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godspeedviper · 5 months ago

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Bunker Babe - Spencer x Goth!Reader (18+)

𖤐 Synopsis: You manage to finally convince Spencer to attend a bunker rave with you, but first he’s gotta look the part.

𖤐 Type: domestic fluff || smut || no gendered descriptions || goth reader || very firmly mid 00s

𖤐 Word Count: 1,543

𖤐 Rating: explicit || recreational drug use || semi public sex

𖤐 A/N: OxyContin has the highest bio-availability, orally. While not the same thing as dilaudid, its in the same ballpark and can be used in high quantities to approximate the dilaudid high despite their differing (optimal) routes of administration. ALSO I know this track isn't "technically" hard techno don't come at me over bpm or whatever the song is just here to set the mood.

“Babe, is this really necessary?” Spencer whines as he watches you tear through his closet in search of an outfit for tonight.

“Yes!” You quip back. “What if someday your team needs you to go undercover at a bar or club for a case? You’re the youngest of the bunch so you know that statistically you’re most likely to be chosen for such a task.”

He groans and rolls his eyes in defeat. “Okay okay! But only because you have statistics on your side.”

“Oh don’t be too upset, pretty boy. I’ll make this worth your while.” You wink cheekily. “Promise!”

At this, Spencer perked up. He watched as you lay out your choice of clothing onto his bed. You were already all dressed up for the night in skimpy black latex and mesh, with your favorite pair of platform Demonias to top off the look. Spencer’s hands were all over you as soon as he opened his apartment door for you, but tonight you had a mission and nothing, not even Spencer, was going to stop you. You sit down at the edge of the bed besides the clothing, and you wave Spencer over.

“Come here, love.” You purred, and he instantly obliged. “Undress for me, darling.”

Spencer makes quick work of the buttons on his polo, while your hands reach to unbuckle his brown leather belt. He pulls his top off in a hurry, sliding off a pair of beige slacks, till he’s left standing before you in nothing but socks and briefs. You put your hands on his hips and he puts his hands on top of yours. You then tilt your head up, meeting his lust filled gaze. He takes in a sharp breath as you press your lips to the skin just below his navel. You take a gentle bite, and suck, leaving behind a bruise-like mark.

“Good boy.” You whisper, pulling away from his torso. “Sit here.”

You stand up and switch positions with him, so that now Spencer is seated at the edge of the bed, and you’re standing in front of him. First, you grab a shirt off the bed. It was an old Nine Inch Nails tour shirt you got back in high school that was large enough to wear to bed whenever you were too incapacitated to bother changing into proper pajamas. You had left it at Spencer’s the last time you stayed over after scoring together, and it was now serving a greater purpose. You pulled it over his head, lovingly ruffling his head after it poked through the shirt. Your hands then reach back out to the bed and pick up a black pair of denim. Kneeling in front of him, you begin to kiss in between his thighs as your hands grab hold of his ankles, guiding him into each pant leg one at a time.

“Finish putting these on for me. I’ll be right back.” You give his thighs a teasing smack and giddily make your way to the ensuite.

“Oh no…” Spencer whines as he notices a hello kitty makeup bag in your hands and a devilish smirk on your lips.

“Oh yes!” you reply. “Come on, Spencie! We gotta disguise you a little bit if you’re really that afraid of Garcia or her friends running into you. Besides, I have a gift for you in here.”

You gingerly shake the bag like one would do with pet treats, and you quickly descend onto his lap, trapping poor Spencer beneath you. You unzip the bag and pull out a prescription pill bottle. Oxycodone 80mg, immediate release.

“Ta da! Take these normally so the effects can kick in when we’re already at the party. This way we won’t risk being caught with it on us.” You wink playfully, shaking out a few green pills from the bottle onto your palm. “Alright now open up!”

Spencer laughs and complies. You gently toss them into his mouth like m&m’s and watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows the pills, enticing you forth to steal a loving bite.

“Let's stay.” Spencer gasped out. “Please?”

Still sitting on his lap you can feel his frustration slowly growing harder. For a moment there you’re tempted, but you quickly remember just how much more awaits you two tonight.

“Nope, not staying!” You pull away from his neck, breaking the lustful spell.

Spencer pouts.

After swallowing a handful of pills as well, you turn your attention back to the makeup bag, rummaging around in search of a short black eyeliner and the accompanying pencil sharpener.

“Look up for me darling.” You say, placing a quick peck on Spencer’s pout and cupping his jaw with your free hand. “I promise you’ll thank me tomorrow. You’re gonna love tonight.”

The pads of your thumbs delicately rub the skin of Spencer’s under eyes, smudging the charcoal-like pigment around into a messy raccoon eye style. You repeat the process on his eyelids until you’re satisfied. Then you toss aside the pencil and put a finger under his chin.

“Open your eyes, love.”

Spencer has beautiful eyes, everyone knows that, you’ve spent thousands of hours staring into those honeyed irises. However, nothing prepared you for the way his eyes seemed to glow in contrast to the darkness surrounding them. It was like staring into a pot of molten gold.

“Ohh, pretty boy…” Your voice is a breathless whisper.

Spencer blushes crimson, and he bashfully hides his face against your shoulder. You can feel his smile.

“Come on, let's get going! I can’t wait to show you off. You’re so beautiful, Spencer.”

You take his hand and lead him to the door, stopping only so he could slip on a pair of black converse he left by the entrance. The two of you giddily run out into the crisp night air. Goosebumps prickle your skin, the cold bites your cheeks, and your heart is ablaze. It isn’t long before you assume you’ve arrived at the clandestine location, pointing out a few straggling folks dressed as eccentrically as you are and you watch as they soon disappear into an alleyway behind a building. You follow behind, turning into the alley when suddenly you’re face to face with a rather large hole in the ground. Peering in, you see a flight of concrete stairs descending into darkness below. A faint rhythmic thudding can be heard, confirming that this is indeed the place. Spencer grips your hand tightly as you pull him along into the belly of the beast. The thudding grows louder, transforming into powerful kicks as the lights at the end of the tunnel get closer. Standing at the threshold between the tunnel and the large bunker, Spencer looks as if he is staring directly into the mouth of madness, transfixed. You smile triumphantly. You had finally managed to bring him into your element.

The rest of the night happened in snippets.

One: You see sprawling concrete walls covered in graffiti, the humidity of the room makes them almost look slick, reflecting the pulsing lights, all throbbing to a sound reminiscent of industrial machinery. There is an inherent eroticism to it all. You look on in awe as Spencer throws caution to the wind and starts dancing to the beat. You’ve never seen him so carefree. His sweat slicked skin glistens like a glass prism beneath the light, flickering through all the colors of the rainbow in the dark.

Two: His hands are around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Drenched, Spencer’s auburn curls cling to the skin of his forehead and temples and the tops of his cheeks. The eyeliner has now spread all around his eye sockets, making him look hungry, animalistic, possessed.

Three: You’re pressed up against a concrete slab, it feels cool against your skin. Your bodies have melted into one another in the high heat, welded together with slick until you couldn’t tell where you ended and Spencer began. The thick beats of hard techno penetrate your bodies, and the two of you thrust in tandem trying to keep up with the relentless rhythm. You cling to Spencer in desperation, as if the mounting pleasure would be enough to make you crumble into nothing but atoms. Your bones rattle as a powerful orgasm reverberates through your body. Your shrieks drown in the music, and everything fades to black.

The next morning, these scenes play out in your mind's eye as you lay awake in bed next to Spencer. You wondered how much longer this would all last. Both of you knew this lifestyle would only end with tragedy, but you didn't know how to live any other way. You're both addicted to the highs and lows of life, to the stress of the job, and to blowing off steam in the worst of ways. Sometimes you feel guilty about supplying Spencer with drugs, and you wonder if he ever feels the same way about you as you turn on the bed to face him. At least here, in this moment, you were both at peace. You always love seeing him sleep, the way all worry dissipates from his visage and all that's left is the beautiful boy you fell in love with.

ao3 || guidelines || WIPs || Ko-Fi

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authorred · 2 years ago

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Yandere Spencer Reid heacanons because I was inspired |Part 1|

Preface: It’s hard to imagine the upstanding, moral Spencer Reid as an obsessive, compulsive lover who would do anything and everything for your love. Lucky for you, I’m here to help you imagine.

Yandere!Spencer Reid is chefs kiss. Exactly what I need (and want awooga)

Part 2 here Part 3 here

Warning(s): Mentions of violence, stalking, kidnapping, psychological abuse, (un)willing reader (depends on if you fw this imagine), spiral into pure criminality

He is first horrified when he begins to feel the obsession or possession

When he first meets you is when he first begins to get those feelings

Tries his absolute hardest to logic his way out of it, or to control it, or to seek help

Tries his best to communicate to you as a healthy, normal person would, but he can’t help but find those thoughts creeping in again

He believes it’ll be better if you’re away from him, but his thoughts and feelings change to hardcore yearning

Knows it’s not love he’s feeling, and is potentially dangerous to you

Might spiral down into a breakdown (or a few) because of it

Will genuinely think of himself as a horrible person who thinks he can’t get help

If you try to help him he’ll vehemently decline it and will tell you it’s a bad idea

Others at the BAU try their hardest to help him, but the thoughts are still there

If Reid sees you interacting with someone who seems interested in you, his mind will implode

Will be constantly trying to justify the person’s ‘disappearance’ to himself for hours whilst alone

Will come up with the excuse that the person is dangerous to you, or has the potential to be (his calculations will be slightly skewed)

At first, he’ll ask Morgan or Hotch to help him ‘deal with’ the person, but since the person is literally innocent, they can’t do anything

He gets frustrated but brushes it off as paranoia

Spencer starts to find himself hovering near where your house is just to ‘check in’ on you to see if you’re alright

To him, he’s just being protective over you. He wants you safe

But he also knows if he springs all of his thoughts and worries on you, you’ll hate him

