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alsofoundinpeas · 3 days ago

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This was the best way to start my morning. Who needs coffee when you have beautiful works like this to wake up to?? Chef’s kiss, truly <3

Oops: Wrong Person

Summary: Spencer and you share a steamy night together, but when you go to spill the details to Emily, you accidentally send the text to the person of interest... will Spencer see it before you can fix things?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), fluff

Warnings/Includes: NSFW (18+) additional warnings under the cut, alcohol consumption, talks of hangover, mention of a gun, sending text to wrong person, happy ending

Word count: 7.2k

a/n: shout out to @imagining-in-the-margins for pulling me out of my writers slump with their wrong recipient challenge !!! not proofread :/

prompts used: Character sends their friend a detailed review of their recent sexual encounter… and accidentally sends it to the person they’re reviewing

Character enlists Penelope’s help in hacking into someone’s device to delete an unintended message

main masterlist

Additional warnings: allusions to sex, oral (fem receiving)

The evening began innocently enough—just another night out with the team, exchanging stories and letting Penelope’s latest matchmaking attempts provide ample fodder for laughter. You and Spencer had been particularly unlucky in love lately, both of you enduring one disastrous date after another. Penelope had insisted she had "the perfect person" for each of you, but after a string of ill-suited setups, neither of you were optimistic. It was that shared frustration that had the two of you lingering over drinks a little longer than usual, swapping stories of cringe-worthy encounters and commiserating over your shared loneliness.

The conversation flowed more easily as the alcohol loosened your tongues, and you found yourselves laughing more, teasing less, and unearthing unexpected commonalities. Spencer wasn’t just the brilliant, socially awkward genius you’d always known—there was warmth, wit, and a surprising sense of humor that made you start to see him in a different light. For his part, Spencer found himself captivated by the way your eyes lit up as you recounted your tales, his usual nervousness fading as he grew more comfortable in your presence.

When the team decided to call it a night, Spencer insisted on walking you home. "You shouldn’t be out alone this late," he said, his tone firm but his gaze soft. The cool night air sobered you both slightly, but the buzz of the evening lingered as you strolled side by side. When you reached your front door, you turned to thank him, but Spencer hesitated. There was a moment—a pause filled with unspoken words—before he asked, almost shyly, "Can I kiss you?"

The question caught you off guard, but the answer came easily. “Yes,” you whispered, and the next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, tentative at first but quickly deepening with urgency. The kiss ignited something you hadn’t expected, and before long, the two of you were tangled in your sheets, surrendering to the pull of the moment.

But now, as the morning light crept through the blinds, unwelcome and far too bright for how your head pounded and your stomach churned. The first thing you registered was warmth—Spencer’s arm draped over your waist, his face tucked into the pillow mere inches from yours. His soft breaths were the only sound in the room, aside from the dull hum of the city outside.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as the reality of the night before came crashing down like an avalanche. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing, hoping, that somehow, this was a vivid dream. But the ache in your muscles and the tangling of limbs beneath the sheets told you otherwise.

How had it come to this? You’d both sworn off dating for a while after Penelope’s well-meaning but disastrous matchmaking attempts, bonding over how exhausting it was to keep picking yourselves up after failure. You’d laughed, drank more than you should have, and for the first time, Spencer wasn’t just your quirky, brilliant colleague—he was just a man. A man with soft brown eyes, a boyish smile, and the kind of awkward charm that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, someone understood.

And then he’d walked you home. You had both hesitated on your doorstep, the air thick with unspoken words and the lingering spark of a night full of confessions. Spencer had looked at you, his cheeks flushed and his voice almost trembling as he asked if he could kiss you.

God, you’d wanted to say no. You should have said no. But the way he looked at you, with a vulnerability so raw and genuine, made it impossible. And when his lips met yours, all the doubts and hesitations had melted away. At least until now.

A quiet groan escaped your lips as you gingerly shifted away from his arm, careful not to wake him. You needed space—space to think, space to breathe. Tugging on a shirt discarded on the floor, you padded to the kitchen, leaning heavily against the counter as you stared blankly at the coffee maker.

