dearreidr

[dearreidr]

god i love sweet drunk spencer reid :,) this is SO cute

your drunk roommate

summary: it's your turn to be designated driver for you and your roommate, spencer, after a night out drinking with the bau. you want to have a peaceful night putting spencer to bed, but your drunk (and needy) best friend has other plans.

relationship: spencer reid x female reader

word count: 2.8k

tags: sfw, young adult +, fluff, alcohol & intoxication, suggestive content (kissing & the implication of further intimacy)

c.ai bot

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You’re at a bar with your BAU teammates after finishing a case. Everyone is drinking and having a good time. Well, everyone is drinking except you because it’s your turn to be Designated Driver for you and Spencer, your roommate.

“I love you.”

Spencer’s suddenly serious tone cuts through the playful atmosphere in the booth. You glance sidelong at him, narrowing your eyes playfully at his “confession,” not giving his words much thought considering how inebriated he is. He’s looking at you adoringly with his big puppy eyes, his chin propped against one hand. A lazy, drunken smile spreads across his face when he sees your expression. You know he’s had one too many drinks at this point, and decide to call it quits.

“Okay, time to go,” you declare, sliding out of the booth and holding out your hand for him to take in case he needs support getting up. He swats at your hand and groans.

“Nooo,” he complains, staring into the empty cup in front of him. You consider how to get him moving, and an idea comes to you.

“We can watch Star Wars when we get home,” you promise. Your words clearly tempt him, as his melodramatic annoyance gives way to an excited expression, and he smiles again. You hold out your hand once more and this time, he takes it. You pull him up, say goodbye to the team, and walk closely beside him as he stumbles into the parking lot. After you unlock your car, you drop him as gently as possible into the passenger seat, buckle his seat belt for him, and then walk around the front of the vehicle to slide into the driver’s seat.

As you start driving, Spencer reaches over and pokes your side. You glance at him for a moment and see another lazy grin pulling at his mouth. He chuckles to himself, clearly lost in the enjoyment of an alcohol-induced haze.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, turning your eyes back to the road.

“You,” he replies simply, as if the answer was completely obvious.

“How’s that?” you inquire, telling yourself that you’re merely entertaining his drunk thought process.

“You’re funny…” he drawls, not answering the question. He perks up a little bit in his seat and adds, “And pretty.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” you say flatly, once again urging yourself to not be flustered by his inebriated compliments. He doesn’t mean it. He’s drunk. Get a grip.

“Y’know, you’re my best friend,” Spencer accentuates his claim with another poke to your side. Aaand there it is. Confirmation that he is not in love with you.

“You’re mine too, Spence,” you assure him as you carefully decelerate, approaching a stop sign. Once you’re stopped, you look over at him again, and see that he’s seemingly deep in thought. He has a faraway look in his eyes, but whether that’s caused by the alcohol or whatever’s on his mind, you’re not sure. You warn jokingly as you pull through the intersection, “Careful. Think too hard and you’ll hurt that big brain of yours.”

“Nuh-uh,” Spencer grimaces at the thought.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be hurting in the morning. Don’t worry though, we’ll get you some water before you knock out,” you offer. Spencer pouts at the mere mention of his impending hangover. He slumps in his seat and stares out the passenger-side window.

“Ibuprofen,” he adds.

“And ibuprofen,” you confirm.

“And food?” he asks hopefully, turning to face you once more.

“Sure, Spence. What do you want?” You’re the best roommate ever.

“Hmm…” He hums, staring out the window again, as if the answer will come to him in the form of a passing billboard. “Pancakes.”

You nod to signal that you’ve heard him, and he leans closer to you. He pokes your thigh once before huffing in satisfaction, that same drunken smile pulling at his lips again. 

“Do you want something else, or are you just entertaining yourself?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow skeptically.

“I want cuddles, too,” he requests, as if that is something in which the two of you regularly participate together. Your stomach does an almost imperceptible flip at the hopeful tinge in his voice. Stop it, stomach!

“Get a girlfriend, then. Or a boyfriend. Or a dog,” you retort.

“I don’t want any old boyfriend or girlfriend. I want you,” Spencer says softly, and it’s the most sober he’s sounded all night. Still, you snort, not wanting to admit how excited this confession makes you feel.

“I’m serious,” he claims. You don’t want to give yourself false hope by reading too much into his drunken words, but you can’t help the jolt of excitement you feel at his insistence.

“I’m sure you are,” you reply, trying desperately to bury your desire. Your tone is too flat for Spencer’s liking, and in your peripheral vision, you see him quirk an eyebrow.

“You don’t believe me?” he asks, sounding genuinely offended by your lack of faith.

“I didn’t say that,” you point out, rounding the turn onto your street. Spencer leans almost imperceptibly towards you in this moment, and you can’t be sure whether his movement is due to the curve of the road or simply his apparent interest in you.

“I could prove it,” Spencer declares, and your mind immediately goes into the gutter. You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself before you reply.

“I really don’t think—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I could kiss you right now,” he states, as if he’s discussing something casual and not an action that would completely turn your world upside down. You have to exercise an incredible amount of strength to resist spluttering and stammering and agreeing.

“Spence, you’re drunk,” you remind him as you pull into your complex’s parking garage. You glance sidelong at him as you pull into your parking spot, and watch as he deflates a little in his seat as you deny him.

“But I want to. I really want to,” Spencer insists with a bit of a whine, reaching for his seat belt and fumbling slightly as he tries to unclip it. You put the car in park and turn off the engine, grabbing your keys and reaching over to swiftly unlock his seat belt for him. 

“You never say this when you’re sober,” you say, climbing out of the car and rounding the vehicle to help him out of his seat. He props open the door as you move, continuing to argue with you.

“Because I’m too chickenshit! Doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” he exclaims, obediently taking your hand when you offer it to him. He stumbles just as much exiting the car as he did entering, so you wrap a supportive arm around his waist. He grins sleepily and looks down at you, being incredibly obvious about staring at your lips. You feel a surge of warmth in your stomach, but suppress the feeling and roll your eyes, beginning to guide the two of you towards the elevator.

“Are you gonna remember this tomorrow, do you think?” you question, calling the elevator. There is a moment of silence that is filled by the sound of the elevator descending into the garage, and then the door clicks open and Spencer responds.

“Yeah, I think so,” he replies. He doesn’t sound too sure of himself, but this gives you an opening to express your interest in an appropriate way.

“Then kiss me when you’re sober,” you offer, guiding the two of you into the elevator. The door shuts behind you, and as you’re pressing the button for your floor, Spencer momentarily sobers up, pulling away from you with an incredulous—and thrilled—expression.

“...You’d let me?” he asks quietly, as if he can’t believe his luck. You’re surprised that his inebriated brain even fully processed the weight of what you were saying, but now you’ve confessed your feelings, and you’re feeling too brave to take back what you said. 

“Yeah, Spence.”

His mouth drops into a surprised “o”, and you really have to resist the urge to kiss that look right off his face. God, he’s so cute. This time, it takes him a second to recover from his shock and when he does, he nods solemnly, his face set with determination.

“...Okay. I’ll wait. But that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about all the things I wanna do to you—”

“Spencer,” you cut him off with a warning tone, though admittedly, you really would like to hear how he finishes that sentence. Another time, for sure.

“Sorry.” He replies, though he doesn’t seem genuinely apologetic at all. “Does this mean we can cuddle tonight?”

“No,” you decline as the elevator reaches your floor and the two of you begin your trek down the hall to your apartment. Spencer is silent for a moment, seemingly deep in contemplation as you unlock the door.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because you only brought up the idea of cuddling when you were already drunk,” you point out, pulling him inside and locking the door behind the two of you. You move to deposit Spencer on the couch, and he flops down with a dramatic “oomph”. 

“You’re so stubborn,” he complains, his gaze trailing longingly after you as you move around the living room, removing your shoes by the door and heading towards the kitchen to grab him some water and headache medication. You have to suppress a chuckle as he looks down at his shoes and a pout forms on his face. He looks just like a little kid, and you find it adorable. He slumps over, tugging at the laces as he tries to remove his shoes.

“I’ll get those,” you say with a snort. “Just sit there for a sec.”

You head into the kitchen, filling a cup of water and grabbing some Tylenol from the cabinet. When you return to the living room, you look down at Spencer slumped on the sofa, and you place the water and medicine on the table beside him. 

“I think you mean to say that I’m such a good person for not taking advantage of your drunken whims,” you reply, referring to his “stubborn” comment from a moment ago. 

“You could take advantage of them,” he says with a smirk, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Ugh, don’t joke like that,” you groan, heading back to the kitchen to make the food you promised him earlier. 

“Maybe I wasn’t joking!” he calls after you. 

“I’m getting you pancakes and putting you to bed,” you declare, ignoring his comment. You grab a whisk and rummage through the pantry, searching for the ingredients you need to make pancakes from scratch. Suddenly, Spencer appears in the doorway, leaning heavily against it for support. 

“Counter-offer, you get in my bed with me,” he murmurs, the smirk never leaving his face. You point the whisk in your hand at him accusingly, secretly enjoying his blatant flirting but not wanting to entertain it while he’s drunk. 

“In your dreams,” you retort, returning to your search for ingredients. You freeze when you hear his sassy yet serious reply.

“Usually.”

===

It’s early the next morning, and you’re awoken by a soft knock on your bedroom door. It takes you a moment to get your bearings, but once you do, you feel a pang of affection in your chest, remembering how Spencer had acted the night before. After making him food, you had put him to bed and he had complained extensively about your refusal to snuggle with him. You had gone to your room and laid there for what felt like hours, reflecting on his drunken admissions and how you were certain that you would be back to reality the next day. You assume that he’s coming to apologize for his words now that he’s sobered up… there’s no way he actually likes you back. Right?

“Hey, you awake in there?” his soft, sleepy voice calls from outside the door. 

“Mhm,” you reply quietly, sitting up and stretching, preparing to have what you’re sure will be a devastating and embarrassing conversation for you. Especially if he remembers how desperate you sounded when you practically begged him to kiss you while sober. You can picture him pacing on the other side of the door, trying to figure out how to break the news to you as gently as possible that he didn’t mean what he said last night.

“Look, about what I said last night…” he starts. You get up and open the door, shaking your head emphatically, trying to seem understanding. He trails off with an obvious twinge of nervousness in his voice when he sees you, and his eyes search your face. Probably trying to figure out how pissed you’ll be when he breaks your heart.

“It’s okay. You were drunk, it’s forgotten—” you attempt to reassure him, but he cuts you off.

“I meant it.”

Wait… what?

“You… did?” you whisper. Surely your jaw is on the floor at this point. There’s no way. There’s no freaking way that you just heard him correctly. Oh God, what the hell happened while you were sleeping to ruin your auditory processing skills?

“I didn’t mean to tell you like that, but… yes,” he admits, a pink flush creeping onto his cheeks as he meets your gaze. You can see it in his eyes; he really means this. 

OhmygodohmygodohmygodthankyouJesus…

“You…” you stammer, suddenly unsure how to finish your sentence. Any sentence, really. Why is it so hard to talk? Is it hot in here? What’s going on?

Spencer LOVES you?!

HUH???

Spencer’s hesitant voice interrupts your frantic thoughts.

“There was something else. Something you said last night?” he asks, scuffing his foot on the carpet outside your door. You’re still riding the high of his confession—his sober confession!—that you can’t even remember what he’s referring to. 

“Yeah?” you ask, hoping that he’ll help you out with some clarification here.

“Well, you said I could kiss you when I sobered up…” he explains, his tone not giving away anything regarding his thoughts on your statement.

Oh, right. That…

“I guess I did,” you reply, trying to remain indifferent in case this is where you get rejected.

But if he LOVES you…

“Did you mean that?” he asks, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but there seems to be a little spark of hope in his eyes. Okay, well, he already remembers the fact that you even suggested it in the first place. Surely there’s not much more to lose if you’re honest here…?

“...Yeah,” you confess quietly. “I meant that.”

“You swear?” he inquires, and now the hope is undoubtedly filling his words, too. Your confidence is bolstered by the gradual acceptance that your feelings are being reciprocated. 

“Yes,” you affirm, louder and more boldly than before. Spencer seems to instantly relax, a warm smile gracing his lips. 

“Good,” he says with a slight nod of his head. He looks at you intently as he adds, “‘Cause I was serious when I said I wanted to.”

He takes the tiniest step towards you, barely crossing the threshold to your room. If you just tilted your head up to him, just a little bit…

Before you even have time to consider your next action, Spencer has leaned down and gently brushed his lips against yours. Your eyes flutter shut and your hands instinctively move to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. You barely perceive his hands slipping to your waist, too enamored by the feeling of finally getting to kiss him. Your lips move against each other in perfect synchronization, and you feel affection rising in your chest once more. You can’t believe that this is really happening.

The kiss is soft and passionate, as if Spencer is pouring all of his love for you into this singular action. You kiss until you’re both out of breath, and you pull away in unison. Spencer rests his forehead against yours, his breathing slightly labored as a ridiculously excited grin spreads across his face. Your hands are still resting behind his neck, and you brush your thumbs gently across his skin, reveling in the feeling of the goosebumps that rise in response to your touch. 

He pulls away just slightly and gingerly cups your chin with one hand, the other still resting on your waist. His touch is a gentle caress along your jaw, and then, he’s leaning in again and pressing another soft kiss to your lips. It’s nothing more than a peck, but it makes your insides melt with elation. This time, when he pulls away, his gaze is flitting between your eyes and your lips, as if he’s asking for more. Teasingly, his words laced with suggestion, he asks:

“Any chance I can get those cuddles now?”

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i hope you enjoyed! this is my first one-shot i've written :) please send me feedback and/or requests for future writing!

[dearreidr]

i LOVE early season inexperienced spencer reid with such a deep passion it is not normal

this is brilliant 😁😁😁

Inexperienced

In which Spencer mentions to his girlfriend a conversion he and Derek had about sex that leads to Spencer’s first time with reader. (smut!)

word count: 2.1k

tags: early seasons Spencer, inexperienced Spencer, glasses Spencer, love, couple, first time, sex, oral sex, blow job, male receiving, fingering, fem reader, small plot, porn without much plot, aftercare, cuddling, falling asleep together, sharing clothes, Spencer turned on by you in his clothes, pulling hair, messy, talking through it, small praise kink

warnings: 18+ SMUT! Oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), Spencer finishes in reader’s face.

notes: I think this is the first time i’ve ever written a blow job so if it’s bad i’m so sorry. Hope you horny people enjoy.

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Your legs were draped across Spencer’s lap as he ran a hand up and down them unconsciously as you were both engrossed in a crime documentary. 

“Morgan and I got into a conversation about umm oral sex today. He asked me how my first experience was,” Spencer said without looking away from the TV and stuttering slightly about what terminology to use that would be less crude. 

“Giving or receiving?” You replied wanting to know where this was going.

“Receiving.” 

“So you were discussing blow jobs,” You asked. 

“I suppose yes,” Spencer said, his face going a bit red.

“And how was your first one?” You asked. 

“That’s the thing… I haven’t had one before.”

You looked over at him, “Never?” 

“Never, I told you on our third date that I was a virgin,” Spencer said finally looking at you. 

“Yes, but I didn’t know that included those kinds of things. You’ve never had anything or done anything to anyone?” 

“Nope, nothing.”

“Are you curious? I don’t need us to have sex by the way I’m fine without it. I’m just checking in to see where you’re at,” You gave him a comforting smile. 

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

“Okay,” You paused the TV, “take your time.”

“I think I’d like to try it?” Spencer said but it sounded more like a question.

“You’d like me to give you a blow job?” 

Spencer coughed awkwardly, “Yes…please, only if you’re comfortable of course. And I would like to do something for you.”

“I’m comfortable, Spence, I’d be more than happy to do that for you. What would you like to do to me?”

“I’m not sure,” He bit the inside of his mouth.

“That’s okay, We can start with you. Did you want to do it now?” You asked.

“Maybe later tonight if you’re staying over?” The man had a hopeful smile on his face. 

“Of course, I’ll stay you know I adore waking up next to you .”

——————

“Are you tired?” Spencer asked as you began to undress for bed.

“A little,” You said, pulling one of his oversized t-shirts over your almost naked body.

“Okay that’s fine,” He said back fiddling with the page of his book. 

“Did you want something, Spence? We need to get this communication thing right and to do that you have to speak to me.”

“I know, I was just wondering if you wanted to do it now,” He asked shyly.

“Do what?” You seemed confused before remembering your conversation from earlier, “Ohhhh, you want a blow job now.”

“Umm,” he rubbed his neck, “Yes, you’re really pretty and you look good in my shirt…”

“You’re turned on by me wearing your clothes?” 

“Well yes, you look good in my clothes.”

You grabbed a hair tie from the bedside table on the side you slept on and pulled your hair back into a quick messy ponytail. 

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked his voice cracking towards the end.

“Putting my hair up so it doesn’t get in the way.”

“You’re actually gonna-“

“Spence if you want this then I want to do it,” You reminded him.

“Okay,.. uhh yeah I want it.”

“Do you want to take my shirt off?” 

Spencer nodded his head quickly already reaching out toward you. You moved closer to him until his hands made contact with the hem of your shirt. 

He took his time lifting your shirt off slowly while your hands rested on the waistband of his checked pyjama bottoms. 

Once your shirt was fully off his eyes were glued to your breasts while his fingers gently brushed against each swell.

“You’ve seen them before baby,” You giggled, you always enjoyed how he touched your chest and you couldn’t wait for him to finally touch you in other places.

“I know but they’re beautiful,” He massaged your nipples with his thumbs. 

“Can you take your pants off?” Spencer obeyed you almost immediately getting up from the bed and removing them.

He took his boxers off not even a second later. His cheeks flushed a light pink at how hard his dick was as it sprung out of the boxers, “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? Come here.” 

Spencer took a couple of steps to reach the bed where he was now standing in front of you. You knelt on the bed reaching your neck up and placing a kiss on his lips, “You’re perfect.”

“Thank you,” He replied in a timid tone. 

“Sit,” You pat a spot on the bed before standing up. 

Spencer once again obliged as you got on your knees in front of him, “Are you okay?” You checked in with him. 

“Yeah, I think so, are you?” 

“Yes babe I’m good,” He was the sweetest man ever of course you knew he would check on you too despite knowing you’d done this more than once, “Don’t hold back with anything, I like having my hair pulled.”

Spencer’s eyes widened a little, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. Are you ready?” 

Spencer nodded before your lips met the tip of his dick. You left a small kiss there, his pre cum spreading onto your lips. 

You heard him whimper as your mouth closed around him. 

After just one suck, Spencer was taking deep breaths, moans leaving his mouth every time he opened it. 

“Oh my god,” He managed through breaths.

You placed your hands on his thighs taking him deep and sucking harder. One of his hands was firmly gripped the edge of the bed while the other had made its way to your hair which he pulled but only lightly. 

You hummed before swirling your tongue around the tip and licking up the underside. 

“Fuck, I don’t think I can hold it,” He groaned but that only egged you on more. 

“I can’t-“ He cut himself off with a moan as you swirled your tongue faster. 

His dick twitched inside your mouth indicating he was close and just as you were sure he was about to cum in your mouth he pulled out of your mouth as he orgasmed. His cum going over your face and breasts.

“Spencer!”

“Oh my god, I'm so so sorry that wasn’t meant to happen.” 

“Why didn’t you finish in my mouth? Now I’m messy,” You groaned, you didn’t want to make too much of a deal out of it because you didn’t want him to feel bad. 

“I didn’t know if you’d want that…”

“Of course, I didn’t really want it over my face,” You reached for the tissue box on the bedside table. 

“Did you know semen actually has many health benefits, especially for the skin? Some people believe it helps with ageing and acne but there is no scientific proof to support it,” Spencer rambled between breaths.

“Are you saying I have bad skin?” You laughed.

“What no! Of course not.”

“I’m teasing honey, next time please just finish in my mouth,” You got up from your knees climbing up onto the bed and laying on her side of the bed beside him.

“Can I still… You know, do you?” He asked after nodding in response.

“Now?”

“Please?” 

“If you want to, I don’t want you to feel like you have to though,” You ran your fingertips over his arm.

“I don’t feel like I have to I just want to do it.” 

Spencer started moving so you bent your knees and opened them to make some room in front of you.

“You’re so beautiful,” He said running his thumb from your hip to the top of your low-rise black lace underwear.

“Thanks, baby,” You reached a hand out running your fingers through it.

“Can I take those off?” He asked rubbing the waistband of the panties.

“Yes, whenever you like,” You smiled, biting your lip, you had thought about this for a while, his hands were one of your favourite things about him just from the way he held you or even from the way he tracked the page when he read so you knew after this you’d like them a lot more.

He pulled the underwear off throwing them to the floor. He rested his hands on the apex of both of your thighs opening them a little more. 

“What do you want me to do next?” He asked before placing some kisses on your lips,

“Touch me… please.”

Spencer ran one of his thumbs over your folds from the entrance and upwards but stopped before reaching your clit, “Like this?”

“Uh huh,” You squirmed in your place on the bed making Spencer’s grip tighten on your thigh. 

He moved his thumb away but immediately replaced it with his middle and ring finger making the same motion as before.

His two fingers grazed your clit, pushing down on it lightly, “How do you like it?” 

“Anyway,” You groaned.

“Circular motion?” 

You nodded, “Yes, uh huh.”

He started with slow circles but gradually got faster and harder with it as his confidence grew.

You moaned, “Yes! Spence. Inside please!”

Spencer slid two of his fingers into you stretching you apart.

“Spencer! Slow ow,” Your eyes widened.

He removed them, “Sorry! I got too confident.”

“It’s okay you were doing so well, just start with one I’ll tell you when I’m ready for two.”

Spencer spread your wetness around your folds coating his fingers in it, “Ready?” 

“Yes.”

He slid one finger inside of you, moving it in and out slowly to help you adjust, the tip nudging your G-spot when he pushed in.

“Add another one!” You panted through moans.

Spencer did as you wished pushing it inside. Stilling both fingers for a moment until you were ready to have him move them. 

The feeling of his fingers being buried in your warm walls was something he could get addicted to easily. He could also get addicted to the way your face contorted with pleasure when he hit the right spots. 

“Move, please,” Your eyes fluttered shut as you spoke. 

Spencer moved his fingers slowly until he found your G-spot. Your moans gave him the confidence he needed to speed up.

Once he added his thumb into the mix using it to rub circles on your clit while still stroking the spot inside of you, your moans got louder and you helped him by moving your hips to ride his fingers.

“I’m so close baby,” You groaned between breaths.

Spencer felt your walls tighten around his fingers as he moved them in a hooking motion sticking to the same pace though he remembered reading something about women not needing a man to go faster when they are close but to stick to exactly what they’re doing.

“Spence!” You called out before sucking in a deep breath as you came around his fingers. 

He knew not to remove his fingers immediately so he slowly pumped them in and out to help you through your orgasm until you got your breath back.

Once your eyes opened and your breaths had regulated he gently pulled his fingers out of you earning a whine from you at the loss.

Spencer inspected his glistening fingers and blushed, “Did I do good?”

“Oh so good babe, really good,” You propped yourself up on your elbows to kiss him.

“Can I try it?” He nodded his head towards his fingers.

“If you want to?”

Spencer cleaned his fingers off in his mouth, groaning at the taste, “You taste amazing, I can’t wait to do that again. You’re so beautiful like this, sweat glistening on your skin, messy hair, your eyes sparkling.”

“Stop,” You blushed, “I love you.”

“I love you too, but you should probably go to the bathroom to help reduce the risk of a UTI and then we should try to get some sleep,” He said stroking the side of your hair.

“I know honey, just give me a second.”

Eventually, you left the bed to go and everything you needed before you went to sleep. 

When you came back into the bedroom Spencer was lying in bed without his shirt on and the main light off. 

“I like your hair when you actually wash it,” You joked getting in the bed next to him. 

“I always wash it! I just put gel in for work, it looks more professional,” he scrunched his nose as the bridge of his glasses fell down. 

“It looks greasy honey,” You kissed the side of his head. 

“I’ll put less in,” He groaned, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head into the crook of your neck, “Goodnight,” He left a kiss near your collarbone, “Thank you for tonight.”

“You don’t have to thank me, I love you, sleep well,” You kissed the top of his head and waited for him to fall asleep before you did.

—————————🖤————————-

[dearreidr]

this is so cute i actually have tears in my eyes he would be the best dad :,) everyone go read this NOW please

Bun in the Oven

In which Spencer’s influencer girlfriend announced her pregnancy (Fluff!) Soon to be dad Spencer x influencer soon to be mom reader

word count: 1.8k

tags: dad!spencer, mom!reader, pregnant reader, influencer reader, Instagram, pregnancy reveal, pregnancy announcement, couple, in love, relationship, BAU, behavioural analysis unit, girl mom, gathering, party, family, friends, aesthetic, Elle greenaway, Jennifer jareau, jelle, Penelope Garcia.

warnings: none! fluffyyyy

notes: I have changed my layout I usually use a GIF but I am running out lol. There will probably be a part 2 to this. I hope you enjoy!

—————————💓————————-

You and Spencer had kept your relationship a secret from his friends for a couple of months when you started dating but the secrecy didn’t last long because of your large following on social media.

While your fans couldn’t tell who Spencer was based on the pictures you had posted, his friends specifically Penelope and Elle who were apparently pretty big fans of yours didn’t take long to figure out that you were Spencer’s secret girlfriend and he was their favourite influencers mystery boyfriend.

You still hadn’t posted anything with Spencer’s face in or tagged him in anything partly because he only made an Instagram account solely to look at your pictures and follow a select few members of the BAU team.

When you met Spencer it wasn’t exactly a coincidence, you had seen Elle’s Instagram come up on your explore page before, and after a quick look at her feed, you’d seen a picture of Spencer at a coffee shop you visited occasionally.

You became a regular at that coffee shop, the green tea and strawberry matcha were both exceptionally nice and seeing the brown puppy-eyed FBI agent was a bonus of the trips.

After realising, that despite you both locking eyes each time you saw each other, he wasn’t going to be the one that made the first move. You sat at his table one day while he was lost in a sudoku puzzle. Now you had been dating for close to three years, and neither of you could be happier.