Whenever he thinks about you hating him he feels like he can’t breathe

He needs you to like him--love him, even

As weeks and months go by, he doesn’t fight his impulsive thoughts as much as before

Whenever you’re near, you have 100% of his attention. He barely looks away from you if you’re within his line of sight

He’s a nervous wreck when you talk

He’s scared he’ll mess up and say something that’ll fuck your friendship up

He’s not good at mincing words, so he has to carefully curate his sentences

When you smile or laugh at something he says, he feels high

When you mention someone who’s not a part of the BAU, that high disappears instantly

It’s replaced with a cold disinterest in whoever it is you’re speaking about

He tries to manipulate the conversation to see if he can pull more info out of you about the person

He takes advantage of his access to FBI equipment and software to find the person

He makes sure to cover his tracks thoroughly and will not rest until he’s sure any audit trail or history or whatever isn’t linked back to him

When he finds the person’s personal info, he finds himself ‘checking them out’

Will take walks in front of their house, or follow them

Does this for every person who’s not an overt threat

He will, however, drop whatever stalkerish shit he’s doing if you call or text him

If someone does ask you out, or you mention going on a date, or talking to a person of interest, haha

Someone’s going to die

Once Spencer gets the necessary information, he’ll stalk the person out

He might have a conversation with them, profile them, and then talk about their relationship to you

He’s more than likely not strong enough to physically overpower a person of above-average strength, but he’s got the brains to make the odds even

Will create an elaborate plan to get the person to come to him instead

Whenever he does manage to kidnap/isolate the person, he won’t kill them immediately

He’d have a genuine heart-to-heart with them

He’d say you’re his. He’ll say he’s yours, and whoever tries to take you away (be it romantically or otherwise) will be met with a steep response. He’ll say he loves you, and will do anything to be sure you’re with him, and only him

Probably kills the person by slitting their throat. A bullet is too easily identifiable

He’ll comfort you if you’re saddened by your date’s/person of interest’s disappearance

When you hug him, his entire body goes hot

He hugs you tightly (probably a bit too tight)

He verbally comforts you as best he can, and assures you you’ll go on other dates (hopefully with him)

He’ll gently rock you if you’re hugging for a long time

If you pull away first, he’ll try to keep you in the hug, but will let go if you push him away

He’ll let you sleep on him, and he’ll stare at you while you do

He’ll think to himself about how beautiful you are, and how you deserve everything, and how much you deserve him especially

He gets a lot pushier after that, especially when it comes to you getting close with others

Will physically hover closer to you

Will glower at anyone who looks at you a certain way

Will never let you privy to these thoughts and habits and behaviors of his until he’s sure you can handle/accept them

He will definitely try to gaslight you and/or emotionally manipulate you if he thought it’d make you like/trust him more

You’d trust him, most likely. He’s Spencer mf Reid, why wouldn’t you

He wouldn’t psychologically manipulate/abuse you that much, and wouldn’t physically put his hands on you unless he had to

He notices the obsessive and compulsive thoughts calm when he’s around you, so he wants you next to him almost 24/7

Gets very disenchanted and uninterested when you’re not around

The team believes him to be down bad

They think he’s a puppy in love with you and find it adorable

Will mention you often to get him engaged

Sometimes he’ll just push through a case due to the thought of seeing you after

If he gets injured on a case, his first and only thought would be his desire to not die and leave you behind. Anything else comes secondary

If you’re a mother figure, or give off ‘motherly’ vibes, that’ll make this worse

If you initiate any form of physical contact, he will beam

Literally treats you like an actual god(dess) (aside from the occasional emotional manipulation but yk)

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wrinkledparchment · 2 years ago

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the absence of everything (iii)

Summary: Based on 1x22 | 2x1 - After your trip to Vegas was rudely interrupted by a suspicious manila envelope being delivered to your hotel room, you and Spencer have to cut your vacation short to go back to Quantico. Although you and Spencer try to resume your professional relationship after sharing a bed, Spencer realizes just how much you mean to him, and can finally put a name on what he feels, once and for all.

Word Count: 6,030 words

Author’s Note: So... I’ve been gone for so long but this series is probably the main thing I still receive praise for in my notes. I’m currently focusing more on writing for HL but I’ve had this in my drafts forever and I decided to feed you guys!! I hope you like it... upon rereading it, some of my favorite fluffy lines I’ve ever written are in here. How did I manage that.

Content Warnings: Your general criminal minds ish, death, stuff like that. Some fluff content for you guys!!

Series Taglist: @liviasaugusta @l0ve-0f-my-life @imsuperawkward @nxstalgicnxbxdy @marciscaspar @april-14-blog @sweetreid @essenceproxima @sammypotato67 @idkanymore-05 @slep-slop @squirrellover1967 @irjuejjsaa @yomama-umbridge @holybatflapexpert @rosignoelle @ladyravenclaw @yours-truly-r @spenciepoo338 @masieofthevalley @throughparisallthroughrome @afuckingshituniverse @ladyravenclaw @irjuejjsaa @danandphilfan6 @yasminwashere @mayempress @kys-things

the abscence of everything: i | ii | . . .

“It is me. I am his madness. For years he’s been looking for something to put his madness into. And he found me.” – John Fowles, The Collector

. . .

The coffee table in your Vegas hotel room had cluttered manila envelopes, the key and note given to Spencer, and a piece of missing evidence from your father’s murder scene. Rage bubbled in your stomach, so as Spencer called Gideon on the hotel room phone, quickly putting it on speaker, you paced around, unable to stop seeing your dad’s case files and his dead, mutilated body over and over again.

“Gideon, [Name] and I both got a package, I got a key and a note reading ‘She will die unless you save her, Doctor Reid. Call Gideon. He knows.’ She got two binded pieces of paper from a book her father was binding and repairing when he died.”

Gideon finally let out a sigh, “Yeah, I got a Nellie Fox baseball card from 1963 and a head in a box. Everyone on the team got something, but Elle was hit hard. She was framed for murder in Montego Bay, Hotch and Morgan went down to get her released and bring her back to Quantico.”

You walked closer to the phone and stopped chewing on your nails, rage bubbling inside your chest. “Gideon, whoever the hell this was had access to missing evidence from my father’s murder investigation. Meaning, this son of a bitch is the guy who robbed and killed my father. This is personal.”

“Don’t worry, [Name]. We’re going to find him. Get on the closest flight back here and Garcia will tell you where we are, we’re going to get this guy as soon as we can.” Right after he finished, Gideon hung up, leaving you and Spencer to race to get to the airport in time.

You left your rental car at the airport kiosk, signing it out and rushing after Spencer to get on the flight back home. It was all a blur, blended together to create your perfect disaster. You were stressed, overworked, and ill-prepared. This was the case you’d joined for—to find your father’s murderer and lock the bastard up.

You’d searched and searched and searched, and the criminal found you. Just as you’d eased out of work mode, just as something besides work and murder and blood filled your mind, he stole you away. Because of course he did. Because he was looking.

Spencer was a mess, but not for the same reason. You were obviously under duress, but you were so scattered that he felt like he couldn’t do anything. He did his best, carrying your bags for you, getting you iced chai while waiting for boarding. When you did get on the plane, he immediately lifted the armrest between you back, and pulling out Dante’ Inferno, handing his leather-bound copy over to you.

Your fingers ran over the spine of the book, feeling the indents where the title was, the smooth texture everywhere else. Fine craftsmanship, it must’ve been from a passionate, talented individual bookstore owner with a knowledge of binding. It reminded you of yourself, the care and attention devoted in the craft.

“You’ve got a fine copy here, Spence,” you smiled, as much as you could. “My dad would’ve loved it.”

“Do you think you can still bind books well?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“I’ll never forget.”

He nodded, smiling something bittersweet, “We’ll find your dad’s old book. And you’re going to fix it.” You smiled again, a little more genuine, and flicked open Spencer’s copy of Dante’s Inferno.

“I’ve got supplies in a closet somewhere,” you recalled, voice soft and quiet in case it suddenly broke. You didn’t want to cry, and you shouldn’t, not here, but it was becoming harder to not be vulnerable with Spencer. “I dream about him every night.”

Reid nods, moving his hand to rest on your knee, moving his thumb gently, allowing you to continue. “I’ve been waiting for a lead, since before I was even in the FBI academy. I’ve been waiting for 8 years and now that I’ve finally got it… just when I was happy, too.” You pause for a minute, letting one tear roll down your face but holding the rest in. “I see his body everywhere I go, can’t stop remembering how the blood felt on my hands, how lifeless he looked. I miss him, even after all this time, and now that I’ve finally got a chance to figure out who did it, I don’t want to.”

Spencer pulled you closer, looking out the small window to see the bright blue sky and all the clouds. Your breathing was still erratic, your heart still broken. And he hated how in the moment you needed him most, he couldn’t figure out what to say. “I’m here,” he murmured, over and over again until he was sure you knew what he meant.

. . .

Even though Garcia’s explanation was rushed, you vaguely understood what was happening. She refused to look you in the eye, too, possibly because Gideon had told the team about what you’d found and how it was connected to you personally. It didn’t matter though, because you’d just pulled up to a possible unsub’s apartment.

The alleyway in which all the cars were parked was also crowded by other FBI members, all unguarded, meaning the unsub wasn’t there. The local police, and an extra car were also there, you assumed some sort of medical examiner, and there was probably a body.

You and Reid were authorized to enter after flashing your badges, and neither of you were asked to put on vests. Walking in, the both of you grabbed gloves, Spencer just holding them while you slid them on and followed him over to the crime scene.

It wasn’t overly graphic, compared to other things you’ve seen, but it was traditional to become emotionally numb in the job. No matter what, someone had died here, an ‘unrepentant bad man’ or not. The bed, and with it, the man named Frank Giles, was lying in the center of the room, a sword plunged into his chest and sticking upright.