This wasn’t just a mistake; it was a colossal, earth-shattering disaster. Spencer wasn’t just some random guy at a bar; he was your coworker, your teammate. You weren’t supposed to cross those lines, especially not in a way that could make things awkward for the entire team.

You pressed your palms into your eyes, willing away the threatening sting of tears. "What the hell were we thinking?" you muttered to yourself, though you already knew the answer. You were thinking about loneliness, about longing, about the fleeting comfort of being wanted. You were thinking about Spencer's warm smile and the way he looked at you like you were the most fascinating person in the world.

The sound of movement behind you snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. You turned to find Spencer standing in the doorway, his hair disheveled and his shirt haphazardly buttoned. He looked at you with a mixture of shyness and concern, clearly unsure of what to say.

"Good morning," he said softly, his voice cracking slightly.

You swallowed hard, forcing a tight smile. "Morning."

An awkward silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Spencer shifted on his feet, glancing around the room before his eyes landed on you. "Are you okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing in that familiar, thoughtful way.

"Yeah," you lied quickly, your voice pitching just a little too high to be convincing.

Spencer’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head, scrutinizing you in that way only Spencer could—like he was dissecting every layer of your soul. “You’re lying,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact, devoid of judgment. “Do you regret last night?”

His words hit you harder than you expected. The vulnerability in his gaze—those soft, questioning hazel eyes—made your heart ache. You could feel the truth rising in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You couldn’t bear to hurt him, not after everything.

“I only regret drinking so much,” you said instead, forcing a weak smile and hoping it was enough. “I’m horribly hungover.”

For a moment, Spencer stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your immense relief, his lips quirked into a small, understanding smile, and he even chuckled softly. “Yeah, we might have overdone it a bit,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you making coffee?”

You nodded, grateful for the shift in focus. As the coffee brewed, the familiar aroma filling your small kitchen, the tension eased. You poured two mugs and handed one to Spencer, who took it with a quiet “thanks” and a smile. The two of you sat at your tiny dining table, sipping the hot brew and talking about the most recent case. It was like slipping back into the roles you knew, the professional partnership that felt safe and predictable.

When Spencer finally stood to leave, he hesitated by the door. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said softly, lingering for just a moment before stepping out into the morning sun.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the silence in your apartment felt deafening. You slumped into your chair, staring at the coffee cup he’d left behind. You’d managed to keep the lie intact, but it didn’t make the knot in your stomach feel any less tight. If anything, it made it worse.

Later that evening, unable to keep your thoughts to yourself, you grabbed your phone and fired off a text to Emily. She was your go-to for all the juicy details and unsolicited advice, and you desperately needed her take on the situation.

Em, you’ll never believe it… I slept with Spencer! And before you even ask, no, it was not good. He was so sweet and, honestly, really attractive, but it was like he was just there to smash and dash, I swear! There was no build-up, no foreplay, it was so boring. I swear the only reason I was even wet enough was how good he looked. Em, what do I do?

You stared at the message for a moment before pressing send, your heart pounding as you anticipated her reply. You knew Emily wouldn’t hold back, but that was exactly what you needed—someone to be brutally honest with you.

Setting your phone aside, you waited for the familiar buzz of her reply. But as the minutes ticked by, your attention started to drift. The weight of the day and the lingering tension from your morning with Spencer caught up with you, and before you knew it, you had dozed off on the couch.

When you woke early the next morning, the faint glow of your phone screen illuminated the room, the only light breaking through the predawn darkness. You groaned, rubbing one eye as you sat up, feeling the stiffness in your back from spending the night on the couch. Reaching for your phone, you squinted at the screen, ready to check if Emily had replied to your late-night text.

But when you opened your conversation with her, the message you so vividly remembered typing was nowhere to be found. Confused, you stared at the blank thread for a moment.

"That's weird," you muttered to yourself. "Maybe I just dreamed I sent it."

Shrugging it off, you stretched, wincing as the ache from your uncomfortable sleeping position made itself known. After a quick shower and a cup of coffee, you pushed the odd moment out of your mind, determined to start the day fresh.

