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mrsholmesreid · 7 months ago

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EVERY FIRST, YOURS | spencer reid x reader

summary: you and spencer reid have been going out for a few weeks. he's taking things very slow, and you find his pace comforting and his awkwardness endearing. as your relationship grows more heated, you come to find that he was completely inexperienced before meeting you. you feel honored to be his first, to be the one he learns love from.

pairing: spencer reid x reader (no pronouns but reader has female anatomy)

word count: 9,05k

content warnings: fluff x smut, virgin!spencer, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, aftercare.

author's note: i tried to portray spencer's inexperience in a way that's more realistic—despite him reading a lot and knowing everything about most things—and that followed his character's personality but that was still enjoyable to read. i hope you love reading this as much as i loved writing it! let me know what you think :)

You and Spencer had been going out for a few weeks. After reaching for the same book at a bookstore, the two of you started talking—and it didn’t take very long before you planned a date. He chose a nice restaurant, picked you up, brought you flowers, and did every other gentleman attitude in the book. By the end of it, you were sure he was going to make a move—kiss you, touch you, maybe even try to get you to go home with him—but he did none of that. As he dropped you off at your place at a reasonable hour, he gave you a gentle, respectful hug, and thanked you for an amazing time with the promise of calling you back again soon. And unlike most other guys, he kept it.

You thought he was the sweetest guy you’d ever met.

It was only by your third date that he tried to kiss you. The routine remained—picking you up, taking you to a nice place (this time it had been a museum, where he risked to hold your hand—and you let him), and then, finally, driving you home.

When you reached your doorstep, it was a little later than usual because both of you wanted to stay for a short lecture they were having at the museum. His eyes glimmered under the dim lighting of your porch, and in a quiet moment that followed after a string of warm laughter about the night’s events, he asked if he could kiss you.

You’d never had anyone ask you that before. Guys would usually just take the hint and lean in all at once. But for some reason, the care in his eyes, the way he rubbed his hands ever so slightly against his slacks—as if trying to dry off a thin layer of nervous sweat without you noticing—endeared you deeply. Your heart warmed at the way his eyes stared at you. His pupils wide, taking you in and eagerly waiting for an answer.

“Please?”

The word sounded more like a whimper coming from his lips. You were so deep in your thoughts about how adorable he looked when asking you that question, that you forgot to actually agree to it. You didn’t just want to kiss him. You wanted to scream, jump in his arms, kiss him all over, invite him inside, and give yourself completely to this charming man. But you didn’t.

It was clear by how nervous he seemed that he had planned every second of every date he had taken you on—including this very moment—and you wanted to let him do it. You wanted to play along, to let him win the little game he had in his mind. You knew he had probably rehearsed that line a thousand times before actually saying it to you. “May I kiss you?” You could almost picture him saying it to the mirror. So, you allowed him to set the pace.

“Yes,” you smiled softly, taking a small step closer.

The kiss that followed wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but in a way, it couldn’t have been better. His breath hitched, and you could see the exact moment his brain short-circuited after hearing your breathy one-worded answer. He took another step in your direction, closing the distance between you but not quite letting your bodies touch just yet. He took a deep breath, and very slowly, pressed a brush of a kiss against your lips.

It barely lasted more than three seconds, but to you, it was an eternity. You never thought such a chaste peck could make that many fireworks go off inside your head.

You didn’t know it then, but the fireworks in his head were much brighter than yours; for that had been his first kiss ever.

After that, he simply pulled back with the biggest, silliest smile you’d ever seen. He looked like a child that had just been given a puppy. Or even the puppy itself.

His flushed cheeks said everything he couldn’t, and after exchanging goodnights, he went back to his car, leaving you just as flustered and happy as him.

What had he done to you? You felt like a teenager in love for the first time. But whatever it was, you couldn’t help but crave more of it.

For the next couple of dates, he followed that same script—but now, with a goodnight kiss at the end of it. You kept letting him set the pace, enjoying how adorable he looked whenever the time to kiss you came. Even his behavior in the moments leading up to it would change. He’d get more talkative on the drive back to your place, and you could swear you even saw him unconsciously skipping after closing the car door for you before taking you home one time. You loved his silly smiles, and they brought up a bunch of your own.

But as the dates kept going, his kisses evolved.

The first time he changed it, was after he had taken you to an amusement park. You were both exhilarated after the adrenalin-fueled evening when you reached your doorstep, and as if on instinct, he pulled you in with his hands cradling your face as he kissed you for a lot longer than three seconds.

He hadn’t done that yet, and he seemed just as surprised as you by his own, unexpected action. The way his fingers naturally threaded through your hair to bring you closer, how his lips pressed more purposefully against yours—your heart nearly stopped.

He pulled back slowly, his hands slipping shyly from your cheeks, and he looked like the floor could swallow him whole with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry…” He stammered, but you could tell that, deep down, he really wasn’t.

“Don’t apologize,” you smiled and couldn’t help yourself, tentatively stealing another peck. You didn’t even try to hide how much you’d loved the fact that he had lost himself in the kiss.

His blush deepened at your stolen peck, but you didn’t press him further than that.

“So… we’re okay?” He asked timidly.

“Yeah… we’re okay,” you replied, your grin widening.

After that night, his kisses only grew deeper.

On the following date, he allowed his lips to move ever so slightly against yours, making your entire body shiver.

By the next one, he flicked his tongue over your lower lip, hesitantly begging for entry—which you granted him in a heartbeat.

His movements were shy and almost experimental at first, but not long after, the routine chaste goodnight kisses were replaced by his hands on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as your tongues danced together. You didn’t realize it then, but you were teaching him how to kiss.

You were starting to wonder when he’d want more. Your make out sessions were becoming more heated with each date; to the point that, one night, he even pressed you lightly against the wall. The desire between you was growing undeniably evident—both figuratively and literally.

You’d been waiting for the night when he’d ask to come inside—find an excuse to actually cross the front door limit you’d been teetering over, go into your house, and take things further. But he didn’t.

You were patient, though. You could tell he was very careful with everything you did together, and not only did you respect that, but you were thankful for it. You thought you might actually benefit from having someone be a little more controlled than you in a relationship for once. Ever so used to guys jumping to conclusions and skipping important steps, Spencer’s pace was a comforting change of scenery.

But then it finally came.

You were leaving the restaurant, his hand hovering over your lower back as he guided you back to his car like he always did. Everything was going exactly the same, following the usual script perfectly. The next steps were clear: he’d drive you home, you’d make out by your doorstep, then he’d say goodnight and leave you a blushing, butterfly-filled mess.

Until things took a different turn.

“You know,” he broke the comfortable silence, sliding his hand against yours and interlocking your fingers as you walked. You could feel how warm his hand was, and the slight dampness on it indicated he was a little nervous. “I finished setting up that new shelf I was telling you about,” he mentioned, seemingly casually.