Elle, Hotch, Morgan and Gideon all stood in the room, Hotch reading something written on the sword out loud to the rest of the team. “To learn of what should next be done, leave the blade til’ the hour be none.”

Spencer stepped closer, watching as Hotch asked Elle to step back. “The bed’s in the middle of the room,” Hotch began, Morgan interrupting for a second, “And maybe the light from here casts a shadow and points to something.”

Derek quickly began explaining his theory, “Well midnight is 00:00 hours in 24-hour time. Would that be none?” Hotch dismissed this quickly, stating that there would be no shadow at midnight, until Reid finally spoke up.

“3pm.” Everyone turned to him first, then you, then back to him. Obviously, Gideon did tell everyone that this was connected to your father’s death. And surprisingly, you looked very calm for someone about to embark on their quite literal personal case, the one you’d joined for. “Hey guys, Garcia told us where to find you.”

Hotch nodded at you, barely acknowledging how personal of a situation this was for you, but quickly dismissed it, listening to Spencer talk about medieval terms for hours of the day, then asking for lighting equipment so he could replicate the 3pm sun.

While people walked in and out with various standing lights, Gideon finally walked up to you. You turned to him, offering a quick nod and smile before quickly dropping it when he mentioned your dad. “You know you can’t let your past affect this case,” he states, and you nod. “It’s obviously personal, and I know this person is targeting you, but you can’t allow yourself to make mistakes because of your past with the unsub.”

Sighing, you agreed with Gideon, instead moving next to the shadow as Reid adjusted it, and you knocked on the wall until you heard a hollow sound, ripping away the wallpaper without need for Hotch’s command. Underneath all the wallpaper was a box, and you immediately grabbed it.

Reid stopped you, “Are we sure it’s safe?”

Hotch quickly dismissed him and allowed you to examine it. You played with the lock for only a few seconds before looking back up at Reid. “Give me the key.” Without hesitation, he handed it over and you shoved it in, and to nobody’s surprise, it fit perfectly. You lifted the lid, and familiar music had began to play, one that Reid had played for you during the classical music quiz.

“Forellenquintett,” you and Reid murmured in unison, the rest of the team looking up at each other before shrugging it off. Reid reached inside to grab the note from the music box, reading it out loud to the rest of the team.

Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight.

Elle scoffed, walking off, “Well, that was worth it.”

Gideon ignored her, speaking right afterwards. “The lid. Little tab right under the lock.”

You quickly fiddled with it, revealing a CD and a lock of hair that nearly perfectly matched yours. You hummed under your breath in disapproval and disgust, Derek and Elle working together to put the lock of hair in an evidence back and grab the CD for review.

After heading back to the table room, you and Reid sat next to each other, which was your usual spot. For some reason the team seemed to eye the both of you, suspicious about what had happened in Vegas and why you two were still together when you should’ve left before that.

You carefully watched the TV after someone slid in the CD. A dimly lit desk with cluttered items all around it, and a very large throne behind it. A man wobbled into frame, clearly injured by something, which the team noted.

“I assure you, you’ll all understand in the end why it must be this way. You might even thank me. You know now you’re on a quest; a young girl’s life depends on the successful completion of it. As you can see, she’s quite beautiful . . . and in distress.”

You clenched your fists when you saw the girl come into frame, screaming at the camera, begging for something. You wondered if everyone on the team recognized just how much, even from the little they all saw, how she looked like you.

“Now please listen closely for there is one rule, and this rule must be followed. The one rule is only the members of your team may participate in the quest.” He began to list your names, and displayed pictures of each of you in the video, you and Reid in the same frame taken during one of the previous cases. “A quest must be completed in a proper way, or it isn’t a quest, is it? That’s it. One rule. Simple.

“Now, you will be receiving an item soon that will hold the final clue you’ll need to finish the quest. You will find you also need a book which has inspired many an adventure like mine. Believe me when I tell you, I truly hope to see you all soon. It will mean a successful end to this adventure for all of us, but especially [Name].”

With that, the clip was over and all that was left was static. Reid had tensed after he’d mentioned you by name, and it didn’t fly over the heads of any of your coworkers either. The unsub knows you so well, doesn’t he? Pictures of you and Reid together, knowledge of just how to tick you off, and additionally, he knows what happened to your father the last night he was alive and is plunging that knife of knowledge right into your heart and twisting it. Involving all your coworkers in it, making it clear that all of this, it’s all for you.

You were the subject of madness, the main target of all of this. You were the ‘protagonist’, he was the villain, and everyone else—the dead, your coworkers, the girl he’d kidnapped—were all side characters in the story. But Reid, standing right next to you in the picture while everyone else was photographed individually, that said something to you. He knew about whatever was happening between the two of you, so much so that it was terrifying because he probably knew better than either of you.

Suddenly, the team was active. “This guy’s got pictures of us?” Elle exclaims.

Reid fiddled with the pen in his hand, “What do we do now?”

Hotch eyed you, noting how tense you seemed when only just minutes ago, even with a dead body in front of you, you were eerily calm. “The lock of hair’s being analyzed for DNA. There might be something on file.” JJ walked out, vowing to figure out who the girl is. Hotch nodded, “Let’s get the clues up on the board. Maybe we can make some sense of something.”

Elle immediately objected, “Wait, we’re going to play this guy’s game?”

Reid sighed, glancing at you for a few moments, “Do we have a choice?”

Everybody stayed silent, Spencer’s words lingering in the air while Gideon and Hotch went to a different room. You began quietly pinning the clues in the evidence bags to the board, not saying a single word to anybody else in the room. Elle found the soft crumple of the evidence bags relaxing, eyes closing softly until Hotch interrupted her nap and sent Anderson to take her home.

Soon enough, yet another piece of evidence, a list of number sets in a strict pattern, though it may not seem like it without a keen eye. Just as Spencer opened his mouth, you beat him to the punch. “Sets of numbers, page number, line number, word number. It’s a cipher based on a book which he expects us to know.”

Derek stares back at you, Spencer’s mouth opening and closing like a fish. Sure, you were quicker sometimes than he was, but you seemed so rigid, it was odd to them. “Yeah but what book?”

“Well, this ‘quest’ is clearly meant to be personal to you, [Name],” Derek proposed, “Meaning this is a book he expects you to know.” Spencer sighed, walking over to grab the ripped pages the unsub had sent you and examines them, reading the words hoping he’d remember reading this book at some point but he doesn’t.

“Dante’s Inferno?” Reid questioned, even though he obviously knew it wasn’t.

“Both of us would recognize it. Whatever book my dad was fixing that night, it was that book. Specifically, a first edition. Let’s see… that was eight years ago. Do you think memory recall would work?”

Elle and Derek simply stood off to the side while you and Reid debated each other, glancing at each other occasionally. Yet, the body language was the same as it always was, and maybe what had changed was the way Elle and Derek read the situation.

“When you got there, the book was gone; how would you know which one he was supposed to be working on?” Spencer rebutted.

“I was closing, I must’ve—” you stammered, “I must’ve known what book he was working on, I have to!” Soon, you were pacing around the room, muttering things underneath your breath and attempting to retrace your steps from 8 years ago that also occurred across the country.

Derek set his hands on your shoulders, holding you in place and stopping your pacing. “Okay, [Name], calm down, we can always try memory recall, and if not, the clues should be in the evidence—this guy is meticulous, I’m sure he’s accounted for this.”

Suddenly, Gideon walked back into the room, looking at the four of you. Spencer was still staring at the evidence board, Hotch leaning back in his chair, and Derek and you standing in the middle of the room. “[Name], you don’t have to relive that memory if it’s not necessary. How would we proceed if we didn’t have all these clues? What’s the first thing we’d look at?”

“Victimology,” you swallowed, both thankful and displeased that Gideon was looking out for your wellbeing. Everybody was watching you so closely, especially because this was a personal case to you, as if they expected you to break down at any moment.

“And we have a victim, Rebecca Bryant. Hotch and I will follow the mailman lead. Derek, take JJ and find out everything you can about Rebecca. Reid, [Name], stay here and find the book. If anybody can do it, it’s you two.”

Everyone else left the room, Reid and you staying. Sure, Gideon didn’t want you to relive the worst moments of your entire life, but you were so close. So you shut the door to the roundtable room and turned back to Reid. “I want to do memory recall.”

. . .

The chair you were sitting on was soft and sturdy, so you let yourself lean back, and you closed your eyes. You breathed, waiting for Reid to begin. You tried to calm yourself, enough to the point where your anger flooded away and all you could do was think. See your memories in a clear light.

“I’m going to try and calm down first, can you guide me?”

Spencer nodded, breathing along with you. “What is your favorite memory?”

You focused in on the word, smiling; favorite. You could hear Spencer’s giddy laugh echoing in your ears, bright city lights clouding your vision. The hood of your black rental car from Vegas reflected them, the smaller model of the Eiffel tower standing tall, neon signs and main strip casino windows. The cool, night breeze in your hair. You could still feel Reid’s lingering presence in the passenger’s seat, the way he looked at you with those doe-y, hazel eyes. His pupils were inflated, shrinking again when he turned away to change the stereo.

You could feel the pain in your toe when you stubbed it on the hotel bedframe, you could feel the newly replaced bedsheets of the hotel against your legs, and you could see Spencer standing over you, smiling so widely when you laughed. The way his warm skin felt against yours, how gentle he was with his arms around you.

You imagined the pool water as he splashed it back at you, the water droplets against his skin and the way he slicked back his wet hair. His laugh and shy smile after you told him he still looked like a rat when he was wet. The understanding look when he listened to your struggles with the BAU, your life story, the interest in your past and your hobbies.

After all the memories you’d made yesterday had flashed through your head in a matter of seconds, you registered what it meant. When you thought of happy, you thought of him. Some of your favorite moments in life were with him, being around him, watching him. Him, him, him. This feeling—it was consuming you, and it felt so delightful. You wanted it to devour you, and you let it.

