turned toward the shower. The steam hit your skin as you slid into the stall, closing your eyes for a moment as the water hit your shoulders.

Without realizing, you spent a good hour in the shower. Once comfortably dressed, you let yourself sink into the plush cushions of your couch. A fuzzy blanket was draped across your just shaved legs, and the TV remote was within arm’s reach. You let out a content sigh, almost feeling as satisfied as you would be when being with Spencer.

—

Spencer’s signature melody of knocks broke your focus on the documentary you were watching. You swiftly moved up from the couch and checked the peephole on your door, just to be sure. A smile spread across your face as you saw Spencer rocking back and forth on his feet, plucking at the bouquet in his hands, straightening out each flower to perfection.

You opened the door with a big smile. “Hi, I wasn’t expecting you. I thought we cancelled tonight.”

He hesitates, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “You’re right. I finished the case early, and I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just… wanted to see you.” His words came out more nervously than he intended. “I saw the lights were on, so I assumed you were awake.”

“I wasn’t asleep. Don’t worry,” you answered warmly. You glanced down at the bouquet in his hands. “Are these for me?”

“They are,” he replies, his voice softened as he handed them to you. “You said you liked lilies.”

“I do, thank you. They’re beautiful.” You accept the bouquet, moving to your tiptoes to give him a kiss. Having a boyfriend with an eidetic memory really is perfect.

“I’ll put them in water, come in.”

You moved to the open kitchen, so in awe of his sweet gesture that you were completely unaware of the way Spencer’s breath caught the moment you opened the door, how his pupils darkened when he inhaled your sweet scent and noticed the state you were in. Hair still damp from the shower you must’ve taken, wearing only a shirt, and your face bare besides the glasses you were wearing. Fuck… he didn’t even know you wore glasses.

He couldn’t deny how incredibly cute you looked. Spencer has only seen you during or after dates, and he loved how he could tell that you took the time to get yourself ready. Always wearing an outfit that fits you perfectly and having your makeup done in a way that enhances the features of your face. But it felt so intimate seeing how effortlessly beautiful you looked moving around in the comfort of your own home. You were beautiful in a way that seemed almost unfair, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the most captivating version of you he'd ever seen.

Spencer wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you as you walked to the kitchen, your breasts swaying with every step you took. The outline of your nipples were visible, because of the cold that escaped when you opened the door for him. Your bare legs reflected the warm kitchen light. He felt like he was about to lose his mind as you reached up to grab a vase from the top cabinet, the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath the shirt that you're wearing.

He felt guilty for the warmth that was spreading through him. He shook his head slightly, trying to reset his thoughts, but the temptation was there. Your easy grace, the way your bare feet padded across the floor, the gentle hum of the air between you—it all combined into something too alluring for him to ignore.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he moved behind you, placing a careful hand on your hip as he reached out to grab the vase. You turned around with a smile as he placed the vase on the kitchen counter.

“Thanks,” you beamed, and he mumbled a ‘You’re welcome’, though his response came out as more of a soft hum.

Before he could think better of it, he leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was slow, deliberate—his lips meeting yours with a tenderness that made his pulse race. His fingers tingle with the desire to pull you closer, but just before his hands slid around you, you pulled away, making him swallow back a groan.

“Ooh! I was watching this documentary that I think you’ll be really into,” you said, quickly putting the flowers in the vase and tugging him by the hand toward the couch. He followed like a stray pup, too caught up in the way you moved to protest.

“Oh, yeah? What’s it about?” He asked, hoping the conversation would steer him away from the other thoughts tugging at him. You settled on the couch beside him, and he instinctively pulled your legs onto his lap, cupping your feet in his hands to warm them.

“It’s about space. The universe, really. It’s fascinating, but honestly terrifying if you think about it for too long.”

Spencer nodded, though his mind was far away. He was more focused on the way that his fingers traced the soft lines of your calves. He gently started kneading the muscles, placing just the right amount of pressure.

“Would you go to space, if NASA invited you?” You asked, eyes still glued to the TV.

“Only if you’d come with me.”

His response made you turn around to look at him. The sincere and loving expression he gave you warmed your face. He squeezed your legs gently, and, just like that, you noticed the hint of desire hidden in his eyes.

“Come here,” he said in a whisper, patting his thigh. In a second you managed to crawl yourself onto his lap, and he held you steady by your hips.

You reached up to remove your glasses, but before your fingers could touch the frames, his hand found yours, halting the movement.

You noticed the slight squint in his eyes. “I can’t properly kiss you with my glasses on,” you explain.

"Then let me handle the kissing," he murmured, voice dropped low.

Before you could register his words, his lips had found your neck. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing along the line of your jaw, holding you close as his tongue licked a firm stripe up your sensitive skin.

“Oh, god,” you shuddered in a breath.

“Shaking already?” he teased, voice laced with amusement as he grinned against your skin.

“No,” you lied.

“Are you sure about that? Then why are you doing it again?” He comments before squeezing your breast, your nipple caught in between his long fingers.

You jumped at his touch, a moan escaping your lips. You shook your head as you saw his satisfied expression. “You’re such a dirty tease.”

“I haven’t heard any complaints so far,” he smirks, making you roll your eyes.

His breath was warm against your skin as his lips found their way back to the soft curve of your neck. Slowly, with a tenderness that sent a shiver through your body, he placed several more kisses to your skin. Once pleased, he bends his head down to capture your clothed nipple in his mouth, his hand still kneading your other breast.

“Fuck, Spence,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. He took his time, his mouth sucking slowly on your nub, savoring the feel of you beneath him. Tonight, he was in no rush—he wanted to taste every inch of you, show you just how much he loves every detail of your body.

You were writhing in his lap as he flicked his tongue against your nipple. Heat forming between your thighs with every stroke of his tongue. He removed his lips from your breast with a pop, and sat back against the couch. His gaze was locked on the now wet, see-through patch on your shirt. He licked his lips, watching you like you were a piece of art he just created himself.

“Beautiful,” he stated.

The compliment sent a rush of warmth straight to your core, your body responding with a soft shiver. Without thinking, you began to grind yourself against his lap, a surge of excitement rushing through you as you felt the firm bulge beneath his pants. Spencer exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh, his warm hands slipping beneath your shirt as he cupped your breasts, squeezing them gently.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he said, his gaze lingering on you.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Oh, so that’s what this is all about, huh?”

His expression softened, “Actually, it’s about all of you.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, turning you almost shy.

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, his fingers teasing the hem of your shirt. You nodded wordlessly and raised your arms. Spencer pulled the fabric over your head, his eyes tracing the curve of your bare chest. He cursed under his breath, his hands immediately finding you—fingers digging into your skin as he leaned in, nuzzling his face between your tits with a satisfied moan.

A string of giggles and moans spilled from your lips as his curls tickled your skin. His pink lips grazed you gently, pausing to leave sloppy, lingering marks—each one a reminder that you’d carry with you for the following days.

You moved against him, rolling your hips, finding release in the way that your barely covered heat rubbed against the rough material of his pants. Spencer noticed the change in your rhythm, the need in your movements. He guided you with steady hands, his fingers moving to your hips and then sliding lower, finding the curve of your ass, tightening his grip to help you find the pace you craved.

“Can you handle more?” His voice was laced with desire. Without hesitation, you nodded, your body already screaming for more. His long fingers traced your inner thighs, goosebumps forming on your skin, his touch light but electrifying. When his thumb pressed against your covered clit, a jolt of heat shot through you, making you squirm helplessly. You moaned, your body arching toward him.

“You’re always so wet for me, angel.” The word slipped from Spencer's lips. It was the first time he’d called you anything other than your name or a shortened version of it, and somehow, angel felt more fitting than any word he'd ever used. You looked like heaven to him—your soft skin glowing in the light, your eyes sparkling behind the frames of your glasses, and the way you responded to his touch, every small brush of his fingers making your expressions change so delicately.

He slowly tugged the damp fabric of your underwear to the side, savoring the reveal of your glistening pussy. You lifted your hips, giving Spencer the access to slide a finger through your folds, spreading your wetness.

“Feels good,” you breathed out, your voice shaky as his fingers ran back and forth between your lips, each pass teasingly close to your entrance, but never quite slipping inside. The sensation made your hips buck against him. You weren’t used to being teased for this long—Spencer had a way of getting you dripping without even fully touching you. Usually that led straight to sex, which makes his slow touches feel almost torturous.

“Please, Spence,” you moaned.

“Please, what?” he mused, his eyes dark with desire as he watched how your arousal coated his fingers, his gaze never leaving your glistenings folds.

“I need more,” you begged, your voice a whimper.

“You can have more, angel. My fingers are right here,” he hummed.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you shifted, positioning yourself so his fingers were just below your entrance. Spencer’s breath hitched, and his mouth fell open as you sank down onto his fingers, inch by inch, taking him in. Your hand gripped his shoulder tightly for support as you moved, the sensation of fullness making your body tremble.

Spencer was the first to make a sound, his head falling back slightly as you adjusted to him. His moans only spurred you on. You pressed your forehead against his, your breaths shaky as he pumped his fingers in a steady, insistent rhythm.

His other hand moved to your ass, fingers spreading across your cheek as he squeezed, pulling you closer to him. You were grateful he was doing most of the work—your legs were already shaking, straining to keep up with the building pleasure.