“Oh my god!” Penelope shrieked from her tech den, “Elle!”

Elle rounded the corner standing in the doorway hand in hand with JJ, “What is it? It’s only,” Elle looked down at her watch, “8:25 in the morning.”

“Did you see her post!” Penelope still spoke at a high volume that really wasn’t needed for this early in the morning.

“Whose?” JJ asked her eyebrows knitted together.

“Y/N’s! Look,” Penelope ushered them in with the motion of her hand signalling for them to come closer.

On the screen in front of her was your most recent Instagram post.

Elle covered her mouth with her hands after she let out a small gasp.

“No way! That’s great,” JJ exclaimed happily.

“He’s going to be the best dad!” Penelope started, “And obviously she’s going to be the best mom.”

“Spence is so great with kids,” Elle smiled widely.

“He’s great with Henry, Micheal and Isabelle,” JJ said quickly getting up a picture from a day when Spencer babysat for her and Elle.

“And Jack,” Elle added.

When they heard Spencer’s voice coming from the bullpen they were quick to call him in at the same time.

“Ladies,” Spencer said when he reached the doorway with a coffee in his hand.

“When were you going to tell us!” Penelope shouted at him.

“Tell you what?” Spencer said flustered trying not to let his face show that he had a secret.

“That Y/N is pregnant, that you’re going to be a dad?” Elle said.

“How did you know?” Spencer asked rubbing the back of his neck.

“Instagram duh,” Penelope rolled her eyes.

Spencer groaned, “She was supposed to mute you, apparently that’s something on Instagram. We had something planned.”

“Oh,” Elle frowned slightly.

“I’m sorry for ruining it,” Penelope pouted.

“There’s a gathering at our place on Friday, Please act surprised when she tells you and please stop anyone else from finding out,” Spencer pleaded with her.

“On it,” Penelope said as she started taping at her keyboard at the speed of light.

Luckily Friday came with no one else finding out. Everyone was at yours and Spencer’s apartment, you had decided that while you both had enough money you wanted to wait until you were engaged before buying a house, the apartment was large enough for three by all means.

Spencer had his arms wrapped around your waist and his hands rested on your stomach almost immediately after you had revealed the news to his co-workers.

They were all delighted that you were pregnant although you could tell by Penelope’s not-so-ecstatic reaction that she already knew, that’s when you remembered you forgot to mute them from your Instagram.

“Baby I messed up,” You turned and pouted at Spencer.

“What’s wrong angel?” Spencer asked moving one of his hands to play with the ends of your hair.

“I didn’t mute them from my Instagram, they already knew. I should have just waited to tell people I ruined it,” You frowned with tears in your eyes. It really wasn’t as big a deal as you were making it to be right now but it was most likely the hormones.

“It’s okay darling,” Spencer kissed the top of your head, “I’ll admit, I knew Penelope, Elle and JJ knew but I promise they were the only ones and I made sure no one else found out.”

“Why didn't you tell me they knew!” You folded your arms.

“Because I knew how excited you were about surprising everyone and I didn’t want to ruin that for you.”

You groaned, “You’re such a good boyfriend I can’t even be mad.”

“Well thank goodness because I don’t want you to be mad at me,” Spencer laughed, his hands returning to your stomach.

“You can’t even tell in most clothes yet,” You stated.

“That’s true but I know our baby is there.”

Penelope came skipping toward you both, “Stop hogging her Spencer, we need girl time.”

“I’m just taking care of her,” Spencer looked into your eyes with love.

“Boring, you can do that later we need to gossip,” Penelope took your hand and dragged you towards the kitchen where Elle was.

As soon as the door was closed Penelope started playing rapid fire with her questions, “When are you and Spencer getting married? Do you want a boy or a girl? Oh, who cares either it will be gorgeous. Ooo when are you telling your fans who Spencer is?”

“Okay,” You laugh, “What happened to one question at a time?”

“You’ll have to excuse her she’s a little crazy,” Elle laughed pulling you into a hug, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, um the questions so… I’m not sure we will get married when we are ready, I would love a daughter of course but I would also love to have a boy. Spencer thinks it’s a girl based on my bump. I don’t have a plan on telling my fans who Spence is I don’t think it’s important and as you both already know keeping a low profile is important for FBI agents.”

Elle nods, “All valid points, I don’t think Spencer would want to be on social media like that.”

“You’re right,” Penelope said.

You nodded picking up a piece of chocolate cake from the tray on the counter.

“You’re going to be the best and hottest parents ever,” Penelope squealed.

“Thank you,” You said sitting down on one of the seats at the breakfast bar, “I’m so tired.”

“Have you not been sleeping well?” Elle asked concerned.

“I get a little nausea at night and it’s definitely worse when I’m worrying about Spence too I’m just thankful he has been teaching and hasn’t gone on as many cases lately.”

Elle frowned and rubbed your back, “I get it, it’s a demanding job but if you speak to Spencer I’m sure he’ll think of something, like doing more case files at home instead.”

“I’m going to get Spencer,” Penelope said.

“No you don’t have to,” You started but by the time you finished the words Penelope had left the kitchen.

Penelope came back into the kitchen with Spencer following behind her with a worried look covering his face making the wrinkles in his forehead more prominent.

“What’s wrong darling?” He asked.

“I’m just tired.”

“You need to rest I’ll wrap things up and then we will rest together sweetheart. How does that sound?” Spencer kissed your head.

“It sounds good but I feel bad they haven’t been here long and they are your friends,” you frowned.

“Honey, I don’t care if they had only just walked through the door, if you’re not up to it they can leave,” He rubbed your back lovingly.

“I just want hugs,” You whispered but loud enough for him to hear and the two women in the room to go ‘Awww.’

“Come here,” Spencer helped you up from the chair and instantly wrapped his arms around you.

“I need to do my Instagram post,” You groaned into his neck as you looked at the clock on the kitchen wall.

“Let’s sit on the sofa, we can choose some pictures together,” He locked his fingers with yours as you walked into the living room together.

JJ spotted Elle across the room and made her way over to her wife, “She looks exhausted.”

“She is, she feels bad about everyone having to leave though,” Elle said wrapping her arms around JJ’s waist.

You rested your head on Spencer’s shoulder as you scrolled through your camera roll.

“How about that one, you look gorgeous,” Spencer kissed the side of your head before his phone dinged with a message. He took his phone out of his pocket and read the message from JJ that said ‘Elle and I will start asking people to leave :)’ Spencer smiled and liked the message and put it away before you could see.

“Hm, maybe. I want one of us though.”

“I think some of us are going to head out now, we have the kids to pick up,” JJ told the pair after making her way around the small group of people there.

“Are you sure?” You asked.

“Yeah, we can all hang out another day, and get some rest. I’ll send you some pictures of Isabella at her school show tonight,” JJ leaned down and hugged you.

“Oh please do!” You exclaimed, “Bye guys, I hope you had fun, sorry I wasn’t much fun to be around.”

Elle kissed the top of your head, “You were fine, we understand, have a nap.”

“It was still fun, you’re always fun, we love you guys,” Penelope said heading towards the door with Derek after he said goodbye to you and Spencer.

——————

“Have you chosen the pictures yet honey?” Spencer asked bringing two cups of peppermint tea into the living room.

“Yep and posted, I think you’ll like them,” You smiled, snuggling closer to him as he picked up his phone to look at your post.

“Do you ever read the comments?” He asked after leaving his own comment on the post.

“Sometimes, I like a few of the comments but people can be mean and there’s always people speculating who you are.”

“You know you can mention me, I wouldn’t mind. My account is private and I’d never have my full name on there so it’s mostly safe,” Spencer looked at a couple of comments with his phone in one hand and his other hand rested on your stomach.

“Really?” You asked excitedly already picking up your phone to tag him in the picture.

Spencer nodded, giving you a soft kiss on your lips, “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

—————————-💓————————

[dearreidr]

what the FAWWWWWWK this is insane

MARKED TERRITORY - A.H x Reader x S.R

About: After that fateful encounter in Hotch’s office, a few weeks later you’re all on a case. Spencer decides he’s had enough waiting and visits yours and Aaron’s hotel room.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, threesomes, blowjobs, oral (f), fingering (f), masturbation (m), dom!aaron, switch!reader, switch!spencer, loss of virginity (spencer’s), talking through it, boys kissing, etc. NOT PROOF READ because this is 5k of PORN.

A/N: This is part two of Unknown Territory! I just wanted to make a comment and say that I do not ship hotchreid but I do fantasize about getting fucked by them both while they also fuck each other in front of me. So live your slutty truths homegirls and let the demons consume you. If you don’t like, don’t read! Don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all! Border was made by my homegirl @esote-rika because I love her.

Word Count: 5.3k words

After that fateful encounter that night in Aaron’s office, you could not stop thinking about it. The way you felt while Aaron was pounding into you, the way Spencer’s cock felt in your hand, the way your lips felt on Spencer’s, you wanted nothing more than to do it again. You wanted Spencer’s cock inside of you so badly. It had been a few weeks since the encounter, everyone had been so busy with cases upon cases that none of you were able to really sit down and discuss anything.

You only had time alone with Aaron which wasn’t really surprising as the two of you had already a pretty good dynamic going on. However, one night you had whined to Aaron about how much you wanted Spencer, and Aaron couldn’t deny that he wanted it too. The way the three of you meshed well together just seemed…natural. It was inevitable that the three of you would end up sleeping together.

So you had spent the past few weeks teasing Spencer—small compliments about how good he looked in his sweater and lingering gazes into each other’s eyes. Aaron would pat Spencer’s shoulder when he did well, praising him for the good work he’d done. And you would rest a hand on Spencer’s thigh occasionally when no one was looking, causing the boy’s breath to hitch.

It was no wonder that one day, while on a case out in Los Angeles, at the hotel, Spencer came to yours’ and Aaron’s hotel room dressed in nothing but a thin pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. Completely out of the ordinary than his usual sweater vests and cardigans that he usually wore. When you had opened the door, freshly out of the shower in a silk nightgown, Spencer invited himself into the room, looking at you and Aaron, sitting leisurely against the bed's headboard, reading a file.

“You guys are unfair,” Was the first thing to leave Spencer’s lips after he had closed the door behind himself.

Aaron quirked an eyebrow, looking at Spencer. “How are we unfair, Reid?” He asked in his usual velvety voice, tilting his head ever so slightly.

Spencer glanced at Aaron and then at you, not-so-subtly checking you out. “I-” He paused as he tried to collect his thoughts, furrowing his eyebrows. “You guys have been…teasing me since that…night,” He said weakly, meeting your eyes.

You let out a tiny giggle, unable to help yourself. “What night?” You asked, feigning innocence. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific. There are many nights in a year.” You were standing next to Spencer.

Aaron hummed in agreement, closing the file and standing up off of the bed. He walked over to the two of you. “She’s right, Reid, you’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Aaron said in a teasing tone.

Spencer let out a small whine of frustration, realizing that the two of you were going to keep teasing him. “T-that night,” He swallowed, feeling dizzy. His heart was pounding as the memories of that fateful night roamed around in his brain rent-free. “When we-” He stuttered. “When you-” Spencer let out a groan in frustration. The only thing making you guys take pity on him was the obvious hard-on that Spencer was sporting, his cock straining almost painfully in his pants.

“What do you want, baby?” You asked softly, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder.

He looked at you with his beautiful brown doe eyes, licking his lips. “You,” He whispered. “And you,” He looked over at Aaron.

You gave Spencer a hum of acknowledgment, moving your hand to graze his chest. “What do you want from us?” You asked gently. Aaron was watching the interaction with a small smirk on his lips.

Spencer let out a shaky breath as your hand moved on his chest. “I-I want to learn,” He whispered. “To please you, to feel you.”

You glanced at Aaron, biting your lip in a small question. He simply nodded his head at you, a subtle sign for you to keep going. You moved your gaze back to Spencer. “So you want to lose your virginity, Spence?” Your tone held that same gentleness from before, giving Spencer a sense of comfort.

He nodded his head, looking at you with parted lips. “I-if that’s okay,” He whispered, looking at Aaron. He wasn’t entirely sure what your dynamic was. Whether the two of you were in a genuine relationship or if you were just being intimate with one another. You didn’t really know the answer to that either. You just knew that what you and Aaron had was enjoyable and that’s all either of you needed to know.

Aaron approached Spencer, standing behind him, causing Spencer to be entrapped in the middle by the two of you. “You want to fuck Y/N?” Aaron murmured into Spencer’s ear, sending a shiver down the genius’ spine. “Want to pleasure her as well as I can?” Spencer nodded his head again. Aaron tsked, putting a hand on the back of Spencer’s neck. “You need to use your words.” He commanded.

Spencer let out a tiny whimper, unable to help the noise from escaping his lips. “Y-yes,” He stuttered, maintaining eye contact with you.

“Good boy,” You replied, giving Spencer a small smile as you praised him. You saw how Spencer’s pupils dilated from the praise and how his cheeks reddened more than they already were. You grabbed Spencer’s collar, pulling him towards you as you placed your lips on his. The two of you kissed one another deeply and hungrily, just like you did a few weeks ago. And after a few moments, you pulled away. “Do you want me to stop?” You asked breathily.

“Just the opposite,” Spencer replied hurriedly.

So you kissed him again, this time with more passion as your hold on Spencer’s collar loosened. Your lips moved in sync as you bit his bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore his mouth with your tongue. Spencer parted his lips and made a soft noise, allowing you to do so. Your tongue explored him, tasting the inside of his mouth.

After a little while, you pulled away to look at Spencer. Aaron turned Spencer’s head to the side, immediately attaching his lips to the genius’. You watched for a moment, seeing how Aaron and Spencer kissed one another quite hungrily. You couldn’t help the way your thighs clenched as you felt your pussy throb at the sight. You licked your lips as your hands trailed along Spencer’s torso, reaching the waistband of his pajama pants.

Spencer let out a small gasp in the kiss with Aaron as he felt your hands pull down his pants, his cock springing free from the confines. He was already so hard, his cock red and angry. Being the kind and amazing person that you were, you dropped to your knees in front of Spencer. He pulled away from the kiss with Aaron to look down at you, his brown eyes wide and blown out.

Aaron cooed, looking down at you before looking at Spencer again. “See that, Spencer,” He murmured into the younger’s ear. “She wants to make you feel good. Will you let her?” Aaron’s voice was sultry and smooth as he spoke.

“Y-yes,” Spencer whispered, licking his lips as he looked down at you.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you,” Aaron replied, smirking at you as he spoke to Spencer.

Spencer let out a small whine as you ran a ghost of a fingertip from the base of his cock to the tip. “Yes,” Spencer gasped, speaking a bit louder.

“Good boy,” Aaron murmured as he leaned down to press small kisses along Spencer’s neck.

You grinned at the two of them before wrapping your hand around Spencer’s cock. You slowly moved your hand upward, giving it a few experimental tugs. And then you leaned forward, giving the tip of Spencer’s cock a kiss, causing Spencer’s breath to hitch once more. You stuck your tongue out, swirling it around the tip of Spencer’s cock. He let out a whimper, unable to help the subtle way his hips moved forward.

Giving head was always a treat. Whenever you gave Aaron a blowjob, you always relished the way his body reacted to your touch. It’s something primal, something so natural in the way the human body reacts to such pleasures. Especially when you’re the one causing it.

You slowly eased your mouth onto Spencer’s length, making him moan as he finally felt what your mouth felt like for the first time. You made it about halfway before moving your head back up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip once more. “O-oh,” Spencer moaned, his eyes fluttering shut.

“She’s so lovely, isn’t she?” Aaron murmured into Spencer’s ear.

“Uh-huh,” Spencer nodded his head, his eyes still closed.

You quickened your pace, getting into a nice rhythm of bobbing your head up and down Spencer’s length. You put your hand on the base of Spencer’s cock, jerking off what you couldn’t fit into your mouth. This action caused Spencer to moan loudly, his hand going down to your hair and entangling his fingers into it. “So good,” Spencer whimpered, opening his eyes to look down at you, seeing that you were already looking up at him through your lashes. “I-I’m so close,” He gasped, expecting you to stop.

But instead, you simply hummed in acknowledgment as you continued your ministrations on Spencer’s cock. You wanted so desperately to feel and taste him. Sucking Spencer off had been something you’d been thinking about for quite some time, wanting to see how he fell apart simply from your mouth. You felt Spencer’s cock stiffen in your mouth, signaling he was about to cum as the grip on your hair tightened.

Spencer was whining and moaning, unable to help the subtle stuttering of his hips as he began chasing his high from your mouth. And when you bobbed your head back up his length and swirled your tongue on the tip, Spencer let out the most beautiful noise you had ever heard as he moaned your name and came down your throat. You continued to suck him off through his orgasm, only stopping once Spencer shuttered from overstimulation.

You pulled away from Spencer’s cock, leaving a trail of saliva and cum on your chin. You used the back of your hand to wipe it away as you stood up. “T-thank you,” Spencer murmured to you.

You simply grinned. “We have the whole night ahead of us, Spence,” You exclaimed. “We aren’t done yet.” You moved over to Aaron and kissed him on the lips. “Isn’t that right?”

Aaron hummed as he smiled against your lips. “Absolutely,” he murmured. Aaron put a hand on your hip while he reached his other hand to Spencer’s, pulling him over to the two of you. Aaron looked at Spencer. “You’re going to watch and learn,” he commanded softly. He kissed you again, putting both of his hands on your hips.

You kissed Aaron back, your eyes fluttering shut as you put your hands on his shoulders. The two of you moved together in sync, kissing one another roughly. Aaron’s hands moved to the bottom of your nightgown, slowly pulling the fabric upward. He pulled away from the kiss to take the nightgown off of you, throwing it somewhere in the hotel room. You weren’t wearing anything underneath as you normally don’t when you wear such an article of clothing.

“Look at you,” Aaron said, looking you up and down. “Such a pretty girl for me.” As Aaron looked at you, you couldn’t help the smile that graced your lips. “Isn’t she so pretty, Spencer?”

“The prettiest,” Spencer replied hoarsely as he watched you and Aaron.

Aaron hummed, bringing his lips back to yours for a moment before kissing your jawline and down your neck. He gently pushed you until the backs of your legs bumped the edge of the mattress. “I’m going to make you feel good, okay?” He whispered to you.

You nodded your head, biting your lip as you looked at Aaron. “How do you want me?” You whispered back.

“On the bed,” Aaron exclaimed. “Lay pretty for me, yeah?”

You grinned, nodding your head. “Yes, sir,” You teasingly said as you got onto the bed, lying down on the mattress with your head on the pillow. Aaron couldn’t help the smirk on his lips as he watched you obey him so willingly.

“And you,” Aaron turned to look at Spencer, who was standing there watching rather a bit awkwardly. “I want you to sit on the edge of the bed and watch,” He said, pointing to a spot on the bed. Spencer didn’t hesitate to obey either as he took a seat, turning himself to face you. Aaron looked at you both for a moment, unable to help the muttering under his breath as he said “If only you two were this obedient out in the field,” before he moved over to you.

Aaron grabbed your left ankle, pressing a light kiss onto the skin as he worked his way upward. He had a habit of worshipping your body any time he was going to go down on you. He wanted you to know that you were valued, not just a means of stress relief to him. He made his way to your thigh, kissing the inside of the flesh. You watched Aaron with anticipation as he kissed your skin and spread your legs as he took in the sight of your glistening cunt.

“Already so wet,” He said huskily, licking his lips as he looked at you.

“Yeah,” You whispered back, looking at Aaron’s dark eyes as he watched you with hunger.

Aaron glanced over at Spencer, seeing how engrossed he was in watching the scene. The boy was already hard again but made no moves to pleasure himself. How endearing. Aaron then turned back to look at your cunt, no longer hesitating as he buried his head between your thighs.

He slowly licked a strip from your hole to your clit, collecting your juices on his tongue. You moaned softly, still biting your lip as you watched Aaron begin his ministrations on your pussy. He took his time with it, wanting to savor the taste and put on a show for Spencer. After all, Spencer needs to learn how to make you feel good.

Aaron’s tongue began running laps around your cunt, making figure eights before his lips moved to wrap around your clit. He sucked gently, causing you to moan and bring your hand to his hair, tugging at the locks. “Aaron,” you whined, your eyes fluttering shut.

He began kissing your pussy, practically making out with it as his tongue circled around your clit. You were whining and moaning, basking in the pleasure that Aaron was giving you. You suddenly felt one of his fingers probing your entrance, slowly easing inside of you. You gasped at the intrusion before throwing your head back in pleasure. “Oh my god,” you whimpered.

Aaron began moving his finger inside of you, thrusting in and out slowly while his lips remained on your clit. You had one hand in his hair while the other gripped the sheets. The feeling of Aaron’s finger inside of you while he also ate you out was such a wonderful feeling. You knew you wouldn’t last long.

He eventually added a second finger, immediately curling them up and hitting your g-spot. The action caused you to cry out in pleasure, instinctively clenching your walls around Aaron’s fingers. “Aaron!” you cried out in pleasure.

He responded by humming and sucking on your clit, moving his fingers faster inside of you. You felt that familiar heat growing inside of you as you got closer. “I’m so close,” you moaned, arching your back. Aaron continued his movements, determined to make you feel good.

With the rhythmic movement of Aaron’s fingers moving inside of you combined with the feeling of Aaron sucking and licking your clit, your orgasm overcame you quickly and harshly. You came with a loud moan of Aaron’s name, pulling his hair and thighs clenching around his face. “Oh fuck, Aaron, oh fuck,” you moaned repeatedly as you came, head thrown back with your back arched high.

Spencer watched you, mesmerized by the way your body reacted to Aaron’s touch. In that moment, Spencer was grateful for his eidetic memory. The way Aaron moved his mouth against you and used his fingers, Spencer knew that one day, he’d get to make you fall apart against him. He licked his lips at the idea of eating you out. He should be grossed out by it, being a germaphobe and all. But the idea of eating you out was enough to have his cock stiffening. He had to will himself not to cum untouched, wanting to be inside of you before he allowed that to happen.

When you relaxed against the mattress, relaxing your muscles and unclenching your thighs, Aaron pulled away with a smirk on his lips. He removed his fingers from your cunt, the digits soaked from your juices as was his chin. Aaron looked over at Spencer, seeing the way he was looking at you and Aaron. “Do you want a taste?” Aaron asked hoarsely as he held up his hand that was covered in your juices.

Spencer nodded pathetically, his lips already parting as he looked at Aaron with big doe eyes. Aaron couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him as he moved over to Spencer, bringing his fingers to the genius’ lips. Spencer immediately took them into his mouth, sucking on the digits as his tongue lapped around them. He moaned around Aaron’s fingers, loving the way you tasted.

“She tastes so divine, doesn’t she?” Aaron murmured, his other hand caressing Spencer’s hair. “She feels even better.” He practically purred.

You watched the scene happening in front of you as your breathing evened out. The way Spencer looked at Aaron with that blown-out expression he’s had all night, you could feel yourself getting wet again. You let out a small whine at the sight, clenching your thighs together.

Aaron glanced over at you, seeing the way you were already turned on again. “Needy, baby?” He asked.

You nodded your head. “Yes,” you said in response.

Aaron turned his attention back to Spencer, removing his fingers from his mouth. “Are you ready to feel her?” He asked, still caressing Spencer’s hair.

“Yes,” Spencer rasped out, glancing over at you. No other thoughts were in his brain as he thought about finally being inside of you. Over the past few weeks, it had been embarrassing how much he had jerked off at the idea of fucking you, feeling how wet you’d be on his cock.

“Good boy,” Aaron praised, sending a shiver down Spencer’s spine. “Go over to her. I’ll teach you what to do.”

Spencer nodded his head at his boss, licking his lips in anticipation. He cleared his throat as he got up from his seat at the edge of the bed, moving closer to you. Aaron stood next to the bed. “How do you want me?” You asked, looking at Spencer this time.

Spencer didn’t quite know how to respond. He wanted you in every way imaginable. But he knew tonight was about learning, about losing his virginity and learning how to make you feel good. He looked over at Aaron, who looked at Spencer with a quirked eyebrow. Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he was put on the spot. “I-uh-“ Spencer stuttered, looking at you. “J-just the way you are?”

That would be the best way, wouldn’t it be? You were already on your back, hair sprawled out on the pillow, with your legs spread and ready for Spencer. Spencer couldn’t help but look at your cunt. The way you were still so wet. He couldn’t wait to bury himself deep inside of you. But he waited for further instruction, not wanting to ruin the moment by his own greed.

“Are you ready for me to guide you?” Aaron asked Spencer in that soft velvety voice.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, nodding his head. “Yes, please.” He murmured.

Aaron looked at you. “And are you ready for Spencer, darling?” He asked you in the same tone.

You nodded your head enthusiastically, giving Aaron a small grin. “Want it so bad,” you replied breathily. “Been dreaming about it for so long.”

Aaron chuckled as Spencer blushed. “I know you have, baby,” Aaron cooed, putting a hand on your thigh. “You hear that, Spencer? She’s been wanting you for a while now. Will you give her what she wants?”

“Y-yes,” Spencer stuttered as he confirmed. To say he was nervous was an understatement. What if he wasn’t good? What if he came too soon and didn’t even make you feel anything? What if you decide you don’t want to speak to him anymore after this and things get awkward? All of those thoughts rushed through his head as his nerves began getting to him.

“Relax,” Aaron murmured into Spencer’s ear, as if attuned to Spencer’s ray of emotions. Spencer took a deep breath. “Firstly, you’re going to pull her closer to you. Don’t hesitate to manhandle her a little bit. She likes that,” Aaron spoke, teasing you slightly as he did so.

“Don’t tell him that,” you replied lightly.

The small banter between the two of you helped ease Spencer’s nerves. He put his arms underneath your legs, gently pulling you closer to him. You gave Spencer a soft reassuring smile. You could feel the tension radiating off of him. “There’s no need to be so tense, Spence,” you said softly. “I know it’s your first time and that’s scary. If you want to stop, that’s more than okay.”

“I don’t want to stop,” He replied immediately. “I just-I’m nervous is all. What if it’s not good? Or I don’t make you finish?”