“Yesterday,” you whispered after a minute of reliving the best day of your life. You didn’t open your eyes, but you could hear Reid shift in his chair and you smiled, assuming he was blushing. Profiler or not, he knew what that meant.

He sighed, “Are you ready to go back?” You nodded. “It was eight years ago. How old were you?”

“I was sixteen, and about to graduate high school.” You still remember how frustrated and overwhelmed you were. The night before you discovered your dad, you had the closing shift along with a massive pile of homework and colleges to apply to. You sat behind the wooden counter, combing through your homework as fast as you could, eager for your father to come and take an overnight shift in working with the books.

“What time was it?”

“It was five minutes until the clock struck 11,” you said, which was the beginning of your father’s shift at the bookstore. You were packing up your homework and college applications back into your bookbag, noting on a stray piece of paper all the leftover homework and applications you had to pour over in the morning. You were so tired, but you wanted to thank your father for taking the shift tonight and letting you rest.

“My father is coming in,” you tell Spencer, reliving the last moment you saw him alive. The door rang, signaling his entrance. His hair and shoulders were wet from the rain outside, something you didn’t remember about the scene until now. He smiled, asking you how your day went.

“Okay, sweetpea,” he had begun, “are you ready to go home?” You nodded to him, but not before helping him with his bags. He looked at you, smiling while you followed him down to the book storage, an icy cold basement.

You watched, setting out his materials for him while he brought out the book, which was partially bound but tattered still, especially the cover, and you had to take a double take, pausing and hearing Reid’s voice. You weren’t listening, but rather going through the evidence in your head.

JJ’s butterfly, Reid’s key, and a lock of hair all on top of a piece of bloodied parchment. You could see the dainty, cursive letters, shocked as to how you’d not remember the cover when you worked at a bookstore. You gasped, nearly crying as you remembered the last thing you’d seen your father doing alive.

You tried to shake it all out of your head, the unsub wanted to get to you. This quest was curated for you and him, a chess game, and you needed to have a level head to win. Sitting straight up, your eyes shot open and you and Reid shared a glance, him smiling proudly. You handled yourself so well.

“The Collector, by John Fawkes,” you stated, rushing over to the board where all the evidence was pinned. You took off the butterfly, the lock of hair, the key and the bloodied paper and set them in front of Reid.

“These are all on the first edition front cover, a bloodied piece of paper as a background, the key, the lock of hair and the butterfly all on top. Not only do they have a personal significance to us, but to the book. I should’ve known sooner,” you berated yourself, explaining quickly before walking off, ready to call the nearest library for their first edition copy of The Collector.

. . .

Reid, Garcia, and you had all stood around, them solving the cipher and writing the message on the board. Elle had been sent home earlier, so you were a team member short, but you were closer than you’d ever been on solving your dad’s murder. So close you could almost imagine him, smiling down at you and telling you that you were doing a good job. That’s all the encouragement you needed.

Hotch had berated Anderson for only dropping Elle off rather than staying at her house, stating that the unsub had all of your personal information. You begged Hotch to let you go to her house and stay, but he said he had needed you too much because of your connection to the case.

Instead, you watched as Reid and Garcia went over the cipher with the librarian. You walked away from the team when Hotch called you. “Yes sir?”

“Elle was shot at her house, I’m at the hospital now, I need you and Reid to keep working on those clues. I’ll update you when she’s out of surgery.”

Your stomach twisted, wondering why in all hell the unsub took Elle. This was your quest, the team were all there to aid you. Why would he hurt Elle instead of you? Instead of your family or someone you were close to? You nearly cried out as you broke into tears—this team, the BAU, is your family. And you’ve brought all of them into danger just by being here.

When you walked back into the room, you’d discovered that Reid had called his mom to be flown into Quantico by the federal agents there, and that you’d be meeting his mom for the first time. She was involved in this case now too, and you wondered if you should stick around after this. If all of this, if Elle’s shooting was your fault.

. . .

You leaned against Reid’s desk as he fiddled with the evidence bag that the poem was in. “Your mom’s safe,” you said, “agents just picked her up and she’s flying over here now. Garcia told me.”

Reid didn’t even dare to meet your gaze, staring at the poem still. “I forgot she always used to read me this poem,” he started. “And I realized that nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collects butterflies except for me. People tell me their secrets all the time, and I think it’s because they know I don’t have anyone to betray them to… except for my mother. I tell her pretty much everything in my letters. Did you know that I write her everyday?”

You smiled, leaning forward, “I did, Reid. And I know that you feel guilty about not seeing her two days ago. That you write all of those letters to make up for the fact that you think you don’t visit her enough.”

He looked up at you, a clear question in his eyes. How do you know?

“Reid, during my memory recall, when you asked what my favorite memory was… I’ve been alive for twenty-four years, and out of any memory—the ones with my best friend, the good days here, my childhood—I chose Las Vegas. Not because of the beautiful city lights, or the fancy car, but because you were there with me, just us.

“I told you about my father not because you don’t have anyone to betray me to, but because I want you to know. Because I trust you whole-heartedly, and if anybody in this world should know me best, it’s you.”

Spencer finally held his eye contact with you, swallowing hard. You let your words hang in the air before putting your hand on his shoulder and squeezing, allowing it to linger there for a few seconds before walking back to Garcia’s lair, wanting to soak up all the information she might have.

You heard the signature ‘beep’ of Garcia hanging up on someone, and shut her door gently before striding over to her desk. “What’s going on so far?”

She didn’t lift up her eyes to look at you, typing furiously on her computer, “I’m searching for Rebecca Bryant’s biological family, turns out she was adopted by the Bryant family and her real last name is Garner.”

Penelope filled you in further on the details, actively working to unseal her adoption papers and find out what happened to the original family; after all, the victimology is the first thing you look at.

Could you consider yourself a victim? He’d been taunting and tormenting you and your entire team, he was most likely the man who had killed your father, or at least knew what happened or was involved somehow. Your father had been murdered prior to Rebecca’s disappearance, and you considered why this man would have been involved with your father’s murder and Rebecca’s disappearance.

Were you actually a target?

You went to sit back at your desk, looking at your old piece of parchment paper with your favorite canto of Dante’s Inferno written in cursive, the fifth, the canto of Francesca. The most famous line written in bold and in the original Italian, “Amor, ch’a nullo amato amar perdona,” or “Love, that excempts no beloved from loving in return.”

The bullpen was a shuffle of people, other agents you didn’t interact with that much, that didn’t come with you on cases, and tons of other people rushing around, going through files, making phone calls. Spencer strided over from the small kitchenette to sit at his desk, which was connected to yours, sitting across from you with a small wall of transparent glass in between.

He smiled at you, a warm, small smile that frequently was exchanged between the two of you. Sometime in between your talk at his desk and the hour or so you went without seeing each other, there was a microscopic layer of tension between you, beginning right where your desks separated.

The shuffling of the bullpen dulled the ache of the tension, and so did your eyes slowly closing to rest for just a few minutes as Reid spent his time half-dozing off while reading a printed out version of The Collector. Reid finally broke this silence when your head began to tilt to the side as you fell into a tiny cat nap. He called for you, with no response, so he got out of his chair and poked you in the forearm.

You wiggled a bit in your sleep, shifting around trying to find some semblance of comfort in your uncomfortable office chair. He takes a moment to stare just for a bit at your face. Looking at your eyes gently closed, your face peaceful even in this painful position, his mind fogged with the soft midnight laughter you traded with each other in the Vegas hotel room. He imagined the weight of your head on his chest, your arm laid over his stomach, your face and warm breath against the crook of his neck.

He realized quickly the words that came along with the happy memories made along with you. The constricting yet freeing feeling stuck in his throat and squeezed around his heart, the sort of euphoria you associate with the warm feeling of sun on your skin and driving a convertible along the coast. That beautiful, powerful, devouring feeling of knowing that someone has you. You’re theirs, completely and utterly.

The feeling of pure joy when you stop daydreaming and start remembering memories instead. When the words to describe this feeling escape you because all you can think about is that one, special person who has altered the course of your life forever. When you can no longer write romance because none of the words you put onto a page can do this feeling--this love--justice.

He was in love with you. He felt it in everywhere he looked, everything he did, and every moment he lived.

Spencer took a quick look around the office, and gently prodded at your sleeping form again until you open your eyes just a little, squinting against the bright lights of the bullpen. He held out his hand, which you, in your sleepy, half-awake state, took with no hesitation as he guided you into the conference room and turned off most of the lights.

He showed you to the couch, sitting on the far end, leaving you room to lay down and take the rest of it while the two of you rested and waited for Spencer’s mother to arrive. The crown of your head was just barely touching the side of his thigh, and eventually, moving and wiggling around in your sleep made you lay your head straight in his lap.

He felt the sudden movement and then the weight, and stared down at your side profile, admiring the way the dim lights highlighted your face perfectly. He brushed hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, and he swear he saw a ghost of a smile on your face. He fell asleep, fingers still intertwined and resting in your hair.

Spencer dreamt of city lights and midnight laughter and Vegas hotel rooms. He dreamt of walking up behind you while you made pancakes in the morning and piling kisses all along the side of your neck and face, arms wrapped around your waist and the way your body would be decorated in stripes by the morning sun.

He was woken up by the distribution of weight changing, your head shifting to stare up at him, hair surrounding your face in a pile on his lap. The sleepy smile that graces your face twists his stomach into knots and melts his heart.

You seem to not mind the fact that your head had wound up in his lap, and instead, you muttered a small, sleepy, single word. “Coffee?”

He almost laughed, just stunned by how natural the domesticity and comfortability between you two felt. Like the wall that had built between you--separating your pinkies from intertwining, separating your fates from inexplicably linking--had suddenly vanished. There was a mutual understanding there--you make me feel safe, you make me happy, you are mine.