Spencer’s fingers curled inside you, pressing deeper, and the angle was perfect—hitting spots you never managed to reach on your own. Spencer groaned at the sight. Your body was tightening around him, your slickness coating his fingers, and he couldn’t help but imagine it being his cock filling you up.

The sounds he made drove you crazy. Each deep groan, every stuttered breath, showed you how much he enjoyed making you feel good. His enjoyment only intensified your own pleasure.

You were so close, your nipples hard against his chest, your breath mixing with his as your hair tumbled over his face, the scent of it intoxicating to him.

Your breathing quickened, sharp and shallow, as the pressure built within you, pooling low in your belly. Your vision blurred, the edges of reality dissolving as you neared the brink of your climax.

“Baby…” you breathed, your voice a desperate whisper, barely more than a plea. You locked your eyes with Spencer, hoping—praying—he could see the need in yours, feel the frantic urgency building inside you.

And then, with a nod and a final twist of his fingers, you broke.

A flood of pleasure crashed through you. You gasped, your whole body seizing as your orgasm hit, sending shockwaves of heat through every inch of you. You cried out, unable to hold back the sounds of your release, your hips bucking against his touch, your hands gripping his wrist to anchor you to the world as it spun in a blur.

He withdrew his fingers from your heat, and the sudden absence left you breathless, a soft sound escaping your lips at the loss. When you blinked your eyes open, Spencer’s warm gaze met yours, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You smiled back at him, a little dazed, as he brushed your cheek with his untouched hand.

He carefully took your glasses off, placing them on the armrest of the couch. His thumb tenderly wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes. He then cupped your chin, pulling you toward him, and kissed you deeply, his lips soft and lingering.

“Thank you,” he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“I should be the one thanking you,” you softly laughed.

He shook his head, smiling. “No need for that,” he replied, his voice reassuring.

“But I want to,” you insisted. “Though… I think you’ll find I’m better at showing than telling.” You playfully whispered, as your nails grazed the outline of his dick.

You turned yourself around on his lap, your knees still planted on either side of him, but now with your back facing him. Leaning forward, you braced yourself on the coffee table, your elbows digging into the surface. You arched your back, making Spencer hiss sharply at the sight of your ass displayed before him, your arousal trickling down your thighs. The inviting shake of your hips made him lose his patience, and his fingers fumbled hastily with his belt.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hurriedly pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free, hard and eager, the flushed head brushing against the faint line of hair trailing up his abdomen.

He gripped himself firmly, pumping his length a few times before lining himself up with your slick entrance. The weight of his hand settled on your hip as he pressed the tip of his cock against your warmth, teasing you for the briefest moment before you sank down on him.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as he filled you, the new angle making him hit depths you’d never felt before. The stretch was deliciously overwhelming, stealing your breath as your fingers clawed at the table. You shakily tried to lift your hips, but your legs quivered under the strain.

Spencer noticed immediately, his hands finding their place—one on your waist, steadying you, and the other trailing down to your calf. He began guiding you, his strength effortlessly lifting and lowering you along his cock. The room filled with the symphony of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of meeting skin.

“God, look at you,” he rasped, mesmerized by the way your body took him in. His gaze focused on the bounce of your ass, hypnotized by the way it moved with each thrust. On instinct, he brought his hand down in a firm smack against your cheek.

The sudden impact made you jolt, as you let out a sweet, startled cry. The sound sent a surge of need through him, and he swore he felt himself harden further.

“You liked that, huh?” he mused in curiosity. Without waiting for an answer, he did it again, revelling in your shivering response.

Pulling you against him, Spencer adjusted your position until you were seated in his lap, your back pressed flush to his chest. One arm wrapped around your waist to hold you close, while his other hand rose to cup your breast. His hips snapped into you roughly, each thrust pulling an uncontrollable whimper from your throat.

“You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he praised, his voice hoarse as his fingers pinched and rolled your nipple. The combination made your head loll back against his shoulder, surrendering to his touch. He seized the opportunity to claim your lips in a needy, devouring kiss. Tongues tangled messily, swallowing your shared moans.

As your pleasure mounted, your walls began to flutter around him, drawing a strained groan from his throat.

“Are you close again, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper against your lips.

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to form the word. “Spencer… fuck, I’m so close.”

“Then cum around me,” he encouraged. “I know you want it.”

Your breath hitched. “Will you cum inside of me?”

For a heartbeat, he stilled. “I…” His gaze flickered with hesitation, cheeks flushed. “I want to cum on your face.”

Your pupils blew wide, desire sparking anew at his confession. A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His fingers dipped between your thighs, circling your clit in rapid, precise motions. The pressure tipped you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you let go.

Barely able to recover, you slid from his lap onto your knees, settling in front of him. Spencer’s breath hitched at the sight of you—flushed and disheveled, your sweat-slick skin glowing in the low light. Your lips, swollen from his kisses, parted expectantly.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away. You looked angelic… and he was about to ruin you.

It didn’t take long. His cock twitched, thick ropes of cum spilling over your face and dripping down to your chest. His jaw went slack, his chest heaving as he watched you collect some of his release with your thumb and slip it into your mouth. The sight of you sucking on your finger almost unraveled him all over again.

Unable to bring himself to leave your side, he grabbed his sleeve, using it to gently clean you up. Once satisfied, you leaned forward, resting your head on his thigh, basking in the comfortable silence that followed.

His phone buzzed suddenly on the couch, shattering the moment. Spencer groaned, grabbing the device and quickly silencing it with a flick of his finger.

You laughed softly, your voice tinged with amazement. “What was that about?”

Spencer shrugged, tossing the phone aside without a second glance. “I can be late for one day.”

[alana-reid-2005]

we all joke about and objectify this man, but do we stop to think how sad his story is? he grew up friendless and ruthlessly bullied for being a literal genius. constantly picked on by his coworkers, and he’s never in on the joke. he’s always being laughed at, never laughed with because no one understands his existentialist humor. he never has plans or places to go on the weekend after work. he goes to work then goes to his lonely home with all his books to keep him company. on occasion, he haunts the chess table at the park or meets with an old professor. no one takes the time to appreciate his weird little quirks. no one took the time to ask him if he was okay after the several traumatic incidents he endured. no one takes care of him because everyone’s too busy leaving. he could be a male model, yet he’s never thought of himself as attractive. when he does find love, he’s brutally stripped of it before he can blink. spencer reid, the lonely genius who learned of love too late and loss too soon.

[reidmania]

opposites attract | s. reid

summary; spencer would give the world to be your person, even after you argue that you two are too different.

warnings; fem reader, pining!spencer, lowkey pining!reader, bombshell!reader, rejection, reader is described as confident and more of a black cat, insecurities, doubting, a bad date mentioned, happy ending, spencer lowkey gets frustrated, reader has tattoos.

an; messy and switches perspectives whoopsies. Idk how many words, a lot. Too many.

Two years. That was how long Spencer had been a complete and utter mess. Two years since his brain didn’t quite function the same, he remained intelligent, sure, but god so incomplete. Two years since you started at the BAU, two years since he met you.

You were out of his league. He had decided it the moment he laid eyes on you. You were stunning, absolutely perfect in anyones gaze. You were everything he could ever want and more, not just physically. Your laugh, your voice, the way you spoke to everyone around you, gentle, warm. The way you sat quietly in the corner most days, not because you felt out of place, nor shy, not because you didn’t enjoy being there, but just because no matter where in a room you were, your presence was known. Especially to Spencer.

He tried to pretend that he didn’t fall completely in love with you the first time the two of you ever had a conversation and you spoke to him with a smile, listened to him, he tried to pretend the scent of your perfume didn’t make him lightheaded, and the sight of your tattoo that he only saw on occasion’s didn’t make him wonder if you had more, what made you get it, was there meaning?

Spencer wanted to know everything about you, he wanted to live in your brain and know your every like and dislike, what made you smile a little wider, what made you unable to stop laughing, what your favourite drink was, what colour you liked the most, where your family was from, your middle name.

Spencer would stop the world to know you.

That was impossible to hide, even two years later. He tried, so many times to get your attention, to be the subject of your fascination. It didn’t help that every-time you looked in his direction his skin grew ten temperatures too warm and his head spun.

He tried asking you out, twice. Sort of.

The first time was too subtle, too rambling and hidden in the mix of stutters and hot cheeks, fidgeting hands. Because you were looking at him, with a gaze so intense and caring, patient.

How was he ever suppose to talk when you were looking at him like that? Like there was something that made him worth the gravity the warmth in your eyes held.

“Would you date me?” It was blurted out on a Tuesday afternoon, you were standing beside him as the buzz of the bullpen had calmed down, your gaze was focused on reorganising the files on his desk, his gaze was on you. You were reorganising because you didn’t like the way he had done it, and it had been ‘bugging’ you for weeks.

Spencer loved the way his files were organised, but he loved you more.

It was stupid, he didn’t even mean to say it. It was out of place leaving his lips and he knew it the moment your head turned towards him and a sweet laugh left your lips, not mocking him, god you would never. It was a laugh of shock, confusion, maybe even surprise.

“Are you asking me out?” You asked, raising your eyebrow slightly as you met his eyes. His cheeks heated before he could help it, eyes went wide because he had no idea what he was doing.

“What- I- no.” His voice was an octave higher, a tell sign he was nervous, if you needed any more tell signs between the fidgeting of his hands, his bright pink cheeks and his avoidant gaze. You smiled as you shook your head, looking back at the files on his desk, he watched your hand as your ran your finger along them once they were organised neatly, anyone else he might’ve cringed at the sight, but it was you.