You shook your head. “Firstly, it’s about the experience which is why foreplay is so important. If I don’t finish, that’s okay because I got to be with you and that’s all that matters.”

Spencer took your words into consideration. “You don’t care if you don’t finish?”

“Well nothing says you can’t do the job with your fingers after.” You grinned.

Spencer let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding as he relaxed. Your words really did help to make him feel better. He looked at Aaron. “And that’s okay?”

Aaron nodded his head. “More than okay,” He replied. “Are you ready to continue?” He asked.

“Yes.” Spencer replied, sounding more sure of himself which made you smile.

Aaron hummed in approval. He reached down, grabbing Spencer’s hand and guiding it to the base of Spencer’s cock. “See how wet she is?” He leaned in so that his breath was fanning Spencer’s ear. “You’re going to spread the wetness around with your cock.” He whispered. Aaron moved Spencer’s hand that was gripping Spencer’s cock to your cunt, using the tip to spread the wetness up and down your slit. Aaron let go of Spencer’s cock, allowing the boy to do it himself.

You let out a soft noise, the feeling of Spencer’s tip against your pussy making you want him even more. Spencer couldn’t help the small whine that escaped his lips as he felt your wetness against his length. He was careful to make sure he was slow with it, not wanting to ruin the experience at all. He looked down at the way his cock moved against your pussy. Spencer swallowed and let out a shaky breath. Experimentally, he rubbed the tip against your clit to gauge your response.

And god, it was the right thing to do as you let out a “Spence!” in a way that he had been dreaming about for so long.

Aaron watched the two of you. He was the only one that was still dressed. The obvious tent in his suit pants was proof enough that he was affected by this whole ordeal. But he ignored it, wanting to focus on the two of you.

Spencer continued to circle the tip of his cock against your clit. “Spencer, please,” you said in a whiny tone that could’ve had Spencer cum right on the spot.

He let out a small moan. “You’re so wet,” he rasped out.

“Please fuck me already,” you said, still in that same tone.

“You heard her, Spencer,” Aaron spoke, his voice rough. “Give the lady what she needs.” Spencer bit his lip as he looked down at you and then at Aaron. He brought his cock to your hole. “Go slow,” Aaron commanded gently. “You don’t want to cause any discomfort or blow your load too soon.”

Spencer nodded his head. He looked down at you again as you looked at him with lustful eyes. And without any further hesitation, Spencer slowly eased himself into you. He let out a choked gasp, bringing his free hand to his mouth and biting down slightly to ground himself. The feeling of your wet cunt engulfing his cock was a lot and it took everything in him to not cum right then and there. Especially because he wasn’t even fully inside of you yet.

You moaned at the feeling of finally getting filled. Like anytime you had sex, there was a sting at the feeling of being stretched. But it was a good sting and you adored the feeling.

Aaron began unbuttoning his shirt, watching the scene unfolding in front of him. “When you’re fully inside, you’re going to wait. Don’t move until she’s ready for you to,” he spoke, tossing his shirt to the side.

As soon as Spencer was completely inside of you, he stayed still, taking deep breaths to not cum so quickly. “Y-you’re so tight, oh my god,” he couldn’t help but groan.

You laughed breathily. “You’re big,” you replied simply.

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes as you adjusted to having Spencer inside of you and he calmed himself down enough to not bust inside of you immediately. “I-I’m ready,” you said softly, reaching your left hand out to intertwine your fingers with Spencer’s.

Spencer held your hand with his, the action helping him feel better. He looked over at Aaron. “Start slowly,” the older man stated, palming himself through his suit pants. “You don’t want to go too fast at first because you want it to last.”

Spencer took one more deep breath before pulling his cock out and thrusting back into you slowly. The action made him whimper as he felt his cock glide against your walls. “Oh-oh my,” He whimpered out, his grip on your hand tightening as he tried to control himself.

The first few thrusts were experimental, to familiarize himself with you and your pussy. And the look on your face helped reassure him that you at least liked it with the way your lips were parted in an “o” and how you were letting out your own small noises.

He began to get into a rhythm of slow movements, not wanting to go too fast. The feeling of your pussy around his cock was absolutely heavenly. You were so wet, so tight, and so warm. Spencer had wondered why it had taken him so long to lose his virginity. The way his cock moved against your walls made him feel as though he was going to burst at any moment. And the soft noises you were making? All because of Spencer's cock? You were truly a work of art that blessed the Earth with your presence.

“Faster,” you breathed out, licking your lips as you did so.

Who was Spencer to deny such a pretty request?

He began moving his hips a bit faster, picking up the pace. The change in friction made him let out a slutty whine as his cock dove in and out of your pussy. You moaned loudly, moving your legs to wrap them around Spencer’s waist, deepening the angle.

Aaron had removed his pants and boxers and was thoroughly jerking himself off, matching the pace that Spencer had set. He pumped his cock, watching the two of you as he brought his thumb to the tip, spreading around the precum that had already leaked. Watching the two of you was more than enough for him. He’s been having you all to himself for the past few months. It was only fair that he took a step back and allowed Spencer to have you all to himself.

As Spencer’s pace quickened, the squelching sound of your cunt filled the room with each thrust of his cock. “Oh my god,” Spencer whimpered, looking down at the way his cock moved in and out of you. Your cunt was soaked, glistening with your juices. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. So in order to make it good for you, Spencer put his fingers to your clit. Thank god for anatomy classes and studying the human body as he began rubbing circles against the nub.

You gasped, throwing your head back in pleasure. The way Spencer’s cock thrusted in and out, grazing against your g-spot, as he rubbed your clit. You could feel your release coming which was definitely surprising.

The room was filled with a chorus of grunting, whining, and moaning as everyone basked in the pleasures. Aaron quickened his hand, pumping himself faster.

“Feels so good,” you moaned with your head thrown back against the pillow.

“I-I’m not going to last much longer,” Spencer whined, looking down at you. Your breasts bounced with each thrust. At some point, Spencer would love to fuck you with his face buried between your tits. He continued to rub your clit and thrust his hips, trying to focus on your pleasure while chasing his own.

“Me neither,” you mewled. You opened your eyes to glance at Aaron as he had been so quiet. Seeing the way he stared at the two of you while pumping his cock. You could tell by the way his chest was flushed that Aaron was close. You reached out for him with your other hand, replacing his hand with yours as you jerked him off fast.

“Oh fuck,” Spencer moaned. “So close. Can I cum inside of you? Please, please, please,” He babbled as his hips moved more frantically.

You nodded your head. “Yes,” You moaned loudly.

And with a loud groan, Spencer buried himself deep inside of you as he came, filling you with his cum. The feeling of being filled sent you over the edge as you arched your back and moaned Spencer’s name rather pornographically, cumming hard around his cock. The feeling of you cumming making Spencer let out a rather pornographic whine.

The sight of the two of you finishing was enough to send Aaron over the edge as he came on your tits, his seed painting your chest as he grunted. You continued to jerk him off through his release.

And when the three of you were finished, the room was filled with heavy breathing. Silence overcame you guys as you all basked in the post-orgasmic bliss. After a few minutes, Spencer pulled out of you and laid down next to you just as Aaron leaned down to kiss your forehead before going to the bathroom to get a cloth and clean you up.

When you were all cleaned up, relatively so anyways, Aaron gently moved you over and laid down next to you. You looked between him and Spencer before finally breaking the silence. “So we’re in agreement that this is happening again, right?” You asked with a cheeky grin on your face, causing them both to chuckle.

“Oh absolutely,” Aaron replied.

“I’d like that,” Spencer said softly.

Well, let’s just say after that, that threesomes were now a frequent occurrence in your everyday life when you guys weren’t working.

[dearreidr]

An angel looses its wings whenever someone spreads the Taylor swift mgg agenda

[dearreidr]

WANNA TRY OUT MY FUZZY PINK HANDCUFFS 🙏🏻

this was SOOOOO GOOOOOD

wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs? - s.r.

PAIRING. spencer reid x popstar!reader

SUMMARY. spencer gets a lot more than he bargained for when he attends a concert with garcia.

WARNINGS. afab!reader, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, oral (m receiving), use of handcuffs, begging, red lipstick in places it should never be, unprotected pnv sex, creampie, just pure filth, also not proof read

AUTHOR’S NOTE. i got this idea after rewatching my short n sweet concert videos. i could not get the thought of spencer receiving the juno handcuffs out of my head so I wrote it all down. i hate the beginning and ending of this a lot but the middle is so good hehe.

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

wc: 4,029

also on ao3

Garcia gripped Spencer’s hand tightly, pushing through the crowd until they reached the barricade next to the stage.

“Holy shit Spence! We made it!” Garcia cheered.

“Nice, that’s great… I think i’m going to pass out.” Spencer pants, gripping onto the railing for dear life.

Spencer, who isn’t particularly fond of concerts or music in general, reluctantly agreed to attend this show solely to appease Garcia’s relentless begging. Concerts were not Spencer’s forte, that was until he saw you up on the stage prancing around in lingerie…

Despite his initial discomfort, Spencer finds himself inexplicably drawn to your energetic performance. Your confidence, charisma, and raw talent captivate him more with each passing song.

As you move about the fake penthouse on stage with reckless abandon, your provocative attire leaving very little to the imagination, Spencer's analytical mind struggles to reconcile his attraction with his deeply ingrained social awkwardness.

He tries to focus on the music, his thoughts consumed by the intricate details of your choreography and the way your skin seems to shimmer under the bright lights.

Spencer's cheeks flush slightly as he realizes the extent of his distraction, his heart racing in a way that's both unfamiliar and exhilarating. He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his sweater vest as he attempts to regain some semblance of composure.

After performing a very heartfelt ballad, you approached the edge of the stage, scanning the crowd with your eyes.

“Hey, girls?” you call out to two of your dancers who are standing by your side. “I believe I might have found my future husband in the crowd tonight.”

The crowd erupted in cheers as they realized the clever bit.

“Do y’all see him? He’s standing right over there, the tall one wearing the sweat vest.” You point to Spencer while giggle like schoolgirls with your dancers.

“Hey there, baby. What’s your name?” A grin spread across your face as you noticed his cheeks flushing a vibrant red.

Caught completely off guard, Spencer stammers, his hazel eyes wide as saucers. He feels like he's been struck by lightning, the sudden intimacy of you presence leaving him momentarily speechless.

"Dr. Reid," he manages to choke out, his voice cracking slightly. He can feel his face burning, and his heart hammers against his ribcage like a jackrabbit.

"I-I mean, Spencer," he corrects himself, the remnants of his professional demeanor trying to resurface amidst the chaos of his escalating nervousness.

Spencer swallows hard, trying to gather his scattered thoughts as he meets your intense gaze. The mischievous glint in your eyes sends a shiver down his spine, even as his analytical mind struggles to comprehend the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“Oooooo, a doctor!” You exclaim, dramatically fanning yourself. “Well, Dr. Reid, you’re under arrest for being too hot.”

Spencer jumped as police sirens blared through the arena, accompanied by flashing red and blue lights.

“I might need you to examine me, doctor. I feel extremely hot, and- OH!” You teased as your long skirt fell to the floor, revealing a much shorter version of it.

Spencer’s jaw was practically on the floor.

You grinned as you inched closer towards the edge of the stage, crouching down to Spencer’s level.

“I want you to have these,” you smiled as you handed Spencer a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs.

Spencer can't help but stare at the exposed skin of your legs, his breath catching in his throat when he notices the bedazzled lipstick stain on your inner thigh.

"Ah, um, thank you..." He reaches out to take the offered cuffs, his fingers brushing against hers. The sensation sends sparks dancing along his nerve endings, and he feels himself grow flustered once more.

As you stood up, you blow Spencer a kiss. The all too familiar intro to the song Penelope had been forcing him to listen to for the past few weeks, began to play.

“This song is for you, Spencie,” you winked as you started singing, maintaining eye contact throughout the entire first verse.

Spencer's eyes widen further, his mouth agape as he watches you prance down the catwalk. The provocative lyrics and suggestive dance moves leave him utterly stunned, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

His analytical mind tries to process the explicit nature of the performance, but it's drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the heat coursing through his veins. He finds himself captivated by every move you makes, his gaze riveted to your lithe form.

When you strikes a pose that leaves little to the imagination, Spencer's breath hitches, and he feels a strange tingling sensation in his loins. It's foreign yet exhilarating, and he can't tear his eyes away, even as his rational brain screams at him to look away.

As the song reaches its climax, Spencer finds himself caught up in the raw energy emanating from the stage. The crowd's cheers and applause mingle with the pulsating beat, creating an electric atmosphere that seems to vibrate through every cell in his body.

Lost in the moment, Spencer's inhibitions begin to melt away, replaced by a primal urge to respond to the sensual stimuli before him. When your gaze locks onto his, he feels a jolt of connection, as if an invisible thread tethers them together.

With a sense of reckless abandon he rarely experiences, Spencer raises the fuzzy pink handcuffs as he grins, his movements deliberate and charged with newfound confidence. As the final notes fade, he couldn’t help but notice the smile on your face as the lights dimmed and the show ended.

“Wow,” is the only word Garcia could mutter as she stares at the empty stage. “I can’t believe she gave you the handcuffs, do you know how lucky you are?”

“You know, the probability of me receiving these is incredibly low, considering there are approximately 14,000 people here and-“ Before Spencer could continue his rambling, he and Garcia approached a security guard.

“Are you Spencer?” the intimidating-looking security guard asked.

“Uh, yeah, that would be me,” Spencer stuttered, feeling a pang of worry that he might have overstepped some boundaries during his interactions with you on stage.

“I’ve been informed by y/n’s management that she is requesting to meet you backstage,” the security guard said.

"Backstage? Me?" Spencer looks at Garcia incredulously, wondering if this could be some kind of joke. But the stern expression on the guard's face suggests otherwise.

Spencer stares at Garcia, completely speechless. As the security guards wait for his response, Garcia nudges his side and gently pulls him back to reality.

“I, uh, y-yeah,” Spencer stammers, “I’d love to go backstage,”

“Alright, follow me,”

Spencer waves to Garcia as the guard guides him through the concealed corridors of the arena, observing the crew dismantling the stage to transport it to the next venue.

After what appears to be an eternity, Spencer is led to the door of your dressing room. You’re lounging on the couch in a soft, fluffy robe, engrossed in scrolling through your phone when you hear the door open.

“Hi!” You greet Spencer with a warm smile, standing up and embracing him. “Thanks so much for coming.”

Spencer's heart races as you pull him into a warm embrace, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating scent of your perfume and the softness of your robe against his skin. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe, his mind reeling from the unexpected touch.

When you finally release him, Spencer takes a step back, trying to compose himself. His cheeks flush a deep crimson, and he fumbles with the hem of his sweater vest, clearly flustered.

"T-thank you...for inviting me," he stutters, his voice barely above a whisper. Despite his social awkwardness, there's a genuine sincerity in his tone, reflecting his gratitude for this rare opportunity to connect with someone like you.

Glancing around the cozy dressing room, Spencer notices the array of makeup, costumes, and personal items scattered about.

“I hope you don’t think I’m weird but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you all night,” you admit as you plopped onto the couch, your cheeks now flushed pink from embarrassment. “The handcuff thing is just a funny little bit I do, but tonight I chose you because I really do think you’re insanely hot.”

“N-no, it’s not weird at all, I’m flattered actually,” Spencer stammered, taking a seat next to you.

“Really? You’re not weirded out that I had my security find you in the crowd and bring you backstage so we could meet?“ You asked.

"No, genuinely, I mean it," Spencer says, his eyes locking with yours as he spoke. "I know we’ve just met, but I felt a connection with you tonight, something that went beyond mere admiration."

Spencer shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours.

“And that handcuff thing...well, it was a bold move, and it worked.”

A faint blush colored his cheeks as he met your gaze again, his hazel eyes shimmering with a mix of shyness and curiosity.

As the silence between you stretches, Spencer finds himself drawn to the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your robe gapes slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse of your skin. He swallows hard, trying to ignore the strange tingles coursing through his body.

Before he could say another word, your lips crash against his.

Spencer's eyes widen in shock as your lips suddenly press against his, the unexpected kiss sending a jolt of electricity through his entire being. For a moment, he freezes, unsure of how to react.

But then, as if possessed by some newfound courage, Spencer's arms wrap tentatively around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. His lips part instinctively, allowing your tongue to slide past them and explore the warmth of his mouth.

Spencer's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you more firmly against him. He can taste the sweetness of your red lipstick mixed with the hint of adrenaline, and it only fuels his growing desire.

As the kiss deepens, Spencer's thoughts become a jumbled mess – part confusion, part exhilaration, and an overwhelming sense of lust.

Spencer gasps softly as your lips leave a trail of red across his sensitive skin, the sensation both unfamiliar and intoxicating. His head tilts back, exposing more of his neck to your explorations.

When your fingers start to work on his buttons, Spencer's breath hitches. He's hasn’t been this intimate with anyone since Maave, and the idea of baring himself to you, a complete stranger who’s also a mega superstar, sends a thrill through his veins.

As you continue to undress him, Spencer's hands roam over your back, tracing the curves of your spine beneath the thin fabric of your silk robe. He marvels at the softness of your skin, the warmth emanating from your body.

His shirt finally falls open, revealing his lean torso. Spencer feels a slight surge of vulnerability until he feels your lips on his collarbone.

Spencer's eyes flutter closed as your lips dance across his chest. When you drop to your knees in front of the couch, his heart races, a mix of nervousness and anticipation coursing through him.

The sound of his belt buckle clicking open sends a shiver down Spencer's spine. He watches, transfixed, as you work on freeing him from his pants. The air grows thick with tension, and Spencer's breathing quickens.

When your fingers brush against the growing bulge in his underwear, Spencer lets out a shaky exhale. It’s been awhile since he has been touched so intimately, and the sensation is overwhelming yet exhilarating.

With trembling hands, Spencer reaches down to help you remove his pants, his eyes locked onto yours. A flush spreads across his cheeks as he reveals himself to you, feeling both exposed and strangely empowered by your reaction.

“So pretty,” You breathed out, your hands brushing against his hard cock.

Spencer's eyes widen at your words, a rush of heat flooding his cheeks. No one has ever spoken to him like that before, with such raw, unfiltered admiration. It takes his breath away.

A soft moan escapes him as your hands make contact with his straining erection, the touch sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. Spencer's hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more of your gentle caresses.

He looks down at you, his hazel eyes dark with desire, and whispers, "Please... I need..." His voice trails off, unable to articulate the intensity of his longing.

Spencer's slender fingers thread through your hair, holding you close as he waits with bated breath for your next move. His body trembles with anticipation, every nerve ending attuned to your touch.

As you feel his fingers tangled in your hair, you get an idea. You let go of him as you sit back on your knees, Spencer letting out a whimper at the loss of contact.

“Do you still have the handcuffs?” You asked, grinning wickedly.

Spencer gulped as he nodded, pointing to his discarded pants on the floor next to you. You dig through the pocket to pull out the fuzzy pink handcuffs you gave to him only an hour prior.

“Hands behind your back, Spencie,” You smirked as you dangle the cuffs in front of him.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of playfulness despite the vulnerability of his position.

A startled yelp escapes Spencer's lips as the handcuffs encircles his wrists, securing them behind his back. The sudden restraint sends a thrill through him, mingling with the lingering ache of want.

He stares up at you, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, as you fasten the cuffs with a playful snap. The term of endearment 'Spencie' slips past your lips, and it feels like a brand, searing itself into his very being.

Spencer's body quivers under your gaze, his skin prickling with anticipation. The pink cuffs seem almost comical against his pale, slender arms, but the effect they have on him is anything but humorous.

Spencer's breath hitches as your lips brush against his, the fleeting kiss sending a spark of electricity through him. He leans into it instinctively, craving more of your touch, even as you move to kneel in front of him once again.

A low groan rumbles in his chest as your hand wraps around his shaft, stroking him with confident, deliberate motions. Spencer's head falls back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat, as he surrenders himself to the sensations coursing through him.

“Oh God," he gasps, his hips bucking slightly into your grasp. “That feels... incredible." Each word is punctuated by a sharp intake of breath, his body tensing and relaxing in time with your touches.

The restraints digs into his skin, a subtle reminder of his submission to you.

Spencer's eyes widen in shock as your warm, wet mouth envelops him, the sensation unlike anything he's ever experienced. A choked moan tears from his throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as you begin to suck him deeper.

The sight of your red lips wrapped around his cock, the vibrant color smeared across his flesh, is almost too much for Spencer to bear. He can't tear his gaze away from the erotic image, transfixed by the way your tongue swirls around his sensitive tip.

“Oh fuck, that's..." he trails off, unable to form coherent thoughts amidst the onslaught of pleasure. His mind reels, struggling to process the intensity of the feelings coursing through him.

Spencer's chest heaves with ragged breaths, his body trembling as he submits to your skilled ministrations.

As you take him deeper into your mouth, Spencer's control begins to slip. The feeling of your hot, wet tongue swirling around his length is overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure crashing over him.

"Ah! Oh God, yes!" he cries out, his voice strained with need. His hips thrust forward instinctively, lost in the haze of lust as you bob your head along his shaft.

"I'm... I'm going to cum," he warns, his words punctuated by shallow pants. Spencer's grip on the cushions tightens, his muscles coiled taut as he teeters on the brink of climax.

Before he’s thrown over the edge, you pull away abruptly, looking up at him and giggling as he writhes around desperately.

Spencer’s cock twitches and leaks precum from the loss of stimulation. A pained whine escapes his lips, his hips reflexively bucking up in search of your warm mouth.

"No, please don't stop," he begs, his voice laced with desperation. Spencer's chest heaves with rapid breaths, his body wracked with the need for release.

His hazel eyes, usually bright, are dark with desire, pupils blown wide as he gazes at you with pleading intensity. The remnants of his earlier composure have crumbled, leaving only raw, unbridled lust in its wake.

“I need you," Spencer confesses, his admission torn from him like a bandaid.

As you stand in front of Spencer, his gaze is immediately drawn to your body as you slowly untie your robe, mirroring the opening of your show. The sensual movements and provocative poses are etched into his consciousness like a fever dream.

His breath catches in his throat as the fabric parts, exposing the tantalizing expanse of your skin inch by delicious inch. Spencer's eyes drink in every detail – the delicate freckles scattered across your shoulders, your nipples already hardened into peaks, the gentle swell of your hips leading down to your thighs.

“Please," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. “Let me touch you.”

Spencer's hands fight against the handcuffs, the urge to reach out and touch you, to claim you as his own is nearly overwhelming.

You toss the robe onto the floor next to Spencer’s clothes as you straddle his lap, leaving more lipstick stains across his face until your month reaches his ear.

“Beg for it,” you whispered, softly nibbling on his earlobe, causing him to whimper. “Beg me to let you touch me.”

A shiver runs down Spencer's spine as your warm breath caresses his ear, your whispered command igniting a fire within him. His mind reels, desperate to comply, to plead for the privilege of touching your gorgeous body.

"Oh God, please," he gasps, his voice trembling with need. “Let me touch you, please. I wa- I need to touch you."

Spencer's hips lift involuntarily, seeking friction against the soft flesh of your thigh. His fingers curl into fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggles against the restraints, yearning to wrap his arms around you and lose himself in your embrace.

"I'll do anything, please," he vows, his words dripping with sincerity and desire.

It doesn’t take much more begging for you to give into his pleads.

The moment your lips meet his, Spencer surrenders to the intense passion, kissing you back with equal fervor. His hands, still bound, can't reciprocate physically, but his entire being leans into you, craving closer contact.

As you grind against his rigid length, Spencer moans into the kiss, the sensation of your heated core rubbing against his aching cock sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. His hips buck instinctively, seeking more friction, more pressure.

Breaking the kiss, Spencer pants heavily, his hazel eyes glazed with lust.

“Fuck... I want you so badly," he admits, his voice ragged with desire. “Please, I need to be inside you."

Instead of speaking, you respond by unlocking the handcuffs. Thankfully since they are just a prop, they are easy to remove and don’t require a key.

Spencer is surprised and almost embarrassed by how easily they were removed, but he has no time to dwell on that as you begin lining him up with your entrance.

With the restraints gone, Spencer's hands immediately find purchase on your waist, gripping you tightly as he feels the head of his cock notch against your slick entrance. His breathing hitches, anticipation coiled tight in his belly.

When you position him, aligning his thick shaft with your waiting heat, Spencer lets out a low groan, his hips surging forward of their own accord. With a smooth, deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, a guttural moan escaping him at the exquisite feeling of your walls clenching around his sensitive flesh.

"Ah, fuck yes..." Spencer gasps, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he savors the sensation of being fully embedded within you. “You feel so good.”

You can’t help the pornographic moan that escapes your throat as Spencer bottoms out. You are still as you both get use to the filling of him inside of you.

“Spencer,” You whimper, “you feel so fucking good inside of me.”

Spencer's eyes flutter shut as you start to move, your inner muscles massaging his cock in a delicious rhythm. The slow, deliberate pace allows him to savor every inch of your warmth enveloping him.

"Yes! oh God! just like that," he encourages, his voice strained with pleasure. “You're so tight, so perfect... Fuck!"

His hands slide down to grip your ass, fingers digging into the supple flesh as he begins to match your movements, thrusting in sync with your rolling hips. Each stroke sends sparks of bliss shooting up his spine, intensifying the building pressure in his groin.

"More, please...” Spencer pleads, his thrusts growing more urgent as he chases his own release.

You grant his wishes as you nestle your head into his neck, sucking softly on the sensitive skin just below his ear.

Spencer groans loudly in response. The sudden increase in tempo, coupled with the sensations of your mouth on his neck, sends him hurtling towards the edge. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps as he pistons in and out of your throbbing heat, driven by nothing but primal urges.

"Oh, shit... right there, just like that!" he grunts, his hand moving from your ass to rub rough circles over your clit. "I'm going to... Oh fuck!”

With a final, powerful thrust, Spencer hits his peak, his cock pulsating as it spills hot cum deep inside you. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he rides out his orgasm.

It doesn’t take long for you to finish, your body tenses above Spencer as he sloppily thrusts into you, riding out the remainder of your orgasms.

As the last tremors of your orgasms subside, You both collapse onto the couch, panting heavily as you try and catch your breath, your sweat-dampened skin pressing intimately against one another.