“Oh, did you? You actually figured out where all the nails went?” You teased him lightly.

He let out a soft chuckle, “Yeah, I did. And now I’ve finally organized my books. This time I arranged them by author and theme,” he added, his tone proud.

“It must look beautiful,” you said in all honesty, not realizing the actual weight of your words until he let out:

“Do you wanna see it?” His voice trembled slightly and you could see right through him. That wasn’t an innocent invitation.

Your heart skipped a beat. He wanted you to see it? Like, actually see it, in person, alone with him in his apartment?

You raised your eyebrows, your face a mix of shock and ecstasy. The time had finally come.

“Y-you mean…?” You stuttered, not wanting to jump to conclusions despite the sheer obviousness in his gaze.

“We could go to my place—I mean, stop at my place, before I drop you home,” his nerves were evident by the way he stumbled over his words, trying to play it cool. “Would you like that?” He asked, sounding eager for your answer.

Of course you’d like that. You’d been waiting for that moment for weeks. But still, given how slow he’d been taking things, you needed to make sure that was what he wanted.

“Yes, yes I would, but… Are you sure?” You asked as the two of you stopped by his car, his hand pausing on the passenger’s seat door handle.

His gaze met yours, deep and meaningful. “I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay,” you nodded, the air between you thick with tension and understanding. “I’d love to see your new shelf, Spence.”

He smiled, a soft and genuine curve of his lips, as he opened the car door for you.

The drive to his apartment was quieter than your usual drives. It was like the both of you felt the weight of what was about to happen.

As he pulled over and guided you up to his place, you could tell he was nervous by how he constantly asked if you were feeling uncomfortable, cold, or tired. He was adorable like that, the true concern for your well-being evident in his actions.

“Make yourself at home,” he said as the two of you stepped inside. His apartment wasn’t too big, the perfect balance between having enough room and being cozy. It was warm and welcoming, the faint smell of books and coffee filling your nostrils.

“Thank you,” you replied. You watched as he carefully slipped off his shoes, so you did the same. “You have a really nice place, it’s very… you.”

“Thanks… Everybody says that,” he blushed. “Here, let me take this,” his hands gently slid over your coat, helping you remove it and hung it by the door. You gave him a soft smile, the thick atmosphere slowly fading into something more comfortable. You loved this about him, how he always felt safe, like home.

“So where’s this famous shelf?” You teased, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

“Follow me,” he said, offering you his hand—which you took without hesitation.

Spencer gently guided you further inside the apartment, showing you to the living room. The warm lighting casted soft shadows on the walls, giving the apartment a homey feel. There was a shelf filled to the brim on one side, but you could tell those weren’t all of his books, though. There were a few piled up next to the couch, which was large and comfy with pillows scattered all over it, and some more on the coffee table.

“Is this it?” You asked, pointing at the shelf as you stepped closer to it.

“The one and only,” he grinned, standing next to you with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“You did a really good job putting this up, it seems very… sturdy,” you said, running your hands gently on the shelf, as if studying it closely.

He smiled proudly. “Yeah, it took me a while. Hey, look through whatever you want, okay? I’m just gonna go grab a glass of water, do you want some?” He offered. As you turned to face him directly, you noticed his flushed cheeks and awkward demeanor. He was clearly nervous about having you here, like he was afraid of disappointing you, desperate to impress you.

You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, before politely declining, “I’m good, thanks. I’ll be right here checking out your beautiful collection,” you said, watching him leave while wiping his hands on his slacks like he always did when he was nervous.

You let out a soft chuckle, biting your lip as you thought about how lucky you were to be the one causing those adorable reactions on that man. Ever the methodic genius, Spencer kept surprising you every time you met by how comfortable he was growing around you. Still, watching him get flustered over the smallest details warmed your heart and filled your stomach with butterflies.

Running your fingers carefully over the spines of his books, you studied the titles but could barely register any of them. Your heart stammered against your chest, the idea of being there with him, alone in his apartment, was both exhilarating and terrifying. Despite the nerves, you didn't feel too bad, because you knew he was just as nervous as you. You could almost picture him pacing the kitchen, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his racing mind. And that mere thought had you smiling like a teenager in love.

You liked Spencer—you really liked him. And you didn’t want to mess any of it up. It had been long since you’d last felt anything remotely similar to what you felt for Spencer. Despite the two of you having not yet discussed the details of your relationship, you already considered him your boyfriend, and you desperately wanted to keep him around long enough to find out if he considered himself your boyfriend as well. And tonight was going to be a big step for the both of you.

Suddenly, you felt his hands sliding across your arms, gently encircling you with his own. Your entire body shivered, your skin feeling like it was on fire.

“You’re back,” you muttered, your voice strained with the surge of desire that coursed through you.

“Mhm. Did you miss me?” He hummed and whispered against the shell of your ear, pulling you back against his chest, your soft curves fitting perfectly against him. It was an unexpected move, but not at all unwelcome. His arms trembled slightly over you, as if he was terrified of your reactions, as if his heart was doing cartwheels in his chest—just like yours.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you joked, resting back against him with a smile playing on your lips. His closeness was both intoxicating and calming, and it took every bit of your strength to keep yourself in check. “But I did. Just a little bit, though,” you whispered.

“Just a little bit, huh?” He teased softly, his breath warm against your neck, making a shiver run down your spine with each of his words. “Well, good to know, because I missed you too.” He admitted sweetly, the words going straight to your core. Even though you were both only joking, only teasing each other for fun, the idea of him thinking about you made your skin tingle.

“Just a little bit?” You asked quietly, continuing the back and forth banter as your fingers intertwined with his.

“Mhm, no, I missed you a whole lot,” he muttered, his lips pressing a trail of soft kisses on your shoulder, going all the way up to your neck. Those words alone almost had you undone. You could feel his cheeks burning as he pressed them against your skin, the mere shift in temperature enough to make you wish you could see the shade of pink coloring over them.

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

“No…” He lied, his cheeks feeling even warmer against you.

With a swift motion, you turned around to face him, a surge of confidence taking over you. You wanted him, and you knew he wanted you too. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “Liar!” You teased with a giggle, finding the redness on his cheeks absolutely endearing.

“Shut up,” he muttered, looking away with a shy smile as he pulled you closer.

“Look at me, pretty boy,” you tilted his chin with your finger so he was facing you. His eyes timidly met yours, his pupils dilating immediately at the sight. “You’re cute,” you teased, and his blush deepened.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered, one of his hands sliding up from your waist to cup your cheek, his thumb lightly tracing patterns on your skin.