“I don’t think so” You had mumbled in response and Spencer felt the world shift into an imbalance. You said it so casually. He didn’t know if his heart was beating too fast or if it was breaking. You turned your head back to look at him, a frown on your lips when you saw the frown that had snuck its way onto his features before he could even realise.

“Not because you aren’t great. Or attractive. You are — You definitely are. I just think we are too different.” You said. His eyebrows knitted together as he met your eyes. He hated the fact you were frowning, he hated the fact he was frowning. He hated what you had just said, god he loved you.

“Right” he didn’t know what to say.

“Spence” You spoke through a warm huff of laughter, shaking your head as you twisted your body to face him fully, your hip leaning against the desk as you crossed your arms over your chest. He watched your hair fall down the sides of your face, over your shoulders. He wondered if you had changed your shampoo since the last time, the only time you had hugged him a few weeks ago, when he had gotten the chance to breath it in, and then it was all he thought about for weeks.

You smiled at him and it was contagious, despite the ache in his chest and overwhelming sense of illness in his stomach, you were smiling. “I think you’re amazing, i always have” you started and his cheeks warmed more. “But we are complete opposite’s.”

He wanted to argue you. Say that he could change and be more like you, more like the guys he had seen pick you up after work, he could be whatever you wanted. He could be someone. Someone to you.

But he didn’t.

That was the last time Spencer had attempted to ask you out, you never bought it up. You never questioned it again, you didn’t push you ask why he wanted to know. Spencer remained sickeningly in love with everything about you, you remained pretending to not notice.

Why were you here? You couldn’t quite remember or find the time to think about it properly between the noise surrounding the fancy restaurant you were in and the sickening long rant the boy in front of you was going on. Something about a business, something about saving it, something egotistical and sickeningly boring.

The date starts out fine. It’s all small talk at first—work, hobbies, the usual pleasantries. But soon, you realize that Mark has a lot to say. About himself. A lot.

“And then I closed the deal,” he says, recounting some work story about how he single-handedly saved his company from financial ruin. He leans back in his chair, smiling like he’s just told you the most fascinating thing in the world. You nod politely, but your mind starts to wander. His voice fades into the background as you think about something else, someone else.

Spencer.

You wonder what he’s doing right now. Probably at home, curled up with a book, or maybe he’s watching a documentary. You can almost picture him, pacing around his apartment, muttering facts to himself about some obscure topic that no one but him finds interesting. But you love that about him. He’s so passionate about everything, even the things that most people would overlook. And he’s never trying to show off. He just loves sharing what he knows.

You try to pay attention to the guy in front of you, you really really do. But god he is so boring. You wonder how quickly you could get one of your friends to come save you from this horror of a date. You wonder how long you would have to hide in the bathroom for before he disappeared.

Mark’s voice pulls you back to reality. “So, what do you think?” he asks.

“Hmm?” You blink, realizing you’ve missed the last five minutes of whatever he was talking about.

“I was saying,” he repeats, a little slower this time, “I just think it’s amazing how people like me can juggle so many things at once. Don’t you think?”

You smile, but it’s strained. “Sure, that’s impressive.”

As the date drags on, you start to notice little things. Like the way Mark talks to the waiter, snapping his fingers for attention, barely looking up from his phone when the waiter brings the food. He doesn’t say thank you. Not once. It’s subtle, but it grates on you. You find yourself cringing, wondering if anyone else notices.

He was much more interesting when he asked you out a few nights ago at a bar, when you were drunk. Why had you agreed? Maybe drunk you saw something sober you didn’t. Or maybe drunk you just saw a male who was conventionally attractive and made you laugh. You wondered how low the bar was

You didn’t have a lot of time to wonder before you heard your name from behind you, your head spun and you almost cried with gratefulness when you saw Penelope standing there, a wide grin on her face, and then Spencer standing beside her, he offered you a gentle shy wave that made your heart warm.

“Oh my gosh! Do you guys want to come sit?” You asked, praying they said yes, praying that Penelope noticed the wide urgent look in your eyes and understood that you were begging. You were genuinely begging for a conversation about anything other than Mark’s biggest accomplishments.

“Oh- We don’t want to interrupt.” Spencer mumbled, looking between you and Mark, the two of you sitting opposite sides of the booth you were in. You noticed the look in Spencer’s eye, you knew what it was. He didn’t want to sit there while you were on a date with someone else. Clearly he misread the urgency in your gaze.

“No! Mark doesn’t mind? Do you mind Mark?” You asked, spinning your head around to face Mark who was confused on the two people and why they were talking to you. Why they had interrupted him. You had to hold back the urge to roll your eyes.

“Uh..” he started, you cut him off. “He doesn’t mind. Come sit.” You shuffled over to make room for the two.

Penelope slides into the booth beside you, while Spencer takes the seat across from you, next to Mark. He looks nervous, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table, but he offers you a small, shy smile.

“What are you guys doing here?” you ask, trying to suppress the excitement bubbling up inside you.

“Oh, we were just nearby, and I figured we’d grab something to eat,” Penelope says.

Spencer fidgets with his napkin, glancing at you, then back at the table. “I-I was telling Penelope about this, uh, documentary I watched the other night. It’s about the history of the subway system in New York. I think you’d really like it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nods, his eyes lighting up as he starts to explain. “Yeah, it’s fascinating, actually. They had to navigate all these geological challenges, and the engineering behind it is incredible. I know you mentioned once that you’re interested in architecture, and I thought you might appreciate how they designed the stations.”

You stare at him for a moment, surprised. You don’t even remember telling him that you liked architecture, but he did. And now, here he is, rambling about a documentary he thinks you’d enjoy, not because he’s trying to impress you, but because he genuinely thought you’d find it interesting.

Meanwhile, Mark is looking more and more uncomfortable, clearly not enjoying the conversation. He cuts in, talking over Spencer to launch into another story about himself, but you’re barely listening anymore. Instead, you’re watching Spencer, noticing how different he is from Mark. Spencer, who’s always so considerate, who listens more than he talks, who looks at you like you’re the most important person in the room, even when he’s nervous.

And then there’s Mark, who hasn’t asked you a single question all night, who’s rude to the waiter, and who’s more interested in hearing himself talk than getting to know you.

“I think I might head off..” Mark muttered, clearly annoyed at the fact you had not only been interrupted on your date, but also frustrated that you were paying more attention to Spencer than him. You couldn’t care less.

“Oh okay! Have a good night” You smiled, sickeningly nice as he shuffled his way past Spencer to leave the table. He glanced at you once, not saying anything before he walked away.

“He was an asshole!!” Penelope bursts out into laughter the minute Mark was out of earshot, you immediately joined her laughter while Spencer remained quiet, shuffling around on the now empty side of the booth.

“Those are the type of guys you go out with?” He asked, his voice was quiet, almost offended. You wish you understood why when you stopped laughing at met his gaze. You opened your mouth to talk as the tension around the table grew.

“Hey! Don’t judge!” She gasped out, pointing her finger dramatically at Spencer, clearly not noticing his underlying feelings and why he had even said anything, you did. “It’s slim pickings out here!!”

Spencer hummed, tapping his fingers against the table as he avoided meeting your gaze. You frowned slightly. Soon enough the conversation fell back into rhythm, flowing like it did any other time. They ate, you paid since it was your date. Then Penelope left.

You stood outside of the restaurant, looking around the busy streets. “How are you getting home?” Spencer asked, his gaze meeting yours as you tilted your head upwards to look at him, you couldn’t not smile. It was impossible not to smile around Spencer.

“Uh- Walking. I walked. It’s really not far.” You nodded to support your words as you buried your hands inside the warmth of your pockets. You had been in a state since Spencer had gotten there, a state you couldn’t quite explain. Silently lost in thought, a state of confusion? Maybe realisation.

“I’ll walk you home. Its late.” He said it like it was a no brainer. Like it was the most obvious thing for him to do. No date you had ever been on had offered you walk you home.

Every time Spencer speaks, you feel yourself softening, smiling without even realizing it. His nervous energy, the way he fumbles over his words, it’s all so endearing. He’s not trying to prove anything to you. He just wants to share the things he loves with you, and it’s the sweetest thing.

“Okay.” You breathe out the silent agreement before your feet find rhythm next to Spencer’s as you walk down the street, the post lights causing an orange glow across the ground, across his face.

“Theres a study.” Spencer started, his breathe coming out warm against the cold air causing a fog of steam to follow his breath, you watched it for an moment before your eyes flickered to the side of his face, you’re still walking, his gaze doesn’t meet yours.

“That uh— Shows that opposites attract, it’s more of a theory, since scientifically it doesn’t actually work like that — although negatives are attracted to positives if you’re looking at electricity — but uh- People believe that a lot of people are attracted to people opposite them, because each person offers something the other lacks, making the relationship feel more complete.. Majority of relationships that are built off of opposites work better than people who are too similar because theres more of a balance.. its chaotic but, it uh — it works.”

He was nervous. You could tell. Your breath hitched slightly as he spoke, as he brought it up again. Your mind tried to process the overload of information he had mumbled out. You tried to process it.

“So scientifically we wouldn’t work.” You huffed out. He laughed. Genuinely laugh, it was breathy and quiet but genuine and it made your heart warm.