He slid out from underneath your head, turning around just before he reached the exit to look at you, splayed across the couch comfortably, the dim 5:00 am moonlight gleaming through the windows, and your eyes, shining even brighter back at him with a giant smile on your face.

In the small kitchenette, he tidies himself up as much as possible, fussing with his hair while coffee brewed, and just as he finished pouring the both of you a cup, a group of FBI agents gathered around the entrance with a blonde, tall and pale woman that was Spencer’s mother.

“That’s why you’re so skinny, you know,” Spencer’s mother, Diana Reid stated only a few seconds after walking into the bullpen. Spencer turned his head, setting down the pot of coffee. His mother’s eyes were sunken just a bit, dark circles underneath, worry lines accenting her face. “Too much coffee.”

Her frame was cramped up, shoulders tightened and her body looking even more frail by the minute. Her short pixie cut looked untamed, and Spencer wondered how stressed she had been. He knows that she hates planes, and the government, and basically anything else where somebody might be watching her.

Schizophrenia tends to do that to a person. Even the smartest people get unlucky, get ill in a time where there isn’t much help or refuse it themselves. Spencer lives every day wondering about his mother’s happiness and well-being, but knows she is taken care of in her facility. He writes her everyday, and thinks about his childhood memories, about his father and mother and how he wanted a relationship that was nearly the opposite of that.

They loved each other at one point. Enough to have him and raise him together for a few years, and all he can think about is how much he would love and cherish his wife, his children with her, and how no matter what got in the way, he couldn’t see himself ever letting go.

All these thoughts, worry for his mother, himself, his future, his children float through his head and pass by in a few seconds. The next few seconds consist of you, whether his mother would approve of you and just how much she might adore you for seeing you make her son so happy.

Finally coming back to reality, he nodded at the FBI agents who had brought her here. “Thanks a lot guys, I’ve got her.” Walking forward, he looks at the horrified look on his mother’s face, eyebrows raised and hand coming to cover her mouth, glancing around the FBI bullpen, clearly unnerved by where she was.

Once the FBI agents have disappeared around the corner of the hallway into the bullpen and Spencer takes a few more steps towards her, she lets her hand drop from her face. “You know I’m terrified of flying,” she states, shaking her head for emphasis.

Spencer gives a small, fake smile. “I know mom, I’m sorry.”

Spencer glances over his mom’s shoulder, seeing you come out of the roundtable room and begin walking over to where he and his mom were standing. Still obviously upset, his mom continues, “Well then why did you have those fascists arrest me?”

He can hear your footsteps echoing throughout the mostly quiet bullpen, and he tries to calm his mom down before you arrive here, to introduce yourself.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid slow burn best friends to lovers au 20k #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x gender neutral!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #bau #bau x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg x reader

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matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl · 2 years ago

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Not Real

Paring: Matthew Gray Gubler x gender neutral reader

Summary: You watch the episodes of Spencer’s kidnapping and torture during season two of Criminal Minds, and you’re unable to handle seeing Matthew like that, even if he’s acting.

Warnings: Mention of torture, drugs, lots of crying, hurt/comfort. Please let me know if there is more.

Word count: 1k>

MASTER LIST

As Matthew's partner, you were always supportive of his career. You went to premieres with him, release parties, you name it. You were always there by his side to be his number-one fan. At this point, Matthew has been on Criminal Minds for almost two years now. You always watched the episodes alongside the cast as soon as they aired. But due to your schedule, you weren’t able to watch each new episode as they were released, so to make up for the missed time, you watched a couple of missing episodes from season two before Matthew got home.

What you didn’t expect was how devastating the episodes would be. You knew they were fake, you knew it was just a T.V. show, but seeing Matthew on screen going through unimaginable things, even if he was in character, it broke your heart into a million pieces, forever unmendable. Warm tears quickly stream down your face as you watch Matthew go through such torture. Wait, no, Spencer. This isn’t real, Y/N. Stop thinking it’s real. Spencer sobs and begs tirelessly to not be injected with Dilaudid. No matter how hard you tried, all you could think about was Matthew. Your heart ached, and you sobbed until your voice was too tired to speak anymore.

Soon, Matthew comes home, unharmed and safe. He heard your cries and quickly heads towards the sound, seeing you clutching the sofa as the traumatic scene plays out on the television. You look up, seeing Matthew standing before you, face drenched in worry.

“Matt… Matthew…” you whimpered. He meets you on the floor, holding you in his everlasting embrace. “Baby, oh god. I- I should have told you,” he whispers, kissing away your tears as he spoke. “I- I wasn’t supposed to spoil anything about the season. I should have told you. I'm so sorry, baby. So sorry…” The guilty infliction in his voice makes your heart ache even more.

Matthew takes you off the living room floor, sitting you securely on his lap as he gently rocks you back and forth in his embrace. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. It’s okay. Remember, it’s just a T.V. show, just a show…” His soothing words slowly calm your nerves, and you’re able to speak once again.

“Watching the show… I- I couldn’t help but imagine it was you, and- and that you were in… pain,” you whisper as small tears begin to form in your eyes again. Matthew wipes away your tears before they can fall, gently pressing soft butterfly kisses on your swollen skin. “Nothing bad is ever going to happen to me. As long as I’m with you I’ll be safe, okay?” he reassures.

“Promise?” you ask as you finally make eye contact, your eyes red and swollen from the tears. Matthew nods. “I promise. I’m safe, and most importantly, you’re safe. I’m never going to let anything happen to us.”

Text divider by -> cafekitsune

#matthew gray gubler #matthew grey gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler is so hot #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler fan fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fan fic

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cosmicmemory · 3 years ago

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𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌 | 𝐌𝐆𝐆

matthew gray gubler x gn! reader

requests are open!

liked by yourinstagram, loganlerman, and others

gublergram interesting fact about y/n: their fear of needles hasn’t stopped them from inking their skin with beautiful art. also, y/n has a bigger vinyl collection than I, and yet they still steal mine. bonus fact: i love them more than life!

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yourinstagram this is all very true. i love you too!

gubelovesy/n this so cute omg

ajcook fact: they are the coolest person i know

moonlightmatthew okay dwight schrute show off your partner! get it!

il0vemgg they are so amazing wow

pagetpagetgram WHO CALLED HIM DWIGHT OMG 😂

liked by gublergram, ajcook, and others

yourinstagram here comes the man. hello, adult man. welcome, taxpayer.

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hughjass do u get my username ;)

mggupdates lmao the caption

gublergram I look like an english teacher

oliviarodrigo I don’t care who the irs sends, i am not paying taxes!

plazadeaubrey And he ill, he real, he might gotta deal. He pop bottles and he pay them tax dollars bills 😤

keepingupwiththegublers aubrey’s comment is my favorite of all time, can’t help but stan. 😍

liked by mggupdates, fiberglassgube, and others

keepingupwiththegublers y/n posted this on their story! seeing y/n’s connection to the beautiful creatures that inhabit this earth is awe-inspiring. 🌷🌎

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mggupdates y/n + nature = beauty

fairyy/n they are literally so perfect

y/nsmarigold ILYSM FOR THIS

mgg.y/n. the blueprint honestly

fiberglassgube the way im in love with them

lovinglyy/n it’s 3am and im crying

liked by goldgunsgube, y/ninchains, and others

mggupdates gube and nature is SO different than y/n and nature

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spenceshoe LMAO PLEASE WHAT IS THIS

facetimewithy/n where did you find this wtf

y/ninchains AKSJF THE DIFFERENCE 😭😭

y/nslips he deepthroating the grapes 😕

goldgunsgube i miss him

purplesweater um yourinstagram this your man?

#fake instagram #mgg imagine #mgg x reader #social media x reader #cosmic memory #gubler gram instagram fake #mgg blurb #mgg fluff #mgg x you #spencer reid x reader #cosmic memory matthew gray gubler #social media au #mgg smut #mgg angst #matthew gray gubler x fem! reader #matthew gray gubler x gender neutral reader

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reids-gf · 3 years ago

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sweater weather

spencer reid x reader

summary: rossi leaves spencer in a ditch, and you just wanted to help. inspired by that scene in 5x17.

content: fluff, mutual pining, sharing clothes, canon-typical crimes, mud, lowercase intended.

requested? no.

reader's gender: neutral.

word count: 1,1k

a/n: first time publishing a fic !! please be kind, reblog and comment your thoughts, i accept constructive criticism <3

“boys wait up!” you shouted as you jogged behind rossi, spencer leading you three as you arrived at the scene where the victim had been found.

spencer started to narrate what could've happened with the information we already had and the location, expressing himself with the usual movements of his hands that you often found yourself admiring. but rossi abruptly interrupted his speech.

“so, how long is it gonna take you to get in that ditch?” he questioned with his hand pointing to said ditch, that was filled with mud and wild plants. following their gaze, you crinkled your nose with disgust and looked up at rossi.

“get in that ditch- i- i got shot in the knee” spencer turned to rossi with his eyebrows knitted together, “my doctor says i'm not allowed to do any climbing” he explained in hopes of not getting thrown in the gross ditch.

rossi just stared at him, signaling the ditch with both of his hands, an incredulous look on his face. “it's a ditch” he teased shaking his head.

spencer slumped looking at their feet as rossi stared at him, behind them you walked around chuckling at their childish behavior, looking for any missed evidence or new ideas about who the unsub could be. you looked up to hear spencer ask rossi about his new boots, and how he didn't want to ruin them. you decided to just stay quiet so they wouldn't decide to send you into the ditch.

spencer slid down the little hill rather faster but still careful to not harm himself, as rossi still looked around. “hey, up here we can be seen by passing vehicles” you affirmed as you looked at the road and back to rossi and spencer. “and i can't” the latter responded.

we continued to deduce how everything happened, spencer giving us his facts and thoughts about how the victims were staged like they were sleeping. “any idea why?” the Italian questioned, looking down.

the younger one just furrowed his eyebrows as he thought for some seconds, you tilted your head waiting for his usually clever answer, as he seemed to know the answer to any question you could think of, and you had tested that theory multiple times. in the jet back home, you would ask him about random stuff; or back in the bullpen, when you two gathered up in the break room for snacks and he would answer questions you hadn't even asked yet with his random facts.