You tilted your head to the side, completely surrendered to the man before you; a soft, lovesick smile on your lips. When you noticed his eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back to your eyes, you already knew what was coming.

“M-may I kiss you?” He whispered. Even after everything, even after all the times you two made out passionately at your doorstep, he still made sure you gave permission. There was something about the tone in his voice when he asked that, the pleading shine in his eyes that betrayed the true desire in his chest. Everything about him charmed you.

“You really think I'd say no to that?” You smiled, leaning a little closer, your lips just a breath away from his.

He smiled shyly, as if he were unable to contain his own reactions. “Just checking in. I can barely believe you even let me have you like this,” he admitted, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Well, now you know,” you added. “I always want to kiss you.”

He pulled back slowly, his eyes widened with excitement meeting your gaze before he gently brought his lips to yours. The kiss was slow at first, tentative and hesitant. Like you both knew what it was forecasting.

His hands slowly cupped your face, as if he was holding the most precious thing in the world. As the kiss deepened, one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, threading through your hair to pull your mouth closer to his. Meanwhile, his free hand sneaked down your side, resting on your hip to bring you flush against him.

Your tongue slipped past his lips, tangling with his in a dance that grew hotter by the second. You could feel your heartbeat racing pressed against his chest, the rhythm mixing with his own. Your hands went from his neck to his lower back, dragging down his shirt until your fingers reached the hem, sneaking underneath the fabric to meet the warmth of his skin.

He let out a soft gasp into your mouth as your fingers trailed along the skin of his lower back, a shiver running down his spine. You smiled against his lips, enjoying how easily you could elicit reactions from him. Feeling your smile, Spencer tugged you even closer, kissing you even harder.

You turned to putty in his arms. The heat of the moment urged you on, making you slowly back him toward the couch until the back of his knees hit the soft material. Your hands went to his shoulders, gently guiding him down, your lips not leaving each other’s not even for a second. As he sat on the couch, you didn’t waste any time before climbing right on his lap.

His hands immediately met your waist, pulling your body closer until you were sitting directly on top of him. Desire shot up your body like electric shocks when you felt the evidence of his arousal nudging insistently against your clothed core. You pressed down gently, causing a spark of friction that nearly drew both of you insane.

Spencer groaned into your mouth, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. “We’ve never been this far,” he muttered, your breaths mingling in the small space between your faces.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked, trailing kisses on his jawline, all the way down to his neck. Your lips attached to the sensitive skin below his ear, unable to resist the need to suck and bite him softly.

“God, no,” he let out in a heartbeat, the earnestness in his voice enough to urge you further. You sucked a little harder on his neck, your tongue soothing the skin right after, making a soft moan escape his lips—the sound going straight to your core. “Damnit, that feels so good,” he muttered, making you smile against his skin.

You continued kissing down his neck to his collarbone, your mouth eager to find new spots that made him gasp. His hands slid down your hips to your backside, gently kneading the soft skin, the motion making you gasp and freeze on his neck for a second. You could feel your underwear grow damper, as well as his pants twitching underneath you.

“I-I’m sorry, should I have not? I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked first…” He muttered as you froze, his hands shaking as they hesitantly left your ass.

“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly replied, guiding his hands back to where they were. “I liked it, I really did,” you smiled down at him, enjoying the sight of his slightly tousled hair and flushed skin. “You can touch wherever you want,”

“W-wherever I want?” He stammered, barely believing your words. His cheeks turned bright red. “A-are you sure?”

“Wherever you want, baby,” you whispered against his ear, drawing a satisfied sigh from him.

“E-even here?” He asked, the sound of you calling him ‘baby’ going straight to his groin as he gently spread your ass cheeks apart, kneading the flesh. Your head fell to his shoulder, your hips rolling against his as your body grew warmer with pleasure.

“Even there,” you gasped, your hands running down his chest reverently.

“What about here?” He asked, his hands sneaking up to your ribcage, his thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts.

“T-there too, baby,” you muttered as his palms slid further up until he was cupping your bosoms. His hands gently squeezed them, thumbs brushing against your hardened nipples over the thin fabric of your shirt and bra.

“I like that,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck as he played with your breasts.

“What, touching me?” You asked, completely focused on the feel of his hands on you, his body pressed underneath yours, and his lips on your skin.

“Well, that too,” he said, squeezing your breasts a little tighter. “But I meant you calling me ‘baby’.”

“Mhm, did you now, baby?” You teased, whispering in his ear.

The soft sound that escaped his lips was almost like a whimper. “Y-yeah, yeah I like that.”

“Good,” you murmured, your tone sultry against the shell of his ear. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you further down on him. Slowly, you began grinding your hips on his, unable to ignore the hardness that pressed against you. You could notice the hitch in his breath as the friction between your bodies took over your minds.

“Is this okay?” You asked as you continued rolling your hips.

“I-It’s more than okay,” he stuttered, his eyes wide as he stared up at you, his grip tightening on your hips as he guided your deliberate movements.

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. He complied in a heartbeat, his lips parting to allow your tongue inside.

The heat between you grew exponentially. It was happening, it was really happening. You were grinding down, basically dry humping Spencer Reid as he kissed you like a man starved. It felt like a dream come true.

The desire between you was getting harder to ignore. It was obvious what this was leading to, the tent in his pants and how you rubbed against it were nothing near innocent. But you didn’t want to be the one to take the first step. You didn’t want to seem too eager or to make him feel like you were pushing something on him—but god only knew how badly you needed him.

Then he pulled away, gasping for air, his skin flush.

“I want you,” he admitted. “I want to take you to my bedroom.”

You could tell he was nervous, that admitting this to you was probably one of the hardest things he ever had to say. You smiled, wanting him to know it was okay and he could trust you. You wanted him to know that you wanted him too.

“I’d like that,” you said, kissing his cheek. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

“Really?” His face brightened, his hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Yes, really,” you smiled. “Only if you’re sure about it, though.” You brought your hand to his face as well, losing yourself in the sight of him asking you this.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he nodded quickly, almost desperately. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“Really?” You blushed.

He nodded, blushing as well. “Yeah, I've… I've actually been picturing tonight from the very beginning.”

Your entire body shivered. “Me too,” you admitted quietly.

“Really?” He asked, his eyes wide with disbelief and something warmer—desire, admiration, love…?

“Yes, really,” you chuckled softly. “I actually thought it would happen sooner,”

“Oh,” he let out. “Did you want it to have happened sooner?” You could almost feel the insecurity in his tone.

“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly added. “It’s just… Most guys would’ve tried to do this earlier, you know? But… I’m glad you didn’t,” you smiled softly, reaching up to caress his hair.

He melted into your touch, his face relaxing at your words. “I didn’t want to rush things with you. You mean a lot to me,” he smiled, his eyes wide staring up at you.