“Technically— but theoretically—”

You cut him off, a rare occurrence, “I thought you were a science guy.” You mumbled.

He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “I think I am just a you guy.”

You didn’t know what to say. It was sweet in a way that your brain couldn’t process. He was going against everything he believed to be correct because he wanted you?

“I thought data and statistics are the most reliable source of information.” You mumbled the response, words he had said, probably months ago. Why were you fighting him on this? Why were you fighting yourself on this? You weren’t sure.

“Sure; most of the time. But they are subjective. Especially when talking about psychologically. Each couple, each set of people — they’re different.” He said, his gaze didn’t meet yours. You pulled your eyes away to focus on the street in front of you. You were getting closer to your house, yet part of you wanted to stay right here.

“You think we could work?” You asked. It was a whisper.

He paused, you could see him nod in your peripheral. “I do. I’d make it work, i’d do anything.” Maybe it came out more desperate than he had intended, you found it sweet.

You found him sweet.

“Spencer” you paused your movements and his stopped with yours. His body turned to face you as you looked up at him. His eyes were pleading, desperate, hoping. It almost made your heart ache at the slight fear in them, that you were going to maybe reject him again.

But you found him sweet.

“Id date you.” You answered the question he had asked maybe months ago now, you didn’t realise until now that you had conveniently stopped outside your house. You turned your head to look at the front door before back at Spencer.

“Can i- uh- Will you- I-“ He stuttered and your heart warmed at his nervous attempt to ask you out.

“Yes.” You answered gently, saving him the hassle. Maybe being different was a good thing. Maybe you could beat the statistics that proved otherwise.

Maybe opposites did attract.

[lavenderspence]

an enduring, mighty warrior | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader  |  Word Count: 2.6K

Content warning: fluff, pregnant reader, mention of past death

Summary: you and spencer settle on a sentimental name for you baby

A/N: well hello, long time no see (literally i haven’t posted in over a month) and this is also the first thing i’ve finished in over a month. but i absolutely adore this, and i hope you do too. let me know if you figured out baby reid’s name before you finished reading.

masterlist

The drop in temperature was a usual occurrence for the tenth month of the year. Just when fall was slowly starting to reach its peak, almost in full swing, the all-Hallow’s Eve lovers were slowly putting up their decorations and getting ready to welcome the holiday. 

Despite the bite in the air, the sun was high up in the sky and gently warmed your skin. You inhaled, taking in the crisp autumn scent. Fresh and earthy, the smell of the fallen and slightly decaying leaves reached you on the third floor of the apartment you shared with your boyfriend, and so did the enchanting view.

Streets and sidewalks alike were covered in an abundance of colorful leaves - from scarlet and burgundy to amber, carnelian, and gamboge yellow. Browns, like feuille morte and chocolate, and the softest shades of gold sprinkled in between. Trees, their crowns a beautiful array of hues in varying stages of change.

And as you looked on over the balcony banisher, you couldn’t help but feel like you were surrounded by pure magic - not just the scenic beauty, but the feel, the essence of the season itself. It was so peaceful and quiet at times, with a certain stillness present in the air. Was the world even awake, or was it just in a state of contentment?

That’s how Spencer found you a couple of minutes later - in a state of peacefulness as you took in the scene before you, curled up on the small nook you and your boyfriend had put together on your balcony. 

He pushed open the door, carrying a steaming cup of tea in each hand and a thick, colorful book under his arm. He passed you one of the cups and settled next to you, pulling a blanket across your lap. 

His long fingers pushed a piece of hair away from your face before he pulled you towards him and laid a soft kiss on the side of your head. As you cradled your cup, taking in the rich aroma of the tea he’d prepared for you, he reached over and cradled your bump, running his thumb around in different shapes.

It was rare to spend a whole day together in the comfort of your home. With a job where the wellbeing of people sat heavily on the team’s shoulders, where Spencer’s knowledge, his brain, and he himself was needed, you could sometimes go days without seeing each other. That had been the case when you’d started dating.

But you’d made it work - you’d managed to find a way to communicate clearly whenever the hardships of his job had gotten the best of you. A way that had allowed your relationship to build on a stable foundation of trust, love, and mutual understanding.

Late-night phone calls, separated by miles of land. Impromptu dates, minutes, and hours spent in each other’s presence, savoring what little time you had together. Declarations of love, small touches, and gentle talk - a relationship you’d only ever read about in books. 

But that’s exactly what it felt like to love him, to be loved by him - a love full of memories of waking up to the other’s warmth, savoring the feeling of them in your arms, their lips stealing the breath from your lungs - a fairytale love story you couldn’t wait to tell your kids about.

“Soon.” A little voice in your head chimed in to remind you. Very soon, you’d have a little someone to tell the story to. You’d hold a little precious someone, born out of the love you shared, a combination of your favorite things about the other. 

In your periphery, you watched as Spencer pulled the book into his lap. “A baby names book?” you asked, eyeing the cover - a colorful blend of blues and pinks, yellows and greens. 

He smiled your way before he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his side. As you settled against him, you felt the pads of his fingers gently run over your bump again.

Ever since he’d taken hold of that stick and seen with his own eyes the future that awaited you some nine months later - the possibility, the reality of a family he’d longed for years to have - he'd started expressing his love for both you and your child with the smallest of touches and the gentlest of voices. 

A run of his fingers against your stomach, even when the roundness of the life you’d created together had yet to make an appearance. Gently holding onto the barely there bump a few weeks later when it had finally appeared. Talking in a soft, hushed voice to your baby boy every time he could - telling him about his day, the boring paperwork, or that new pastry shop you’d tried out together, and the sweets you’d loved.

He’d taken on being a father fabulously, even though he was technically still a dad-to-be. Even though he hadn’t had the faintest idea of what a dad should be, hadn’t been blessed with the experience of having a man like himself as a father, he’d jumped headfirst and hadn’t looked back. 

He’d read books, he’d searched the internet, and he’d talked with Will and Aaron for hours on end. He’d tried to prepare; he’d tried to show he’d be the father that he never got to have.

And even when the reality of the lack of a paternal figure in his life caught up with him, he’d taken it in stride. Just like with everything else in your relationship, you’d had an open conversation where he’d been able to share with you his biggest anxieties and fears. 

You’d reminded him of how involved he was already, how ecstatic and curious he was to learn everything possible, and how he knew so much already. How he’d far surpassed the man his father was and how there was no place for comparison between them. You’d calm his mind and praise his character - in your eyes, he was already the greatest man and father ever.

“He still doesn’t have a name.” He responded as he cracked open the book. 

“There’s still time.” You muttered as you ran your fingers up his arm, gently scratching at the skin. He gave you a funny look and shook his head before he flipped the pages. You knew he loved being prepared beforehand, especially when it came to your little one. 

Spencer had started buying him little things early on, even before you knew he was a “he” - plushies, blankets, socks, and small adorable shoes. He’d gotten him a variety of books; he’d even learned some of them by heart by now. 

The nursery had long ago been painted and put together, with the help of the abundance of aunts and uncles and a grandpa, waiting for the little ones’ arrival. 

But the one thing he still didn’t have was a name. And not for lack of trying to pick one. You’d thumbed through books, you’d browsed the internet, and you’d even asked Penelope to put together a list of names for you, yet you could never settle on one. 

“Okay, what have we got?” You mumbled, lacing your fingers together as they settled comfortably one over the other on your bump. 

“Noah? It’s Hebrew, and it means 'rest’ or even ‘peaceful’.” He suggested, turning to see what you thought about it. You could see on his face he wasn’t really into it, and neither were you. It was a beautiful name, but it didn’t feel like that was the right name for you. You simply shook your head and watched as he flipped a few more pages.

“How about Luca? It means ‘bringer of light’.”

“It’s also Italian if I’m not mistaken, and Rossi’s going to love that.” He’d even suggested a few Italian names the last few months, but none had stuck.

“Do you love it though?” You shook your head in response. He continued flipping the pages of the book as you sipped your tea. 

“Avery? It’s unisex, and it’s British.” You mulled it over, kind of liking the sound of it.

“Avery Reid, it’s not that bad. What does it mean though?” You asked

“Ruler of elves.” He mumbled, scratching at his brow.

“Absolutely not!” You started laughing as you shook your head. “We’re not naming him ‘ruler of elves’. Spencer, there’s a possibility he’s going to be born around Christmas anyway; we’re not putting our son through that.” You watched as he flashed you a cute little smile and shook his head at you.

He continued flipping the pages of the book, suggesting names and sharing their meaning and origin - Miles, Owen, Aspen, Wesley, and many more - but none of them seemed to fit. None screamed, baby Reid. 

You observed Spencer carefully as he flipped the pages, eyes running slower than they usually did. He looked overly preoccupied, borderline fixated on picking a name for your son, and not for the first time. It almost felt like he intentionally focused on any and all possibility, sans the one, or maybe even the few he held close to his heart. 

And you could see, you could tell he had a few ideas on his mind, but for whatever reason, he didn’t share them. It’s like a part of him was holding back, fighting with himself about the possibility of naming your child that. 

Deep down, a part of you knew what he was wrestling with - so you decided to spare him from having to voice it. 

“How about Gideon?” You whispered, and his head perked up instantly. His eyes and his whole face softened at your suggestion - a suggestion that was actually his own. He closed the book and turned to face you fully.