"That was… incredible," he manages to say, his voice hoarse from exertion. "You're amazing."

You carefully remove his softening member from your spent body. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you as he nuzzles into your hair.

"I never want this night to end," he confesses, his tone sincere and vulnerable. "But I know we should probably get cleaned up and back to reality soon.”

“Yeah, I need to be on the bus heading to New York in a few hours,” you replied, your voice laced with a hint of disappointment at the thought of possibly never seeing Spencer again.

A pang of disappointment and longing shoots through Spencer at the mention of your impending departure. He knows their whirlwind encounter can't possibly lead to anything long-term, given the vast differences in their lives, but that doesn't diminish the strong connection he feels.

"I understand," he says quietly, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. "Well, um, if you’re ever back in town, I’d love to maybe get coffee together.”

Spencer's eyes search yours, hoping to find some glimmer of agreement, even as he anticipates the likely rejection. It's a fragile thread, but it's all he has to cling to as he faces the prospect of saying goodbye.

“I’d love too,” you smiled, brushing some of the hair that had gotten stuck to his sweaty forehead.

Spencer returned your smile as he got dressed and headed for the door.

“Wait!” You shouted, causing Spencer’s head to whip back around.

“You almost forgot these,” you say, handing him the fuzzy pink handcuffs. He chuckles and tucks them into his pocket before disappearing out the door.

[dearreidr]

STOP THIS IS SO CUTE I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT THANK YOU 😭😭😭

When the Music Fades

In which Autistic Spencer Reid and Neurodivergent Reader go to a Easter Party hosted by Penelope Garcia and end up having to share a bed at the end of the night where Spencer confesses his feelings. (Fluff!)

word count: 3.6k

tags: one bed trope, fake relationship/ fake boyfriend trope for a minute, autistic spencer reid, neurodivergent reader, anxiety, overwhelmed, easter, party, mentions of jelle, mentions of morcia, spring, dealing with mental health, love confession, first kiss, sharing clothes. Mentions of Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia, Elle Greenaway, Jennifer Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner and David Rossi.

No warnings

notes: This fic is a request from @dearreidr I hope you enjoy this! If you have any requests feel free to leave them below or dm me!

—————————︎🩵————————-

For easter Penelope was hosting a party at her apartment. She did this for every holiday and just like every other party she had to practically beg Spencer to attend. He was shy and didn’t like drinking and something about Penelope’s parties was that there were always multiple people just as full of colour as she was which was slightly overwhelming and there was always a themed punch with way too much alcohol mixed together. 

This was the first party that you were attending, for the last one, the Christmas party, you were only two weeks into working at the BAU and felt awkward turning up at Penelope’s place for a party when you barely knew anyone. But now, just over 4 months in, you have made friends and connections with the rest of the team. You were particularly close with Penelope, Spencer and Elle. The four of you hung out often outside of work if Penelope wasn’t with Derek, Elle wasn’t with JJ and if Spencer actually left the comfort of his apartment, although you didn’t mind going over to Spencer’s and spending time in his dimly lit living room with a book each just enjoying the quiet and each others company.

The day before the party they had been called in for a case luckily it was nearby and the police department already had a lead. You, Spencer, Elle and Hotch were in one of the SUVs heading to the crime scene when Elle brought up the party. 

“What are you wearing tomorrow?” Elle directed toward you.

You shrugged, “I haven’t thought about it, Penelope said something about costumes but I don’t have anything easter themed.”

“Oh don’t worry about that just pick out a pretty dress and be yourself. What about you Spence?” 

“I wasn’t going to go.”

“What? Penelope said she convinced you!” Elle spun around in the passenger seat to see you and Spencer in the back of the car.

“I’m just not feeling it,” Spencer shrugged it off.

You frowned and faced Spencer, “Please come, I don’t know what I’d do without you there. It��s my first Penelope Garcia party.” If Spencer wasn’t going you didn’t want to go either, you liked everyone else but you felt most comfortable with Spencer not to mention your small crush on him. 

“It’s just awkward, I'm not fun, it’s overwhelming and I don’t drink; that's the whole point of a party.”

“Not to me, it’s just a chance for us to hang out. I won’t drink and the minute we both get overwhelmed we can remove ourselves for a little while. Please?”

Spencer sighed, “I suppose so, you promise right? About the overwhelming thing, not drinking you can drink if you want to I am not going to stop you.”

“I don’t want to I just want to spend time with you, I promise.”

Elle smirked at the both of you, “Alright love birds. That didn’t take much persuading did it?” 

Spencer’s cheeks flushed red as he shrugged and turned to look out of the window so he was no longer a part of the conversation.

—--------------

You threw on one of the nicest dresses you could find in your closet since you don't own many but you wanted to look nice for Penelope’s party along with a pair of white kitten heels and a white bunny ears headband you figured that would be good enough for the costume requirement, it wasn't like you were expected to show up dressed as an easter egg right? 

Anxiety was already filling your chest with the fear of not knowing what to expect and knowing if Spencer didn’t usually like these parties there was a big chance that you wouldn't like it either. 

While you were adding a small amount of pink lip gloss to your lips to go with the small amount of subtle makeup on your face you had one message from Penelope and one message from Spencer come through on your phone.

“You’re staying the night. Bring PJs and snacks and whatever else you need! Maybe a blanket too if not I've got some. See you soon, Kisses XX” -Penelope.

And,

“Hi, I suppose you received a message from Penelope about a sleepover… Are you planning on staying?”

“Would you like me to pick you up? You do not live too far and I don’t mind driving.” - Spencer Reid

You giggled at Spencer signing his message off with his full name but then more nerves overtook you, Penelope’s message didn’t reveal who was staying, what time everyone was leaving in the morning, where you would be sleeping, if there would be breakfast, if you were going to have to stay in groups because surely she didn’t have enough beds for everyone. You caught yourself just before you bit off your nails that you had been growing and doing a good job of so far considering nail-biting was something you did unconsciously when you were anxious or stressed. 

You typed a reply back to Spencer, “Um, I suppose we don’t have a choice really so I guess I am. I would appreciate you picking me up if you really don’t mind thank you. And you don’t have to sign your name Spence, I have you saved.”

You weren't expecting him to reply again, you knew he would check the message and register it but it was unlikely he would reply however this time you were wrong he did reply.

“How are you feeling? I can come sooner if you need to talk about anything?”

You smiled, you had never told Spencer that you necessarily struggled with feeling anxious and overwhelmed but you assumed he had picked up on it due to him being autistic and feeling similar things about similar situations as you did and also with his IQ of 187. 

Y/N: “I'm a little anxious about what to expect but I’m okay, Please just turn up when you are ready. How are you feeling?”

Spencer: “The same as you. I know what to expect though. Do you want a run-through?”

Y/N: “That would be great, thank you.”

Spencer: “Usually, she plays pop music, so I have been told, I think JJ mentioned Taylor Swift. It’s quite loud and the colourful lights are not a great help when It comes to not being overwhelmed but there’s a small green space outside her apartment. It's nice to sit there or in one of the bedrooms when it is getting too much. She had a wide selection of finger foods, there’s a good selection for everyone there will definitely be something you like. There will be unfamiliar faces, she has a lot of friends most with bubbly personalities like hers but they leave at around midnight sometimes even before if there’s a club open.”

Y/N: “Thank you.”

Spencer picked you up at quarter to 9, as he walked to your door he wiped his palms against his brown slacks, he was nervous about the party but in all honestly, he was more nervous to see you. Derek had been telling him for a while now to make a move because he could tell you felt the same way but Spencer would never believe that, what would someone like you see in someone like him? Yes, you had similarities but he was different and you were gorgeous there were definitely prettier men than him out there.

 

He knocked twice on the door, the knock had a certain rhythm that you used when you knocked on his door, he didn't know if it was a signal that you were at his door or if it was just something you did unconsciously like biting your nails. 

You opened the door and stepped back to give a little distance between the two of you, it wasn’t because you didn’t want to be close to him because of course you did he was your favourite person, it was because you didn’t like the feel of people breathing on you for a little while after you had surrounded yourself with people. 

His mouth opened as his eyes ran up and down you, his cheeks also blushed at the same time. You couldn't help a little giggle that escaped your lips, “Hi Spence, You look nice.”

“Hi. You look… beautiful… gorgeous um really nice?” Spencer switched between words not knowing which one would sound best for someone he liked but didn’t want to reveal that he liked you in that way, but he also wanted to make you feel good about yourself because you deserved that and he never wanted you to doubt that you didn’t look good. 

“Thank you,” You grabbed your bag from the small table beside the front door. “Oh Penelope said about snacks and a blanket but I don’t want to take mine off my bed,” You bit your lip.

“She has so many snacks she won’t realise that you didn’t bring any. I didn’t either and she has blankets too.”

You nodded, “Okay, should we go?”

“Yes,” Spencer looked to the left down the hallway before turning back to you and whispering, “Someone is watching us.”

You rolled your eyes, “Probably Steven, he lives on the other end of the floor. He waits for me and Storm, my neighbour, to leave the apartment so he can ask us on dates, he’s a little creepy.”

“Can I hold your hand?” Spencer asked.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Why? I mean yes but why?”

“So he thinks I’m your boyfriend then he will leave you alone.”

“Oh,” You put your hand out allowing him to take it and thanking him before the thoughts started circulating in your brain. Spencer didn’t hold people’s hands, he didn’t like the amount of germs that could be transferred between people holding hands. But he would hold yours?

You locked your apartment with your free hand, your other hand still occupied by Spencer’s warm large hand. You could feel Steven approaching. 

“Hey man, is something wrong?” Spencer asked as he walked over.

“Who are you? Why are you bothering her?” Steven squinted at Spencer.

“He’s not bothering me, Spencer is my boyfriend,” You smiled with a small blush.

“But I’m your boyfriend?” Steven said.

“No, we talked about this, we just live on the same floor Steven, plus you’re a lot older than me.”

“Where are you going? You look nice.”

“We are going out for dinner,” Spencer said, moving his hand from yours to circle around your lower back and rest on your hip, which he regretted when he realised he hadn’t asked for permission to do that. Once Steven nodded and returned to his apartment and you along with Spencer entered the elevator he immediately apologised.

“You have nothing to apologise for, you were helping me out and it felt nice,” You subtly tried to flirt with him. 

“Really?” He asked, opening the car door for you.

“Really,” You smiled getting into the car.

—-----------------

As you both approached the door to Penelope’s apartment the booming music could already be heard. Before he opened the door for you he offered a warm, comforting smile which you returned to signal you were ready to go in if he was. He pushed open the door and immediately you were met with an obscene amount of colourful fairy lights, a disco ball, the even louder music but luckily only around 15 people which was a lot for a small apartment but you could work with that considering most of them probably wouldn’t talk to you anyway.

“Are you okay?” Spencer checked in with you.

You felt a little bad he had his own problems with overwhelming things and adding the worry of if you were okay was probably going to be too much for him and you didn’t want to be the reason why he felt uncomfortable or stressed, “Yes thank you, Spence. Are you okay?”

Spencer nodded, “For now.”

Penelope was the first to come over to the both of you yelling over the music in her usual joyful tone but with added giggles as she had already been drinking, “Finally, I thought you guys had ditched us. Elle and JJ are on the sofa, Emily is getting more punch, Derek is dancing with me obviously and well you have eyes you can find everyone. Make yourselves at home.”

You smiled at her, “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Duh! You're one of my favourites of course you were going to be invited, don’t tell the others though. That goes for you too Smartie Pants don’t tell anyone she’s my favourite,” Penelope rambled.

“Of course, she’s my favourite too,” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“Enough flattery. I’m going to get a drink if that’s okay?” You directed toward Penelope.

“Yes Doll, help yourself. Mi casa es tu casa,” Penelope replied in a very dodgy Spanish accent before returning to her makeshift dance floor.

You made your way through to the next room only having to weave through a few people before reaching the kitchen when you realised Spencer had followed you there, “Would you like something?”

“No, I’m good thank you, Um I don’t want to leave you but will you be okay if speak to Hotch for a bit?” Spencer asked as his left hand travelled to the back of his neck rubbing it.

“Spence you don’t need my permission you can do what you like,” You smiled picking up one of the blue plastic cups. 

“Oh okay, I’ll see you in a bit,” Spencer walked off leaving you in the kitchen alone for a couple of minutes while you poured your drink before spotting Emily and deciding to stick with her for a while. 

Around an hour later, your social battery was beginning to drain, maybe you needed another drink but you already had one and you didn’t want to risk drinking anymore and getting tipsy from god knows what was in that punch when you had promised Spencer you wouldn’t be drinking. 

A few times you had looked around the room trying to find him to remove yourself from the party for a little while since you were right in the middle of it all but he was nowhere to be seen. After finding Emily she had convinced you to go with her over to the dance floor since the majority of the team were over in that direction. 

A couple of minutes ago you had seen Hotch with Rossi but still no Spencer in sight. You looked at the time on your phone, surely Hotch would be leaving soon to get home to his wife and child and Rossi would probably be going home soon too, perhaps that would prompt other people to start leaving and everything would die down so you could find Spencer. The what-ifs and possible scenarios of how things could go started running through your brain which would cause a panic soon enough.

“Are you okay Sugar?” Penelope asked, snapping you from your thoughts.

You nodded, “Yeah, do you have somewhere I could go and sit for a little while?”

“Mhm, the spare bedroom or the green space outside but I think Spencer went into the spare bedroom not too long ago,” Penelope rubbed the side of your arm.

“Thank you,” You smiled at her and left the front room to search for the spare bedroom, you should have asked where it was, that was your fault but it wasn’t a big apartment it wouldn’t be too hard to find.

—-----------------

Once you had found the only room left with the door closed you knocked on the door lightly in the way that Spencer would recognise.

“Come in,” He called through the door before you pushed it open and closed it behind you.

“Hi, Are you okay?” You asked from the door, you didn’t want to go over to him and interfere in his personal space if he needed a break from social interaction. 

“Just needed a break,” Spencer gave you a soft smile.

“Do you want me to leave?” 

“No, you’re fine here. Are you okay?” 

“Same as you, needed a break it was getting loud.” 

Spencer patted the space on the bed beside him, You perched on the edge of the bed not wanting to be too close to him because you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. 

“I won’t bite,” He laughed so you moved over a little move. 

“What do you like to do when you feel overwhelmed?” Spencer asked. 

“Listen to music usually but right now I definitely don’t want to, my ears need a break, what about you?” 

“Read, usually something with a lot of facts nothing fictional,” Spencer placed his hands on his stomach intertwining both of them. 

You looked down at his hands, “I didn’t think you’d be one for fiction ever.”

“I indulge every so often, it’s good to mix things up they are mostly classics though.”

“No modern romance novels in there Doctor Reid?” You teased. 

“Uhh, I’ve read a couple, they aren’t awful,” Spencer blushed a little which caught your attention. 

“Spencer Reid! What books have you been reading!” 

“Nothing nothing, just something I found at the library once… I should have been sceptical after the 20-something librarian told me it was one of her favourites.”

“I need you to lend me this book if it’s got you blushing like that,” You laugh.

“Um, I think I still have it if you actually do want it?” Spencer said not sure if you were joking or not. 

“Give it to me tomorrow,” You laid on your side facing him. 

“What books do you like to read? I see you with romance novels sometimes.”

“Yeah, mostly romance but also horror or maybe a thriller anything entertaining,” You shrug awkwardly due to how you were lying. 

“Maybe we could both swap books, I’d like to read something you like,” Spencer’s dimples showed through his smile. 

You nodded just before the door was swung open. 

“Hi lovebirds, we are wrapping things up, I just wanted to tell you we’ve agreed to let you two take this room, Derek and I are in my room and everyone else is in the living room,” Penelope said a lot louder than she had to speak considering she wasn’t near the loudspeakers anymore.

“Are you comfortable with that?” Spencer asked you.

“Yeah that’s fine with me and you?” You asked in return out of respect.

“Fine by me, I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

“Okay great! If either of you needs anything the house is yours help yourself,” Penelope flashed a toothy smile, “Goodnight babies, no sex please,” she said as she left the room leaving you and Spencer blushing and stuttering for a response that never came. 

“That was weird,” Spencer’s cheeks were still a rosy red, “Do you want me to get your bag?” 

“No it’s okay, I forgot to pack pyjamas so I will sleep in this, I don’t know how I forgot,” You groaned. 

“Probably because you were anxious,” Spencer stated before adding, “You could borrow the shirt I brought for pyjamas, I could just wear the bottoms if you are comfortable with that?” 

“Really? Are you sure?” 

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable and I doubt you’re comfy in that, although it’s very nice, you look pretty.”

“You told me earlier,” You giggled, “Thank you.”

Spencer got off the bed taking his shirt and plaid pyjama pants out of his usual go bag for work, “I’ll let you change first uh I’ll wait outside.”

“It’s okay you don’t have to go just turn around,” You smiled to which he nodded. 

Once you were in only his shirt and your underwear you felt a little exposed but luckily his shirt was long and covered everything. You had taken off the little makeup you had on which also made you feel a little bare.

He was in his pj pants with no shirt and he looked good, really good, you both got under the covers facing each other. 

“You look even more beautiful than earlier,” Spencer said before his eyes widened a little, “Wait you always look beautiful.” 

“It’s okay I know what you meant, thanks, Spence.” 

Spencer’s hand inched closer to you, “Maybe. No would it be okay if I kissed you? I have wanted to for a while and-“ 

You cut Spencer off, “You want to kiss me?”

“Um i-if you want?” 

“Yeah… I’d be okay with that.”

Spencer leaned closer to you placing a hand on the side of your face before his eyes fluttered shut while your lips connected. 

It was a soft kiss, slow. No tongue, but it was perfect. One of the best kisses you had ever had. 

When he pulled away he kept his hand on your face, “Was that okay?” 

“More than okay,” You smiled, your eyes crinkled at the sides. 

“Could we go on a date at some point?” Spencer asked with hope in his eyes. 

“Yeah I’d like that,” You placed a kiss on the inside of his wrist as it rested near your mouth. 

His smile grew, “Do you want to sleep?”

“Yeah I’m kinda tired… is that okay?” 

“Of course! I’m going to face the other because I have a thing about people breathing on me,” he said. 

“I have that too!” You laughed, “We will both face opposite ways.” 

After you turned around it didn’t take long for either of you to fall asleep. 

———————-

9 am the next morning Penelope knocked quietly on the door, she assumed you’d be up by now and didn’t want to disturb you but wanted to make sure you were okay. 

When she didn’t get a response she quietly opened the door to see both you and Spencer cuddled together on one side of the bed and his arm draped over your waist. She snapped a picture to show you both later before calling the others who were already awake to see the adorable scene.

—————————🩵————————

[dearreidr]

this is so sweet :,) but sad :,)

hello, i absolutely adore your writing! i was wondering if you would write a spencer reid x bau! reader that takes place during the after math of the revelations episode: basically where the reader is comforting/reassuring spencer after the trauma he endured from hankel. if you’re not comfortable writing that i totally understand!

revelations — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: spencer crying , reader being concerned for spencer , it's implied that spencer hasn't been taking care of himself , just very angsty ( but also some fluff ) a/n: hi hi i hope you like this !! <3

You weren’t sure if you were intruding, but honestly, you didn’t care. The thought had crossed your mind as you climbed the stairs to Spencer’s apartment, but it was quickly drowned out by the overwhelming concern that had been gnawing at you all day.

It didn’t matter that it was late at night, or that you’d just spent hours buried in paperwork.

None of that mattered. All you could think about was Spencer. 

The entire day had felt off. Spencer hadn’t shown up at work, and honestly, you weren’t surprised. After everything that had happened, you doubted anyone expected him to.

The memory of it still made your chest tighten.

You didn’t think you’d ever been that scared in your life. And when you’d finally seen him, alive and safe, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself. You’d hugged him so tightly that you were pretty sure you’d squeezed all the air out of his lungs. But then again, he’d held you just as tightly, his arms trembling slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder.

Now, you stood at the top of the stairs outside his apartment door, your heart pounding in your chest. You took a couple more steps until you were standing right in front of it, staring at the wood grain.

For a moment, you hesitated, your hand hovering in the air. What if he was asleep? What if he didn’t want to see anyone? But then you shook the thoughts away.

You needed to see him. You needed to know he was okay. 

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing softly in the quiet hallway. 

It was quiet for several seconds after you knocked, and for a moment, you thought he wasn’t there. But then, just as you were about to turn away, you heard slow, shuffling footsteps approaching from the other side of the door.

When the door finally creaked open, there he was. 

Spencer stood in the doorway, looking utterly exhausted. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were red-rimmed, as if he hadn’t slept in days. He was wearing a wrinkled sweater and sweatpants, and the sight of him looking so worn down made your chest ache.

You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from immediately falling into his arms and pulling him into a tight embrace, wanting to shield him from everything that had happened. 

Spencer stared at you. It was clear he hadn’t expected to see anyone from work, let alone you, standing at his door.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

“Hi, Spence,” you said quietly, breaking the silence. Your voice was soft, almost tentative. “Can I come in?” 

You didn’t want to continue the conversation out in the hallway, and besides, you’d brought a few things with you.

A small gesture, but you hoped it might help, even just a little. 

Spencer hesitated, still not having said a single word. He slowly opened the door wider, letting you in, and you stepped into the dimly lit apartment.

The space was almost entirely dark, save for a single lamp in the corner that cast a faint, warm glow over the room.

It was clear Spencer hadn’t been taking care of himself.

“I got you some things,” you said softly as you looked up at his taller frame. He was standing there, his shoulders slumped, his expression unreadable. When his eyes met yours, they were tired, haunted, and it made your chest ache. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. Maybe he hadn’t. 

“Well, I wanted to,” you replied, your tone gentle.

Spencer didn’t respond right away, his gaze dropping to the floor. He seemed so lost, so unlike the confident, brilliant man you knew, and it broke your heart.

You’d never been in his apartment before, and while you’d always imagined it would be filled with books and the faint scent of coffee, the reality felt… empty.

It was as if the life had been drained out of the space, just as it had been drained out of him. 

“I got you some things to eat,” you continued, trying to keep your voice light. “Where’s your kitchen?” 

It seemed like you’d have to take the lead for now. Spencer was still standing there, barely moving, as if he were stuck in some kind of trance.

But then, after a moment, he finally stirred, gesturing vaguely to the right. “This way,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You rushed to take your shoes off, your socks hitting the floor as you followed him. They were a cute pair of socks he had once gotten you for your birthday, after you’d mentioned how much you liked a similar pair with butterflies on them.

Maybe you’d unconsciously chosen to wear them today because you missed him.

Spencer leaned against the counter, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his gaze distant.

The kitchen was small but tidy, though it felt colder than it should have, as if it hadn’t been used much recently. You set your bag down on the counter and began rummaging through it, trying to fill the silence.

“So, I got you some cookies,” you started.“I know you like these,” you added, pulling out the familiar package. They were his favorite—the ones you usually snacked on together during late nights at work, when the cases dragged on and the coffee wasn’t enough to keep you going. 

Spencer glanced at the box of cookies, his expression softening just a little as he took it from your hands. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his voice quiet but sincere, as he set the box down on the counter next to him.

You were standing on opposite sides of the kitchen, the distance between you feeling both too far and too close at the same time. You nodded, trying to keep the mood light.

“I also got you some fruit and vegetables,” you said, reaching into your bag again. “Some” was an understatement—you’d practically bought out the entire produce section at the store. One by one, you pulled out apples, bananas, oranges, carrots, cucumbers, and even a container of pre-cut watermelon, plopping them down on the counter with a soft thud. 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly at the sheer amount of food, and for a moment, he just stared at it, his lips parting in surprise. You couldn’t help but feel a small spark of relief at the sight of some kind of emotion on his face, even if it was just mild shock.

It was better than the blank, distant expression he’d been wearing since you arrived. 

“You really didn’t have to do this,” he mumbled, his voice still hoarse but with a hint of something warmer now. He finally met your eyes, and the look on his face—grateful, overwhelmed, and maybe even a little guilty—made your chest tighten.

Dear God, you were about to cry. 

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay composed. “Of course I did,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I just… I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.” 

You paused.

Then you added, “I missed you.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, but they were true. Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just looked down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting nervously.

The silence stretched between you, until you finally broke it again. 

“How are you doing?” you asked, though the moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. It was probably a stupid question. I mean, how was he supposed to be? But honestly, you didn’t know how else to get to the point.

And then the expected answer came. “Good,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. 

You had to suppress a groan. Of course Spencer Reid would reply with good. It was so like him to downplay everything.

But you knew better. You knew him better. 

“Spencer,” you said softly, your voice quiet but firm.

It was a small word, but it carried so much weight, and it worked.

Spencer bit his lip, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for just a moment before looking away again. You knew him well enough to know what that meant—he was holding back, trying to keep it together, but he was on the verge of breaking. 

Without another word, you stepped forward, opening your arms in a silent invitation. You didn’t need to say anything; the gesture was enough. Spencer hesitated for just a second, his breath hitching, before he practically collapsed into your embrace.

His arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you.. You hugged him tightly, one hand gently rubbing small circles on his back, the other cradling the back of his head. 

For a moment, it was quiet.

But then you heard it—the first quiet, muffled sob. It was so faint, so fragile, that it made your heart shatter into a million pieces. You felt your shirt grow damp where Spencer’s face was buried against your shoulder, but you didn’t care. Right now, all you cared about was him. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you mumbled, your voice small and trembling as you kept brushing your hand over his back. Spencer held onto you tightly, his face still buried in your shoulder, his breathing uneven. The two of you stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, wrapped in each other’s arms, and it didn’t seem like he wanted to let go. And you didn’t mind at all.

You would’ve stood there forever if it meant he felt even a little bit better. 

Five minutes passed—maybe more—before Spencer finally loosened his grip on your waist and pulled back. You could see his face now, tear-stained and exhausted, his eyes red and swollen.

Your heart ached at the sight, and without thinking, you reached up, cupping his face in your hands as you gently brushed his tears away with your thumbs. 

You studied his face, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. You knew Spencer struggled with sleep even on his best days, and after what had happened, you were sure it had only gotten worse. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“You need to sleep,” you mumbled affectionately.