“You mean a lot to me too,” you replied, leaning down to kiss him.

His lips met yours softly, the both of you drowning in the sensations. The heat between you was still very present, so it didn’t take long before he was helping you off his lap and guiding you to his bedroom, the kiss not breaking for a second.

He kicked the door shut behind you carefully, gently backing you toward his bed. As the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he slowly pushed you down onto it, crawling on top of you.

His body hovered above yours as you made out, hands exploring each other’s bodies with reverence. You could tell he wasn’t very used to this, his limbs trembled slightly against you as if he was overthinking his every action.

His knees gently spread your legs apart so he could fit his body between them, which you easily allowed. His hips pressed down against yours, your arms enveloping him and dragging him closer to you. His kisses grew even more heated, lips trailing down your jawline to your neck as he ground down against you.

The way you gasped, the soft moans that spilled from your throat, everything overwhelmed him in the best way possible. He loved how responsive you were, how you showed him with every breath you let out how badly you needed him, just like he needed you.

His face left the crook of your neck to stare down at you, hands paused by the hem of your shirt. Silently asking for permission, his gaze met yours to find your desires mirrored in each other. No words were needed, his fingers gently tugging your shirt upwards until it was tossed across the room. His own shirt followed soon after.

Your chests pressed together snuggly as Spencer found his way back to your neck, his lips sucking gently on the sensitive skin below your ear. His hands sneaked down your back, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra.

“Need any help?” You chuckled quietly, not in a mocking tone, but rather raw endearment for his gentle ministrations.

“Yes, please,” he blushed softly. You reached behind your back undoing your bra with practiced ease. The straps fell loosely off your shoulders, the cups still covering your breasts.

“May I?” Spencer asked, his fingers stilling on the straps. You nodded, helping him as he slid off the garment.

His eyes widened noticeably at the sight of your bare chest as he tossed your bra away. “You’re breathtaking,” he muttered in complete awe of you, his fingers kneading the soft flesh with worshipping care.

Before you could respond, his face bent down to latch on one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he sucked it into his mouth, a satisfied sigh escaping his throat as he felt it harden between his lips. You let out a low moan, your hands trailing down his back, tracing slow patterns that made his skin tingle.

His free hand played with your other breast, making sure he was lavishing attention to both mounds as he switched between sucking and squeezing each side. He was lost in the taste of you, nursing as if he’d been hungry for you for months.

Your chest rose and fell with your ragged breaths, pleasure overtaking you. His hips didn’t falter their grinding, the evidence of his desire causing a mindblowing friction between you.

Your hands shyly sneaked down his back, hooking on the waistband of his pants. As your fingers trailed lightly under the fabric of his boxers, he hitched against your chest, letting go of your nipples to look up at you.

“May I take these off?” You asked quietly.

He nodded eagerly, his hands reaching down to help you as he unzipped his pants with a clumsiness that neared desperation. His pants were on the floor in no time, the thin grey fabric of his boxers doing little to conceal the hard line of his arousal.

The sight nearly drove you mad, your hands reaching down to your own pants, hips lifting off the bed to pull it off.

Spencer’s hands met your waistband in no time, helping you remove your pants. Each inch of your bare skin being revealed made his heartbeat rise a little more, the weight of the moment pounding against his chest. He needed you like he never needed anything else before in his life.

You gently pulled him back up, your lips catching his in a searing kiss. Your bare chests pressed together, the warmth of his skin seeping through yours as your kisses deepened. Spencer continued grinding against you, the only barrier left between your sexes being the thin fabric of both of your underwear.

Your sight was blinded by a haze of desire. You wanted him, you needed him to take you, you needed to feel him deep inside you. Not able to contain yourself, you reached down to hook your fingers on the waistband of his boxers—being careful not to overwhelm him, but also not wanting to wait any longer.

He let out a soft gasp into your mouth, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.

“Sorry, too much?” You whispered, your fingers stilling around his hips.

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just… I should probably tell you something,” he muttered, a blush creeping up his already flushed neck.

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything,” you murmured softly, your tone sweet and understanding, but laced with a tinge of concern.

“I… I haven’t exactly… I mean, I haven’t really… this is kind of my…” he stammered, struggling to put his thoughts into words, but you understood what he meant immediately.

“...Your first time?” You finished for him. He nodded shyly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “This is your first time, Spence?” You confirmed, your hands sliding up his back, your touch filled with affection.

“Yes… I’ve never… done this with anyone before. I actually hadn’t done anything with anyone before you,” he admitted quietly.

“Wait, you mean… nothing at all?” You asked, a little bit in disbelief. He nodded, making your heartbeat quicken. “Spencer, was I… was I your first kiss?” You asked, your eyes searching his, your expression unreadable.

“Yes… you were my first kiss, my first… everything,” he whispered. “Do you think I’m pathetic? It’s okay, you can be honest, I’ll understand…”

“No,” you interrupted. “I could never think that.”

His eyes lit up, finally running back up to meet yours. “Really?” He murmured, unsure if he wanted to hear your real answer or a made up lie to avoid hurting his feelings.

“Yes, really. I think you're so sweet, Spence, I could never think anything less of you. And the fact that I was your first kiss, your first… everything, is so special to me. I couldn’t be happier that you let me be the person who showed you this side of life,” you smiled warmly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “The only thing I wish had gone differently is that you’d have told me earlier. If I had known, I would’ve been gentler, kinder, more understanding…”

“But you were all of those things,” he muttered, his eyes soft staring down at you. “You were the best person I could think of to do all of this. You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like this, like… I could take all the love you can give me and still crave more.”

Your gaze softened, your chest warm at his admission. “I’m so glad you trust me. You make me feel that way too,”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss on your lips. It was chaste, but meaningful. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours with renewed desire, but this time, they were filled with something warmer, something more understanding than pure lust. None of you dared to name it then, but that single look you two exchanged was the first seed of love starting to bloom between you.

“I want you,” he muttered.

“I want you too,” you replied.

Your lips crashed together again, hungrier this time. Your tongues tangled in a sensual dance, the fire between you heating up once more as your fingers found their way back to the waistband of his boxers. But this time, he helped you tug them off.

As soon as the garment was tossed across the room, his hands reached down for your panties, fingers hooking on their sides as you lifted your hips to help him slide them off your legs. Once you were both bare, his body settled between your legs, the skin-on-skin contact bringing your connection to a whole new level of intimacy and pleasure.

Your senses were heightened by each brush of his skin on yours, the warmth between your legs growing wetter with each movement. His hands kneaded your skin—the moans that escaped both of your throats filled the room as his fingers worked on finding your sensitive spots while grinding down against you, his bare length sliding between your folds and bringing both of you to the brink of giving into the fire burning between you.