“Really?” His voice was small, the emotion evident underneath his soft timber. You watched as his eyes watered just a little, shining in the gentle sunlight. You never got to meet the infamous Jason Gideon, but you’ve heard the stories. You knew what he’d done for Spencer, how he’d taken him under his wing, and how he’d protected and cared about him in his own way. 

You remembered how hard he’d taken the heartbreak that settled upon the team last January. The many nights he’d woke up in cold sweat, unable to take a breath, as the scene played on a loop in his head - a body sprawled underneath a white sheet on the wooden flooring of a cabin meant to shield its owner from the horrors of his old job. Bathed in a cozy light, with the record player that had stopped playing a tune long ago and the unfinished chess game, your boyfriend had tried to play for weeks on end but been unable to. 

The many late-night tears he’d shed in the crook of your neck, the hiccups that had followed, and the gentle shushing of your voice trying to calm him down, trying to be his anchor. 

It was evident, without having met him, the monumental impact Jason Gideon had had on the person Spencer was today. There was no question about it; you were certain that if he wanted to honor the man who’s taken the role of a father figure when he hadn’t had one, you’d give him that. You’d want him to have it; you’d want him to wake up every day and be reminded of how far he’d made it and the person who’d made sure he had.

“Yes, really.” 

Before you knew it, he had pulled you into his arms and wrapped them around your body as much as your bump would allow. “Thank you.” He breathed into your neck on a shaky exhale. You turned and pressed a kiss against his head as you started gently running your fingers in his hair, playing with the curls. 

You stayed like that for a little while longer before he pulled you into the softest kiss. A kiss meant to express both his gratitude and love and the everpresent awe you left him in. A kiss, where both your emotions ran high - where he was coming down from the reminder of the past, and both of you were looking forward to the quick approaching future. 

“He still needs a second name.” You whispered against his lips when he pulled back. You watched as his whole face changed for just a second, as if a lightbulb went off in his head. “What?” You asked.

He shook his head before he pecked your lips again. “Nothing.” 

“Come on,” You pushed his hair back a little, “I could see the gears in your brain shifting just by the look on your face. Did you have a suggestion?” You rubbed your thumb against his forehead. 

He shook his head again. “It’s nothing. I want you to give him a name too.” 

“I already did, Spence. You can give him his second name if you let me name our future daughter.” You joked and watched as his entire face lit up at the mention of another child, a girl. You knew he’d be an amazing father to your son, you were certain, but a part of you couldn’t help but also imagine an early morning with a little girl whose pigtails he tied as she told him about her dreams. He nodded with a smile.

“What’s the name?” 

“Remember when I got shot in the neck two years ago?” You nodded as he started playing with your fingers. “I had this distinct memory - I was bleeding out, losing consciousness, and I guess Alex slipped and called me by another name. That night, when she dropped me off, the night she quit the BAU, I asked her about it.” He finally looked up and met your eyes.

“She had a son, Ethan. He passed away when he was nine - they told her it was neurological, but there’s never been a name for it. All these years, and she still doesn’t know, she never got an answer to the one question that impacted her life the most.” He shook his head at the injustice of the world. 

Even with the knowledge of the over 26 thousand diseases present in the world and the many more that have yet to be discovered, he couldn’t help but feel her pain, now more than ever when he was about to become a parent himself. 

Despite the fact that you never got to meet one of Spencer’s paternal figures, you got to meet his work mom - that’s what Alex was to him in your mind. You knew, deep down, that’s the way he saw her too. 

Even though he grew up with a loving mother in the form of Diana, you knew he missed on monumental things with her - talking about his first love, dates, his feelings, and sometimes even his future. 

But Alex had been there when he’d started loving you - she’d heard about your dates, and she’d listened as he gushed on and on about you and the future he wished to build with you. As a woman, whose marriage had withstanded some of the toughest battles, she’d offered her advice too. 

You knew she loved him like he was her own and loved you just as much.

“So, Ethan Gideon?” You asked softly, already in love with the name. It was perfect - it honored the person who shaped the person Spencer was today, who started him on this journey, that would later allow him to meet you. And the person who witnessed the start of the love between you both. 

And turns out, you weren’t the only one on board with the name - a series of strong kicks followed the moment you uttered his name out loud for the first time. 

You laughed as you grabbed your boyfriend’s hand, following the kicks together. 

“Ethan Gideon Reid.” He whispered before he pulled you in for another kiss. 

did you figure out the name?🥹

Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[foxy-eva]

Drunk on You

Summary: Spencer is completely and utterly infatuated with you

Request: Pussy drunk Spencer where it’s the first time they sleep together and he’s completely obsessed with being inside her and eating her out (initially requested to @imagining-in-the-margins) 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut 

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, oral (fem receiving), protected penetrative sex, slight overstimulation

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

Maybe it was a bit cliché to invite Spencer into your apartment for coffee after your date. The ulterior motive was obvious but there was no elegant way of telling him what you really wanted. He didn’t seem to mind when he accepted your offer with a grin on his face. 

The tension between the two of you was palpable once you stepped through your door. The warm amber of Spencer’s irises shone even brighter under the lighting of your living room. It was mesmerizing to look at him, so much so that you quickly forgot about the coffee. 

Spencer couldn’t care less. It was obvious that he knew a hot beverage wasn’t exactly what you craved right then. The way he licked his lips as he looked at you gave away that he was longing for something else, too. 

Stepping closer, you left barely any space between the two of you. The warmth he radiated penetrated your skin and spread through your body. You breathed in his scent, a pleasant mix of his cologne and laundry detergent. 

“So,” you teased as you leaned closer. “Are you gonna kiss me now or what?” 

“Gladly,” he chuckled. 

To your surprise, he took his time with you. His fingers found your jaw, gently brushing along your skin before slightly tilting your head. His other hand made contact with your waist to pull you even closer. Then, unhurriedly and with a precise motion, he finally leaned in to close the distance. 

Once your mouths made contact there was no more holding back, though. His lips were soft yet demanding and he didn’t waste any time to deepen the kiss. Tasting you broke any resistance Spencer had and he couldn’t keep up his demeanor anymore. 

His fingertips dug into your waist before you felt them trembling against your body. His tongue brushed over yours as if you had finally granted him the first taste of water after a life-long drought. When your hands found the nape of his neck to playfully tug at his curls, he unabashedly moaned against your lips. 

Spencer was desperate to make you his and he had no intention of hiding that from you. His lips only left yours to gasp for air before kissing you some more. When you wanted to lean back to look at him, he chased your mouth and immediately closed the distance again.

His enthusiasm made you smile into the kiss and he noticed. That was when he finally slowed down, leaving a few more feather-light pecks on your mouth before leaning back. 

“Sorry,” he awkwardly laughed. “I’ve been waiting so long to do this.” 

“Don't apologize,” you breathed. “I like how eager you are.” 

To prove your words, you took his hand in yours to lead him into your bedroom. Spencer wasn’t the only one who had been waiting too long for this to finally happen. You had no intention of acting shy with him when it was clear how much the both of you yearned for each other’s nearness. 

Right beside your bed you came to a halt and turned to him. Patiently he watched as you undid the buttons of his dress shirt and brushed the fabric over his shoulders. Once the shirt dropped to the floor, your hands wandered along the waistband of his pants. 

Your eyes followed the movements of your fingers and you couldn’t ignore the outline of his hardness straining against his trousers. You looked at the man in front of you and found him staring at you with the utmost adoration in his eyes. 

“Can I touch you?” You asked and he nodded. 

Your palm carefully made contact with his clothed cock and a sigh immediately escaped Spencer’s throat. He leaned into your touch and twitched against the fabric of his confines. You decided to free him as you undid his pants and slowly pulled them down together with his underwear. 

As you took your time to admire the beauty of your lover, you completely forgot your surroundings. Only Spencer’s hand brushing along your arm brought you back to reality. You locked eyes with him again and felt your cheeks heating up. 

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled. 

His hand found the fabric of your shirt and tugged on it as he cooed, “I want to see you, too.”

Together you got rid of the remaining pieces of clothing until both of you were completely bare. You lay down on the mattress to continue kissing without any barriers between your bodies. 

Spencer hovered over you when he began kissing down your neck. He left sweet pecks on your skin before biting down on your pulse point, drawing a whine from your lips. To soothe the angry skin, he carefully licked along it before moving further down your body. 

“You smell so good,” he groaned as he kissed your breasts. “I can’t get enough of you.” 

He took one of your hardened peaks into his mouth while his hand found the other, teasing it with his fingers until you couldn’t hold back your moans. When he heard your hymn of praise, he hummed into your skin. 

Hungry lips found one another once more. “You are marvelous,” Spencer mumbled into the kiss. 

While he was distracted with his mouth on yours, a curious hand made its way down his body to wrap around his erection. It made him whimper against your lips. Your fingers brushed over velvety skin until they found the weeping tip to spread his arousal over it. 

“Fuck!” he hissed as he looked down his body to watch your hand caressing him. 

“Do you like that?” you teased as you kept stroking him a little harder. 

His hand found your wrist to stop your movements. “Yeah, a little too much,” he confessed and his words made you smile. 

You let go of him and watched as his fingertips danced along your chest and down your stomach until they reached their destination between your legs. Tentatively, he let one finger glide along your slit before spreading your folds apart. When he found you already dripping with desire, he groaned, “So wet for me.” 