Later that morning, as you walked into the bullpen at work, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The usual hum of activity filled the air—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, voices murmuring about cases. Spencer was already at his desk, his face buried in a file, and he didn’t look up as you passed by. If he was feeling awkward about that night, he didn’t show it.

You dropped your bag onto your desk and booted up your computer, feeling a flicker of relief that everything seemed normal. The morning carried on uneventfully—until Emily strolled over, her face unreadable, and perched casually on the edge of your desk.

"Hey," she said, her tone casual as ever. "Do anything interesting this weekend?"

The question made your stomach flip. For a brief, horrifying moment, you wondered if you had sent that text after all.

Your heart pounded as you leaned in closer to Emily, lowering your voice to a whisper so that Spencer, sitting just a few feet away, wouldn’t overhear. “Did you see my text? I could have sworn I sent one last night,” you asked, keeping your tone as casual as possible despite the rising panic in your chest.

Emily frowned slightly, pulling out her phone and scrolling through your thread. “No? What was it about?” she asked, holding her screen up as proof of her empty inbox.

The confusion on your face deepened as you promised to catch her up on your weekend later. “Never mind, it’s nothing,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. But as she walked away, a gnawing sense of dread began to form in the pit of your stomach. Something felt off—terribly off.

Grabbing your phone, you scrolled through your messages, hoping, praying you’d simply forgotten to hit send or, at worst, sent it to someone like your parents or even Hotch. But when you finally found the message, your blood ran cold. There it was, the detailed, unfiltered account of your night with Spencer, sent—and the recipient was none other than Spencer Reid himself.

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt, and you couldn’t breathe. Your hands trembled as you stared at the screen, rereading the incriminating text over and over. You couldn’t even bring yourself to glance in Spencer’s direction, terrified he’d somehow know you’d realized your mistake.

Not knowing what else to do, you bolted from your desk and ran straight to Penelope’s office. You slammed the door shut behind you, startling her so badly that she let out a loud shriek.

“Y/N! What the heck, you scared me, girl!” she exclaimed, spinning around in her chair with wide eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s going on?”

You barely managed to catch your breath as you blurted out the words. “Can you hack into Spencer’s phone?”

“What? Why?” she asked, her confusion giving way to intrigue.

“I sent him something he was never meant to see,” you said, your voice trembling.

Penelope’s expression lit up with gleeful curiosity, her hands clasping together in delight. “Oh my god! Drama!” she squealed. “Was it something saucy?” Her grin turned wicked, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“No, Pen, nothing like that…” you lied, though your face betrayed the truth. “Just—can you do it?”

“Only if you tell me why,” she sing-songed, leaning forward as if this were the best thing to happen to her all week.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “It’s about Spencer, okay? I sent him a message I was venting to Emily about… and it’s—oh my god, Penelope, it’s bad.”

“How bad?” she pressed, practically vibrating in her seat.

You hesitated, your mind racing. “Like… it’s about bedroom activities, bad.”

Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “You and Boy Wonder?” she gasped, her voice rising in pitch. “No way! Tell me everything right now, and then I’ll consider saving your butt.”

So, you spilled it all, every mortifying detail of your ill-advised text and the lackluster night with Spencer. Penelope listened with wide eyes, her hand dramatically clutching her chest as though she were living through the mortification alongside you.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she interrupted at one point, holding up a finger. “Are you saying there was no foreplay? None at all? Oh, honey, that’s—oh no.” Her sympathy was so theatrical it almost made you laugh, but the weight of your predicament kept your stomach in knots.

You sighed, shaking your head. “I know, I know. It was just… disappointing. He was sweet, don’t get me wrong, but it felt so rushed, and then I panicked afterward, and now this. I just hope he hasn’t seen the text. I mean, he doesn’t check his phone often, right? Unless it’s a call or something urgent?”

Penelope tilted her head thoughtfully, tapping a glittery nail against her lips. “You’ve got a point there. Spencer isn’t exactly glued to his phone like the rest of us mere mortals. But if he has seen it…” She winced, letting the implication hang in the air.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Penelope, please. I’ll never live this down. Can you help me? Just… I don’t know, tell him it was a new protocol or something if you have to.”