You wanted his first time to be perfect. You wanted to give him the best experience possible, to be there for him all the way—much unlike most people’s first times. You noticed how sloppy and unthought through were his actions, you could tell he was moving on pure instinct and response observation. He seemed acutely aware of each of your actions, each of the sounds you made; following the path that led to them like he was tethered to your gasps and the arching of your back.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Are you sure?” You blinked up at him as he rolled his hips slowly, his erection sliding lazily against your thigh.

“I’m sure,” he nodded. “I’ve read a lot about it online—about all of this, really. I think I have a pretty good idea of how things are supposed to go,” he explained proudly.

“Well, that’s great baby, but practice is very different from theory,” you said softly, caressing the back of his neck.

“Oh trust me, I know. None of this is like anything I expected, but… I want to learn… If you’ll let me…?” He trailed off, his gaze flicking down to your core then back to your eyes.

“Of course I’ll let you,” you smiled. “I’ll guide you through it if you need me to. But please, don’t do anything you don’t want just to please me, okay? I’m here for you, I want tonight to be a good memory,” you said, your tone dropping an octave and becoming more serious.

“I know,” he nodded, nuzzling his nose on your cheek. “Trust me, I want this very much. Maybe even more than you, probably even more than you,” he admitted, making you blush.

“Suit yourself, then,” you smiled, your body already thrumming with the thought of having him between your legs.

Slowly, he began trailing hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your body. He lavished attention to your breasts, ribs, stomach, then finally began moving up your inner thighs. His hands gently scooped them up, placing them over his shoulders as his lips trailed dangerously closer to where you needed them.

His fingers spread your wet folds, revealing the flush, wet skin underneath. His breath hitched, and almost as if worshipping you, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your most sensitive spot.

He hummed against you, enjoying the taste and feel of your intimacy like nothing he’d ever felt. His lips closed around the sensitive bud, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue darted out to taste you. You moaned softly, your hands threading through his hair as your thighs threatened to close around his head. His hands carefully pried your legs apart, holding you open for him to feast on you with abandon.

You could tell the rational side of him was slowly fading away, like he was giving into the moment without overthinking things he might've read online. He carefully tried to insert his middle finger in you, missing the spot a couple times before he finally managed to slide it in. You smiled, looking down at him.

The sight of him between your legs, hair tousled between your fingers, eyes shut as he lost himself in the act of pleasuring you—all of it drew you closer to the edge. He moved his fingers sloppily, and you let him explore. Something about his eagerness to learn and the way he seemed overwhelmed by his pleasure heightened your own.

Then he slid another finger in you, making a come hither motion until he felt a rougher patch. The way your hips bucked when he rubbed it told him everything he needed to know.

He continued thrusting his fingers, trying to hit that spot every time as his tongue lapped hungrily over your clit, following the direction your hand guided his head to.

“Fuck, that's it, Spencer… that's it, please don't stop…” You whimpered, your legs trembling on his shoulders as you felt your release building.

He looked up at you through hooded eyes, your words urging him on. He continued eating you out, groaning against you as he found pleasure in the act of pleasuring you. As if on pure instinct, his hips began thrusting against the bed, grinding his erection on the mattress, seeking some sort of friction to relieve the pleasure he felt. It was all overwhelming to him, he never expected to feel this much pleasure by going down on someone else.

He could feel you clenching down on his fingers, your walls beginning to flutter around him. He moaned, the sound vibrating against your core, heightening the pleasure you felt.

He had to force himself to stop grinding on the mattress, or else he'd be finishing too soon. Determined to bring you over the edge, he kept going, his eyes fixed on you as he ate you out.

“Are you close?” He asked, taking a break to breathe, though his fingers didn't falter.

“Yeah… please don't stop…” You moaned, already bringing his face back down onto you, trying to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible.

He understood what you needed, bending down to continue lapping at you, set on prolonging your release as much as possible. Overtaken by the pleasure, he sped up, trying to get you there faster.

“No, no, Spence, don't speed up!” You begged, your vision blurring with the impending orgasm.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” he muttered, going back to the former pace until he felt you shaking in his arms.

It was official: Spencer Reid had made someone come.

You moaned his name, legs spasming around his face as he lapped down your release. His fingers gently withdrew from you, his lips kissing your thighs as you came down from your high.

“Did you… did you really just��?” He asked still in disbelief, looking up at you starry eyed.

“Yeah… I did,” you breathed out, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of your release.

“I… I made you come?” He smiled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he slowly crawled back up your body.

“You sure did,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around him. “Thank you, that was… amazing,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Was it really? I've never felt anything remotely similar to this in my entire life, it was… beautiful. I've never seen anything more beautiful than you letting go like that,” he admitted, his pupils wide and his lips tugging on a silly, lovesick grin.

“You did a really good job, baby,” you held him close, your body starting to recover from the aftermath.

“Are you sure? What about in the end when I sped up?” He asked, his tone dripping with insecurity but also curiosity to learn.

“Oh, don't worry about it, you're a fast learner,” you giggled softly. “It's just that, when I'm getting closer to release, it means you're doing something really right—so don't change it unless I ask you to,” you explained, your fingers tracing patterns on his back.

“Duly noted,” he smiled. “I'll remember that.”

Then he leaned down to kiss you, his forearms caging around your head as your lips met. You could taste yourself faintly in his mouth, and as his body lowered closer to yours, you felt a droplet of something wet fall on your stomach.

Looking down, you realized what it was, a blush creeping up your cheeks. He followed your gaze, noticing what was happening as well, his face hiding in the crook of your neck. You could see how his length throbbed, standing proudly and dripping on your stomach.

“Uhm… I'm sorry about that, it's just that I…” he stammered, struggling to find less embarrassing words than ‘I'm so hard for you I could come from a single touch of yours.’

“It's fine,” you reassured him, cupping his cheek. “If you want to, I could return the favor or… or we could try something new…” You whispered.

His entire body shivered at your words, his eyes shutting as he tried to control his body's reactions. “As much as I'd love for you to return the favor, I don't think I can… last much longer if you do,” he blushed. “But trust me, if you let me, I'll hold you to that offer.”

You chuckled softly, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Your call, baby. We can try whatever you want, whenever you want it,” you added, peppering light kisses down his neck.

A smile creeped up his lips as you kissed him. “I want… you. I want to take you now, if you'll let me,” he swallowed hard, nervousness battling with excitement in his chest.

“I'm all yours, sweetheart,” you murmured against the shell of his ear, making his entire body shiver.

“O-okay, then I should… I should grab a c—uhm, protection, I mean…” He stumbled over his words, quickly standing from the bed and looking through his nightstand’s drawer.