Your hands continued to make gentle circles on his cheeks, and Spencer closed his eyes, leaning into your touch.

“I can’t,” he admitted in a low voice.

Slowly, you dropped your hands from his face, and Spencer’s eyes fluttered open at the loss of your warmth, a faint flicker of disappointment crossing his features. 

You turned around to grab your bag, which you’d dropped on the counter earlier. “I got you chamomile tea,” you said, pulling out the small box of tea bags. “You once told me about how it’s supposed to help with sleep,” you continued, your voice soft.

Spencer stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

But it wasn’t just the tea he was thanking you for—it was the fact that you listened to him. You always did. Whether it was a random fact about the chemical composition of tea or a quiet confession in the middle of the night, you always listened. And he knew that. 

“Do you want a cup?” you asked, holding up the tea bag in your hand. 

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then nodded again. “I’ll help you make it,” he said, his voice a little stronger now. He moved to the stove, filling the kettle with water and setting it to boil. You watched him as he worked and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief.

At least he was doing something, even if it was just making tea. 

Once the two of you had your two cups filled with tea, you started drinking it while leaning against the counter. This time, you stood close to each other.

You reached up slowly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, your fingers lingering for just a moment. Spencer didn’t pull away; instead, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly.

You watched him take a sip from his tea, his lips chapped and dry, and you were glad the warm liquid would help with that.

“Do you need anything else?” you asked softly, dropping your hands back to your cup. You took a sip of your own tea before setting it down on the counter again. “I walked by this bakery earlier, and they had some really tasty-looking donuts there. I thought maybe—” you started, but Spencer interrupted you. 

“Can you stay?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

You stared at him, caught off guard by the question. Honestly, you hadn’t even expected him to let you into his apartment, let alone ask you to stay.

“Yes. Of course,” you said without hesitation, finishing the last sip of your tea. You glanced at Spencer’s mug, noticing he had finished his as well.

He seemed content with your answer, his empty eyes gaining just a tiny bit of life, a faint flicker of relief breaking through the exhaustion.

“I can lend you some clothes,” Spencer said suddenly.He set his mug down on the counter and walked out of the kitchen, leaving you to follow him.

You trailed after him, your socked feet padding softly against the floor as you took in the apartment. Books were everywhere—stacked on shelves, piled on tables, even scattered on the floor in some places.

As you walked into his bedroom, you couldn’t help but look around. The room was cozy, with soft lighting and a warm, lived-in feel. There were even more books on the nightstand, along with a pair of glasses and a half-empty glass of water. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books, and there was a small desk in the corner, covered in papers and pens.

It was nice. Very Spencer. 

“Cozy,” you mumbled, and you meant it. Spencer glanced at you, a very tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The sight made your heart flutter with happiness.

Oh, how you had missed that smile. 

“Uhm, you can wear this one,” Spencer said, breaking the silence as he handed you a soft-looking sweater and a pair of sweatpants. You took them from him, your fingers brushing against his for just a moment, and hesitated. 

“Oh, you can change in there,” he added quickly, pointing toward the bathroom. His cheeks flushed slightly, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he was. 

“Thanks,” you said, giving him a small smile before heading into the bathroom. 

Five minutes later, you had changed into his clothes. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but smile slightly at your reflection. The sweater was a little oversized, the sleeves falling past your hands, and the sweatpants were soft and cozy, hanging loosely around your hips.

You couldn’t help but wish you were wearing his clothes under different circumstances—maybe after a lazy morning together, or a quiet night in—but you quickly pushed those thoughts aside. Now wasn’t the time for that. 

You opened the bathroom door and walked back into his room, where you found Spencer sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked up as you entered, his eyes scanning you briefly before a small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. 

“Your clothes are comfy,” you said, returning his smile as you stood in the doorway. 

Spencer’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of you in his clothes. “They look good on you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something warm. 

You felt your cheeks heat up slightly at his words, but before you could respond, Spencer looked away, his fingers tapping nervously on his thigh. He seemed to be wrestling with something, his brows furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Do you—” he started, then stopped himself, closing his eyes as if gathering his thoughts. His fingers continued to tap against his leg, a nervous habit you’d noticed before. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“Do you mind sleeping in the same bed as me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He stared at the ground as he spoke, as if he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. 

You stared at him, your eyes softening. “Of course not,” you said gently, stepping closer and closing the door behind you.

The room felt smaller now, more intimate, and both of you hesitated for a moment.

Spencer finally broke the silence, pulling back the bed sheets and lifting them up, scooting over to make room for you. Once he had settled his head on his pillow, his movements stilling, you climbed in beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight.

You turned onto your side, facing him, and he mirrored you, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. 

“Hi,” you mumbled, a soft smile tugging at your lips. 

“Hi,” he replied, his voice quiet but warm. He paused, his gaze searching yours for a moment before he spoke again. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He hesitated, biting his lip. “For everything.” 

You shook your head gently, your hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. “Don’t thank me,” you said softly. “I’m here for you. Always.” 

Spencer closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as your fingers lingered against his temple. He scooted closer, his movements slow and tentative, until his head rested on your shoulder. Your hand naturally moved to brush through his hair, your fingers gently carding through the soft strands. 

It didn’t take long for Spencer to relax, his breathing slowing as he nestled closer to you. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you tightly.

You continued to stroke his hair, your touch soothing and steady, and soon enough, you felt the weight of his body grow heavier against you.

Spencer had never fallen asleep so fast.

Well , of course he did—here, with his hands around your waist, with the knowledge that someone was taking care of him, someone who would always be there for him, no matter what. 

As you lay there, listening to the soft rhythm of his breathing, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. It was going to take time for him to heal, but you’d be there every step of the way.

[dearreidr]

prompt: "Oh? Does that turn you on?" a/n: sub!spencer lives in my head rent free. i hope you like it, enjoy <3 so, this is a repost beacause the original post got literally 0 notes and i want to see if tumblr is the issue or if it was really my writing 😭 original post + request warings:18+ MDNI!!, smut, pet names, hand job, dom/sub dynamics, mommy kink pairing: sub!spencer reid x dom!reader I 979 words special prompts I special masterlist

You were standing in the kitchen of your boyfriends flat. Spencer Reid could do a lot of things and knew how to do even more things, but the one thing he never quite mastered, was cooking.

By no means were you a good chef, but you knew you way around a kitchen and could whip up a few meals. Which is why you were currently in Spencers kitchen, showing him how to do a simple lasagna.

"And that's how you do the layers. The key is to stay consistent and make the layers even. Now you go ahead and try, Spence."

Your boyfriend didn't enjoy the cooking as much as the close proximity while you were showing him how to do all the steps, guiding his hands or just hugging him from the side while watching something cook.

Watching Spencer cook away made pride swell in your chest. This wasn't your first cooking lesson and it was definetely a dramatic improvement from your first one, where you had a quick bathroom back and once you returned he managed to completely burn the pasta sauce. He looked like a kicked puppy while you threw the sauce away.

But since then he had gotten significantly better, even surprising you with a home cooked meal on your anniversery.

Once Spencer successfully laid out the next layer of the long pasta and sauce, you couldn't help but smile.

"You did such a good job, you're getting better and better," you knew your boyfriend loved it when you praised him, so you decided to tease him a little bit with it ,"you're such a good boy, Spencer."

That made him stop. Spencer was glad that he wasn't facing you right now, but rather was standing at the counter with you standing behind him to his right, now looking at his face. You immediately saw his blush, but Spencer was glad you couldn't see the boner he was now sporting after hearing his words.

He knew you were teasing him in a way, though you were still earnest. Still, he couldn't keep his body from reacting, the words planting a seed inside of his mind in a place he hadn't dared to discover yet.

You could see immediately what had happened, how your words affected Spencer. A slow smile spread over your face and you stepped closer to him, your lips now directly next to his ear.

"Oh, does that turn you on? I didn't know you liked being called that, though you were always my good boy." Now you were being a bit mean, but you knew that Spencer would tap out if it got too much.

At you calling him a good boy again, Spencers breath hitched. He wasn't surprised that you almost immediately caught on to his feelings.

You reached around his hip, palming his length through his trousers, making Spencer moan. Starting to pepper kisses over his neck, while Spencer leaned against you, just teasing him for now.

"You like that, baby? Me calling you a good boy?" He could hear you so clearly with your mouth directlly to his ear and his cock twitched in reaction to your filthy words.

It took him a moment to register that you asked him a question, but once he did he nodded, putting more of his weight against you.

"Words, baby, I need words. Be a good boy for me or I'll stop."

"Y- Yes, I- uhm, do like it when you call me that. Please, please I need you."

You could feel him throbbing though his trousers, deciding to have some mercy. Slowly undoing his belt and popping open the button of his jeans. Reaching inside you pull out his length, the tip glistening with precum as Spencer let out a relieved sigh.

Taking him in your hand you slowly start to move up and down, spreading the precum on his length. His pretty moans and whines only spurred you on further, not yet increasing your speed, but the grip you had on him, making him gasp.

You knew this was a new situation for the both of you, the dynamic itself already familiar. You decided to test out the waters, Spencer now being able to think clear enough incase he felt uncomfortable with anything.

"Such a good boy for mommy, huh? You like my hand wrapped arounf you?" Spencer moaned at your filthy words, his cock twitching imaptiently in your hand.

"Yes mommy, please more." Jackpot.

You went faster over his length, your free hand wandering to his front as well, slipping under his t-shirt and sprawling out over his stomach, making his muscles contract.

"You're doing so well for me, baby. I can feel you're getting closer."

"Please, mommy, make me cum. I want to be good for you." His breathing was getting more irregular and you could feel him being impossibly close to his high.

"Don't worry baby, yo're already such a good boy for me. Cum for me, cum for mommy."

Your words finally tipped him over the edge, his cum spurting all over his stomach and your hand. You continued to stroke him, your movements slowing down while he calmed down as well.

You peppered kisses onto evey free patch of skin you could reach at the moment and retracted your hand, taking a paper towel to clean you both up. After washing your hands and cleaning up the evidence of your short lived passion, you were ready to get things done.

"Well I'd say you finish the lasagna and then we'll contine. What do you say, Spence?"

With those words you left a stunned and sputtering Spencer behind. He turned around, looking at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes. But once you gave him a pointed look, he immediately went back to the lasagna. 

You were sure you've never seen someone layer anything that fast.

the requests for this event are OPEN until sunday (16/02)! here are the prompts!

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

requests open! (now also for the x files)

taglist: @silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@bigbananaa @mmmmokdok

[dearreidr]

you're not just a brain spencer is killing me this entire fic is killing me komi is evil (but a beautiful and incredible writer) and im so so sad

As Time Runs Out

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

wc: 3312

warnings: angst, grieving

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

The hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic scratching of Spencer’s pen on paper were the only noises in the bullpen. It was late– so late that most of the team had already gone home- but Spencer had a habit of lingering long after the office had cleared. But tonight he wasn’t alone.

You sat across from him, leaning back in your chair with a half-empty coffee mug in hand. Your presence was a comfort, self-effacing. You weren’t working, not really. You had finished your reports hours ago but stayed anyway, telling him that you still had more to do. He knew you were lying, you’d always hovered over him, worried about him constantly.

“Statistically speaking, sleep deprivation has been linked to a significant decrease in cognitive performance,” Reid said without looking up from his file. His voice was matter-of-fact but you could hear the slight smile in it.

“Is that targeted at me?” You laugh softly.

His pen stilled for a second, and he looked up, his expression sheepish. “Both of us, I suppose.”

You take a sip of your coffee, watching him with quiet amusement, “Well, you’re the genius. I’ll take your word for it.”

He paused again, then brushed a piece of his grown-out hair behind his ear. “Actually, it's not so much taking my word for it as it is taking the word of the empirical data behind the studies. For example, one study conducted by the University of California showed that even one night of no sleep dampens neural responses to decision outcomes, affecting both positive and negative emotional reactions…”

As he spoke, his words picked up speed, his enthusiasm growing with each word. You didn’t interrupt, you never did. Instead, you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand, your eyes locked onto him. There was no impatience in your eyes, no feigned interest. You were truly listening, and it made Spencer’s heart ache in a way he couldn’t quite place. Anyone else would’ve sighed or rolled their eyes by now, but not you. You’re different.

“I'm rambling again, aren’t I?” He said, abruptly cutting himself off. His cheeks flushed as he looked back down at the file he was filling in, fidgeting with the corner of it. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say firmly. “I like hearing the Spencer Reid fun fact of the day.”

Spencer’s eyes glanced up to meet yours, searching for any sign of insincerity but he found none. Your gaze was steady, your body language open and warm. Your words were simple, they shouldn’t affect him in any way, but to him, it felt like sunlight breaking through the darkness.

For a moment, the silence between you felt less like an absence and more like a presence- of something under the surface, something shared.

The moment passed long ago, but it lingered in Reid’s mind well after you’d finally announced you were going home.

“You should try to rest too,” you say, pausing by his desk. “Even geniuses need to reset.”

He nodded but made no move to grab his things. You gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further. Instead, you reached out and mussed his hair.

“Goodnight, Spence.”

He watched as you left, your footsteps echoing and fading into the distance. When the bullpen was silent again, he leaned back in his chair and stared at where you’d just been sitting, the warmth of your presence still remaining. He wanted to say something, to tell you how much your kindness meant to him- how much you meant to him. Yet the words seemed trapped in his throat, so instead he buried himself in his work, pretending the pit in his stomach wasn’t there at all.

One slow afternoon in the bullpen, the kind of day where the hands on the clock seem to drag painfully slowly from one hour to the next, all of the case reports had been filed and, for the first time in forever, the team wasn’t buried under an avalanche of paperwork. You were sat on the edge of Reid’s desk, a bag of mini cookies in hand, while he shuffled through a stack of books he’d signed out from the library.

“You’re really going to read all of these?” you asked, looking at the titles. “Who willingly reads a textbook on astrophysics? Let alone enjoy Victorian poetry and…philosophy? You need better hobbies.”

Reid snuck a glance at you, letting his hair fall over his face to hide his embarrassed blush, “I like variety. It keeps me engaged.”

“Engaged or distracted?” you teased, tossing a tiny cookie at his head.

He huffed out a laugh, a small shy expression that made your heart flutter unexpectedly. “Engaged. Distracted is usually when I delve into cases, actually.”

You watched as he arranged the books into neat piles, assumedly into the order he intended to read them. “You know, you could probably teach classes on any of these subjects, with an eidetic memory like yours people would line up to hear you talk.”

He froze for an almost imperceptively small second before resuming his organization. “I doubt that,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“I’m not exactly an interesting person. I tend to ramble and get off-topic. Most people don’t have the time nor patience for that.”

“I would,” you said softly, popping another cookie into your mouth.

The words hung in the air around Spencer, simple yet far-reaching. The way you said it was like it was the most obvious thing in the world as if he were someone worth listening to.

The rest of the afternoon passed in the same slow rhythm as earlier, yet he was completely enthralled by you. You stayed at his desk, swapping quiet jokes and sharing stories from your respective lives. At one point you’d reached over to grab a book from his stack, your fingers briefly brushing his. The contact was accidental, but the jolt it sent through Reid’s chest left his heart pounding violently. 

He didn’t say anything as usual when you’d made him feel like this. He watched as you flipped through the pages of the book, your brow furrowed at the scientific phrases that you didn’t understand.

That moment made him realize what it was he’d been shielding himself from all along, he loved you, with every inch of his being.

Over the next few weeks, your friendship with Reid deepened in ways neither of you could have ever predicted. The two of you fell into a routine– late-night conversations, shared smiles over paperwork, and little jokes that broke through the chaos of work. Spencer was still Spencer, obviously– awkward and brilliant, long jumbled sentences– but you never made him feel like he was a burden. And that meant everything to him.

One evening, after a particularly taxing day in the field, you found yourselves sitting on the steps outside of the BAU. The sky was marbled in hues of oranges and pinks as the sun started to drop below the horizon.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, turning to look at him. His face was cast in the golden hour light, framing his features perfectly.

“Oh, um…nothing important,” he replied, his voice faltering.

You raised an eyebrow. “Reid, you of all people are always thinking.”

He let out a soft breathy laugh, lowering his head. “True.” He hesitated, tapping his fingers against his knee. “I was just thinking about how nice this is…just talking with you, here, watching the sunset.”

“It is nice, I love spending time with you.”

His chest tightened at your words, a feeling of longing settling into his bones. He glimpsed at you, the corners of his mouth tugging up a little. “Most people find me insufferable.”

“Well, I don’t.” You respond immediately, never one to let Spencer feel sorry for himself. His heart skipped a beat. He wanted to say it– how the way you treat him anchors him when everything feels so haywire. But instead, he sat there, letting the quiet between you fill the space where his unspoken words should have been.

“Someday you’re going to realize you’re so much more than you give yourself credit for.” You said quietly like you honestly believed it. He turned to look at you, his eyes questioning.

“You’re not just a brain, Spencer. You’re not just the boy genius. You’re thoughtful and funny and there’s so much more to you than what's on the surface.” You nudge his shoulder playfully, smiling. “You’re a good person, better than most. I hope you know that. I hope you come to see yourself how I do.”

He swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He wanted to believe you, but he couldn’t. All he’d ever been was the smart one. No one bothered asking him how he was, they only ever wanted his input in their own problems, and he never said no. He always had to live up to their expectations, telling himself it was the price to pay for being gifted. Yet you were always the beaming sun in his inner shadows, every morning you’d ask about his night, letting him prattle on about whatever book he’d read or documentary he’d stayed up watching. Still, hearing those words from you– someone he’d come to care about more than he wanted to admit– meant more to him than you could possibly know.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Anytime, smart-ass,” you replied with a grin. 

Reid smiled back, the moment etching itself into his memory like a photograph. He didn’t know if you saw him the same way he saw you– as someone who made the world brighter by just being in it– but for now, it was just enough to sit beside you, letting the weight of his unavowed feelings rest in his chest.

It was only two weeks later when everything fell apart.

You’d become a constant in Spencer’s life. His apartment felt less isolating when you were there, filling the space with companionship. Sometimes you’d swap stories– small anecdotes from your lives before you’d met, while he offered obscure facts that only he could find fascinating in response. Other times you’d sit in a comfortable silence, his tranquility only broken by the words he’d not gotten the courage to say yet.

But as Reid knew better than most, life had a way of turning constants into memories.

Hotch had called the team into the conference room, and immediately the air felt fraught with tension. His voice cut through the room like a blade as he announced the news. An accident. Senseless, unexpected. You’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now you were dead.

Spencer’s mind went blank as he struggled to register the words. The rest of the team reacted– gasps, questions, even stunned cries– but Reid stayed frozen in place, his gaze locked onto the chair you’d been sat in only a few days prior. He didn’t remember standing up or leaving the room but the next thing he knew, he was in the serenity of the BAU library, leaning against a bookcase as his legs buckled.

You were gone.

The world became empty.

The days after your death blurred together in a haze of denial and grief. He found himself replaying every memory he had of you, he remembered the way you laughed at his awkward unfunny jokes, the encouragement you’d always given him when he doubted himself, even when you’d tell the other members of the team to be quiet when they’d tried to hush his info-dumping.

What haunted him most though; was the last moments you’d shared. It was nothing special, just a passing conversation as the night had come to an end.

“Take care of yourself, Spence,” you’d said, your voice slick with tiredness yet somehow still light.

“You too,” he’d replied, distracted by the files on his desk that he now wished he’d ignored.

He hadn’t even looked up.

Now the memory echoed in his mind like a cruel reminder of everything he’d never said. He tortured himself with every tiny thing he could– no– should have told you, and all of the ways he should have shown you how much you meant to him.

The regret was unendurable. He’d shut down. No longer did he ramble about facts and theories, he’d stopped sharing his thoughts with the team. He withdrew into himself, leaving the office as fast as he could at the end of his shift, he couldn’t face staying later than absolutely necessary without you, knowing that every night for the past few months you’d both been in your own little world at his desk. Meals became yet another afterthought, and sleep was a luxury he didn’t allow himself.

But you can’t hide from a team of profilers, and inevitably the team noticed. Morgan tried to pull him out of it with his trademark jokes and teasing. JJ offered a shoulder to cry on, leaving coffee cups on his desk every morning in an attempt to get him to notice she was there. Even Hotch, with his usual mask of stoicism, had pulled him aside one afternoon to try to get him to attend a session with the BAU-assigned therapist. But none of the attempts prevailed. In his mind, he didn't think he deserved comfort, not after he’d failed to be there for you when you’d needed it most. Not when he’d let this happen to you.

It was a week after your funeral when he’d be forced to face his feelings head-on.

He’d been sorting through the backlog of files on his desk when he’d come across a post-it underneath some obscure Theoretical Physics book, and he’d immediately recognized your handwriting. His breath caught in his throat and the tears he’d been holding back all day came racing to the surface, his hands were trembling as he peeled it off of the desk. At first, the words blurred together, his eyes swimming with the unshed tears but as he blinked them away, your voice seemed to come alive in the words you’d written:

Spence, you don’t always say how you feel, but I see you. You care more deeply than anyone I’ve met. Stop hiding yourself. You’re more than enough– exactly as you are.

Lots of love.

He felt silly as he clutched the Post-it to his chest, but his worries were pushed aside as a choked sob escaped his lips. The weight of your permanent absence hit him like a tsunami, overwhelming and inescapable. But somewhere beneath the grief, there was something else– something warm and bittersweet.

You had seen him. Seen him better than anyone ever had. Even when he couldn’t find the words, you’d seen how he’d felt. While he’d never have the chance to say it aloud, he now had a piece of you– even in the minuscule form of your writing– the words a reminder of the connection you’d shared.

For the first time since the news was broken, Reid allowed himself to cry. Not just for the loss of you, but for the love he’d never been brave enough to express.

It was late, the kind of late where even the most dedicated agents had gone home. Reid remained at his desk, the first night he’d stayed behind since the last time with you. His hands picked at the corners of the post-it, which he now carried with him whenever he needed a reminder that, even though you were gone, your warmth still stayed. The words you’d written were etched into his mind, looping endlessly: You’re more than enough– exactly as you are. 

He had barely put the note down since he found it. The paper was now worn at the edges, crumpled from his tight grip. The world beyond his desk felt distant. All he could hear was the laughs you’d shared at this very spot, the same laugh that cut through his darkest days, now replaced with an unbearable silence.

Footsteps broke the stillness, the heavy yet purposeful gait meant Reid didn’t even need to look up. He already knew who it was. 

“Hey, kid,” Morgan's voice flooded the room cautiously. He approached slowly, almost like he was afraid of startling Spencer. Noting how his shoulders were slumped, his hair disheveled, and how his hands traced over the writing on the note like it was the only thing grounding him. “You’ve been here all night.”

It didn’t feel right to Spencer that Morgan was taking up the space by his desk that was almost exclusively reserved for you. His eyes fixed on the paper in his hands as though he could will you back into existence if he just focused hard enough. Morgan pulled up a chair, sitting down without another word, his expression solemn but patient.

Finally, after a long silence, Reid spoke, “I thought I had more time.” Morgan frowned, waiting for Spencer to expand upon his brief confession.

Reid swallowed, his throat tight as the words flowed out of him in a broken rush. “I thought I could tell her someday, I thought there’d be another chance, but there never will be. She died without knowing…”

He trailed off as his voice cracked, he gritted his teeth, lip trembling as he fought against every part of him that was screaming to fall apart.

“Reid,” Morgan said gently, “What didn’t you say?”

“Everything.” He whispered in response, “That she was the best thing that happened to me in years. That when she was around I felt alive. I feel like I can’t breathe now…I was just so afraid to say anything.”

Morgan reached out, resting a firm but reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Listen, kid. I’ve been around you two enough to know this– she knew. Okay? She didn’t need you to say it out loud to know the truth.”

Reid sighed and shook his head, his eyes glistening. “But what if she didn’t? What if she thought she was just another person to me? What if she didn’t know how much I cared?”

Morgan’s grip on Spencer’s shoulder tightens slightly, trying to pull him back to the present instead of the dark place he was spiraling to. “Reid, the way you looked at her, the way you talked to her…anyone with eyes could see how much she meant to you. And knowing her? She saw it too. I promise you, she knew.”

That was the breaking point. Reid let out a shuddering breath as the dam inside of him burst. Grief-ridden tears came in a torrent, the sobs wracking his body until his throat was raw. Nothing could fill the void you’d left behind.

Morgan didn’t say anything more for a while. He simply pulled Reid into a steady embrace. Reid clung to him desperately, his sobs muffled by Morgan’s shoulder. It was the kind of grief that words couldn’t soothe, the kind that could only be withstood through time. For the first time since you’d been taken from Spencer, he allowed himself to feel the full depth of his sorrow, and the guilt that came with it. Morgan’s hold reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

Eventually, Spencer pulled back, wiping at his tear-stained face with the sleeve of his sweater. He briefly glanced at the worn Post-it, he didn’t need to read the words, he already knew them by heart. Morgan offered a final encouraging smile before leaving him alone in the bullpen, knowing he needed time to process. The ache in Reid’s chest was still there, sharp and unrelenting but Morgan’s words played heavily: She knew.

In the solitude of the now-empty room, Reid closed his eyes, his fingers stroking the edges of the paper, “I hope you knew,” he murmured, hoping that wherever you were you’d hear him. “I loved you. I hope you knew.”

The silence that followed seemed lighter than anything had within the past few weeks.

[dearreidr]

oh my GOD. this is the sweetest thing ever

in infinite universes

in which spencer reid picks up uni!reader from a party. you're drunk, and he's in love with you

fluff:) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, university!reader x professor!spencer but you're not his student, unspecified age gap, um statistic about deaths from drunk driving, spencer is a nerd a/n: this is accidentally so romantic I'm gonna puke

The night is chilly—a still, dry type of cold that comes before snowfall. It’s quiet, like the world is preparing for that heavy blanket of white. Even the pounding bass from the frat house doesn’t make it very far before falling flat at the end of the yard. By the time Spencer gets you to his car down the block, it’s a thready pulse. 