He collected your dew on his fingertips and dragged it along your folds before circling your most sensitive spot. The sounds of your pleasure only spurred him further on, caressing you some more before he breached your entrance with two digits, finding little resistance from your body. 

Spencer kissed along your neck as he curled his fingers inside you, pressing against a spot that made you light-headed and let your walls flutter around him. He seemed to relish feeling your body like this, taking his time to explore your core before settling on a steady pace. It didn’t take long for you to dance along the edge of euphoria. 

His lips brushed along your ear as he whispered, “I can’t wait to fuck you.” 

That was all it took for your undoing. Spencer groaned as he felt you pulsing around his fingers, your entire body writhing as you found relief. You were still panting when he withdrew his fingers, making you whine at the loss of contact. 

With a playful smirk spread over his face, he brought his hand to his mouth to lick your release from his fingers, savoring the taste of your cunt on his tongue. 

“You taste so good,” he breathed before moving down your body. “I need more.”

Before he could settle down between your thighs, you grabbed his shoulders. The feeling of being empty was overwhelming and you yearned to be filled out by him. Even though the prospect of having his mouth on you was exciting, it was not what you needed then. 

“I need you inside me now,” you whimpered. “Please, Spencer.” 

He kneeled between your legs when he chuckled, “How could I say no to that?” 

Hurriedly and with little grace you reached over to your nightstand to get a condom from the drawer. Spencer didn’t waste any more time when he took the wrapper from your hands to put the condom on. As he leaned over you, you watched him closing his eyes for a moment before he aligned his cock at your entrance. 

Then, after locking eyes with you, he began pushing his hips against yours. He hissed a curse at the sensation of slowly stretching you open one inch at the time. When he dared to look down between your bodies, he got so overwhelmed at the sight of his cock entering you that he almost came on the spot. 

Quickly, he averted his sight to get his composure back. Your walls fluttered around him and you felt him twitch in response. Once he had filled you up to the hilt, he took a moment to feel your heartbeat deep inside you. 

“Spencer,” you whined as you began rocking your hips against his. “Please!” 

He didn’t mean to tease you or test your patience. He just wanted to fully savor this moment. Feeling you tightly wrapped around him made his head spin. He felt inebriated when he began moving and started to think you had cast some kind of spell on him. 

“You feel so good,” he breathed when he began moving. “So tight for me.” 

Pure magic was the only explanation for what you made him feel. Spencer struggled to wrap his head around the fact that this was reality. Nothing else mattered other than being right there with you, making you his as he fucked you against the mattress. 

“Harder!” you cried and Spencer obliged. 

It proved to be a mistake, though. As he watched you quiver underneath him, the bedframe shaking with his forceful thrusts, he struggled to delay his downfall. Feeling you getting even tighter around him made it impossible to not fully indulge in this sensation. 

With his whole body trembling, he tried but failed to slow himself down. Desperation was written over his face as he attempted to prolong the feeling of being inside you. Of course you noticed it, too. Seeing him fall apart on top of you as pleasure overcame him was exhilarating and you had no intention of slowing him down.  

“Come for me,” you murmured and Spencer’s eyes widened at your words. 

Then, with a particularly hard thrust, he did. Trembling and groaning, the built-up tension was released as his climax washed over him. 

Before you had a chance to wrap your arms around him to welcome him inside your embrace, he pulled out of you and quickly moved down your body. With your head still spinning, it took you several seconds to realize what he was doing. 

Only when you felt his tongue glide through your folds did you comprehend that he had found his new home between your legs. 

“Oh fuck, Spencer!” You hissed at the feeling of his mouth caressing your sensitive center. 

Like a man starved he collected your honeyed wetness on his tongue, moaning into your skin as he tasted your heady aroma. The vibrations he created sent shockwaves through your body, prompting you to buck your hips against his face.

Seemingly unfazed by your reaction, he wrapped his arms around your legs to keep you in place as he continued pleasuring you with his tongue and mouth. 

“So good,” he whispered against your heat. 

Despite his effort to hold you securely against his mouth, you were sure you might start floating at any moment. Two of his fingers found their way into you, adding more pressure and bringing you closer to your undoing. 

It only took a few more seconds until ecstasy overcame you. Your thighs trembled as you rode out your high, rocking gently against Spencer’s face. He didn't let go of you, though. Almost in a trance-like state he kept caressing you, licking up your release as you writhed underneath him. 

Your chest was heaving when you looked at him, eyes closed and half of his face buried between your legs. Spencer didn't even consider stopping, not when you tasted so heavenly, even more so after you came. Drunk on your taste and scent, he would have been more than happy to spend the rest of his night right there. 

It became too overwhelming for you, though. The constant stimulation was too much to bear and almost became uncomfortable, so your hands found his curls to pull on them. “Enough,” you murmured.

In an instant, he removed his mouth from your core to litter your inner thighs with little kisses. Then he looked up at you, a wicked grin painted on his glistening face. He wiped himself clean with the back of his hand before plopping down beside you. 

“Sorry, uh…” he muttered. “I got a little carried away.” 

You placed a kiss on his lips, noticing your own scent still lingered on them. 

“I’m not complaining,” you purred. “I just need a little break. We can continue later.” 

The glimmer in his eyes at your words must have been akin to someone witnessing a miracle. Content with the prospect of doing all of this again, he wrapped you into his arms. 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[pathologicalreid]

a love song for lady earth | s.r.

in which reader has her first experience with munch!spencer

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: oral (fem receiving), munch!spencer, a little bit of overstim, d/s dynamics if you spin in circles and then squint, pwp, cumming untouched, fingering, dirty talk, a little praise word count: 2.16k a/n: this one goes out to everyone who's ever gotten shitty head from shitty guys. also to people who like their men a little pathetic.

“What are you doing?” Your voice comes out higher than you anticipated. The slight panic in your tone sets your boyfriend on high alert, his eyebrows rising in curiosity as he hovers over you.

Spencer pulls himself up until you meet his eyes, concern and lust fusing together to create nothing short of confusion. He studies your expression, investigating your interruption with the kind of delicacy that he always has when approaching intimacy, “Baby,” he starts, “Have you ever received oral sex before?”

Your lips part in surprise, wondering why that’s the conclusion he comes to, “I have,” you respond hesitantly. “I just—” you falter, “You don’t have to.”

His confusion deepens, “I don’t have to what?”

“You don’t have to give me head,” you answer timidly, “Because it’s not— you just don’t have to.”

Languidly, Spencer drags his fingertips up and down your inner thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It’s not what? Now you have to tell me.”

You groan in frustration, looking up at the ceiling fan while you search for words that won’t set your cheeks ablaze, “I don’t like it, and I know guys don’t like it. So, you just… we can skip that part.”

“Just out of curiosity, what about it don’t you like?” Spencer asks, sitting up fully between your legs, one hand resting on your knee, keeping your legs parted.

Looking down at him, you chew on the inside of your lip, knowing you have his undivided attention when you speak up, “I just don’t get any pleasure out of a guy trying to French with my vagina while I fake moan.”

“Ah,” Spencer breathes, “So, you’ve never received good oral sex before,” he amends his previous question.

Propping yourself up on your hands, you raise your eyebrows doubtfully, “I’m not entirely convinced there is such a thing, and will you please stop calling it oral sex? It sounds so clinical.”

He crawls over to you, putting his face right in front of yours, “Do you trust me?”

You frown, “Of course I do, what does that have to do with any of this?”

“Would you be willing to let me go down on you?” The earnestness in his tone catches you by surprise. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants to eat you out.

Humming affectionately, you tilt your head at him, “Do you really want to? I always thought guys hated doing it.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows, “Then I guess that demographic doesn’t apply to me.”

“Oh,” you breathe, “You can… We can try,” you offer. Nerves twist in your lower belly as his eyes widen ever so slightly, your eyes fall shut as he leans his head forward, pressing his lips to yours while his hand starts to pull at the waistband of your panties.

Your boyfriend’s lips are almost unfairly soft against your own as his hands continue to undress you, pushing your t-shirt up around your waist and pulling down your underwear to the middle of your thighs. Pressing his forehead against yours, Spencer pulls away ever so slightly, “You can always tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

Nodding, you can’t help but be curious about his plan. You find yourself questioning every partner you’ve had in the past, or maybe Spencer just has a special talent with his mouth—he certainly was good at running it. “Yes,” you say, kissing him again before he moves his head down.

“Thank you,” he mutters, bringing his head back down to where it was before you’d stopped him. Spencer lazily drags your panties down your legs, flinging them across the room to be found later before dropping his head between your knees, littering small, slow kisses along the insides of your thighs. “Pretty girl,” he hums, inspecting your glistening sex with peaked interest.

Your cunt clenches around nothing at his words, earning a chuckle from Spencer as he set on top of your mound, pulling the skin taut before blowing cool air on you. You jump in response, looking down at where he’s smirking from between your legs. Admittedly, you’d never felt so dizzy at the prospect of having a man go down on you, he just looks so pretty.

He hums absentmindedly, “Just making sure you’re paying attention,” he teases.

There could be an air raid siren going off and you’d still be too focused on him to take cover. His movements are calculated as he exposes your clit to the air, leaning his head down and pressing his tongue flat against your folds, licking a stripe before readjusting himself on the bed.