“no”, his answer surprised you, making you gasp, and earning a look from rossi. “well, i guess there is a first time for everything,” he teased as he patted your shoulder walking past you to get back to the suv.

“hey, i'm gonna need a little help getting out of this ditch,” spencer announced as he saw rossi leave, waving his hand back. “hey rossi!” no answer, “l/n?” he called for your name and you instantly turned around.

“oh sure, let me just-” you said as you carefully stepped into the plants, extending your arm for reid to take, he didn't seem to get what you were trying to do so he just stood there looking at you while you were stepping into the muddy hill.

“reid, just take my hand, i'm not gonna step into that disgusting ditch” you started waving your arms around and losing balance. in just seconds you were face-first into the mud down the ditch, your eyes shut tightly as you tried to sit up. “eww”

“oh my god, y/n are you okay? rossi come here l/n fell into the mud!” spencer rambled and shouted at rossi, who came sprinting from the suv in seconds. he offered a hand to take, gladly taking it as you slowly opened your eyes. spencer was surprisingly strong as he pulled you up with ease. your hands running to your face to clean the mud, and shake them in the air.

“yeah i’m alright, just smelling like shit” you shook your head as you responded, looking up at spencer with a smile.

“you are not getting in the suv like that” rossi stated as the younger ones escalated your way up. glaring at him, you jogged towards the vehicle.

to your luck you found a fbi old windbreaker to sit on top of at the back, rossi informed the team that you were a little late because of an inconvenience in the location. but when you arrived at the police department covered in dry mud he was glad to call it ‘an idiot accident’.

you cleaned yourself in the bathroom and changed into a pair of pants you had in your go bag, but you were so sure that you wouldn't end up falling into a ditch that you didn't pack any more sweaters, and now you were cold. you shivered entering the office where spencer was building the geographic profile, his attention from the maps shifted to you, standing with your arms around your middle and your hair a little wet from your improvised shower.

he stared for a few seconds and you cleared your throat, treading slowly and reaching the table filled with papers. your lip quivered from the sudden cold of the water and the lack of warm clothes. and suddenly, spencer was out of the room like a shooting star. you let out a breath and sat down to read the notes and take a look at the maps.

a minute later he was back with his go bag, your face showed your confusion as he started to rummage through it. he turned around and handed you his soft red cardigan, the one you had dreams about running your hands through. your heart skipped a beat as he gave you a tight-lipped smile, your hands eagerly took the cardigan and put it on, taking a deep breath. you quickly shoot a glance at spencer, he already had busied himself with pinging the map to the board.

you hid your hands in the sleeves and grazed your face with it, closing your eyes for a second and pretending it was spencer’s hands and not your own. your eyes fluttered open when you heard spencer’s marker against the paper of the map.

“spence,” you called for his attention, which he quickly gave to you, turning in his heel to face you again. “thank you”

“i- it's nothing, thank you for throwing yourself in a ditch for me” he chuckled lightly and i followed with a giggle, picking up a ruler and walking around the table towards him to keep working on catching the bad guy.

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will-on-the-internet · 3 years ago

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Bacon and Broccoli Pasta | Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer comes home after a long case, and all you want to do is make him food. Maybe, just maybe, the two of you will fall in love over a bowl of pasta and old stories of food making people happy. Gender Neutral reader!

Warnings: This fic has a big focus on food, especially bacon, pasta, broccoli, and cheese! Mentions of Diana's schizophrenia, generic FBI case details, roommate x roommate fic that turns into lover x lover fic!

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: This is the first piece in my Food of Love series, where each fic is based on a different dish and the idea of love intertwined with food!

PLEASE INTERACT FOR MORE SPENCER REID FICS!

Spencer was never a good cook. As much as he tried, he could never get the food to taste right, something always burned, and normally he’d have a kitchen at the end that looked like it had been hit by a bomb. So he gave up, and lived on take-out, microwave meals, and sometimes food that Rossi or Garcia dropped around, knowing that the genius required a good feed.

Except, suddenly you were there, in his life, and he had more food in his fridge than he knew what to do with.

You’d moved in six months ago, taking the empty bedroom that Spencer had no use for. The both of you liked the arrangement, you paid half the bills, neither one of you went to bed early, and for once, Spencer wasn’t lonely as soon as he stepped into his apartment. It was an adjustment for the young man though.

He’d never lived with someone else outside of his family when he was a child. Sure, he shared rooms with other people on the team occasionally when there weren’t enough rooms at a hotel, but this was living with someone. He learned how you liked your coffee, and you learned his complicated way of organising his hundreds of books. He realised that you hated sleeping with the window closed, and you figured out that he couldn’t sleep in complete darkness. And most importantly, you noticed that Spencer could not cook. And you could.

It was late on a Thursday night, nearing midnight when Spencer finally arrived home, weary and sore from a complicated case that had the team away for a whole week. His clothes were a mess, hair greasy and there was a large graze on his chin, but he could care less as soon as he got into the apartment.

And you were awake, too wired to sleep from all the coffee you’d downed, secretly worried about your roommate and praying he’d get back safely. He was already half-asleep on the couch, collapsed into the cushions without even taking off his shoes. And when you heard his bag drop to the floor, it had you jumping out of bed, happy to finally have him home.

“Spencer? You alright?” You can just see him over the edge of the couch, and after he mutters out some words that you don’t quite catch and then lets out a loud groan, you know he’s still awake enough to talk.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now.” He looked at you through curls that hadn’t been cared for in ages, and for a moment, you could tell he was trying not to fall asleep right there.

“You know me, I’m not sleeping until it’s past midnight. Plus, there was no chance after all the coffee I had today at the cafe.” He moves his legs so you can sit next to him on the couch, and you can’t believe how warm he is. “How was the case? Did you find the guy you were looking for?”

“It was fine, nothing unusual honestly. You know how those men are, huge ego and an inability to…perform.” You shudder, knowing exactly what he meant but also knowing you didn’t want to hear about a man “performing” at nearly midnight. So you had an idea, and before Spencer knew it, you were grabbing his hand gently and pulling him up from the couch.

“Okay, okay. Too much information. C’mon, you look like you could use a decent meal, and I need some way to burn all this caffeine.” You didn’t hesitate to wander into the kitchen, knowing Spencer was following behind you as he rubbed his tired eyes. “You have any idea about what you want to eat, or do you want me to choose?”

“Do you…do you have the stuff to make that pasta? The one with bacon and broccoli?” You saw his eyes light up as you nodded your head and pulled some rashes of bacon and a head of broccoli from the fridge, and that look of joy sent your heart in a tailspin.

“Out of all the dishes you want at midnight, you chose my grandpa’s pasta? I mean, I’m not complaining, it’s easy and quick and I can cook it all in one pan, but why?” You busied yourself with cutting up the bacon and broccoli, collecting the pasta from the pantry and making sure you had eggs, seasonings and cheese. Spencer watched as you worked, not taking his eyes off you as you chopped methodically in a way he’d never been able to master.

“Do you remember the night we had the case where three minors were abducted? And I came home around sunrise?” You knew exactly which case Spencer was talking about, remembering him coming home and collapsing in tears at the door. Hell, you’d only known him for two weeks or so, but you didn’t even hesitate to call in sick that day and be with him after such an awful case. You made him dinner that night, the first time you cooked for the both of you, and even though the two of you sat in silence while you ate, you knew that Spencer was feeling a little better.

He’d stopped you before you headed to bed, told you that he’d clean up the kitchen and that you should sleep because you had an early shift, and then, he hugged you. Grabbed you tight and never wanted to let go. He nearly second-guessed himself, thought you’d push him away because he’d been some kind of nuisance all day, but you just hugged him back, ruffled his hair in a sweet way that made him feel all warm and fuzzy, and told him to sleep well. He fell in love with you that night, and if you look back on it, you were pretty sure you were falling for him as well.

“You uh, made this pasta. And, I dunno, I’m too tired to think of some statistic about home or feeling comforted by food in times of distress…but you knew exactly what I needed. You didn’t even know me that well, and you just sat me down, made me a mug of hot chocolate, and started making pasta…”

You could tell that Spencer wanted to say more, but he stopped himself before he did. You didn’t want to push him either, knowing that he’d say what he wanted to say when he was ready.

“My mum used to cook a lot before the schizophrenia got worse. She loved spending her whole day in the kitchen when she needed a break from her books.” Spencer spoke while you cooked, raising his voice slightly over the spitting noise of hot oil with garlic, bacon and onion in a pan. “She’d sit me down in my chair and give me all these things to read or let me play with a pack of cards by myself while she cooked. I remember one day she came home so happy, because the local butcher had given her a pack of lamb shanks for free because he didn’t want them to go to waste, and she spent half the day making her special orange lamb shanks with crusty bread and sweet potato mash. She always made it when something special happened, like when I won a local chess tournament at age six, or on her thirtieth birthday. It was her special dish.” He stopped then, sensing that you were watching him. But he expected a look of annoyance or boredom like he was ruining the silence that you liked to cook in. Instead, you were smiling, a soft smile he loved oh so much, and so he kept talking.

“I was twelve when I got into my first university, and mum was having a good week for once. The doctor had put her on some new meds, dad had sent more money than usual, and the university told me that I’d get a full ride. She was so excited, she made this huge meal that was way too big for just the two of us. She made mac and cheese and salads and everything that she thought I might want, and she was so happy that I enjoyed it…but I think I enjoyed her being around more than I enjoyed the food. I think I like the idea that food can bring people together.”