Penelope’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Oh, sweetie, you know I love a good cover story. I’ll just tell him we’re testing a new security system or a phone update procedure, and I need to check his device. It’ll buy us some time, at least.”

Relief flooded you, though it was tinged with lingering dread. “You’re a lifesaver, Pen. I owe you big time.”

“Oh, you’ll owe me,” she quipped, already pulling up the tools she needed on her computer. “Now go sit tight while Mama Bear fixes your mess.”

You gave her a weak smile and stepped out of her office, nerves still on edge as you tried to focus on anything but the potential fallout. All you could do now was hope Penelope worked her magic before Spencer’s curiosity—or worse, his notifications—got the better of him.

—

It had been a few weeks since that mortifying ordeal, and life at the BAU had returned to its usual rhythm. You and Spencer were working together like nothing had happened, the two of you exchanging case theories and research notes with the same easy professionalism as always. If he had seen the text, he certainly wasn’t acting like it.

You clung to that thought, reassuring yourself every time you caught him flipping through files or muttering stats under his breath. Spencer wasn’t one to hold back if something was bothering him—if he had read the text, you were sure he would’ve said something by now. Right?

Penelope had assured you she’d taken care of it, spinning some elaborate story about a security test or protocol update to gain access to his phone. “Smooth as butter,” she’d told you with a wink. You had to trust her; if anyone could cover their tracks, it was Penelope Garcia.

Still, there were moments when a flicker of doubt would creep in, especially when you caught Spencer looking at you for a beat too long or when his smile seemed softer than usual. You wondered if he was just being his sweet, considerate self, or if there was some small part of him that knew.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. He was standing next to your desk, holding out a file. “I thought you might want to take a look at this. It’s related to the unsub’s timeline.”

“Oh, thanks,” you said quickly, accepting the file and forcing a smile. Your hands brushed briefly, and though the touch was fleeting, it sent a small jolt through you. You cleared your throat, trying to push the memory of that night further down into the recesses of your mind.

As he walked back to his desk, you let out a slow breath of relief. He was acting normal—maybe even too normal—but you decided to take it as a win. If he hadn’t mentioned anything by now, it probably meant Penelope had pulled off her mission flawlessly.

You could finally move forward, pretending nothing had ever happened. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

—

The team had gathered at the bar once again, and the night was well underway. Laughter filled the air as Penelope and Emily, true to their roles as the team’s biggest shit-stirrers, steered the conversation toward bad hookup stories. One by one, everyone chimed in with their own tales—some embarrassing, others outright hilarious. Even Hotch and Rossi surprised everyone by sharing anecdotes, their typically reserved facades melting away under the influence of camaraderie and alcohol.

You, however, stayed silent, staring intently at your soda and purposefully avoiding Spencer’s gaze. The thought of contributing to the topic sent waves of panic through you. Spencer, sipping his lemonade, seemed just as disinterested in alcohol as you were—although, unlike you, he appeared perfectly calm.

Emily, catching your silence and sensing an opportunity, smirked over the rim of her whiskey glass. “Y/N…” she began, dragging out your name in a voice that instantly made your stomach drop. “What about you? Any bad hookups recently?”

Your eyes widened, and the sip of soda you’d just taken went down the wrong way. You coughed violently, waving a hand to reassure everyone you were fine, even as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. “H-hmm? No,” you managed to croak out, your voice high and strained. “Not, um, not too recently.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as if she could see right through you. “Not too recently?” she repeated, clearly fishing for more. “That’s a very specific answer, don’t you think?”

Penelope leaned in, her knowing grin rattling you further. “Oh, come on, Y/N! Spill it! We’ve all shared—you’re not getting out of this that easily.”

You opened your mouth, scrambling for something—anything—to say that wouldn’t give away the truth. But before you could stammer out a reply, Spencer spoke up, his tone light but pointed.

“Maybe we should let Y/N off the hook,” he said, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking back to his glass. “Not everyone wants to relive their awkward, or boring, moments.”

Your breath hitched, and time seemed to slow. Spencer’s words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been.

"Not everyone wants to relive their awkward, or boring, moments."