A constellation of feather-light kisses is left everywhere, your inner thighs, up toward your hip bone—everywhere except where you really need him. Your clit aches with need as he continues to tease you, the pad of his thumb skimming ever so slightly over the sensitive bud, relieving only a fraction of the pressure that’s building up. “Spence,” you breathe.

“Are you enjoying this?” He asks, lifting his head up and looking at you curiously.

You nod once, “Are you?” You challenge.

His head drops again, and your breath hitches when he answers, “Immensely.”

Spencer continues but doesn’t move on, studying your anatomy so intently that it only serves to turn you on even more. His hand ghosts over your folds, running a finger over your slit and chuckling when your hips buck up in response to the stimulation.

He could’ve gotten you to beg, had that been his goal, you would’ve babbled please so incessantly that the word no longer held any meaning, but that wasn’t what Spencer wanted. He wanted you to enjoy receiving pleasure in a way that no man had ever wanted before.

“You’re just so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, watching you intently.

Before you had a chance to reply, his mouth was on you again, his tongue deftly slipping between your folds and poking at your entrance. Other than working you up, you didn’t feel any different than you had previously. You give a gentle hum of encouragement—at least he tried, and at least you’d be wet enough for sex.

Spencer curls his tongue, dragging your slick up to your clit, and that’s where he finally got you. His tongue pressed firmly against the bundle of nerves as you squirm beneath him, your body moving faster than your brain as your hips move away from his mouth, “Shh,” Spencer coos, “It’s okay, baby. I know it’s a lot. I’ve got you.”

Taking a deep shuddering breath, you nod. You open your mouth to form a reply, but the only thing that comes out is a breathy sigh.

Carefully, Spencer moves your legs, placing your thighs on top of his shoulders, giving you one more glance before diving back in, kitten-licking your clit while you try to catch your breath.

“Spence,” you cry, feeling an orgasm that you previously hadn’t thought was possible building in your lower belly. A swarm of nerves and aches of pleasure thrumming through your body like electricity.

He readjusts, lifting his head more so that his lips can wrap around the sensitive nub, his mouth gently suckling on it.

At a loss for what to do with your hand, they find their way down to his head, weaving your fingers through his hair as his ministrations drive you closer and closer to an orgasm. Tugging at the soft curls earns a groan from him, the vibrations on your clit causing you to cry out, “Oh my god.”

He drops one of your legs, moving his hand up to grab one of yours before you cum, squeezing his hand as he gently nips at your clit, further encouraging your orgasm.

“I’m— ah, please,” you babble nervously, inhaling sharply as your orgasm washes over you, cunt clenching around nothing as Spencer’s mouth continues working at you, licking softly as your back arches off of the bed, sweat causing the sheets to stick to your skin.

Your thighs are trembling by the time Spencer comes back up, his mouth shining with your arousal as he breathes as heavily as you. His hand cups your sensitive sex when he leans forward, leaning in to kiss your lips.

The taste of yourself on his lips doesn’t even cross your mind as you cup the back of his head and pull his mouth to yours. The tang of your own cunt on your tongue draws a moan from the back of your throat, and you jump when one of Spencer’s fingers gently teases your interest, the sensitivity from your previous orgasm making your head spin.

“Can I go back?” Spencer asks, looking down at his hand briefly before returning to your eyes for permission.

Your mouth gapes, “You want more?”

He groans in response, “Angel, I’d spend all day between your thighs if you’d let me.”

Your stomach flips, mourning the fact that you had plans in the afternoon, “I might just take you up on that someday.”

Lifting your body from the pillows, Spencer tugs your t-shirt the rest of the way off your body, leaving you fully nude in front of him, “Fuck,” he groans, gently guiding your back to the mattress as he attaches his lips to your neck, leaving your fingers clawing at his back.

His head moves lower, nipping and sucking at your collarbones, leaving light marks as he makes his way down to your chest. His lips scatter kisses all along your breasts as he moves down, down, down. Right until he’s right where you want him, and right where he wants to be. “Oh,” you whimper, taking in a shaky breath while he tentatively presses his index finger into your wet hole.

“Poor baby,” Spencer coos at your sensitivity, “You’re doing so well, letting me fuck you with my mouth. All you needed was someone to suck your clit.”

You sigh dazedly in response, every thought in your mind evacuating as his mouth drops to your pussy again, languidly lapping at your cunt while his finger eases into you, “You’re so good at this.”

He hums against you in response, the vibrations causing your body to shudder and your hands to return to their home in his hair. The feeling of his mouth gently sucking on that little bundle of nerves and his finger starting to thrust makes your walls clench.

A strangled moan escapes your mouth when he adds a second finger, his second and third fingers driving into you with a steady rhythm as his tongue flicks your clit in calculated movements. The recognition of your impending orgasm hits you, “’m close,” you breathe, gasping as his movements don’t relent, tears prick at your eyes as you chase that high.

Spencer pushes your legs further apart with his spare hand, keeping your thighs from closing around his head as he moans against your cunt. You pull on his hair, eliciting another groan from him that sends you hurtling into your second orgasm, crying out his name like a prayer as he tapers off his ministrations.

His hand slows first, gently working you through your orgasm as his tongue laps at your clit, gentle movements soothing the hypersensitive spot as you catch your breath, tears trickling down your cheeks as you smooth out the hair on his head. He pulls away from you, releasing your trembling thighs and letting them fall around him as he tiredly rests his head on your abdomen. “Spence,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair, causing him to rest his chin on you, meeting your eyes as he wipes your slick from his mouth.

He hums a response, “My love,” he murmurs, eyes closing as he enjoys the feeling of you playing with his hair.

You chew on the inside of your lip nervously, “Do… do you need me?” Your question was tentative, unsure if he wants you to reciprocate.

“Uh,” he says, equally as unsure, “That’s not necessary.”

You raise your eyebrows, “It’s not like I feel inclined to, but I’d like to… to return the favor.”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, I mean I’m taken care of. I already…” his voice trails off, leaving you to fill in the blanks.

“Oh,” you breathe, “Oh.” Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, hiding your smile, “Well I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Desperately. You were trying desperately not to laugh at the prospect of your boyfriend cumming in his briefs.

He rolls his eyes in response, clearly unbothered. He seems almost proud, and you suppose it’s not often that a man finishes from giving head. “So,” he starts, moving his hand and using his fingertips to draw stars across your bare skin, “Did you enjoy it?”

You huff in response, the answer is obvious, but he just wants the victory of knowing he’s changed your mind. Who are you to refuse him of that? “Immensely,” you answer.

[reiderwriter]

☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-” 

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

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

“Like what?”

“Like a bitch!” 

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

No such apology came. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right… right…” 

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

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

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

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

“Why are you really here, YN?” 

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

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

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

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh… Y/N, I-” 

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

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

“He's just going to try it again.”

“Let him.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you did yourself?” 

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“He didn't want me to.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-no, S-s-” 

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

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

“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-” 

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

Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“H-He-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.” 

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

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

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

“One more time?” He asked.

“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On your face?”

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

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

“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.” 

“Of course. Good job.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You're on birth control, right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : you are Spencer Reid's roommate, the team finds out about you when a case brings them to the university you study at word count : 2.5k warning : canon-typical violence A/N : the university is a random one I picked in Virginia, bear with me because I don't know how US university systems work, thanks :) I think this is a part one, there may be a part two or even more, idk, but tell me what you think !

part 2, part 3, part 4

"I- I'm sorry, what university did you say?" Spencer's frantic tone was immediately noticed by his colleagues. Suddenly, he seemed hyperaware of everything in the room. The loud AC, Derek's pen-clicking and the overwhelming smell of Emily's coffee. "Mary Washington University," JJ answered swiftly, eyes narrowed as she sent Reid a confused glance. The man in question mumbled a few words under his breath and shot up, grabbing his coat and scarf. "We need to go." His tone, unusually urgent, left no space for debate or questioning. He was out the door within seconds, followed closely by Morgan and the others.

When you'd applied for Mary Washington University, you had known you would have to get an apartment. You lived too far away to even consider taking the numerous trains and buses and subways to get there. So, when you had been accepted into your first choice of universities, you'd started apartment hunting. Or roommate-hunting, to be more precise.

To say you had been unlucky would have been quite the understatement. You'd visited four apartments so far and could not even consider living in one of them for a second. The first had been full of frat boys who made your skin crawl, the second was with an old, far right-wing couple, the third had been two sisters who'd yelled at each other for the whole time you were there and the fourth had been so crowded your were certain it was neither sanitary not legal for another person to live there. With the deadline of university starting and having to move all your things, you were starting to get quite anxious. But call it chance or fate, one day you stumbled upon an advertisement for an apartment in a nice neighbourhood with one person who seemed quite normal. This person was a state-employee (which meant a stable salary and that meant you wouldn't have to compensate for rent) who travelled often for work and liked to keep mostly to themselves. Not one for big parties, they preferred a night-in and rarely had people over.

So you'd put on your big-girl pants and had walked over to what you hoped would be your last apartment visit. You hadn't been expecting such a young person to open the door because of the way the advert had been written and because of what it said. "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." You noticed he didn't hold his hand out and mirrored his behaviour. "Hi! I'm here for a visit!" You introduced yourself somewhat shyly, feeling intimidated. This man was at the most five years older than you and he was already a doctor?

He showed you around the apartment, which you liked very much. The rooms smelled like books and tea and everything was kept very clean. On the whole, it was tidy, even if a few books or articles were stacked in some odd places. The bedroom you'd stay in was large and luminous. After the tour, he made you a cup of tea as you discussed formalities.