“Thanks for walking me,” you say, giving him a saccharine smile as he opens the passenger door for you. His scoff is a thick white cloud, crystallizing against cold, shining skin, slightly pinkened from the temperature. Spencer is glowing like a star tonight. You don’t know if it’s the blurriness from the alcohol in your system smudging the edges of him, or if it’s just that incandescent halo that always seems to follow him around.

“You know I wasn’t going to let you walk down frat row by yourself at one in the morning.”

You pout and look up at him, leaning close. 

“So you don’t want me to say thank you?” 

Spencer’s mouth is curved in absent-minded affection as he takes advantage of the opportunity to study you up close with darting eyes, entertaining your girlish flirtation, and you in turn get to admire the starlit flush of his cheeks, the way his hair falls around his face and thick eyelashes frame irises that could melt ice. You’re not entirely conscious of the huge grin that cracks open your face, but you suspect its presence when his own lips part, still smiling, like he’s maybe going to say something sweet. Or teasing. 

“You’re drunk.”

At this absolute and unarguable truth, you frown. He’s grinning now as he adjusts the thick scarf around your neck, shielding your ears and neck further from the chill that the open car door can’t block. 

“No I’m not.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and before you can process it he’s leaning down, so of course your eyes are going to flutter shut and of course you’re going to kiss him back. The gentle ferocity of it only has you stumbling in place a little bit, and he steadies you with hands around your waist. It’s over entirely too soon. You blink up at him, your shock and fluster betrayed by the visible huff of air dispelled as soon as he pulls away. He’s smiling even wider now. Vindicated. Eyes sparkling. “Gin? Wow. You are drunk.”

It takes you a moment longer than it usually would to decipher how he figured this out. 

“So you just kissed me to prove your theory right?”

The sparkling satisfaction from his indictment softens around his eyes. 

“I knew you were drunk when you almost fell down the stairs a minute ago. The kiss was purely selfish.”

“It’s icy,” you defend, and your heart flutters as he comes in for another kiss. It’s soft and still shockingly deep for being on the street, where anyone could see—although everyone smart is inside, and anyone else is too drunk to care that his mouth is open against yours and the heat of it is translating deep in your stomach. You’re dizzy by the time he laughs quietly against you. 

“What college student is pounding gin and tonics at a frat party?”

The thick wool of his coat bunches under your searching fingers. 

“Me,” you whisper. “I was classing up the joint.”

The final kiss he presses to your lips is sweeter and half smile. “Drunk.”

The murmured accusation shouldn’t make you feel so giddy. Maybe it’s all the gin. 

“Not.”

Another little chuckle warms the tip of your nose and your lips as he breathes it out.

“So you’re good to drive us home?”

You itch to kiss him again, but instead, you respond, “One person dies every thirty nine minutes in America from drunk driving.”

“Good job. You passed.”

The praise is accompanied by a thumb rubbing at your hip through denim. He probably thought you weren’t listening when he’d spouted that particular statistic a few hours ago. 

“Do I get a gold star?”

He kisses your head. 

“We’ll see. Get in.”

On the way home, that last shot hits you. You slump down in your seat and hide your face in your hands. 

“Oh, Spencer. I’m… I’m drunk.”

You feel him glancing at you before he sets a concerned hand on your thigh. 

“You okay?”

Morosely you nod. 

“Yeah. I took a shot with this… Delta Phi Epsilon guy, right before you got there. I wasn’t gonna, but he was like, no, you have to! And now I realize that was dumb.”

Spencer’s hand finds the back of your head, stroking your hair. 

“Do you know what I’m going to say about frat boys pressuring you to drink?”

“It wasn’t like that. He was really nice.”

“I’m sure he was,” Spencer says dryly. “Lots of men become really nice when they think they might have something to gain.”

“I thought he was gay!” You laugh, uncovering your face. “Sorry, dad. I won’t drink alcohol or talk to boys anymore.”

Spencer makes a face and you know you’ve successfully traded pounds of flesh. 

“If you call me dad again I’m making you take an abnormal psych class.”

You give him a lazy smile which he only takes his eyes off the road for a few seconds to admire. 

“I’d take abnormal psych if you were my professor.”

That perpetual upturn at the corners of his perfect mouth flickers wider. 

“Wow. Does gin make you sexually frustrated?”

“It makes me lazy. The professor-student thing is really low hanging fruit.”

“Yeah, it is. You know I’ll expect better material from you once you’ve sobered up.”

You sigh and let your head loll to the front again, studying the tunneling road through the windshield. A few flakes slash the headlights. Your mind wanders. You don’t bother reeling it in. 

“I’m really glad I’m not your student. I’d have the worst crush on you.”

Spencer casts you another side-long glance before adjusting the rear-view mirror. 

“You don’t have a crush on me now?”

“Of course I do. But you like me back. If I was your student you’d never look at me like that. I would just have to pine after you and fall in deep unrequited love like all your other female students.”

He hums skeptically. 

“I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t imagine not being in love with you.”

“There are universes where you’re not. There are infinite realities where I am your student and you don’t like me back and you’re dating other girls who aren’t me and you’re saying this exact stuff to them.”

“True. There are also infinite realities where I find you and I fall in love with you.” Spencer reaches over again, taking your hand and settling them, joined, in your lap. “For each trillionth of a billionth of a second of the life I’ve lived thus far, there are infinite universes which exist solely so I can fall in love with you in a new way. Over and over again. There’s not a choice I could make in any timeline, or in any universe, that doesn’t lead an infinite number of me’s to an infinite number of you’s.” 

The engine hums. The tires roll. 

Other than that—it’s dead silent. 

Because how could he ever expect anyone to respond to that?

You slink low in your seat and bring his hand to cradle your face, warm against your cheek. 

“I hate you,” you mumble. Spencer strokes your jaw absentmindedly, not at all concerned by your dramatics. 

“You hate me? I just said I love you.”

“No, you did not. You said th—I don’t even wanna call it romantic. Romantic doesn’t—I don’t even know what that was. You can’t just say things like that, Spencer! You can’t just casually say stuff like that to me, and especially not when I’m drunk, because I’m gonna start crying!” 

The last word pitches up and perfectly illustrates your point as tears begin to roll down your cheeks—still nipped by the cold. 

Spencer quickly pulls the car off to the side of the abandoned road. 

He’s all affection as he twists to face you and take your face in his hands properly, thumbing away tears. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“You j-just love me so much,” you sob.

“Yes,” Spencer laughs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I do. I love you so much. I didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart.”

“You—you don’t even realize, that you said the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to anyone, and you love me more than anyone’s ever loved anyone, and—and—”

You cut yourself off with another hot wave of tears and a shuddering cry. 

“Oh, my girl,” Spencer coos through an adoring little laugh as he pushes hair out of your face. “You are so drunk, baby. Come here.”

You let him undo your buckle and pull you across the console-less seat (thank you, vintage car) into his arms. For a minute or two you can hardly speak, crying into the warmth of his jacket as he holds you. 

Eventually, you manage to raise your head and pull back enough to look at him. Immediately he’s assessing you with those soft eyes, watching how you wipe away whatever tears didn’t soak into his clothing. Under his watchful gaze, you exhale a sniffing laugh. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

It’s so immediate you’re knocked off balance again. “Well—you were just being nice, and I—”

“I do love you more than anyone has ever loved anyone.”

Usually, you dislike being interrupted. 

In this instance, you’ll let it slide. 

It’s simply too earnest, too honest as his eyes dart between yours like he couldn’t contain it. Like you said it and the thought struck him right in the face—an obvious truth he hadn’t considered before. 

“In infinite universes?” You sniffle. 

“In infinite universes,” he agrees. 

Both of you notice the snow has started to come down outside. Over the course of a few silent minutes, it gets heavier and heavier—a soft hail, sheets of whispering white. 

You’ve never been afraid to break the silence with him. 

But maybe if you weren’t drunk you could keep your questions to yourself. 

“How many snowflakes are we looking at?”

Spencer hesitates, drawn from some kind of hypnosis. 

“Hard to be sure. Heavy snowfall like this could easily put us at six inches within the hour. In that case we’ve watched around point two inches fall. Visibility is probably reduced to about a quarter mile… point two inches across a square quarter mile is a hundred and seventeen thousand five hundred square feet of snow, average density of flakes at this temperature being about three kilograms per cubic foot of snow, and a snowflake weighs maybe… point zero zero zero zero zero two kilograms, so, roughly… very roughly… we’re looking at one hundred and forty two million snowflakes. That’s my best guess.”

You look up at him from where you’d been resting your head on his shoulder. 

“You’re the coolest person ever.”

He blushes. 

Tries to reply. 

Looks back out the window and huffs a nervous laugh, like you’ve flustered him. 

“Lots of people could do that. The math isn’t too complicated. It’s also probably wrong.”

A slow smile blossoms on your face. 

“You’re never wrong. So… what percentage of infinity is a hundred and forty two million?”

“Uh… undefined,” he laughs, looking back down at you. “But… in tangible terms, which is inherently contradictory because infinity is completely intangible, and actually pretty meaningless to mathematicians—more of a philosophical concept than a numerical one… it is a very small fraction. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t want philosophical,” you murmur, reaching up to graze your knuckles along his cheekbone. “I want hard numbers.”

He catches your hand and holds the tips of your fingers to his lips as he thinks, watching hundreds of millions of snowflakes falling from the wide black heavens through narrowed eyes. 

“A googol is written as a one followed by a hundred zeros, and a googolplex is a one followed by a googol of zeros. That’s the largest named number we have. It surpasses the estimated number of atoms in the universe. It’s too large to conceptualize. Mathematicians don’t really have any practical use for numbers above one trillion, but the largest number you’ll find in a dictionary and which might be formally accredited is a centillion, which is a one followed by three hundred and three zeros. It’s bigger than a googol but hardly a fraction of a googolplex. But—okay, we’re setting aside the conceptual numbers. What was your question?”

Your head spins as you laugh. 

Too much gin. Too many IQ points. 

“Infinity divided by, uh… the number of snowflakes I can see right now.”

The engine is still on—heat blows steadily, warming your arm through a coat and sweater, and whatever it can’t reach is warmed by Spencer. 

“Right. Okay. Well—to put it into perspective, with snowflakes, you have around one septillion that fall each year. That’s twenty four zeros, so… a lot. Are you with me?”

“No.”

“Great. So, a hundred and forty two million is basically infinity.”

This earns a clumsy, drunken laugh from you, and he smiles like he’d been hoping for that. 

It’s so warm in the cab of his car. It’s so warm under his gaze. 

Outside, the snow continues to fall. 

For each flake, there is a world where you and Spencer fall in love. And in the grand scheme of things, you’re not looking at very many. 

In infinite universes, you’ll find each other. For eternity. 

You’d be happy with just this one. 

[dearreidr]

what the FAWWWWWK this is insane

UNKNOWN TERRITORY - A.H x Reader x S.R

About: Spencer walks in on Aaron going down on you. So he watches the two of you have sex.

A/N: this didn’t come out exactly how i wanted it to but i have so many ideas on this dynamic lol. so feel free to send aaron x reader x spencer requests!

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, office sex, unprotected sex, oral (f), getting caught, voyeurism, masturbation (m), whiny Spencer, whiny reader, making out, Spencer’s a virgin and receives a handjob

Word Count: 1.5k

Working late at the Bureau wasn’t one of your favorite things to do, especially after working a really long case. No one else was at the Bureau except you and Aaron, everyone had already gone home. You were exhausted and just wanted to go home as well. But you also didn’t want to be alone. You wanted to be between Aaron’s sheets as he fucked you into a blissful state. Instead, you were sitting on Aaron’s desk, thoroughly distracting him from the work he claimed he absolutely had to do, as he was on his knees with his face buried between your legs.

Your legs rested on Aaron’s shoulders as his tongue lapped around your cunt, coating his tongue with your juices. Your hands gripped the desk as you let out the most beautiful noises, soft moans with quiet whimpers. Aaron’s tongue dipped to your hole, causing his nose to grind against your clit. You gasped, moving a hand to Aaron’s head as your eyes fluttered shut. You gently tugged at his hair, causing Aaron to groan against your pussy. The sound sent vibrations through you, making you buck your hips in response.

You knew exactly when this sexual relationship began with Aaron. About four months ago, the two of you were forced to share a room in the rural countryside in Vermont for a case with only one bed. So naturally, you ended up with your face buried in the pillow as Aaron fucked you into oblivion. And you had absolutely no regrets.

Aaron worked meticulously at eating you out. He loved when he could just bury his face between your thighs. The amount of times you’ve woken up with his tongue inside of you was more than often whenever he slept at your place. Your pussy was like his happy place and he never failed to show you that. He moved his lips against your cunt, slurping as he sucked on your clit.

You whined, still gripping Aaron’s hair. You opened your eyes to look down at him, only to see someone standing at the door. You gasped. “S-Spencer,” You said, eyes widening.

Aaron stopped his movements, looking up at you with confusion. “What?” He deadpanned.

You pointed a shaky finger at the doorway. “Spencer,” You said again. Aaron turned his head, seeing Spencer standing in the doorway with a file in hand. Spencer was frozen, shocked at the scene in front of him. His lips were parted, his eyes wide like a deer, his cheeks were pinkened, and he was sporting a very obvious hard-on.

Nothing was spoken between the three of you for a good few seconds. You were still exposed, your pants sitting comfortably on Aaron’s couch in his office. Your legs were still on Aaron’s shoulders. You thought Aaron would stop the whole ordeal, being the most logical person in the room because he was your and Spencer’s boss. However, instead, he looks at Spencer and then at you and says “Reid, if you’re going to stand there and watch, you can at least come in and close the door,” before diving back into eating you out.

The action caused you to gasp and moan, your hand going back to Aaron’s hair. Spencer quickly walked into the office, closing the door behind him. He stood awkwardly in the room, watching the scene before him. He bit his lip, watching as Aaron ate you out. The way your body reacted to Aaron’s touch, the way your lips parted in an “o”. You looked as though you were in Heaven, basking in the pleasures that Aaron bestowed on you. And Spencer couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to. Spencer’s never done anything remotely sexual so his experience is very much nonexistent. What better way to learn to pleasure someone than to watch it happen right in front of you?

The look you were giving Spencer as Aaron ate you out was one that Spencer would likely jerk off to frequently. He had expected that you would look at Aaron as if he was the one pleasuring you but instead, your lustful gaze met Spencer’s doe eyes, as though you wanted him to join. And as you let out a loud moan, biting your lip when Aaron sucked on your clit, you made a come here motion to Spencer. Spencer was quick to walk over to you, placing the file that was in his hands on Aaron’s desk before taking a seat next to you on the desk. He looked at you, waiting for you to say or do anything.

You tilted your head towards Spencer, looking at him. “Kiss me,” you breathed out.

And Spencer didn’t need to be told twice as he put his lips onto yours.

Aaron glanced up as he continued eating you out, his hands on your thighs. He saw you and Spencer kissing, unable to help the small chuckle that escaped his lips against your cunt. The action of itself caused you to moan against Spencer’s mouth, allowing his tongue to explore you. Your kisses with Spencer were slow but hungry. Both of your hands were tugging at Aaron’s hair.

You could feel yourself getting closer. With the way Aaron’s tongue kept moving around on your pussy and how his nose would brush against your clit. The way Spencer’s tongue moved inside your mouth as he kissed you. The little cherry on top that sent you over the edge was the way Spencer had tentatively put a hand on your left boob, massaging the flesh through your shirt. You came with a loud moan that was muffled by Spencer’s mouth. Your thighs clenched around Aaron’s face, shaking as your orgasm overcame you.

When you finished, you pulled away from the kiss to look down at Aaron, breathing heavily. He pulled away from your cunt, taking your legs off of his shoulder as he stood up. His face was glistening from your juices. He took the back of his hand, wiping his chin before licking his lips. It wasn’t long until the three of you were undressed and moved to Aaron’s couch.

Spencer was sitting on the left side of the couch while Aaron had you bent over on the rest of it, his cock thrusting into you hard. Your eyes were rolled back as Spencer watched you. He had his cock in his hand, stroking himself with his fist. He thumbed the tip of his cock, spreading around the precum that had accumulated, causing him to let out a whine.

That noise sent a shiver down your spine, causing your pussy to flutter around Aaron’s cock. “Oh you liked that didn’t you, baby?” Aaron groaned, giving you a particularly harsh thrust, eliciting a sharp moan from you.

“Yes,” you whined, looking at Spencer.

Spencer really couldn’t believe what was happening to him. He knew it should’ve been wrong. The fact that you were his coworker and Hotch was his boss. And yet, he could hardly find himself caring when you looked so pretty getting railed by your boss. Spencer began stroking himself a bit faster, pumping his cock in rhythm of Aaron’s thrusts. But when your hand moved to wrap around Spencer’s, helping him jerk himself off? Spencer almost came right then and there. “O-oh fuck,” Spencer whimpered out, throwing his head back. His eyes met with Aaron’s as he turned his head to the side as Aaron gave him a smirk.

Aaron’s thrusts became more frenzied, chasing the pleasure that you both craved. The office was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, moans and whines from both you and Spencer, and the low groans that Aaron was letting out.

It didn’t take long for Spencer to cum. His hips began meeting your fist and he was done for. His cum landed on his chest and stomach as Spencer let out the most beautiful noises you had ever heard.

The heat was building in your abdomen from Aaron’s thrusts. You were close and Aaron could tell. “Go ahead and cum for me, baby,” Aaron said, grabbing your ass and massaging it. His breathing was harsh just like his thrusts.

You came with a high pitched noise that was surely pornographic, a noise that will live in Spencer’s dreams frequently. You buried your head into the leather cushion, cumming from Aaron’s cock. Aaron continued his pace before letting out a loud groan, burying himself deep inside of you as he came.

Harsh breathing filled the air as the three of you came down from your highs. You looked at Spencer who was moving his gaze between you and Aaron. None of you spoke. But there was change in the way the three of you interacted from now on. This fateful night marked the night when Spencer became part of your dynamic with Aaron. It was uncertain as to where it would go or what would come of it. But all that mattered was teaching one another and exploring each other’s bodies.

[dearreidr]

this is so beautiful oh my god why is he not REAL

Ton 618,

S3-S4ish Spencer Reid x Reader (no mention of gender).

Fluff (no angst… surprisingly). Autistic Spencer (present in all of my one shots bcos it’s canon to me).

──── domesticated time inbetween cases & blind adoration.

Warnings: literally none (who am i???), brief mention of past trauma (Hankel).

w.c: 1.5k

— They’re both nerds who are a little too invested in space. Light biblical imagery & Greek mythology references. My writing has been sufficiently domesticated (dw i’ll be back to angst soon, war is not over.)

Loosely inspired by:

a/n: just giving him what he deserved to have.

────────────

For the first time, in a long time, there is little residing in Spencer’s mind. Beyond warm hands, and soft skin, and the pulse of someone else’s body. Obsessed is one word for it, a textbook definition that can’t truly articulate the ache he derives from the thought of you. Obsessed, fatefully ruined, if this is the work of divine intervention, then consider him, once obstinate in his atheism, entirely, profusely devout.

He’s still thinking about you. What’s new? The memory of your lips pressed against his, the tattooed promise of more, more because it will never be enough. He wants, god when has he ever wanted? Life before appears bleak now, black and white. Academia, pursuits of knowledge, lonely nights and the transient fear of forever being stuck in a cyclical cycle of loneliness.

You think he’s pretty. He smiles on the way home from work, Morgan pressing him, because ‘kid you can’t be that happy for no reason.’ There is a reason, a monumental, life-altering one that waits for him at the door. He likes that, the domesticity. He’s never asked for much, content in his mishaps of intimacy, always baring the weight because he wants needs to be good. For the people around him, for the home he’s carved into his skin, for anything that starves off the decades of isolation.

When he threads his arms around your waist, leaning all of his weight into the contact, you both go stumbling back.

He’s soft. Of course he’s endured more than anyone should, the sharp edge of addiction, the stifling weight of a morbid job that has him fixated, hook line and sinker, compass pointing South every time he’s thrown into the field. But for all of that, he still obtains naive, blinding light.

He burns. Or more so, he warms.

“Hi, hi. Sorry— that wasn’t very eloquent. Can I try again?” He’s halfway out of the door; you have to lean forward, grip his wrist, tug him closer, “Okay.” He laughs, “I’ll take that as a no?”

He’s certain your name is imprinted onto his heart. Carved just for you alone. There is no one else. There could never be anyone else.

That night he falls asleep on your shoulder. Hands interlocked, body splayed out across stressed leather, abandoning his book for the soft drab of safety. There’s a tangled wire of headphones draped between you, knotted further when you pull him, half conscious to bed. He follows mindlessly.

You spend his allocated time off as recluses, abandoning civilisation. No sunlight, his apartment is permanently drenched in molten light. Scattered lamps, balancing off stacked books and messy surfaces. Every morning he’ll wake you with butterfly kisses and the promise of a breakfast he will consistently burn. He’s content, over the moon, to forget the world around him. For it to just be, just the two of you.

Today, as usual, you eat his charred attempt at food. He’s trying, he’s definitely trying, even if the end result is… a health risk. Still, you eat it regardless, without complaint, you eat it.. and then he’s just… kissing you senseless in the middle of his kitchen. Cold tiled floor, and mismatched socks. Fuck, he loves you, he’s never loved someone the way he loves you.

“I’ve been dreaming about falling into black holes recently,” he says when you cradle his face. Pretty features besotted with the sight of you. “Weird. Kinda cool. Please don’t eat anymore of my food.”

“No promises,” you grin, and he has the audacity to pout.

Because that’s not fair, burnt food can cause carcinogens to form, to obstruct digestion and metabolism. “My cooking is going to kill you. Your death will be on my hands. The grief will be immeasurable. I’ll become a hermit, never leave my apartment again. Don’t do that to me.” hands wrapped around your wrists, he preserves the contact. “Please don’t do that to me.”

“Well only because you said please—“

He sighs, audibly, ”You just died, you’re dead, and the only thing you can focus on is a word. A word I very generously repeat, at any given moment.” — he’s polite, he will use his manners, and he will unceremoniously echo please please please to obtain even a fraction of you.

He’s senseless. Too far gone.

You take his hand, press it against your heart. “Still alive. I think?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “For now.”

“You’re dramatic—“

He cuts you off, “Did you know one of the largest black holes ever recorded is 66 billion times the mass of the sun? Ton 618.” Pausing to kiss you (a vital necessity), his hands play aimlessly with your hair, strands sliding through the crevices of his fingers. “Imagine falling into that—“ kiss, “You would die obviously,” kiss, “But it would be a pretty cool death.” Kiss. 

Time dilation, worm holes, cosmic demise, you. Sigh— you.

“It would take over 10 billion years for its light to reach earth.” you say, and yeah. Okay. Just casually recite facts to him. That’s okay. He won’t melt, because he’s a rational, dignified, highly-cerebral adult.

Lie. You always know when to talk, sometimes, sometimes, he gets so lost in thought-loops and spirals of intellectual confusion that you have to draw him back to the present. He disintegrates. Every. Single. Time. One intelligent word and the threads of him are woven tightly around your finger.

”You’re stealing my job. And—and you’re doing it better than me. I’m taking a vow of silence. No more words. I’m becoming a monk. Except, maybe without the celibacy?”

“Whore—“

“For you? Always.” he says, knocking his shoulder into yours, “You’re missing the important aspect to this. Don’t discard my threat.”

“Spence, if you ever stop reciting random facts to me at..” you scramble to check the time, early morning, it’s hard to differentiate the hours when they all bleed into one convoluted mess of intimacy. “At 9AM, we will have serious issues. I might get HR involved.“

He’ll ramble about the laws of thermodynamics. Dedicating hours to the philosophical differences between determinism and free-will. You’ll call him a nerd, and he’ll laugh, muffling your protests with his mouth. It’s routine. Something to fall back onto.

 “Hey! Don’t drag HR into our domestic affairs! That’s—“ he interrupts himself to kiss you, again. Just because he can.

Once he’s satisfied that his lips will ache for the next millennium, he continues. “Anyway. I think we should get old together, and then, when we’re losing our minds, and we can’t tell the days apart, we just.. take a casual trip to space, travel through Ton 618. I’d be scared, so I’d hold your hand when we fall. Getting sucked into eternal darkness would be an acceptable way to go.”

He laughs, “You know, as long as you’re by my side, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, before holding out your pinky. “Deal?”

He feeds his own through yours, “Deal.” 

Yeah, just promise eternal devotion to him. That wont have any lasting, fatal effects on his sanity. It’s not like he’ll cling to it for the remainder of his ephemeral existence.

Later that night, when you’re draped in limbs, skin pressed against skin, you sigh against the warm slope of his neck. “You’re reciting the periodic table in your sleep again..”

It’s a habit. A permanent, engrained idiosyncratic that he’s endured since adolescence. He stirs awake, turning to face you in the hazy light. Features swollen, sleep-soft and pretty. “Was I?” He murmurs, finding the audacity to ask, “What element was i on?”

Because that’s clearly essential.

“Osmium,” you say, tucking strands of tousled auburn behind his ear. “Gonna continue?”

“Mhm— yeah. Iridium. One of my favourites, thank god you woke me up before I got to it.”

You humour his tendencies; you’re nothing if not a condoner of his weird quirks. “Discovered by Smithson Tennat in 1803.” is your response, “The name comes from Greek Mythology, Iris. Two stable Isotopes, 191 and 193.”

There you go again. Fracturing his mind, and stealing his information before it can fall from bruised lips.

He thinks you might be cut from the same cloth. He thinks he was probably just made for you. “I like the way you say Isotopes.” He mutters, “Like the way you kiss. You always take my top lip.”

There’s no epiphany. No sharp blade, dragging, penetrating, skin, forcing you to confront stifled feelings. They’ve always been there. Red string of fate, Plato’s Symposium: Aristophanes’ account of the ‘other half.’ Hero and Leander. It doesn’t matter. There’s only the here and now.

He does this thing. Often. Where he’ll moan into your open-mouth. Fingers sunk deep into your hair, keeping you impossibly tethered to him. You’re not sure what planet he fell from, but you’re glad they deported him, if only for your selfish benefit of circuiting around him.