You chuckled softly from the bed, watching him nervously looking for the tiny box and pulling a wrapper from inside. “Got it,” he said, claiming his find with a satisfied smile.

“You know… We could go without it if we wanted to,” your eyes glimmered with mischief.

“A-are you serious?” He stuttered, unsure, but not appalled as he sat back on the edge of the bed.

“I mean… We're both clean, aren't we? And I'm on birth control… But it's up to you,” you blushed as the words left your lips, but you couldn't help yourself.

“Y-you’d let me? For real?” He blinked, still in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you smiled.”Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly, not missing a second. He tossed the condom back in the drawer and climbed back on the bed, his body caging yours against the mattress. “Are you completely sure, though?” He asked again, his body trembling with excitement, his hands running up and down your sides.

“I'm sure, baby,” you smiled, leaning in to kiss him.

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as his lips moved hungrily against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips down against yours.

You moaned at the feeling of his hardness pressing down on you, your hips bucking up to meet his. The movement from your hips elicited a guttural groan from him, his length grinding desperately between your glistening folds.

“I think… I think I'm ready,” he muttered, your breaths mingling as he pulled back from the kiss.

“Do you need help, baby? I can take over,” you suggested, noticing how nervous he was.

“No, no, that's fine I… I wanna try. But I'm glad to know you're willing,” he smiled, his hand moving down to grip his base.

“Of course,” you smiled back, your eyes rolling back as he rubbed the tip of his erection across your slit.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he shivered, letting out a curse.

You chuckled softly. “Language,” you teased.

“Sorry,” his cheeks turned pink as he began trying to nudge himself inside you.

You let him explore a little, noticing he was trying to fit it in, but struggled. You wanted to let him try, to let him have the feeling that he had some sort of control over this situation, so you didn't interfere.

“Shit, sorry, I'm just… it's just slippery…” He mumbled more to himself as he continued pushing, unsure whether he should use more of his hand or his hips.

“It's okay, baby, may I help?” You asked softly, not wanting to embarrass him.

“Yes, please,” he blushed, letting his hand fall to the side.

You reached between you bodies, grabbing him and positioning him right at your entrance, nudging the tip in slightly.

“There you go,” you muttered. “Now you just thrust forward,” you explained. “It might slip again, but it's normal, okay?” You told him softly.

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” he nodded, overwhelmed by the sensation of your grip on his tip. “Are you ready?”

You nodded, letting him know it was time. He leaned back down, slowly easing himself inside you with a roll of his hips, until he was entirely sheathed within your heat.

He let his forehead rest against yours, your ragged breaths mingling together as the two of you adjusted to the sensation.

“How do you feel?” You asked quietly, looking up at him.

“So… so good…” He muttered, his hips shifting slightly. “It's so tight and… warm… I love it,” he admitted, slowly beginning to move.

You watched his face closely, admiring how his features changed with each of his thrusts, betraying the pleasure he felt. His rhythm was messy, his legs struggling to find the right ways to support his body as his hips surged forward again and again.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms supporting his body above yours as he continued moving. He groaned against your ear, the sounds mixed with low moans and soft whimpers as he made love to you.

“Am I doing this right? Does this feel good to you?” He mumbled, trying to angle his moves but accidentally slipping out, quickly sliding in again. “Sorry about that,” he whispered, one of his hands coming up to fondle your breasts.

“It feels so good, baby, don't worry…” you moaned softly, your legs wrapping around his back to bring him closer. “Keep going, just like that, fuck… You're doing so good…”

Your words urged him on, his hips moving faster against you. You gasped, the feeling of having him inside you almost too much. You loved watching him learn, how his uneven thrusts slowly became a little less messy, how he whispered ‘sorry’ whenever he accidentally slipped out… Everything about it endeared you.

You'd never had sex like this. So messy, and yet it was perfect. You felt the emotion with every thrust, every moan, every sloppy kiss he left on your neck.

You noticed how his thrusts became even sloppier, how his grunts grew deeper and how his body tensed.

“Baby, I'm… fuck…” He groaned, his hips faltering for a moment before they continued thrusting forward. “...I'm close. Like, very close.”

“That’s it… Don't stop, keep going…” You whispered, your hands caressing his back as you leaned in to kiss his neck. “You can let go, let yourself feel good,” you whispered to him.

No further words were needed. With a deep, guttural groan, he pushed himself as deeply as he possibly could inside you, letting the pleasure take over him as he filled you up with his release.

“Spencer!” You moaned aloud, wrapping yourself around him as your second orgasm rippled through you. Your legs trembled around his waist, his body crashing down on top of you.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't pull out, I made a mess…” he mumbled against the skin of your neck.

“No, no, baby, it's okay… I don't mind it in the slightest,” you muttered to him, your hand caressing his back. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing. Beyond words can express,” he replied, rolling off you so he was on his back next to you. You turned to face him, laying on your side.

“I'm so happy to have been your first,” you whisper, snuggling against his side.

“Me too… You were perfect, absolutely… Wow…” he gasped, catching his breath as he wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you close. “Hey, did you…?” He asked, frowning slightly as he looked down at you, still soft with the aftermath.

“What? Finish?”

He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. You hummed in agreement, nodding eagerly with a smile.

“Really?” He asked again, his eyes widening slightly at your response. “Again?”

“Yeah, again,” you blushed.

“Oh my—you’re amazing,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around you and leaning down to kiss your forehead.

You giggled softly, burying your face on his chest. “We should probably get cleaned up,” you said, feeling his release coating your inner thighs.

“Right—yes, sorry, aftercare,” He said, quickly hopping off the bed to grab a warm washcloth in the bathroom.

He came back, sitting at the edge of the bed as he cleaned you up reverently. You watched in complete awe of him, enchanted by the earnest care he poured in his every touch.

“There you go,” he whispered, tossing the washcloth as he climbed back on the bed to cuddle you.

“Thank you,” you said, letting yourself be enveloped by his arms.

“That was the bare minimum,” he muttered against your hair, breathing in your scent. “You know, we should do this again sometime,” he let out quietly.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in your chests that were pressed together. “Of course we're doing it again, that's what boyfriends do to their—” you stopped yourself after realizing what you'd said.

“Wait, wait. What did you call me?” He froze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“B-boyfriend…?” You hesitated, unsure about how he'd take it.

“So I'm really your boyfriend?” His smile widened.

“Well, I know we haven't talked directly about this before, but I've kinda been thinking about it, and—”

“Of course I'm your boyfriend! Oh thank god, I was starting to worry I was reading into things…” He sighed, relieved.

“Really? Oh good, I was so afraid too, you were being so careful with everything,” you sighed as well.

“You had nothing to be afraid of, did you really think I'd ask to have sex with you if I wasn't in love?” He let out as if it were obvious, barely realizing what he'd just said before you interrupted:

“You're in love with me?”