The word boring hit you like a brick to the chest, your mind immediately flashing back to the mortifying text you’d mistakenly sent to him weeks ago. Boring. The exact word you’d used to describe your night with him.

Your heart raced as you tried to process what this could mean. Had he seen the text? Was he throwing subtle jabs at you now, letting you know in his own understated way that he was aware of what you’d said? Or—your stomach churned—was this just a terrible coincidence?

You froze, your fingers gripping the edge of your glass as though it were the only thing keeping you grounded. Your face felt hot, and your mind scrambled for something to say, but your voice wouldn’t cooperate. All you could do was glance at him, hoping to read something in his expression, but Spencer didn’t look back at you. Instead, he sipped his lemonade nonchalantly, his face giving nothing away except perhaps the faintest flicker of amusement.

Penelope, blissfully aware of the tension now coursing through you, laughed and waved him off. “Oh, come on, Spencer. You’ve gotta admit, the awkward ones make for the best stories!”

Spencer smiled faintly but didn’t reply, his eyes fixed on the table. You, on the other hand, felt like you were going to combust. Every second stretched painfully as you tried to decipher his intent. Did he know? Had he been holding this over you all this time? If he did know, why hadn’t he said anything? And why bring it up now?

You decided you couldn’t sit there any longer. “Excuse me,” you muttered hastily, standing up and heading toward the bathroom. You needed a moment—just a moment—to breathe and figure out what the hell was happening.

Once inside, you leaned against the sink, gripping the counter as you stared at your reflection. He knows. He definitely knows, you thought, replaying his words over and over in your mind.

But what did that mean for the two of you now? And, more terrifyingly, what was he going to do about it?

When you returned to the table, you were relieved to find that the group had shifted away from the awkward topic of hookups. Instead, they were now swapping stories about their most embarrassing encounters with local law enforcement during cases. The laughter was infectious, and you felt some of the tension ease from your shoulders as you slid back into your seat.

Emily was in the middle of reenacting a particularly mortifying moment where she’d accidentally walked into the wrong briefing room during a case, only to realize it was a police academy class in session. Penelope nearly fell off her chair laughing, and even Hotch cracked a rare smile. You joined in the laughter, grateful for the distraction and the chance to blend back into the group unnoticed.

But even as you laughed, you couldn’t shake the awareness of Spencer’s gaze. It wasn’t obvious, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you felt it—the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long, the way he watched you out of the corner of his vision.

You tried to brush it off as paranoia, convincing yourself you were imagining things, but the weight of his attention was impossible to ignore. Every time you glanced his way, he quickly looked down, pretending to be focused on his drink or the conversation. Yet his subtle smirk betrayed him, like he knew something you didn’t.

Your stomach twisted again, but this time it wasn’t just embarrassment—it was something else, something harder to pin down. Was he amused? Angry? Curious? Or worse… disappointed?

“Y/N,” Emily called, pulling you back to the moment. “What about you? Didn’t you have that one time with the sheriff who thought you were the intern?”

You forced a laugh, grateful for the change of subject. “Oh, God, yes. He spent half the briefing explaining things to me like I’d never heard of basic police work. Then he asked if I could grab him coffee!” The group erupted into laughter again, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to relax, focusing on the good friends around you.

But even in the warmth of the group’s laughter, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Spencer’s gaze. It burned softly, quietly, but with undeniable intensity, leaving you wondering what he was thinking—and what he might be planning to say when the moment came.

After dropping Emily off and driving yourself home, you settled into the comfort of your routine, grateful to put the tension of the evening behind you. You had already changed into pajamas and washed your face when a sharp knock at the door startled you. The hour was late, and your neighborhood wasn’t exactly bustling at night, so caution kicked in immediately. Grabbing your gun—safety on, of course—you crept toward the door and checked the peephole.

The sight of Spencer standing there, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, made you release a heavy sigh. You lowered the gun, unbolting the door and opening it to find him still waiting, his expression a mix of nervousness and determination.

“Spencer?” you asked, blinking at him in surprise. “Why are you here?”