"Uh, so, you’re a student, right?" he'd asked politely as he added a worrying amount of sugar in his earl grey. You bit back a teasing jest. You hoped maybe one day you'd get to place where you could comment on his daily sugar intake. "Yeah, um, I'm studying English Literature and Cinema." You stirred your tea, looking around the kitchen. Even though it was painted a dark, forest green, it still seemed luminous in the afternoon sun. "Oh, that's super interesting! I’ve always found texts in Middle English particularly insightful! I- I read the Canterbury Tales when I was about 10 years old. It’s fascinating the way in which issues which were already current then are still very present today, like in the Wife of Bath’s tale, for example-“

He cut himself off, leaning back into the couch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, you probably don’t want me to ramble about what you already know.” “No, I think it’s amazing that you would know that, actually. What else did you like in the Wife of Bath’s tale?” Spencer seemed to brighten up at your words and thus ensued a lengthy discussion of the avant-garde themes evoked by Geoffrey Chaucer. You were fascinated by his knowledge and found his passion especially endearing. Lots of your professors weren’t even that passionate when talking of late 14th century literature.

After discussing rent, which you would afford by waitressing at a local bar, lightly touching upon political subjects (on which you seemed to agree on), he finally told you that he was an FBI agent. "Excuse me?" you spluttered, leaning backwards in shock. "I'm a profiler with the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I can show you my badge if you want." He stood up and reached for his bag, but you stopped him in his tracks. "No, no, that's okay, I believe you. I'm just surprised, that's all, sorry." His expansive knowledge of so many things seemed fitting for an agent of the BAU. After realising you were the first person who didn't demand his badge as proof of his profession, Spencer granted you a small smile. "You don't need to apologise. I- I know it can be a bit... off-putting." He sat back down and looked you in the eye. "Is that a problem for you, living with a federal agent?"

You thought about it for a second. As a general rule, you weren't a big fan of cops. Even more generally, you didn't believe in the structure of today's society. But that was a big topic. Plus, a profiler wasn't really a cop, was he? "No, that's not a problem for me."

You'd moved in a month and a half later. Things had been slightly awkward at first and you'd had to figure out what kind of dynamic Spencer and you had. But eventually, you’d found your rhythm.

When Spencer left for work, you took care of his plants and sent him pictures of Geoffrey. Geoffrey was the cat you’d found on the street and taken in. He was named after Geoffrey Chaucer, author of the Canterbury Tales, your first common point of interest. Spencer had been reluctant at first, but you’d taken him to the vet, where he was tested and vaccinated, and the man had finally accepted him into your shared space. Now, he loved the little creature. Sometimes, you’d call him to ask how he was doing and whether he was safe. He’d always reply that yes, he was doing fine and no, he wasn’t in any danger, don’t you worry. He’d ask how you were doing and if you were staying on top of uni work and if you’d eaten and if Geoffrey wasn't being too annoying. As an orange cat, he had his particular tendencies.

When Spencer was at home, you'd always look forward to getting back from class. There was always that sense of comfort and ease when he was around. You had found a lovely routine quite easily. You'd both work or study, then cook, eat together and afterwards maybe you'd watch a movie or something. You were at a point where you could comment on his daily sugar intake, which he's started correcting since meeting you. He loved the Big Bang Theory and though you weren't such a fan, you loved the little laughs he let out and all the corrections he'd make. In general, you liked when he talked. Even more generally, you liked him. You also liked Friends and though Ross got on Spencer's nerves, he enjoyed being able to discuss it with you afterwards. The two of you got very close without even noticing.

Sometimes, you'd remember he wasn't just your roommate, but also a man. He'd make you a cup of tea and you'd stare at his hands a little too long while he stirred the honey in. Or he'd help you reach for a cup with his impressive height, his front just skimming your back with a shiver. He'd tell you to breathe and sit down when you were upset about something. A few times, he drove you home from a night out with your friends and laid his hand on your knee. He was the only one who remembered how you'd told him you wanted to kiss him.

With you, Spencer discovered many things he had never experienced before. A healthy, comforting and peaceful routine. A supporting, non-judgemental, healthy friendship. Easy laughter in the middle of the night and tired "good morning"s at dawn. Butterflies in his stomach whenever you touched him. A budding romance which kept him awake at night.

So when that was threatened, he just about lost it.

"Oh my God." "I can't believe this." "Is this a prank?" "Did someone call 911?" "What about her parents?" "Oh, that's sick."

Voices swarmed around your head, making you dizzy. Your hand rested over your mouth as you stared at the body strewn on the lawn. Much of the student body stood next to you, just as shocked. Mary Goldman had been her name. You'd crossed her just this morning in the main hall and had exchanged small smiles. You had thought that she looked really pretty today, but hadn't told her. You regretted that now. At the moment, her mascara had run down her cheeks and dried and her lipstick and been smudged. Bruises and cuts decorated her bare arms and legs and a big red stain sat on the side of her stomach. The contrast between her dead body and the green, thriving grass beneath her was haunting.

You turned away, feeling sick. You felt your friend's hand on your shoulder, a small source of comfort anchoring you to reality. Facing the road as you turned, you were surprised to see three big black SUVs speeding towards the crowd. You'd been expecting an ambulance, or cops. Not whoever these guys were. They screeched to a stop, drawing everyone's attention. A small dozen of people stormed out, all dressed differently though they all held the same aura of importance, knowledge and authority. You turned back to your friends. "Who are these-"

You stopped mid-sentence when you heard your name being called out urgently. You'd have recognised his voice amidst a thousand others. He spoke your name like no other. You frantically looked around, pushing your way to the large vehicles. When you finally spotted him, tears started pricking your eyes. "Spencer," you breathed in a half-sob. His eyes ran you over once, twice, assessing any damage. When he saw there was no physical wound, his shoulders sank in relief. He opened his arms and you rushed inside his warm embrace almost reflexively. Neither of you noticed the numerous pair of curious eyes observing your intimate exchange.

"Oh my God, Spence- What- What are you doing here?" you'd cried into his cardigan. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent he always bore. He wrapped an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders, holding the back of your head in a consoling manner. "We're- We're taking this on as a case, sweets. Are you all right?" He knew it was a stupid question but all the emotions and tension were barely wearing off and he didn't know what else to say. You pulled away but he kept you at arm's length, holding your cold, shaking hands in his warm, steady ones. "I- Yeah, it's just- I- I saw her this morning! How could she- Why would someone do this to her? To- to anyone?!" Spencer cooed and pulled you into another tight hug as you continued to ramble through your tears. When you'd eventually calmed down thanks to his words of reassurance, he pulled away softly.

Spencer understood what you meant perhaps more than anyone. The sadness, the shock, the anger, the need to understand. He gently wiped away the mascara under your eyes with his thumb. "I know, I- It's- Even I don't always understand, sweetheart, so don't- Why don't you go home? I'd come with you but-" You nodded, biting your lower lip. He gave you a sad smile. "I promise I'll join you as soon as this is over. You- you can make yourself a cup of tea and process all this and pet Geoffrey, okay? Classes are going to be cancelled either way." "I don't want to-" The look in his eyes kept you from arguing further. You nodded, giving him another hug. Before you left, an older man came over to you.

"I'm sorry to bother you, miss. I'm Agent David Rossi. I just had a question-" "Rossi," interrupted Spencer with a stern tone you'd never heard before. The older Agent raised an eyebrow at him. "Just one question." He turned back to you. "At what time did you say you saw the victim?" You inhaled shakily, running a hand over your face. "Uh, it must have been around quarter to eleven. I think- Yeah, somewhere between ten thirty and eleven." "Thank you, miss." You didn't miss the glance shared between the two men before Rossi retreated.

"Who was that?" asked Emily as soon as you'd left and Spencer had joined them behind the police tape. "No one," Spencer brushed her off as he kneeled next to the victim. Strangely, he hated the idea of someone who knew you dying. It felt too close to home. "C'mon, man, you lost your shit this morning, a girl you clearly know very well runs into your arms, you snap at Rossi and you expect us to believe you?" Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the rest of the team. All were staring at him patiently. He stood up, swallowing.

"That was my roommate." He informed the team of your name and of how you'd been living together for a few years now. "Spencer, you've been living with a woman for years and you've never told us?!" Derek was all but hysteric. Hotch reminded him that everyone was entitled to a private life. "So, are you dating or something?" Emily prodded again. Spencer hesitated a second before answering. "No." Derek scoffed, appalled. "You mean to tell me you've been living with a beautiful woman like that for years and nothing's ever happened?!" "Not everyone is like you, Morgan," Emily reminded with a teasing smirk. Derek sent her an unimpressed look. "Look, let's all grill Spencer later, we have a case to focus on right now." Rossi, ever the voice of reason, directed everyone's attention back to the corpse laying next to them.

Needless to say, the BAU team did not need to interrogate Spencer or attack him with incessant questions to find much out. They'd seen by his behaviour that very morning how much he cared about you. They'd seen how relieved he had been when he'd seen you safe and sound. They'd noticed you'd only started crying when you'd seen him, a big sign of trust. They had never heard him call another by pet names such as "sweets" or "sweetheart". They'd read both of your body languages like a children's book and translated it easily.

Love. Comfort. Peace. Ease.