“Oh my—I mean, well, it's not that I'm…” He stammered, unable to cover up his slipup.

“Spencer, shut up,” you said, silencing him with a searing kiss. Startled, he kissed you back, his hands finding the back of your neck to pull you closer. “I'm in love with you too,” you whispered as you broke the kiss.

The silly smile that spread across his face almost had you undone again. “Should I take that as a yes?” He murmured.

“A yes to what?”

“A yes to us doing this again?” He nudged you playfully.

You let out a warm chuckle, “Yes, Spencer. We're definitely doing this again.”

“Yes!” He celebrated, pulling you in even closer as he buried his face in your hair, your bare bodies tangled together impossibly under the covers. “I love being in love with you,” he whispered softly.

“I love being in love with you too,” you whispered back.

author's note 2: thank you for reading this all the way!! let me know what you think of this, and tell me if you'd like a part 2!! i may have ideas 👀

find me on other socials!

twitter: @/mrsholmesreid

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p.s.: i take requests, dm me!!

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mrsholmesreid · 7 months ago

Text

ONE MORE CHRISTMAS, PLEASE | spencer reid x reader

summary: after your passing, spencer spends years suffering with the grief of your loss. on this christmas eve, though, something different happens. under a shooting star, he makes a wish he never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams, would come true. but it does, and he gets to have you for one more day before you're gone for good once again.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

word count: 10,2k

content warnings: angst, battling grief, mentions of drug abuse and withdrawal, brief mention of needles, brief mention of hurling, mention of failed su!cide attempt, unprotected penetrative sex.

author's note: despite the content warnings, i don't think this is a very heavy fic. it's mostly about grief and deep emotions, meant to stir longing within you and the pain of missing someone you love, but who isn't around anymore. this is my first ever published one shot, i hope you enjoy it! i write character.ai bots and this was based on a bot i wrote inspired by the song "another christmas missing you" by tors, and the fic was also inspired by "lover, you should've come over" by jeff buckley. here's the link to the bot:

check the ending to see some amazing fanart my friend cami (@/camiwhatuwant on twitter) drew for this story!!

playlist <3

i also made a playlist to go with this fic! 🥳

you can play it in order while you read, but if you don't like listening to music while reading, i suggest at least listening to the first song before starting to get in the mood or just listening to it whenever you need a good cry :)

The holidays were always the hardest. Spencer spent most of the year pushing through—lectures, cases, flights—losing himself in the quiet hum of his routines, but December always found the cracks in his armor. It was your season. Not his, or anybody else’s. Nothing ever bloomed as beautifully as you did during the holidays. It was like your soul had a special link to it, a connection way beyond this realm. There was something in the twinkling lights, the sound of carols, the scent of pine needles and cinnamon—that simply screamed you. Each one would later become a quiet reminiscence of your light, souvenirs from a long-lost love lingering like ghosts he couldn’t let go of.

You loved Christmas. Spencer used to think it was impossible for someone to be so full of joy over something so small. To him, this holiday never carried much meaning. His mom usually forgot to get him presents, and the colorful Christmas lights rarely ever lit his childhood living room. The warmth of this special shimmer—far from the literal aspect—was unknown to him. So, up until he met you, December was nothing but another month, piling up with all the others he had to drag himself through.

But you had a way of turning the mundane otherworldly. He could still picture the way your eyes lit up when the first snowflakes of the season fell, or the childlike glee in your voice as you took him to tree farms and Christmas markets. Your demeanor became so joyful, that he couldn’t help but think you looked even prettier under the blinking lights from the Christmas tree you decorated together. Like tattoos etched in his brain, each time he laid to rest, you were there—eyes boring into his own behind closed eyelids. Or so he wished.

You’d tease him for grumbling about the crowds and the too-cold-to-be-outside weather, but he always let you pull him along, secretly charmed by your enthusiasm. It didn’t matter what it was, if it was worth a smile on your face, Spencer would do it—no questions asked.

“Come on, Spence,” you laughed, tugging on his gloved hand. “Take a moment to feel it. Cherish this sensation, it’ll be over before you know it.” You stopped him in the middle of the park one afternoon, as you strolled through a thin cascade of delicate snowflakes. “You go on and on about your so-called ‘magic’ tricks, but you forget that the real magic lies here.” You took off his glove, the brisk air sharp against his skin, and placed his bare hand over your chest. The soothing rhythm of your beating heart—oh, how he missed that melody now,—thumped against his palm through the thick layers of fabric between you.

In that moment, your wide eyes glued to his, he felt it for the first time: the magic you were so zealous about, right beneath his fingertips. Your cold, pale hand suddenly felt warm against his own, and for a second, he believed you. Not because of the snow, or the whimsy, or the chirping of birds that he, only now—in the quiet of your bubble,—seemed to be aware of—no. It was because of you. You and the love he grew up believing didn’t exist outside of fairytales—and now, outside of you.

When you were looking at him like that, your cheeks flushed from the cold, your smile brighter than the lights strung overhead; there was not a single thing in the world he couldn’t do for you. Not a single word you could say that would change the heat creeping up in his chest.

I love you whispered in his veins, I love you with every beat of his heart, I love you strung all of the muscles contracting with his breathing. In and out, in and out, a never-ending cycle that once was his personal prison—but you showed him there was freedom within the litany. A lifetime of exhale after inhale—all this air he breathed, and yet there’d never be enough of your essence for him to capture. The very sound of his blood ran with a touch of you.

You were light, and life, and warmth; and Spencer had the blessing—a word he didn’t use very often, but your love was nothing short of divine—to have been yours.

Have been. Ouch. Past tense, that stings.

But then again, you were gone now.

Not even the holiest of prayers would bring you back to him, no matter how bright with deity was your soul. At the end of the day, your body was meat like all others. Being made of crushed little stars didn’t keep you from the harsh reality.

Mother Earth spares no one.

Every atom bathed in the sinful sanctity of your mist, like all others, must return to the ground, and the sky, and the very core of life itself—and you, of all people, could never be the one to cause imbalance to this perfect equilibrium. What pains the most is that the only path to such magnificent eternity is through death, and god help Spencer, but he couldn't keep you from it—no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he prayed.

It’s a selfish thought, he’s well aware of that. What could he, a being just as mortal as you, want from the beauty that is your body? And no, all of the lust-filled images he could fathom from that very sentence couldn’t be further from what he meant this time. This time.

The beauty in reference here goes way beyond what hungry eyes can see and eager hands can touch. It is heavenly, a beauty not to be seen, but felt with the heart. And that—well, that, wasn’t his to keep. However much he craved it. He’s always been a little greedy anyway.