His gaze immediately dropped to the gun still loosely in your grip, and his eyebrows shot up. “Whoa,” he said with a nervous laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I come in peace. I just wanted to talk.”

You shook your head, setting the weapon on the nearby table with a faint smirk. “You picked a great time for it,” you muttered, motioning for him to come inside. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

Spencer stepped past you, his movements careful and deliberate as he crossed the threshold. He paused just inside, glancing around as though he needed to steady himself. Finally, he turned to face you, his hands still tucked in his pockets, his face unreadable.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened, and then tonight…” he began, his voice soft but steady.

Your stomach dropped, and you felt your pulse quicken. “What do you mean?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the doorframe.

His lips twitched—something between a smile and a grimace. “You know exactly what I mean,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto yours. “The way you froze when I said ‘boring.’ The way you’ve been avoiding looking at me for weeks. And the way you bolted when Emily tried to press you about hookups tonight.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but he held up a hand, stopping you.

“I saw the text,” he admitted softly, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again. “The one you meant to send to Emily.”

Your heart sank, and your cheeks flushed with humiliation. “Spencer, I—” you began, but he cut you off again, his voice surprisingly calm.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he continued. “I figured it was your way of processing things, and I didn’t want to make it worse. But after tonight, I realized… maybe we need to talk about it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you tried to gather your thoughts. “Spencer, I didn’t mean for you to see that. I was just… venting. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I know you didn’t. And honestly, I’m not upset—not about what you said, anyway. But it made me think… maybe I didn’t handle things as well as I could have.”

That caught you off guard. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wasn’t exactly at my best that night. I was nervous, and I didn’t know how to… connect with you the way I wanted to. And after seeing that text, I realized I might have made you feel… unimportant. Like it didn’t mean anything to me. But it did.”

His confession left you stunned, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. The vulnerability in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes—it was almost too much.

“Spencer,” you said softly, stepping closer. “I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t realize it mattered to you that much.”

“It does,” Spencer said simply, his voice steady but his eyes searching yours. “And I want to try to redeem myself, if you’ll let me.”

“Redeem yourself?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the words catching in your throat as the air between you grew heavy with anticipation.

Spencer stepped closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you, his movements careful and deliberate. “Yeah,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. His hands found your waist, his touch light but firm as he gently pulled you closer. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, the gesture small but filled with meaning. You felt like you were in a daze, your thoughts scattered as Spencer leaned down, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. Time seemed to slow as his face drew nearer, and then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was different this time—slower, deeper, infused with an unspoken promise. Spencer’s hands slid up your sides, one settling on your lower back, the other moving to cradle the side of your face. You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, then curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened.

It wasn’t rushed, and it wasn’t awkward. It was intentional, every movement speaking of care and consideration. Spencer kissed you like he wanted to show you exactly how much you mattered, how much the moment mattered.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady yourselves. His hand remained on your face, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek.

“Can we take this to the bedroom?” Spencer asked softly, his voice a delicate mixture of nerves and hope. His hand on your waist tightened ever so slightly, grounding both you and him as his hazel eyes searched yours for an answer.

Your heart fluttered at his request, the vulnerability in his expression making the moment feel intimate in a way that words couldn’t quite capture. You nodded, your lips parting slightly as you whispered, “Yeah, we can.”

He exhaled a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, his relief almost palpable. He smiled, that shy but genuine smile that made your chest ache in the best way. Taking your hand in his, he let you lead him toward the bedroom, his fingers entwining with yours in a way that felt so natural, so right.

Once inside, Spencer paused, glancing around as if he were taking in every detail of the space. You felt a rush of warmth in your cheeks, suddenly hyper-aware of your surroundings, but Spencer’s attention quickly returned to you. He reached for you again, his touch gentle as he pulled you close.

“I want to get this right,” he murmured, his voice soft and earnest. His hands slid up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “I don’t want you to ever feel like… like you don’t matter to me.”

The sincerity in his words struck something deep within you, and you leaned into his touch, your hands resting on his chest as you tilted your face up to him. “You don’t have to prove anything, Spencer,” you said quietly.

His lips curved into a small smile, “I want to” he said before he kissed you again, this time with a slow, deliberate tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.