“My dad was the one who taught me how to cook. He used to make all the meals in our family while mum worked and I went to school. He told me, that cooking and making food that fuels your body and makes it happy, is not just an act of love and service towards yourself, but also to the others around you.” You’re serving the pasta by then, getting out mismatched bowls from the cupboard and grating up some cheese to put on top, and you talk as you work. Spencer takes it upon himself to get glasses of water and forks for the both of you, quietly setting the table as you spoke.

“I asked why he always cooked, and never just got take out or used one of the microwave pizzas that we kept in the fridge, and he said, that he always wants to cook, not only because he enjoys making things and experimenting with food, but also because he constantly wanted to show me and my mum that he loved us, even if he wasn’t overly affectionate. Sure, sometimes his meals didn’t always work out, and we did end up getting takeaway, but mum and I knew he was doing everything he could to show us he loved us.”

“Is…is that why you cook so much? To show others you love them?” Spencer asks the question abruptly as if it spills from his mouth and he’s too late to stop it. The two of you are sitting at the table by now, a bowl of pasta in front of each of you, but neither of you wanted to start eating yet.

“I…I don’t really know. To be honest, I haven’t cooked this much in years, probably since I lived at home. I never had anyone to eat with where I used to live, so it just seemed like more of a chore than something I took pleasure out of. But I like making things for the people I love, and I like doing it more regularly.” You went quiet and gestured for him to eat, and even though the both of you knew that you were dancing around three little words that meant so much, neither of you were ready to say them.

When Spencer had his first bite of the pasta, he couldn’t help but groan in delight. He would have been embarrassed except for the fact that you grinned back at him, joy radiating off you. The pasta was thick and creamy, with enough richness to make goosebumps rise on your skin in enjoyment. The bacon had just enough of that smokey flavour that it blended well with the sharp parmesan cheese you’d used, and the broccoli was perfect. Nothing was too sharp or salty or bitter or greasy. The pasta was just cooked enough, but it wasn’t too soft either where it felt like it would fall apart in your mouth. You knew Spencer hated that.

“I don’t understand, I can barely make toast without burning it…and you can make a whole damn feast! Not fair.” You laughed at the man across from you, knowing he was being ridiculous. But he didn’t care because he couldn’t stop eating the food that made his heart feel warm and his body feel safe.

It was later when he told you that he’d clean up, that you should make yourself that cup of tea you wanted and take yourself to bed, but you didn’t want to leave the kitchen just yet. He assured you that he wouldn’t use the wrong scrubber on your precious fry pan, but you didn’t care about any of that. At one point, he was trying to bargain with you, because he could tell you were feeling exhausted by that point, and he just wanted to do something nice for you after you cooked him a very late/very early dinner, and when that’s when you saw your chance.

“Fine, Spencer, I’ll go to bed. Can you just grab me a glass of water?” He nodded, walking back to the sink to fill up your glass from the tap, before coming back to you with it in his hand. “Thank you, now I just need to do one more thing before I go to bed.” He thought you were going to ask for something else, but then you were coming closer and closer until your hand was on his cheek and he was leaning into your touch.

“Do…do I have something on my cheek–” That’s when you kissed him, softly and shyly at first. Spencer nearly started celebrating right then and there, before he realised he actually needed to kiss you back first. And he kissed you back with so much love and enthusiasm that he pulled a little gasp from you, shocked but pleasantly surprised when he took hold of your waist to hold you firmly against him. It wasn’t a perfect kiss by society’s standards, but it was perfect for the two of you, even if his breath was smokey and cheesy from the bacon, and your’s smelt like garlic from the pasta. Neither of you minded, and he didn’t mind when you pulled him from the kitchen, telling him that the dishes could wait in exchange for more kisses, in your bed, tucked under your covers.

Your dad always said that food could bring people together. But you never knew that it could have you and Spencer falling in love.

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fliesforeyes · 11 months ago

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spencer reid cherishes these moments.

when you're laughing so hard your stomach hurts, the movie you're watching forgotten as he laughs too, eyes fixated on you. when your hand lands on his shoulder for stability, and you lean into his body once your laughter has died down. the soft sigh you let out as you wipe away the happy tears in the corners of your eyes.

the look you give him before leaning in and pressing your lips to his. the feeling of your soft hair between his fingers. the way you push your body further into him, the mood shifting from light and friendly to something much more intimate.

your rushed, whispered words urging him to your bedroom because you know he prefers that over your couch right now. you know him so well and he loves you for it. the way you giggle as you stumble over your feet, landing on your cozy bed and ushering him to join you. the look in your eyes as you watch him remove his sweater and shirt. your quiet voice telling him how pretty he is. your reaction when he returns the compliments.

the soft moan that escapes your lips when his suck at your neck, hand already working between your thighs. the feeling of you clenching around his fingers. the noises you let out as he makes you cum. your grip on his hair. the plush skin of your stomach and waist. the taste of you on his tongue as he licks his fingers clean.

your clear desperation as you struggle to take off his belt and pants, the way you shyly smile when he giggles at your attempts, reaching down to help you. the feeling as he finally pushes inside you. the heat of your soft thighs wrapped around his hips. the sounds you make as he starts moving. the way he can pretend your shoulder covers the desperate moans and whines and whimpers he lets out. the way your voice sounds so perfect moaning his name. the sloppy kisses right before you both finish.

the whispered i love you's exchanged in the dark of your bedroom. the smile you wear as he cleans you two up. the blush on your cheeks as he tells you how well you did, how pretty you look. the way you hold him, the calmness of the room. the perfect sleep he gets that night, wrapped up in your blankets and soft skin.

#spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #mgg #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader #mgg smut #gender neutral reader #smut #fluff #spencer reid fluff

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spectaclespencer · 3 years ago

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Effleurage

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Request; ok in this one Spencer and the reader are in an established relationship. Spence has a rough day at work and is very tense. When he gets home the reader gives him a massage on his shoulders then gives him a hand job while standing behind him, letting him lean against them while whispering naughty things in his ear.

AN; Hope I did this justice! Changed just a thing or two, to keep this more separate from one of my other works (Through The Looking Glass). Also, this is mostly dialogue lol I used this as practice. 🥰🥰

Summary; Reader notices Spencer is tense after a long day at work, so they help him unwind.

Category; Angst, Smut (Minors DNI!!!)

Content Warnings; Kissing, Hand job, Oral sex (Male receiving), Mentions of Spencer’s past trauma (Kidnapping, Drugs, etc), Swearing

Word Count; 2.9k

Masterlist | My requests are open!

“Rough day?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe that connected Spencer’s office and the living room..

“How could you tell?” He chuckled, lifting his head from his hands. Unbeknownst to him I’d been standing there for nearly a minute, watching him lay his head on his desk while using forearms as a pillow. I was honestly starting to think he’d fallen asleep.

“You’ve hardly said anything since you got home. And you’ve been hiding out here for most of the night.”

“Oh, ____, I’m sorry. Please don’t feel as if I’ve been ignoring you-”

“No!” I exclaimed, stepping in the room closer to where he was seated. “No, Spence, don't be sorry. I know you’ve been busy. Especially with all these exams to grade. I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay. I can leave you to your work if that’s what you want?”

“No, I’m good,” he smiled, sitting up straight and gesturing me over. It was a wonder how he sat here night after night, with posture like that. I was surprised his back could even support him after all this time.

“I think your back and neck beg to differ. I can hear your muscles screaming from here.”

“Oh, really? Maybe you should get closer and check it out. Maybe they need some assistance.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, watching his eyes dash over my figure as I closed the distance between us. I saw the way his eyes lit up when I ran a hand through his unruly hair -- the same way I’m sure he did throughout the day. “Yep. We should sort this out. They’re practically begging for my help.”

“Will you, please?”

“Ah, Spencer. You should know by now I’d do anything you asked of me.”

“Anything?” His eyebrows spiked in amusement. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Careful with that.”

I trailed my hands across his collarbones, and in return he let out a deep sigh.

“Do you want to tell me about your day? If it’ll help? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

“It’s just my one student.”

“Mhm?’ I encouraged, pressing the tips of my fingers into the rigid muscle that ran through his neck and shoulders. I flattened my palms at his shoulder blades, applying a light pressure to soothe the aching I’m sure he was experiencing.

It had become a tradition between us, me putting my skilled hands to use to comfort him. It began many years ago when he had hurt his shoulder on a case. We were sharing a room, and I offered to give him a massage to help with the throbbing of the muscle.

-----

“I didn’t know you knew the art of massage,” Spencer said peacefully from his position on the floor.

“Self taught. Nothing extreme, I just help out friends when I can.”

“That’s really sweet of you. And thank you again for doing this.”

“Any time, Reid. I’m only a call away if you do some dumbass roll ever again.”

“Was it that bad?” He laughed, looking back to where I was seated above him on the edge of the bed.

“Oh yeah. I wish I got it on video. You’re never gonna live that down.”

“It was so embarrassing. I thought it would help at the time.”

“Well, the only thing it did was give you an injury. Not very smart of you, Mr. 3 Ph.Ds’,” I joked lighthearted, smacking his cheek lightly.

I pinched his upper back between my fingers, which caused him to yelp.

“Oh shush, that didn’t hurt.”

“Yes it did!” He yelled, turning around with a face full of mock offense.

“Oh come on, don’t be a baby.”

“I am literally older than you.”

I stayed silent after that, pushing his cheek in a silent way to say, ‘turn around’.

I continued the massage, the only sound filling the room being Spencer’s soft breathing as my hands glided over him. I used a mixed technique of solid contact and hard pressure, stroking with thumbs, and the feather touch of my fingertips. I found out Spencer was ticklish, I tested the theory by ghosting my fingers just in the crook of his neck. He jumped away -- literally, almost two feet away -- which caused me to double over in laughter.

“Don’t do that again,” he whined, cheeks lighting up in embarrassment.

“Fine, fine, I won’t,” I promised, waiting for him to resume his spot in front of me.