“I’m in love with you,” the admittance is easy. Maybe the words have always been waiting for you to verbalise, bated breath, inexorably interlinked. Maybe they’re long overdue. Something pleading to be let out. But, maybe, it matters more to wait until this, when everything is soft and untouchable. Fresh, untainted. He’d like to live in your skin.

Here’s the thing, Spencer always thought he would be the first one to say it. Reciprocation was always a fantastical hypothetical, something he could only blindly hope for. But, to have his illimitable feelings, in their extensive capacity, matched? That’s— more than he ever thought he deserved.

He presses his forehead to yours, “Saying ‘i’m in love with you’ doesn’t measure up, doesn’t articulate even a fraction of what I feel for you.”

He’s pretty sure he could die right here, in this one fragile moment, and be happy with everything he’s accomplished.

[dearreidr]

such a devastatingly beautiful fic im crying i couldn't recommend this more if u are looking to be heartbroken

seven minutes | s.r

summary: spencer, your husband is dying and there's nothing you can do but cherish those last moments

wc: 2.9k

warning: fem reader, death, tears, hurt, reader is reminiscing her life that she got to have with spencer, Spencer and reader have a daughter named Tessa.

song recommendation:

a/n: this is sad ( for me at least ) I cried while writing it so! just a heads up, and Spencer can be alive in your reality but in this one....yeah! 😕

The room felt suffocating, the weight of the silence pressing in on me as I sat beside Spencer, holding his hand. The beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound, steady and unyielding, a reminder of the fragile line between life and death. The man who had been my everything he is my rock, my soulmate, the father of our daughter and now he was lying there, unconscious, barely holding on.

I had never imagined this day would come. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to grow old together, argue about little things, watch Tessa graduate, watch her get married. 

Spencer had always been the one who believed in the good in the world, who believed in us, even when it felt like everything else was falling apart. And now he was here, so still, so quiet, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had missed my chance to tell him everything I needed to say.

“Spencer” I whispered, leaning down to press my forehead against his. His skin was cold, too cold, and I squeezed his hand tighter, willing him to wake up. To give me that crooked smile that always made my heart skip a beat. “I don’t know how to do this without you. I need you, Spencer. Tessa needs you”

I glanced over at the small bundle of blankets in the corner, where Tessa had fallen asleep earlier, exhausted from the long hours of waiting. She was so young, so unaware of the storm that was brewing around us. I couldn’t imagine what her world would be like without her father. The way Spencer had always been there for her- his soft laughter, his gentle hands, his quiet way of making her feel safe. He was her everything, too.

I wiped away the tears that had fallen onto my cheeks, but there was no stopping them. Not this time. “I don’t know how to tell her, Spencer" I murmured, my voice breaking. "How do I explain to her that you’re not coming home ever again?”

His breathing was slow and shallow, his chest rising and falling with the effort of the machines that were plugged in. But I knew he couldn’t hear me. He couldn’t answer me. The doctors had said he was likely gone, that this was the end. But I refused to accept it. I refused to believe that this was the last time I would be sitting here with him. That the man who had spent his life trying to protect people, to help others, would be lost to me so soon.

I had spent so many years in love with this man. Spencer Reid, the genius, the man who had always tried to save everyone else. But now, no one could save him. And as much as I hated to admit it, I knew the truth. He was slipping away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, there was nothing in this world- that could bring back my husband. 

I stood up from the chair, feeling the sting in my chest, and walked over to Tessa’s side. She was sleeping so peacefully, unaware of the storm raging just a few feet away. I brushed a strand of her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead, trying to hold back my tears. How am I supposed to do this alone?

“Mommy?” Her voice was soft, quiet, and I felt my heart break all over again.

I turned to face her, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Hey, baby. You’re awake”

Tessa blinked up at me, her small face filled with concern. “Is Daddy going to be okay?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my eyes filling with tears again. “Tessa baby, Daddy’s- he’s very sick, sweetie. But we’re going to stay here with him, okay? We’re not going anywhere”

She slid out of bed and walked toward me, her tiny hand reaching for mine. “Is Daddy going to come home with us?”

My heart cracked wide open. How do I explain this to her? How do I explain that the man who had filled her world with laughter, who had kissed her goodnight every night, the man who had loved her like she was the only one in the world, the man who cried when she took her first steps- would no longer be there to hold her? 

I bent down to her level, my hands trembling as I cupped her face, trying to find the words. But the truth was too hard. “No, baby” I whispered, my voice faltering. “Daddy- Daddy’s not coming home”

Tessa’s brow furrowed, her tiny fingers pressing into my palm. “Why? Why won’t he come home, Mommy?”

I felt the ache in my chest deepen, a lump in my throat that made it impossible to breathe. I searched for the right words, but nothing seemed like it could be enough. Finally, I whispered, my voice breaking, “Because he’s very, very tired, sweetie. And sometimes, people get so tired that they have to rest. They don’t wake up, baby. They go to a place, a beautiful place, with lots of birds and flowers- and a beach, a peaceful beach, where they can sleep forever”

Tessa looked up at me, her brow furrowed, trying to make sense of what I was saying. “But Daddy hates the beach, Mommy” she pouted, her voice small and innocent.

The pain in my chest twisted, and despite everything, I let out a soft chuckle, the sound a bittersweet mixture of love and heartbreak. She was right. Spencer had always hated the beach. The sand, the crowds, the heat. But at that moment, I could almost hear him laughing along with me. “I know, sweetie” I whispered, brushing a tear away, “but maybe this is a different kind of beach, one that he doesn’t mind”

“Daddy will sleep peacefully now” I whispered, my voice barely more than a soft breath, the weight of the words heavier than I ever imagined.

Her eyes widened, and she tilted her head in confusion. “Like when I sleep? But I wake up, Mommy. Daddy will wake up, too, right?”

I couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped my chest. I gathered her into my arms, feeling the weight of her innocence in my embrace. “I wish that were true, sweetie” I said, my voice breaking. “But Daddy- he’s not going to wake up this time”

Tessa clung to me, her little body trembling as she began to cry softly. “I want Daddy, Mommy. I want him to come home”

“I know, baby” I whispered, rocking her gently in my arms. “I want him too. But we have to be brave for him, okay? We have to be strong, because he would want us to be. He loves you so much. He’s always going to love you”

As I held my daughter, the weight of the grief settled over me like a blanket. Spencer had been the love of my life, the person who had seen me at my worst and still chosen me. And now, just like that, he was slipping away. I had no idea how to navigate this world without him, how to keep going without the man who had been my anchor and my light in the darkest days.

I looked over at the bed where Spencer lay, his face still and peaceful, the steady rhythm of the machines the only sign of life left. He was gone in every way that mattered. And I couldn’t find the strength to let go. Goddamn it Spencer. 

I leaned down to kiss Tessa’s forehead, holding her close as my tears mixed with hers. “We’ll get through this together” I whispered, even though I wasn’t sure how. “Daddy will always be in our hearts”

And even though I didn’t believe it in that moment, I said the words because they were all I could give her. Because, for her sake, I needed to believe we could somehow survive this. That we could carry Spencer’s memory and his love through the rest of our lives.

But as I looked at Spencer, lying motionless, I knew that life would never be the same. That part of me had already left with him, and all that was left was the aching reminder of everything I had lost. 

It all started with a meeting in the most ordinary way. I was walking out of a coffee shop, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and my phone in the other when I bumped into someone. The coffee spilled over the side of my cup, splashing onto my shirt. I looked up, half-expecting an angry look, but instead I saw Spencer. His wide, concerned eyes met mine, and in that moment, I swear the world stopped.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry” he stammered, his voice as soft as it was nervous. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, it's okay” I laughed, trying to brush off my embarrassment. “It’s my fault, really”

His hand reached out, almost instinctively, to grab a napkin and dab at the coffee stain on my shirt. I tried to protest, but he was already focused, like the calm in the chaos of a spill. 

“I’m Spencer” he said, his words just a little too fast, a little too eager. “Spencer Reid”

“Nice to meet you, Spencer Reid” I smiled, trying to hide the fluttering in my chest at how kind he was, how gentle, even in the face of disaster.

And that was how we met. It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn't a moment of fireworks and music in the background. It was simple, a collision of two separate people over a cup of spilled coffee, but it was the start of everything I had ever wanted in my life. 

In the days that followed, we spent time together in unexpected places, at the local park, where Spencer would sit with me on the grass, casually pointing out the constellations even though I was mostly just trying to keep up. Or when we’d go to his favorite little bookstore, and he’d tug me down aisles filled with dusty books, his voice soft as he recited bits of poetry or scientific facts he was too proud to admit had a bit of a romantic edge.

There were small moments- too small for anyone to notice but us. The way his fingers would brush mine when we were sitting next to each other, or how he would always hold the door open for me, as though I were the most important thing in the world. I had never seen someone love the world in the way he did, with that quiet intensity, like he was constantly seeking meaning in everything.

And then there was the day we brought Tessa home from the hospital. The overwhelming joy of her tiny hand curled around Spencer’s finger, the way he couldn’t stop staring at her in awe, like he couldn’t believe she was ours.

 He was always a little awkward with babies, he didn’t know how to hold her quite right at first, his arms unsure- but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t the perfect way he held her that mattered. It was the way his face lit up when she wrapped her fingers around his hand, trusting him, even though she couldn’t know who he was yet.

“Look at her” he whispered, his voice barely audible, like he was afraid the moment would shatter. “She’s perfect” 

I remember laughing through the tears, feeling his hand on my back, steady and warm. “You’re perfect too, you know that?”

And just like that, he smiled- his crooked, beautiful smile, the one that always made me feel like I had all the time in the world, like we were invincible, that nothing would ever tear us apart.

In the quiet of our evenings, the moments we shared were so simple, but they were everything. Spencer would always find a way to surprise me. Whether it was with a new book on the latest research he was obsessed with or a jar of my favorite strawberry jam that he’d hidden in the back of the pantry for a rainy day, he always knew exactly how to make me smile.

And then there were the quiet moments when it was just us. On the couch, Tessa tucked between us, Spencer would lean in, his voice soft and full of affection. “You know, you make me feel like I’m home” he’d whisper into my hair, his fingers tracing little circles on my wrist, making me feel like the most cherished person in the world.

Now, sitting in the sterile quiet of the hospital room, I find myself clinging to those little moments, trying to hold on to the pieces of Spencer that were so effortlessly woven into my life. I stare at him, unconscious, hooked to the machines that now marked the final stage of his fight with his life. But even in this hospital room, I could almost feel him with me, as if his presence was never bound by the limits of his body.

I remember the way we would argue about the simplest things, like how to properly fold the towels or what movie to watch on a Saturday night. Spencer would pretend to be exasperated, his arms crossed, but I always knew he loved it. He loved our little quirks, our silly fights, because they meant we were living together as a married couple.

I remember the soft way he’d kiss me goodnight, every night, no matter how long the day had been. “I love you” he’d whisper, his voice low, the warmth of his breath brushing against my cheek. His words never failed to make my heart race, always filled with the same unspoken promise- that we’d always have each other, no matter what.

And then there were the moments we shared just for ourselves, when Tessa was asleep and the world outside felt far away. Spencer would pull me close, his arms wrapping around me like he never wanted to let me go. “We’re good, right?” he’d ask, his voice a little too soft, a little too vulnerable.

“We’re perfect” I’d reply, knowing that in this imperfect world, we were exactly what we needed.

But now, in this room, with his hand cold in mine, those little moments felt like pieces of a dream, fading with every beat of the heart monitor. And I wanted so desperately to hold on to them, to keep him with me, even if I couldn’t have him here physically.

“Spencer, I love you” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll love you forever”

His chest rose and fell with a shallow breath, the machines beeping in the stillness of the room. I could hear the echoes of our love, the laughter, the whispers, the simple moments we shared. And somehow, through the pain, I knew that those memories would never leave me. They would be the quiet whisper in the back of my mind, the soft touch I would carry with me for the rest of my life.

No matter what happened in this room, no matter what the doctors said, Spencer Reid would always be the love of my life, the one who had made me believe in a future filled with joy, laughter, and love. And as much as I wished for just one more moment, just one more laugh, I knew that the moments we’d shared were enough to last a lifetime.

The human brain, in it’s final seconds, can play the whole life of a person- every detail, every memory, every quiet moment. In seven minutes. In those seven minutes, Spencer would be granted a final chance to relive his life- every moment, every laugh, every tear- before he would drift into eternal sleep, leaving this world behind for good.

 Seven minutes to relive a lifetime.

I leaned down, pressing my lips to Spencer’s forehead, the coldness of his skin sending a shudder through me. My tears fell freely now, each one carrying the weight of every word left unsaid, every moment we would never get to share. I whispered, my voice barely a breath, “You can rest now, my love. You’ve fought so hard. I’ll carry you with me, always”

But the words felt hollow, empty, like they were trying to hold together something that was already slipping through my fingers. I couldn’t make it stop. I couldn’t bring him back. I couldn’t save him this time.

The sound of the machines, the quiet beeping that had been the soundtrack of our fight, faded into a painful silence. And in that silence, all I could feel was the gaping hole he left behind. A hole that no amount of time would ever heal. He was gone. My Spencer was gone.

I would carry him with me, as broken as I felt, as shattered as I was. I would tell our daughter every story, every memory, every beautiful moment. I would make sure she knew just how much he loved her. 

I looked at Spencer, lying there, still and peaceful, I whispered one last time, my voice trembling with the weight of my grief, “Always” 

And then, with a heart that felt too heavy to carry, I had to let him go. Forever.

@carisc4pshaw @1992chinawhite

[dearreidr]

me when i saw spencer reid info dump for the first time

[dearreidr]

i am tweaking big style oh my god this is EVERYTHING

lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK  ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well. 

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since. 

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything. 

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals. 

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing. 

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic. 

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together. 

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.” 

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions,  you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak. 

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him. 

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost. 

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him. 

That’s inaccurate. 

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification. 

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body. 

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat. 

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices. 

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body. 

Soft. So damn soft. 

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps. 

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. 

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience. 

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh. 

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock. 

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.   

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his. 

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face. 

There’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

 “Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed. 

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock. 

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs. 

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust. 

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him. 

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!” 

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.” 

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

[dearreidr]

I LOVE THIS SO SO MUCH ITS SO SWEET 😢

𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

Hotch touches your face much more than a boss should. Or, 5 times you have a nosebleed +1 time Hotch does.

8k words, a slightly bloody coworkers to lovers, fem!reader, nosebleeds, reader works in the BAU but isn't a profiler, jack is a sweetheart, hotch has game fr, fluff + hurt/comfort

༺༻

You like your desk job. You handle paperwork primarily, and act as a sort of assistant unofficially. Anything to be useful — you get paid either way. It's why you don't mind trying to be helpful in the office and take on some of the office administrator's overflow. 

Today, that's fixing the coffee machines. The office can function on one at a stretch but both being broken means an entire roster of grumpy agents and all of them are on your back. And when they have to see all the stuff they say? You figure fixing the coffee machines is the least you can do. 

You're ignoring the weight of their waiting, elbow deep in one of the machines. The instruction manual had mentioned a little spout that can get clogged with detriment. Hopefully, you can clean it out and get at least one machine working by midday. 

"Oh no," you murmur. 

The piece you're trying to unscrew is tightly wound, too tight for your fingers to work behind. You're probably going to need a small tool, like an allen key. 

"No luck?" Agent Prentiss asks, sounding defeated. 

You look up from the machine and smile quickly. "I need smaller hands," you joke, letting the machine sit back on the counter and pulling out your aching fingers. "I'll have one working by the end of the day, Agent Prentiss. Scout's honour." 

She shrugs and waves a hand at you. "It's alright. What's one day without caffeine?" 

You laugh at her good-natured sarcasm and go back to your machine. When you're certain you can't jimmy it you turn your attention to the second machine and run through the steps. You're too determined to lose. Your coworkers depend on you. 

You start by changing the filter and are unsurprised when that doesn't work. You check the button connectivity, the fuse, and then you turn again to that small piece that needs to be washed. 

"Yes," you cheer under your breath, pulling the piece from its home to assess the problem. 

It's a tiny pipe with a piece of mesh that acts as a sieve to trap dust. Maybe. Whatever it is, it's full of caramelised coffee grounds. You move to the sink basin and turn on the faucet to clean it, washing with anticipation as the burned coffee trickles down the drain. 

You're pleased enough to feel a mild adrenaline rush, and your excitement leads to butter fingers: you drop the prized piece of pipe and it rolls out of sight.

This is not a good time for business casual. 

You tug your too-tight pants from your thighs and bend down in search. When it doesn't reveal itself you get on your knees and run your hands along the seams of the kitchen cabinets, face lowered. 

"Is everything okay?" 

You wince at a very familiar, very unfortunately timed voice. 

"Yes, sir, everything is perfect," you say, looking up to meet the eye of your boss' boss, unit chief SSA Aaron Hotchner. "I've misplaced a piece but I'll have the coffee machine working again in no time. I'm sorry." 

He raises his eyebrows at you. It's a very nice expression on him, his eyes light with an emotion you don't often see on him. "Is fixing the coffee machine in your job description?" he asks. 

You think it might be a polite reprimand. You won't insult him by insisting you're always on time with your actual delegated workload because he and your supervisor have to send you emails asking for missing paperwork all the time, so you try to disarm him. 

You beam. 

You're not a supermodel but everybody is pretty when they smile. "Sir, I thought I could sacrifice my lunch break for the good of the Bureau." 

"Yes, well." He looks like he wants to smile back. You might be seeing what you want to see, though. "That won't be necessary. Take your time." 

Your smile falters as you feel a telling heat at the back of your nose. "Thank you," you say quickly, covering your nostril with the pad of your index finger. 

You're hoping your swift words will send him on his way, but he's literally the lead profiler of the BAU. He knows suspicious activity when he sees it.  

"Is something wrong?" 

Blood starts to trickle down your palm. You slide your hand up to cover your nose the best that you can. The alarm on his face when he spots the blood sliding down your bare forearm can't be understated. 

"It's just a nosebleed," you placate, sounding stuffed up. 

He's a quick thinker, tearing a wad of paper towel off of the dispenser above the microwave and offering it to you.

If you weren't so distracted by your current predicament you'd say thank you. 

He turns back to the paper towels and tears off another wad. To your horror, Hotch bends down right there in the kitchenette and waits for you to open your palm, feeding the towels into your spare hand. 

"Should you tilt your head back?" 

"I think that's a myth," you say. 

Your skin starts to scrawl with embarrassment, the itchy, awful feeling of being pinned by his eyes. 

"How long do they usually last?" 

"Not very long, sir. I'm sure you're busy." 

He tilts his head slightly to one side as if conceding your point. "Let me help you up," he commands. 

You can't make yourself reject his help. Honestly, it's nice to have somebody care even if the nosebleed is purely superficial. His fingers curl around the crook of your elbow and he helps you onto your feet just in time for Agent Prentiss to return.

"Hotch, what did you do?" she asks, bewildered. 

You try not to laugh too much, worried you'll force another burst of blood. 

—

Confidential information. You hear it, you ignore it. Harder to ignore the whiteboards in the conference room that are currently choc-a-block with prints of crime scene photos. 

You don't mean to gawk at them. It's severely unprofessional and you shouldn't really be in here to begin with. The electronic screen is off, as are the monitors, so you know the room isn't in use. 

That could change any second, and it does. 

You hide your clammy palms behind your back at the sound of footsteps and try not to rush obviously toward the mug you'd come in here to collect. 

The door creaks open as you're leaning over the table. 

"I'm sorry," you say without looking. 

"You don't have to clean up after anyone." 

"Actually," you say quietly, abashed at having been caught, "this is my mug." 

You turn to face him. 

Agent Hotchner is tall and handsome. These are two undeniable facts and yet every time you see him it feels like a surprise. It might have something to do with how composed he is, how deliberate his movements are, or it might just be 'cause you have a crush on him. 

It's anybody's guess.

"I can make Reid wash it," he says. 

You're so whipped that your chest confuses his offer for something much worse. Like, he's on your side.

"That's okay, I don't wanna punish him for my own fussiness." You cover the mugs printed sides subtly, or as subtly as you're able. 

"What's special?" 

You smile at him, lips pressed together tight and eyes squinting slightly. You know what he's getting at but you ask anyways, stalling now he's caught you. "About what?" 

"About the mug." 

You peer behind him. 

"You can't tell anyone," you murmur, rounding the table to stand by his side with your shoulders to the door. "I'm not sure anybody knows it's mine." 

The mug is a corn-husk yellow and printed with a scene from a vintage Peanuts comic, dark-haired Lucy standing behind her lemonade stand that boasts 'Psychiatric Help 5¢'. Charlie Brown sits in front of it looking morose. 

It's hard to describe why you like it so much. 

"I see," Agent Hotchner says. 

It's become something of an office joke, offering each other five cents on bad days, calling someone Charlie Brown when they look lost. You doubt very much that anyone is making fun of you, you're just hiding that it's your mug because that's part of the fun. The mystery of the Peanuts mug. 

"I can't drink out of anything else," you confide, turning your face to his. 

He's definitely smiling this time. "Why would you?" 

You nod in genuine delight. "Exactly! Vintage Peanuts, and I searched so much for this because they used to use lead in glassware paint, and-" 

The nosebleed comes on suddenly. There's a drop of blood running down your lips before you've even realised. Agent Hotchner's eyes follow it all the way down. 

"Oh, no," you say, blood dripping to the hill of your chin. 

You use the back of the hand that's holding the mug to catch what's rolling down your neck and the other to pinch your nose closed, bending forward on instinct to hide your face. You're seasoned in nosebleeds. You know how you look — scary. Ridiculous. 

"Here," Agent Hotchner says. 

His hand comes into your eyeline, offering a dark square of fabric. You cringe at the idea of marring his likely expensive handkerchief but you can't not accept, pressing it haphazard to your bloody nose. 

"What were you saying about lead?" 

You're so frazzled about the blood you don't realise he's made a joke until it's too late to laugh.

"Do you know what causes them?" he asks. 

"I'm not really sure, sir. I used to get them all the time as a kid, um…" You pull the handkerchief away from your nose to check if it's still bleeding. When it doesn't continue, you say, "They're pretty harmless. It's done already." 

"If you need time off for a check-up, I'm sure the office administrator can find a sick day for you." 

You smile at him, and then remember the blood and grimace. I must look like Carrie right now, you think morosely. 

"That won't be necessary, sir, thank you. It's apparently the dry air." You're starting to feel more and more warm under his serious gaze. There's a startling amount of concern there. "I'm gonna go clean up now. Excuse me," you say, face glowing with heat. 

"Of course."

You cover your bloody face with the back of your hand, his handkerchief held in red-stained fingers. You pass Agent Prentiss on the stairs, hurrying past her with an I'm okay smile. 

"Hotch, again?" you hear Agent Prentiss ask incredulously. "Where do you get off?"

—

You can't return Hotch's handkerchief, it's a biohazard, but the fabric had felt so soft and the monogram in the corner had cued you in on how expensive it must have been. Your guilt manifests itself into three new handkerchiefs with the embroidered A.H. They aren't half as nice as the one he'd let you ruin. You leave them on his desk — or rather, you get Dr. Reid to leave them on his desk, as walking into his office doesn't feel like something you're allowed to do — and try to forget about them. 

For a week, you do. Agent Hotchner doesn't visit his office, Agent Jareau apprehends him on his way in that morning and the profiling team gather around their round table, and you don't see any of them for four days. The Friday they return, you're already on your way home. 

That's why his actions the following Monday shock you. 

It's unusual that he walks anywhere that isn't a straight shot to his desk. You're doing paperwork for once in your life, sitting awkwardly with your foot hooked under your thigh and a pair of wired earphones in. It's not technically allowed but he really doesn't venture over to you often. You've become complicit in your unsupervised nirvana of a desk job. 

You snatch your earphone out and struggle into a normal position. "Agent Hotchner," you say, wondering if you should call him Special Supervisory, or maybe something cooler, like your Highness. Your grace. He's intimidating in his accomplishments at the FBI, and he's super handsome. 

"Can I see you in my office? Ten minutes." 

You nod brainlessly. 

Your desk buddy doesn't wait long after he's left to investigate. 

"What did you do?" they ask from across the short partition. 

"I really don't know," you say, though you have your suspicions. 

"Were you reading on your computer again? I told you, read under the desk like a normal person." 

"No, I learned my lesson with that one when Agent Morgan started reciting Pride and Prejudice from over my shoulder." 

You check your face in a compact before you report to Agent Hotchner's office. Your heart beats in your throat as you knock his open door. 

"Come in," he says without looking up. 

You take a cautious step. 

He finishes off quickly and lifts his chin. His eyes are dark in the early morning light, his hair in mild disarray from the wind and drizzle. 

"Come in," he says again. 

You wish there was a word that could describe his voice accurately. He talks in the peaceable kind of cadence that comes with hushed tones without truly being hushed. 

"Sir…" You bite the bullet. "If this is about the macadamia cookies, I promise I'll replace them. I didn't actually eat any of them. They kind of fell out of the cabinet and exploded, it was a freak accident." 

He holds up his hand. "Thank you. For the handkerchiefs. They were unnecessary." 

He says 'unnecessary' with a smile. 

"Actually, sir, I think they were entirely necessary." You just disagreed with your boss. "Sir. I couldn't return the first, I ruined it and I- I didn't think you'd want it even if I got it dry cleaned." 

He raises his eyebrows. "It was unnecessary," he repeats, the word drawn out carefully. "But, I appreciate the gesture. Thank you." 

Two thank you's. You stop while you're ahead. "You're more than welcome, Agent Hotchner, sir." 

You share an amicable glance and turn to leave. 

"L/N?" 

You stutter to a halt. "Sir?" 

"Hotch is fine." 

You try not to swallow your own tongue. "Hotch," you say, and then worry that's something people only do in movies. 

A few days later, your humming along to your earphones and wading through the chaos of the bullpen feeling pretty happy. The office has been busy but not in the scary, suffocating way, and you're happy to be here. The BAU can be hard (and that's as someone who isn't on the front line). Times like this are cherished. 

You pause a foot from your desk, eyes creasing into a suspicious squint. 

There's a small box on your desk. 

"What is that?" you ask your desk buddy. 