Spencer’s hands trembled slightly as he took his time this time, unhurriedly removing your clothes with a reverence that bordered on worship. Every inch of newly exposed skin was met with a gentle kiss, his lips pressing softly against your collarbone, your shoulders, the curve of your hip. His attention to every detail made your heart race and your skin hum with anticipation.

His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second and show you how much this moment meant to him. He whispered quiet words between kisses—gentle reassurances and praises that made you feel both seen and cherished.

By the time you were completely bare, the tension in your body had melted away, replaced by a growing warmth that seemed to spread from your chest to every corner of your being. Spencer’s hands lingered on your waist, his touch warm and grounding, before he guided you gently to lie down on the bed. His gaze never left yours, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, almost like a prayer, before straightening to remove his own clothes. Piece by piece, he stripped down, his movements still unhurried as though rushing would break the fragile intimacy between you. When he was down to just his briefs, he paused, his expression laced with vulnerability as he looked at you.

Spencer took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he climbed onto the bed in front of you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he leaned down, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before trailing a path along your jaw and down your neck.

This wasn’t rushed or frantic. This wasn’t about proving anything or making up for past mistakes (well, maybe a little bit). This was about connection, about being fully present with each other. Spencer’s touch was gentle but firm, his kisses lingering, his hands exploring every curve and plane of your body as though memorizing you.

“You matter,” Spencer murmured against your skin, the words sending shivers down your spine as they vibrated through you. “This matters.”

“Spencer,” you groaned, your tone half-playful, half-flustered as you turned your head and buried your face in the pillow, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks.

“I mean it,” he said with a soft laugh, his lips brushing tender kisses along the curve of your hips as he began to trail his way downward. His voice was warm and genuine, the sincerity in his words making your heart ache in the best way.

You gasped softly, lifting your head from the pillow to look at him just as his hands gently spread your thighs apart. His gaze was steady but filled with unmistakable affection, the teasing grin on his face doing nothing to disguise the care in his actions.

“No foreplay?” he said, raising an eyebrow as he settled between your legs. His hands caressed your thighs, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your body. “What awful man made you go through that?”

The memory of your drunken text and his earlier words flashed through your mind, and your cheeks flushed even deeper. “Oh my god, Spencer,” you muttered, covering your face with your hands as he laughed softly.

“I’m serious,” he continued, his tone light but laced with playful mockery. “That’s a crime against humanity, honestly. But don’t worry,” he added, his voice dropping lower as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “I’ll make it up to you.”

The words alone sent a shiver through you, but it was the way Spencer looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment—that left you utterly breathless. And as his lips moved closer, you realized with a mix of anticipation and awe that he fully intended to prove it.

The first kiss to your most intimate skin made you yelp in shock, your body jolting at the sudden, unexpected sensation. The sound escaped you before you could even process it, and your hands flew to grip the sheets beneath you as your breath hitched.

“Someone’s sensitive,” Spencer mumbled, his voice low and teasing, the words more directed to your skin than to you. His warm breath against you made your already racing heart stutter. Before you could form a coherent response, he leaned in again, his lips pressing another kiss to your clit, this time followed by a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue.

The sensation was electric, a mix of heat and softness that sent waves of pleasure through your body. You couldn’t stop the soft moan that slipped from your lips, your head falling back against the pillow as Spencer’s hands gripped your thighs gently, holding you in place as he worked.

He moved with an almost studious precision, as though he were memorizing what made you gasp, shiver, or moan. Every touch of his lips, every flick of his tongue, was calculated yet somehow felt achingly natural, like he was simply following the rhythm of your body.

"Mm," he hummed against you, his tone almost smug as he pulled back briefly, his lips glistening. "I knew you'd taste amazing." His voice was warm, filled with an admiration that made your cheeks burn. Then, without giving you time to respond, he dove back in, his tongue and lips working together in a way that left you unable to form a single coherent thought.

You were melting, your body arching into him as your fingers tangled in the sheets. Each sensation was more intense than the last, and you found yourself utterly at his mercy, the rest of the world fading away until only Spencer remained.