-----

“I really want to help her. I can tell she has the potential. Lots of passion, you know. I think she could be really great one day. She was telling me how she wants to join the FBI, actually, in the sex crimes division. Anyways -- she just has a handful of classes this semester and I offered to help her out after classes. She’s doing fine, I’m just worried about how she’ll juggle it all. And it’s hard, you know what I mean? She’s so bright, and has a great attitude...and I know what this work does to people. It’s going to crush her spirit. She gushes about it everyday, and it breaks my heart when she asks me how much I loved it at Quantico. She’s sweet, it’s awful knowing one day all that innocence will be ripped from her with that job.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s tough.”

“Yeah, she just...reminds me of you.”

Oh.

I removed my hands from him, instead moving to his side to get a better view of him.

“Just because I quit the FBI, it doesn’t mean the same thing will happen to other people, okay? I love how much you love, and care for others. But please don’t stress on what may or may not happen. If she’s as amazing as you describe her to be, I think it’ll be fine,” I said, circling his body to stand fully in front of him. “She sounds delightful. What’s her name?’

“Laetitia.”

“That’s pretty.”

“Yeah, it actually is taken from the Roman goddess of gaiety, and a symbol of happiness and joy.”

“Oh, so it suits her.”

“Definitely.”

“You’d be surprised with how young adults can handle themselves these days. And besides, by the time she gets into the academy, maybe crime rates will go down.”

“I think we both know neither of those things are true.”

“Yeah, sorry,” I snickered. “I didn’t really know what else to say. Anyways, just try not to dwell on it. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

“A lot easier said than done. It’s hard, all my students are so young and hopeful. And if they follow a similar career path as we did, then there’s a very high chance of trauma. Like, look at me! 3 years into the BAU and I’m kidnapped, a-and drugged and then suddenly I can’t function the same way as before or even drink at the bar with you guys like a normal person-”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, Spencer. Look at me,” I said softly, and he did. His head tilted up from its previous position of staring at the floor. When he met my eyes I noticed his were glazed over, telling me he was starting to dive into the overwhelming emotions. I crouched down to his level slowly, similar to how you’d do a cat not to scare it away. “You don’t have to worry about these things, they’re out of your control. But I hear you and understand why you feel this way. You’ve been dealt a bad hand your whole life, and that’s not the fault of anything you’ve done. Sometimes we just...can’t tell what’ll happen next. And just because things happened to you, and me, doesn’t mean we’re any less valuable or worthy. People grow and change every day, no matter the circumstance. You’ve always been such a wonderful man, and you will be forever. I know that for sure. And no, you’re not normal. You’re extraordinary. Your trauma doesn’t define you as a person, just as it doesn’t with me.””

“Yeah, yeah I know. I know there’s realistically nothing I can do, but it still makes me feel anxious.”

“And you’re allowed to feel this way, you know that.”

He nodded then, and smiled when I sat down in his lap, straddling him. His arms came to wrap around my back, embracing me in a firm hug. I held him back just as tight, squeezing the life out of him in an effort to convey how much love I had for him.

“I love you. You always say the right things.”

“Ahh, that’s why I became a therapist,” I giggled, pulling back to caress his cheek. His skin was soft as always, and became warmer the longer I touched him.

“I’m glad you did. Safer that way,” he mumbled the last part. Spencer turned his head into my palm, placing a soft kiss there. His hand came up to meet mine, grabbing a hold of it. “I don’t have to worry about you going out in the field.”

“Same with you and teaching. Only way you’re going to get hurt is if an angry student throws a pen at you,” I joked.

“I hope that doesn’t happen,” he laughed back at me, already seeming more relaxed.

“Hey, do you...ever feel like going back? To the BAU?”

“No,” he answered without hesitation.

“Oh. Can I ask why? I know we’ve had some talks about it but I never wanted to push.”

“That job has nearly sucked everything out of me. Too many people coming and going. Elle, Gideon, Alex, Derek, Hotch...I feel like there’s nothing there for me anymore. I love my coworkers but the job became way too much. I’m 38, you know? Plus, at the college I can still come home every night and see you.”

“I think that’s very fair. You spent almost 15 years there, you’re allowed to leave.”

“Yeah, I know. I just didn’t expect to ever want to leave. Or to be teaching, either.”

“Me neither. But if you’re happy with your new job, that’s what matters. Plus, we can still see the team. It’s not like we’ll lose all contact.”

“True,” he nodded along. “And, I realized that the last few years without you there have been so...dull, for a lack of a better word. I didn’t want to leave you everyday. At least now I can come home and see you on a set schedule.”

“Well, I won’t complain about that,” I smiled, running my hands in soothing circles over his chest. The fabric of his sweater -- more like my oversized one that he stole -- was soft, easing the atmosphere for both of us.

“Oh trust me, I know. Every time I’m through the door you jump me.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

“I like it a lot,” he chuckled. “It’s domestic. I get an actual peaceful job and then I come home to my fiancé. Don’t think I could ask for anything better than that.”

“Well, if you think of something let me know. It’ll be coming right up.”

“I do have one thing in mind.”

“Oh yeah?”

“If I stare at these papers any longer I think my brain might leak from my ears. Can we go to bed?”

“Oh thank god, I’m exhausted,” I groaned, stepping out of his lap to run out the door. I heard his booming laugh behind me, as he turned off the lights before following me to the bedroom. “I was fully prepared to drag your ass to bed.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

We brushed our teeth in silence, while glancing back at each other through the mirror in our shared bathroom. Our night routine was always nice, it was the one thing we tried to do in sync at the end of our days. When we changed into pajamas I laughed at his nerdy science t shirt that I got him for christmas almost a decade ago -- before we were even dating -- in surprise that it still fit well enough. Back then he was all bones, but fortunately now he’s gained some healthy weight that looked damn good on him.

“We’re going to sleep,” Spencer shot a knowing look at me, before pulling up his sweatpants.

“I know. Wasn’t going to suggest anything else,” I responded, my cheeks warming at the fact that I’d been caught staring. I crawled into bed after him, immediately rolling over so my chest was flush with his.

“Sure you weren’t.”

I sighed into his neck, kissing him softly on his jugular vein. He puffed out a small breath in reply, his hands finding the small of my back to pull me impossibly closer. I leaned up to access his mouth, slotting my lips against his.

The moment we connected I fell deep into desire. We melted into each other, my mind became a lake of distortion. I became dizzy every time I opened my eyes to look at him, seeing the way his eyebrows furrowed in focus. He opened his mouth in a small moan and I took the chance to deepen our kiss, I ran my tongue along the inside of his mouth. He made an even louder noise then, his hips instinctively bucking against mine.

“I thought we were going to sleep?” I laughed playfully.

“In a few minutes,” he said between kisses.

I spread his legs with mine, resting my thigh against the bulge I felt growing in his pants. He greeted me with excitement instantly -- just as I thought he would.

“Maybe more than a few minutes,” he groaned, seperating from me for a second to catch his breath.

“You’re so needy,” I grinned, pleased with how fast he contradicts himself.

He didn’t answer with words, instead he grabbed my hips to rut up against me harder.

“God, you make the prettiest noises, Spence. Let me hear you,” I asked, and he obliged. Even after all this time his main goal was to please me, even if he was the one receiving the stimulation. He followed my every demand with joy. “Go on, baby, I just want to make you feel good.”

“I love you,” he mumbled into my neck, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine.

“I love you too.”

He left small marks on my neck, and bit down especially hard when I raised my knee to exemplify his pleasure. I removed myself right after that, instead snaking my hand down between us. I pushed his pants and underwear down in one fast motion, and grabbed a hold of his erection. He choked as I did, digging his fingers into my skin so hard that it would nearly be bruising.

“Oh, god,” he moaned, attaching himself to my lips again hungrily.

I gratefully returned the passion, the way I swallowed his sounds was so much that it had my insides on fire.

I alternated from stroking him fast and slow, while still sliding my thumb over the slit every time I passed it. His moans became synchronized with my motions, and his body returned the same energy with the way it instinctively got closer to me. It was like muscle memory for us, after all this time together we didn’t have to think or plan ahead on how to please each other.

“Come in my mouth,” I told him, pushing him flat on his back so I could kneel between his legs.

“Oh- okay-” he squeaked, as if he hadn’t done so a hundred times before.

I took him in my mouth suddenly, sucking the tip with such intensity that had him moaned freely beneath me. One of his hands went to the back of my head, while the other cupped my cheek. I could tell he was close with the way he was shaking, and how uneven his breath was. It only took me pulling him in fully twice for him to come undone, his release spewing ribbons to the back of my throat. I swallowed greedily, my eyes closing at the feeling of him climaxing. Knowing he felt so good and that being confirmed by the sounds he made always got me good.

I continued to clean him off until he pulled me up, whimpering from overstimulation.

“Thank you,” he panted, catching his breath with a hand over his chest.

“My pleasure,” I smiled, pulling his pants and underwear back up as I collapsed on his chest.

He hummed as I laid my head on his chest, the vibrations of his sound sent butterflies to my insides. I could feel his heart gradually slow down as he relaxed, and the way he rubbed the skin under my shirt made me melt further into him.

“I would return the favour, but I’m so tired.”.

“Spencer, I like making you feel good. You don’t have to repay me every time I do.”

“I-I know, I just...like making you feel good too.”

“Aw, how sweet of you,” I laughed, craning my neck to give him one last kiss before we went to sleep. “I can tell how tired you are. We should’ve gone to bed hours ago.”

“That would have been 7:00pm. What are we, 60?”

“One day, Spence. One day I’ll still be hauling your cute little butt to our room. Even if it is at 6:00pm after senior’s dinner at four.”

“Sounds amazing,” I felt him sigh against my cheek. “I can’t wait to grow old with you. I just love you so much it’s unbearable sometimes.”

“I have never, and will never love anyone as much as you. Goodnight, Spencer. Sleep in a little if you can.”

“Goodnight ____.”

-----

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