"What?" they ask.

"That. There's a thing on my desk." 

"Nothing to do with me." 

"Think I should call the bomb squad?" 

"I'm sure you'll be alright. Maybe read the note before you raise the alarm." 

"There's a note?" you mumble, caution swiftly overrun by a burning curiosity. 

You'd be sincerely worried about a bomb, only this is the FBI. If a bomb got this far into the building half the people in it would lose their jobs. You kick your bag under the desk and drop your ipod onto the desk, tinny music blaring from your earphones. 

"What are you?" you ask under your breath. 

The box is wrapped in crepe paper and a yellow sticky note has been attached to the top. 

Rest assured, made without lead. 

That only confuses you more. You're hesitance has your desk mate sitting up in their chair. "Wait," they say, peering over the glass partition, "should I raise the alarm?" 

You slide a trim fingernail under a neat stripe of tape. "No, I think we're good," you mumble. 

And lo and behold, a mug is homed inside. A Peanuts mug no less; the mug has been printed with a Peanuts comic panel. Charlie Brown lays on the floor in a straight plank, and standing overy him is his friend Linus, who says, "I have been asked to tell you that your cries of anguish are keeping the whole neighbourhood awake!" 

You laugh loud and instinctively, shrill enough to attract the attention of half the office. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you slouch down as low as possible in your desk chair. Heat pools in your cheeks. 

"What is it?" your desk mate asks. 

"A present." 

And hence your new favourite mug is brought into life. You write your name on the bottom with black sharpie and continue to deny all knowledge of the first, which you retire to the drawer of your desk. 

For a while your nosebleeds go away. You know exactly who left the mug on your desk, and you remember the joke he'd made. Maybe Hotch had been on to something, and you'd inadvertently poisoned yourself.

You smile practically every time you see your new mug, and you're unsurprised when others appreciate its humour. 

You're not sure how to explain it to an eight year old, though. 

You're slumped over, nose to the desk and hand working diligently across your notes. Having a crush on your boss makes doing your work easier because you're constantly trying to impress him — an impossible task, but trying all the same. Your earphones bump a soft love song, something sweet to cut through the unhappy details of the case file you're working on. 

"What are you listening to?" a small voice asks. 

You drag your gaze up slowly and find Jack Hotchner standing beside your desk. You've seen him in person a few times, and once as Hotch's phone wallpaper, but he grows so much between visits you almost don't recognise him. 

"I'm sorry," you say, pulling your earphone out, "what did you say?" 

"What song are you listening to?" he asks, hands creeping up over the lip of your desk. 

You sit up and smile at him. You can't say he looks like Hotch, though maybe you can see it in his tiny grin, that hint of cheekiness. "I'm listening to a song called At Last. It's a love song. Do you… want to listen?" you offer quietly. 

He nods. 

You push your chair away from your desk and turn down the ipod's volume so it doesn't damage his hearing. "Here," you say, offering one of your earbuds. "Don't push it in, okay? I don't want it to hurt your ears." 

Jack takes the proffered earbud but doesn't seem super interested. "Do you have The Beatles?" he asks. 

"The Beatles! Is that what you and your dad listen to?" 

He nods, pleased, and you nod yourself, flicking through your songs in search of what he wants. 

"I have Here Comes the Sun. Do you like that one?" 

He beams. "Yes! Me and dad sing that one in the car." 

That's a really nice image, Hotch and Jack belting happy lyrics together in the busy mornings. It's also odd. Hotch singing isn't an image you can say you've ever thought of before. 

"I love this one," you tell him, letting your elbows dig into your thighs so the two of you are eye level with one another. 

"Me too." 

You share the earbuds, Jack combing your desk for something interesting no doubt. You cover a case detail that involves some gory images and almost knock over your mug in your haste. 

"What does that say?" he asks, pointing. 

Jack looks between you and the mug for answers. 

You lick your lips. "Uh, do you want me to read it to you?" 

He thinks about it. "Can I try?" 

"Of course you can." 

You clear a path for the mug and place it in front of him. 

"I have been asked to tell you," he begins confidently, "that your cries of an-" He frowns. "Anguish are keeping the whole ne… I don't know that." 

"I'm sure you do, it just looks weird. Neighbourhood." 

"Neighbourhood," he repeats. "Keeping the whole neighbourhood awake." He huffs a boyish, gentle laugh that makes your heart spin. 

"Good job, buddy." 

He melts under your praise. He's a cute kid, and his hair shines golden under the office lighting. It flops to one side as he tilts his head. "What's 'anguish'?" 

"Anguish. Uhm, it's like sadness." 

"Oh." He takes this in. "Do you have Let It Be?" 

You eventually give up your chair and let Jack sit with your ipod in his lap, playing through all The Beatles songs that you have. Nobody seems to be watching you and Hotch has yet to come out of his office and tell you off for supplying his son with technology, so you work around him, leaning over the back of the chair to fill in what's missing from your reports. 

Jack leans back in his chair, his adorable singing coming to a stop. "Do you have movies on the computer?" 

Yes, but should my boss' son know that? "It's for work," you say regretfully. 

"Not even FernGully?"

"I'm sorry." 

He shakes his head. "It's okay, it's not your fault."

"Do you like to draw? I don't have many colours, but we can play a game." 

He smiles for a moment, then hesitation crawls over his features. "Dad says not to disturb anyone." 

"I'm on my lunch break," you assure him. You hadn't been, but you don't mind taking it now. "Are you hungry? I have oranges." 

You and Jack end up sitting under your desk. You really don't mean to end up like that; you sit on your knees because your back has started to ache and Jack wants to sit with you. You can't say no to him. (You could, you just don't want to.)

"What did she say after that?" you ask, fingers digging into two orange segments to pull them apart. You shave off all of the strands of white pith before you pass it to Jack, who says thank you every time. 

"She said to ask Stacy who said to ask Morgan P who said to ask Joan. And Joan said she didn't wanna know, but then she changed her mind after I told her abd she said to ask Cooper." 

"What did Cooper say?" 

"Cooper says he doesn't think he knows where it is." 

You nod, chewing your own orange slice slovenly. "Well, what did your dad say?" 

"I haven't told dad." 

You lift your head from the paper where Jack has drawn an impressive house with five windows. "You haven't told your dad?" 

"He worries about everything." 

"That's his job, Jack. He has to worry about you." 

"He worries about everybody." 

"Some people do." You clean another orange slice for him, and he says thank you again. "You're welcome… Jack, I really think you should tell you dad. It sounds like somebody might have taken your pencil case on purpose. And even if he can't find out who did, he can get you some new pencils for school." 

"I told mom but she hasn't done anything yet." 

Your stomach hurts. 

"Well," you murmur, picking up the green pen, "I'm sure she's trying her best, baby. Can I help colour in these trees?" 

You and Jack fall into a companionable silence, his head bobbing to You Make My Dreams (Come True) the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're not sure how long you sit there, but all good things must come to an end, and your half hour for lunch draws to a close. 

"Hey, Jack?" you say, straightening where you kneel and preparing to stand. "I have some stuff I have to do but you're welcome to stay there." 

Unfortunately, you don't manage to grab his attention. Double unfortunately, somebody else does. 

"Morgan, where's Jack?" 

You peek past your desk chair. A little ways away, Hotch stands looking sick to his stomach, and Agent Morgan looks lost. 

"I didn't have him?" 

"I asked him to sit with you," Hotch says miserably, throwing his gaze over the office. "Jack?" 

Jack hears that loud and clear. Something in his dad's tone must spark some urgency, as he stands in a rush and trips on his own shoelace, smacking the top of his head into your nose. 

You gasp. 

"Ouch," Jack moans. 

Blinking, you shake off your disorientation. "Oh no, are you okay? Here, sweetheart, stand up," you encourage gently, "I'm so sorry, have I hurt your head?" 

Jack's gaze to the floor, he rubs the top of his head with a clumsy hand. "It's okay, Miss Agent, it wasn't you and-" He stares at you. 

"What?" you ask. 

"Dad!" he shouts, backing away from you. "Daddy!" 

Jack runs out of your little alcove and straight into his father's legs, almost bowling him over. Hotch drops two relieved hands down to his small shoulders. "What?" he asks, startled, "What happened?" 

Your nose stings, admittedly, but you've felt worse. It's a light throbbing that distracts you entirely from the blood racing down your lips until you taste it. 

Shit, you think, crawling out from under the desk with one hand, the other clamped over your bleeding nose. Your movement draws Hotch's attention, which in turn gathers at least a quarter of the office's. 

"I didn't mean to," Jack says shrilly. 

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," you say stuffily, clambering onto shaky legs. 

You turn your head away from the collective gaze of the office and start toward the kitchen and hear at least three different people say, "Wait!" 

You ignore them, using your elbow to help tear off a paper towel from the roll and pushing it without finesse against your face. You squirm under the weight of tens of eyes, more embarrassed than anything else, worse when a warm hand turns you by the shoulder. 

"He really didn't mean to," you say, looking up into Hotch's concerned face. 

"I know." 

"Is he okay?”

"He's not the one with a nosebleed," Hotch says, neither kind nor unkind. 

"I honestly didn't even feel it." 

His fingers curl around your wrist, a slow tightening. "That doesn't surprise me, Y/N." 

You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. “He bumped his head into me." 

"Mm. Just a red mark. It won't even bruise." 

You deflate in relief. "Oh, good." 

Hotch's hands have found their way onto yours. He pulls one from your nose, gaze hardening at the strong river of blood that makes its way into the dip of your cupid's bow. 

"I'm sorry, sir." 

He shakes his head and gathers another wad of tissue paper, a light blue that quickly turns to a wine dark when he presses it to your face. Your heart hammers at his proximity, a thousand and one nerves aflame. 

He's close but not too close, nothing anyone could mistake for something else, and still it feels like a strangely intimate moment. His careful touches. He directs your hand to hold a fresh paper towel to the stream of blood and discards the bloody tissue. You watch him push up his sleeves carefully and give his hands a quick rinse in the sink before he dampens another paper towel. 

It's cool against your neck. 

"I think your shirt is ruined," he says, dabbing at a line of dried blood. 

You shiver at the feeling of cold water dripping under your starched collar.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, moving up to your jaw. 

You don't know how to admit it to him. No, it doesn't hurt. Your hands are really warm, and you're touching me so gently I can barely feel it. 

"A little." 

"Well, Jack is very sorry." 

"He doesn't have to be. He tripped, he…" You fade off as Hotch lays his hand across your cheek, thumb lifting your head slightly so he can clean your chin. 

"How are you faring?" he asks. 

You pull your tissue away and wait for the tell-tale heat of continued blood flow. You're ashamed to admit it but you're almost glad it hasn't stopped, Hotch's hand warm and large and impossibly comforting. Nosebleeds don't stress you out, exactly, but it's not fun to be covered in your own blood at work where everyone can see you. It's nice to have somebody wiping it away. 

"I think I'll live," you say. 

—

Jack sends you an apology card. 

It's hand delivered. Hotch is coming up to the BAU main floor as you're heading out. Like a rock dividing a river, his teammates stream from the elevator around you and Hotch remains inside. 

"I'll catch up," he promises. 

Agent JJ raises her eyebrows. Agent Morgan chuckles. 

You draw in on yourself self-consciously. You don't dress as nicely when he isn't here, and today you're rivalling Dr. Reid for most lovable dork in a pair of brown pants and a big sweater. Teetering the line between professional and unprofessional. 

"Sir," you greet, stepping into the elevator.

He presses the ground floor button. "I have something for you." 

Your eyebrows jump up high. Hotch unzips the main zipper of his duffle back and threads between clothes and papers for a smaller envelope. 

"It's for you." 

You accept, careful not to tear the thin sheet of folded paper as you pull it free. You're thrilled to see a drawing of Charlie Brown on the front, crudely drawn but clearly him with his head-wrapped in bandages. His puppy Snoopy sits beside him with something in his hands. You're not sure what. 

The inside is even sweeter. 

To Y/N

I am sorry if I made your nose angwished. Please feel better soon 

Love, Jack Hotchner. 

"Oh, I love it," you say, rubbing your thumb over a heart drawn in red crayon. "He's really something else, Hotch. He's brilliant, and so smart. I mean, anguished." 

He laughs and it twists your chest in five different directions. "He is." 

"It wasn't his fault though. If my nose weren't so sensitive it really wouldn't have bled at all, I didn't bruise. How is he? Did his head feel better?" 

The doors open. You hesitate, waiting for his reply. 

"Children are made of harder stuff than we are," he says. 

You step backwards out of the elevator. "I felt so bad. I don't suppose he'll want to come and sit with me again." 

"Actually," Hotch says, stepping out of the elevator just as the doors close again, "he thinks you're, uh, in his own words, the 'coolest friend' I've ever had." 

"Friend," you repeat with a smile. 

You've focused on the wrong word, and you worry an awkward silence will ensue, but Hotch steps up to the plate and says, "Yeah. He wouldn't stop telling me about all the cool songs you have on your ipod." 

"Purely for non-working hours." 

"Right." His smile says that he's seen straight through you. 

You're thinking maybe he likes what he sees. 

"This is really amazing," you reaffirm, pressing Jack's card to your chest. 

"He felt guilty." 

"He doesn't have to. Please, tell him I said thank you. And that he's amazing. And that my nose was being dramatic." You smile softly. "He can sit with me whenever he likes." 

"Maybe at the desk, next time, rather than under it."

"Yes, sir." 

You nod at him and he nods back, and you take it as a dismissal, turning on your heel. You've barely walked a metre when he's speaking up.

"Y/N?" 

You look at him from over your shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Are you hungry?" 

You bite your cheek in a hurry to answer, “Yeah. I’m starving.”

Your heart is basically a ticking time bomb in your chest as you and Hotch make your way into the heart of the city. He's a fast walker with long legs and you rush to keep up. That’s totally why you’re breathless. Not because he makes you nervous. 

Hotch is a really surprising guy, though maybe he isn’t surprising at all, you’re simply unversed in how he is outside of work. He talks more and his voice grows louder the further into the city you go, more expressive. 

You’re no profiler, but you’d bet money on Aaron Hotchner being nervous.

Good thing you’re nervous, too. 

“It’s not far now. You like Thai?” he asks. 

“Yeah, of course. Have you ever had Tom Yum?”

“With shrimp?” 

“Exactly.”

“I think I’ve tried it. I lived off of pad Thai when I was a prosecutor,” he says, head tilting back very slightly. His Adam’s apple works under the skin. 

He looks back down, a sheepishness to his voice as he continues, “A lot of late nights.”

“More than now?” you ask skeptically.

His laugh is low and warm. “No. The firm was much closer to the city than the bureau. It’s a long walk.”

“It is,” you say, taking a small step closer to his side to share a secret smile, “but it hasn’t felt that way tonight.”

You try to keep it light. You don’t want to scare him off. 

“No,” he agrees. “It hasn’t.”

You duck into a fragrant Thai restaurant and order fast, the two of you knee to knee in the very corner. A potted plant threatens to blind him every time he moves, and so he endeavours to stay very still. 

The food's a little on the spicy side, and while you're laughing you can't find it in you to feel embarrassed about your runny nose. 

"You didn't like Seinfeld?" you ask, and how you got here's a mystery, but Hotch is extremely passionate about it in the best way. 

"No, of course not. How could you? George was always worrying about something, he was the definition of a self-fulfilling prophecy and he never learned!" he debates, all in a rush, chopsticks moving in emphasis. 

You snort and wipe your nose again. "It was like a relief, though, that it was happening to him and not to you, you know? You might be having a bad day but George Costanza's having a worse one." 

"Oh, honey," he says. 

It takes you a second to realise that he's talking to you. 

"What?" you ask, perplexed. 

Hotch stands up though there's no space for it, chopsticks ditched and hand pushed into the recesses of his pocket swiftly. He pulls out a small packet of tissues, and he lifts his chin, a jut. You lift your own, and he's quick to press the tissue to your nose. 

"It's bleeding?" you ask, startled. 

"Just a little." 

"Sorry." 

"No, no," he says, bent down, a comforting hand around your shoulder, "don't be. It gives me an excuse." 

"To do what?" 

"To be this close." 

Your smile is a slow, molasses thick thing. You can't get a handle on it, and Hotch's answering one is worse. He looks so happy to be here with you, to be wiping your bloody nose. 

It's only a small nose bleed. Hotch pulls the tissue away once or twice to check, wiping at it tenderly and giving you a comforting squeeze each time. The silence feels natural as breathing. 

"There," he says eventually, pulling the bloodied tissue away with a smile. "All done." 

"Thank you, Hotch." 

"I'd think you'd better start calling me Aaron, considering."

"Considering what?"

His hand climbs from your shoulder to the column of your throat. He doesn't make you wait any longer, leaning down with a sure, brave deliberateness. He presses his lips to yours. 

A sweet kiss but too short — barely two seconds and he's taking a half-step away, your lips tingling in want. 

You go to stand and he pushes you down into your seat, not unkindly. "I'm gonna go see if I can get some hot water for you," he says, placating your gutted look with a kiss to your cheek. 

He wipes it thoughtlessly with the pad of his thumb before he goes. 

You're genuinely surprised your nose doesn't start bleeding again at the look he gives you as he turns the corner toward the restaurant's kitchen. Protective, knowing. Your heart races in your chest. 

You probe at your face, elated. Your sensitive nose is good for something after all. 

—

The first time you sleepover with Aaron is an accident. You don't "mess around," as you'd crooned over the phone, joking but with enough salaciousness to make him smile. The gas and hot water had stopped working in your apartment, and though the landlord had promised they'd fix it the very next morning, Aaron couldn't stand to think about you cold and alone when you could easily be warm and with him. 

So here you are. 

"Are you sure this is okay?" you whisper, peering over his shoulder at Jack. 

His son stands in the living room in his pyjamas.  

"It's okay," he says, "I asked him, and you know he's obsessed with you. His one condition is that you watch FernGully." 

"FernGully," you say, enthused. 

"You'll like it." 

You actually really do. Showered and dressed in your own pyjamas, a little shy but not too much to stop from laying against his side on the sofa. He's got one arm around you and one around Jack but he might as well be invisible, the two of you talking in murmurs across his chest. 

"And that's-" 

"Pips," Jack supplies helpfully. 

"Pips," you say, hand spread over Aaron's chest. 

If he didn't know better he'd think this was a slice of heaven. 

"So many people," you whisper in Aaron's ear. 

"More in the second one." 

"There's two?" 

After the movies finished — "It was better than you said, Jack," — and dinner’s been eaten and cleared away, Aaron takes Jack to bed. 

"Do you want a story?" Aaron asks, flitting around the room in a half-hearted attempt to square away the mess. 

"No." 

"You sure?" 

Jack's eyes are heavy, and they have been since dinner. "Yes," he mumbles, face turned into his pillow, hands lax on top of his blanket. 

Aaron smiles and makes his way to Jack's side. He kisses his son's cheek, and strokes the soft hair from his face. He smells like strawberry toothpaste and kids shampoo. 

You're sitting on the end of the bed when he gets to you, face damp with skincare and shining in the light. Aaron kisses you without touching it, worried he'll mess it up. 

“He’s wiped. All the excitement,” he says. 

“Excitement- From me?” you ask. 

“From you.” He puts his hands carefully either side of your neck.

You haven’t been dating very long, and still he knows how easy it is to fluster you. And while he loves to see it, see you giddy and shy, blinking at nothing like there’s a light shining in your eyes. He’d once pressed his thumb with the very faintest of pressure into your windpipe while kissing you, and you hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for three days. 

He loves that, but he’d prefer if you slept facing him. He wants to see what you look like asleep, as odd as it sounds, he assumes you’ll be beautiful. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were more. 

“Aaron,” you whisper. 

“What?”

“Want me to massage your bad shoulder?”

He wonders, as he thinks is more than allowed, if that’s a seduction trick, but you genuinely just give him a massage, as you have a couple of times in his office after noticing how sore it gets now the weather’s cold. 

You rub into the problem spot carefully, sighing with sympathy. “Oh, baby,” you say, more to yourself than him. 

He fucking loves the way you say it. Aaron’s never been called baby like that — like it’s his name, and it’s sweet to say. Your tired yawns warm the back of his neck as you go. He doesn’t think he’s getting lucky tonight, and he doesn’t care one bit. He feels pretty lucky just having you near. 

He gets you under the covers before you can fall asleep against his back and makes sure you know how grateful he is for the massage with two kisses. The first is a genuine thank you and the second is to make you laugh, nipping and playful under your jaw. 

Aaron falls asleep thinking about it. 

He wakes to something much less idyllic. 

It’s that strange feeling. Being a dad has honed it, but he’s always had it. It’s one of the things that makes him so good at his job, a prickling at the back of his neck. At first he can’t pin it down. 

Your waist rises under his hand with your breathing. He remembers that you’re there and smiles contentedly, hand sliding behind your back to pull you in. You’d fallen asleep on your back, and you’ve turned toward him in your sleep. 

The metallic stick of blood is sudden and sharp in his nose. He knows what it is before he opens his eyes. The room is dark, lit only by the red light of his alarm clock on the nightstand. His eyes ache with fatigue, and he knows in his gut that it’s too early to get up. 

Blood pools under your nose. Not a lot, nothing to panic over, but blood all the same. He sits up, quickly turns on his bedside lamp, and rouses you as gently as he can, a hand slid under your shoulders to drag you up. 

You blink blearily. “What?” you ask, voice scratchy. 

“Nosebleed,” he informs, pinching your nose before blood can slink down your neck and ruin your pyjama shirt. 

You wince and he hates the way you flinch away from his touch, your clouded confusion. It’s only a second but it doesn’t sit right with him. 

“Sorry, honey.”

You catch hold of his bicep and blink some more. 

“You okay to pinch it yourself? I’ll go grab some tissue paper.”

You nod robotically and replace his light pinching with your own, much less kind. He rushes to grab a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, and when he returns you've pulled yourself into an alert sitting position, awaiting his return. 

He tears you off a wad of paper. “Here, honey.”

“I think it’s stopped.”

“Yeah? Let me grab you a towel.”

Back to the bathroom. When he returns for the second time you’re holding his given toilet paper against your face. He’s alarmed to find your eyes glassy with tears, shimmering in the bedroom light. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, sitting across from you. 

He’d been right about sleepy you. You look lovely, a little funny with your rumpled pyjamas, and now quite sad because of your tears. “Honey,” he says again, pulling your hand from your face so he can assess the damage, “you’re okay. Is it hurting?”

You’ve told him before the nosebleeds are painless, but maybe they’re a symptom of something, maybe you’re sick—

“I ruined your pillow,” you mutter. 

Ah. That’s much better than your being sick. He can work with that easily. 

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to lift your head. The blood has stopped already; your nosebleeds are often a whirlwind, over by the time you’ve started panicking. 

“I’m sorry.”

He drops your bloodied tissue into his lap and brings the dampened towel to your face. He’s cautious. Your nose gets irritated and any roughness could disrupt the blood clot or agitate the anterior blood vessels inside. 

“You think I’m mad over a pillow?”

“No, of course not.” 

You sound stuffy. It’s adorable. Adorable and sad. He rubs the hill of your chin in a show of affection. 

“Then why?”

“Sorry, I think I’m just tired. I- I was trying to make tonight perfect because,” — a small tear bumps down your cheek — “it’s our first night together even if it was accidental.”

He dabs at your upper lip and the wet blood there with a smile growing. “It was perfect. It is perfect. You getting a nosebleed on a seven dollar pillow doesn’t change that.” His hand moves to your cheek, squashing your baby tear. “You know I love any opportunity to touch you… Now, do you want a glass of water?”

You close your eyes and lean your face heavily into his palm. “Can I have one of those kisses from earlier?”

“Can you keep your blood inside your body?” he asks with a smile, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“Depends how hard you bite me.”

He’s very, very gentle.

—

+1

Aaron breaks his nose. You are not supposed to know that he breaks his nose, only he breaks it so bad that he has to go to the hospital to get it set, and he decides he’d like you there. 

Technically, somebody else broke his nose. The details aren’t important. What matters is that Aaron makes a rookie mistake and he has to deal with the consequences, which is a biting, aching pain behind his eyes and a trip to the ER. He does not let them take him in an ambulance, and it really isn’t urgent. He sits in a waiting room chair with a stiff back and it doesn’t take long before you’re striding inside looking terrified. 

“Hey, baby,” he says, testing it out. He doesn’t really like it. 

“What did they give you?” you ask, bending at the waist to take his face into your kind hands. 

“Vicodin when I got here.”

“Lucky you.” You turn his face in your hands. 

“You look beautiful,” he says. 

“I wish I could say the same, but somebody messed you up bad.”

He laughs and takes your face into his hands, the two of you smiling way too much for the situation that you’re in. “I was so worried,” you say with a little laugh. 

He kisses you soundly. It hurts, but it’s worth it. 

They call his name not long after and a nurse takes you both into a grey examination room. The doctor is a short, stern woman who has to use a stool to reach Aaron’s face, and she sets his nose with a swiftness that even he manages to recognise for the brutality that it is in his drug haze. 

You hold his hand. He has to try very hard not to crush your fingers. 

It starts bleeding immediately. 

Aaron meets your gaze over the doctor's head, eyes wide and in similar fashion as your own, and he knows it’s an adverse reaction to shocking pain but he starts giggling. Aaron Hotchner doesn’t giggle, really. He laughs, and sometimes when he’s with Jack that laugh can get super loose and high, but this is a bona fide giggle. 

You try to gasp in shock but you’re laughing too. “Aaron,” you reproach.

He holds his breath as the doctor presses gauze to his face. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says.

You snicker behind your hand. The doctor presses gauze to his face and rolls her eyes. She likely does not get paid enough. 

“You’re still handsome,” you say giddily. 

“Oh, well that's good.”

There’s a small silence rife with tension, and when it breaks it bursts like a dam. You laugh so hard you end up clinging to his arm, chest pressed to his bicep. He strokes the back of your head with a wobbly hand, wondering how miserable he’d be if you weren’t here with him right now. 

“What happened to keeping all your blood inside your body, Hotchner?” you ask, delighted. 

He beams at you dopily. “I’ve never been any good at that.”

You kiss his forehead. The doctor is furious. 

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