And just when you thought the pleasure couldn’t possibly get any better, Spencer added one of his beautiful, long, bony fingers into the mix. The gentle yet deliberate motion of his finger sliding into you sent a shockwave of sensation through your entire body, and you couldn’t hold back the way your back arched off the bed.

“Spencer!” you yelled out, his name tumbling from your lips like a plea, your voice raw with need. The sound seemed to spur him on, and you felt his lips curve into a faint smile against your skin.

“Good?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes, his expression equal parts satisfaction and adoration.

You could barely respond, your words coming out in broken gasps. “Yes—oh my god, yes!”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against you, before he returned his focus to you. His finger moved in perfect rhythm with his tongue, slow and deliberate at first, then gradually picking up a pace that had you completely unraveling beneath him. Every movement was calculated, every flick of his wrist or press of his tongue designed to draw out every sound you made, and you could feel yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

“Spencer…” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your body trembled beneath his relentless attention. You weren’t sure if you were begging him to stop or pleading for him to never stop—maybe both, maybe neither. All you knew was that he was consuming every part of you, and you didn’t want it to end.

When he added a second finger, curling them in just the right way, it pushed you over the edge. The pleasure was overwhelming, crashing over you in waves so powerful that your cries filled the room as your body arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as if you needed to anchor yourself to reality.

Spencer didn’t stop, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you until you were left trembling, breathless, and completely undone beneath him. Only then did he pull back, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as he gave you a moment to catch your breath.

“You’re amazing,” Spencer murmured, his voice filled with a quiet awe as he rested his chin lightly on your hip. His hazel eyes were warm and sincere, and a soft smile tugged at his lips. “Can’t believe I missed out on this last time.”

The compliment, so earnest and sweet, made your cheeks flush. You slung an arm over your eyes, laughing softly, trying to shake off the sudden wave of shyness that washed over you. “Oh my god,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by your arm.

Spencer chuckled, his amusement clear as he pushed himself up and lay down beside you. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and you felt his warmth even before he leaned in close, propping his head up with one hand as he looked down at you with a playful expression. “What’s so funny?” he asked, his tone light, curiosity mingling with amusement.

You moved your arm just enough to peek at him, a lopsided grin still on your face. “I just—wow,” you said, still catching your breath. “I was not expecting that.”

Spencer’s brows lifted in mock surprise, and he placed a hand over his chest in a dramatic gesture. “You doubted me?” he teased, his grin widening.

You laughed again, finally dropping your arm and turning to face him fully. “No, not exactly,” you admitted, biting your lip. “But that was… definitely not what I expected. In the best possible way.”

His expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something gentler. “Good,” he said simply, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “Am I going to get a better review this time?”

You burst out laughing, playfully swatting at his chest. “Mhm,” you teased, unable to keep the grin off your face. “I’ll make sure to tell Em how good her coworker is with his mouth.”

Spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands for a moment before chuckling. “Oh god, please don’t do that,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands before he peeked out at you with a sheepish grin. “Just tell her your boyfriend is better than you previously thought.”

His words hung in the air, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “Boyfriend?” you repeated, your brows raising as you looked at him, searching his face for any sign that he was joking.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed instantly, but he didn’t backpedal. Instead, he held your gaze, his lips twitching into a small, nervous smile. “I mean… if you want me to be,” he said softly, his voice losing some of its usual confidence. “I just thought… maybe this isn’t just a one-time, or two-timw thing. At least, I hope it’s not.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the vulnerability in his voice, and a warmth spread through your chest as you processed his words. You couldn’t help but smile, reaching out to rest a hand on his cheek. “You’re serious?”

Spencer nodded, his hazel eyes filled with sincerity. “Yeah, I am,” he said quietly. “But only if you’re okay with that.”

A smile spread across your face, your fingers brushing against his skin as you leaned in closer. “I think a girl could get used to that,” you whispered.

The relief that washed over Spencer’s face was almost palpable, and he couldn’t hide the wide grin that followed. “Good,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with a newfound certainty that made your heart flutter.

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#kisreadingagain #god i wish this man were real #this was so good

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