Grief brought with it a flood of well-meaning platitudes, each one more infuriating than the last. Spencer had once heard someone say, “Good things perish so better things can flourish." What a cruel lie. Nothing could ever be better than you.

He had always prided himself on his ability to handle death. The sight of rotting bodies, though unsettling at first, became just another part of the job. Over time, he’d grown adept at compartmentalizing, studying the end of life with a detached curiosity that most couldn’t muster. Death was a process, a scientific inevitability, and he knew far more about it than he wished.

But now, that knowledge was a curse. The thought of microorganisms gnawing at your skin beneath a flower bed made him physically ill. The clinical detachment he’d once relied on had abandoned him, leaving only the unbearable truth: you were gone, and the earth was consuming what was left of you.

No one dies pretty.

Your turn seemed to be unfairly tragic, though. A stake to the gut so he could watch as all the light, life, and warmth that you carried and he worshipped, drained away, leaving your body limp—an empty shell of what once was the love of his life. No amount of scrubbing until his hands were raw to the bone would wash away the stain of your dry blood off of his skin. No time in prison, no death sentence, was enough to punish the man that did this to you, right before Spencer’s eyes. There weren’t enough new memories in a lifetime to erase the sight of your eyes blurring with eternal sleep.

Perhaps his opinion on this was a little biased, but how could it not be? The only times in his three decades of living he ever felt unapologetically loved, were when you were around. And now this? Can you blame him for wanting to do anything and everything it takes to have you back?

Well, actually, you can.

In the years you spent together, you pulled Spencer from the bottom of more pits than you could count. Through each high and each low, you held his hand and helped him past it. That’s why it hurt him even more when the familiar sting of a needle found its way back to his arm. It had been years since the last time he used it—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Right?

Wrong.

He only went through a couple of bottles before the shame overpowered the numbness and taking Dilaudid became no longer worth the knowledge that he was disappointing you, wherever you were. Withdrawal wasn’t half as bad as the first time, because now, he knew a pain far worse. He spent those weeks kneeling in his bathroom, switching from unconscious to barely there—the quick flashes of awareness used exclusively to beg for forgiveness and the occasional hurl.

He felt ashamed beyond redemption.

There was one night—right in the beginning—when the pain was so bad, he tried to join you. The fraction of his world left without you seemed no longer worth living in. He could swear that after the seventh pill, he almost felt the warmth of your arms around him, the color of your eyes in the back of his mind. Thankfully, his body knew better than to let him make the worst mistake he'd ever make, and he managed to reach his phone and call Hotch on speed dial. He didn’t remember much from that evening, but at the same time, it was impossible to forget about it—especially since no one on the team ever looked at him the same afterward.

It had been years now—years of learning to live with the you-shaped hole left behind in his life. Grief played its tricks, but for the most part, things were better. Over time, he managed not to cry himself to sleep every night. He managed to finally put your things in boxes in the basement—he wanted to keep them just the way you left them, but in one of JJ’s visits, she convinced him it was better to let go—and through the year, life went relatively smoothly. But December really was something else.

Spencer tried to honor you in little ways: putting up the tree, unboxing the ornaments you loved, whispering “Merry Christmas” to the silence. He told himself it was enough. It had to be. But his cup had been half empty for longer than he could remember, and that wasn’t about to change.

This year, though, the emptiness felt heavier. The tree stood half-decorated in the corner of the living room, its lights twinkling faintly—even they seemed sadder without you. It was Christmas Eve, and Spencer sat alone by the window, staring out at the dark winter sky. Snow fell softly, blanketing the world in quiet. His hands trembled as he held a mug of cocoa, untouched and lukewarm, the tiny marshmallows you always loved now drowning in the liquid. The sight made a tear stream down his face, but it wasn't enough to make him want to drink it. He settled the mug down to wipe the tears off of his eyes with quivering fingers. All seemed hopeless, the weight of knowing he was about to add another Christmas without you to his growing collection was heavy in his chest—until something lighting up the dark blue sky caught his attention.

Spencer was never one for superstition, but when he saw that shooting star streaking across the night, he broke. His voice cracked as he whispered, “Just one more Christmas. One day, please.”

It was all he could wish for at that moment. As selfish as it sounded to wish for you to spend one last Christmas with him, to take you from the peace of heaven—which he prayed every night to exist, despite not being religious, just for the hope of you being there—he couldn't help himself.

It wasn't like it mattered either way, it was just a shooting star. A pretty name for a meteor, a piece of space dust flying inside Earth's atmosphere and creating a tail of fire as it burned. It was beautiful in its own, realistic, way; but as Spencer got back inside to call it a night, his heart clenched at the idea of never getting to see you again.

When he woke up the next morning, the world felt different. Sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, bathing his bedroom in an unusual warmth for such a cold day. Then he saw a small snow globe you had gotten him as a gift on one of your trips, sitting next to a picture of the both of you on his nightstand. He had found it a couple of days ago when going through the ornaments and decided to put it there to decorate the bedroom. Then it hit him—

It was Christmas. He was barely thinking about that detail at that moment, but as soon as it settled in, his heart ached. Another Christmas missing you.

He had learned not to stay in bed mourning over the years of grief, so he pushed the bad thoughts away, mentally encouraging himself to find things to occupy his mind with for the day—which was bound to be long.

Then he turned—and his heart stopped.

You were there.

Lying beside him, wrapped in the sheets, your chest rose and fell with slow, peaceful breaths. Your hair spilled across the pillow, and Spencer forgot how to breathe. He stared at you for long moments, studying your blissful expression and how the air flowed in and out of your nostrils.

Impossible.

He was completely frozen in place. He had to be hallucinating, right? You were dead, buried six feet under. He saw the life leaving your eyes, for god's sake, he was replaying the memory in his mind right then and there. But still… you were there now, next to him. Unmistakable, as beautiful as ever.

Still in utter shock, he tried to speak, but his voice failed as he reached out with trembling hands, afraid to touch you—afraid you’d disappear beneath his fingertips.

You stirred, your face scrunching before a sleepy smile tugged at your lips. “Morning, Spence.”

The sound hit him like a punch.

“Pinch me.” He whispered.

“What?” You mumbled sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

“I said pinch me. Now, please.” His tone was serious, making you cave and reach forward.

Your fingers hesitantly curled tightly around the skin of his arm, eyebrows furrowed in confusion—but before you could process it, you were in his arms, listening to his sobs.

Tears slid down his face, soaking your hair as he held you in a warm embrace, clutching you like you might vanish. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice breaking and his shoulders shaking. “You’re here.”

“I know,” you murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Merry Christmas.”

He let out a soft chuckle, sniffing as he struggled to stop crying. “Merry Christmas.”

“Why are you crying, baby?” You pulled back just enough to look at his face, concern etched on your features. You wiped his tears away with your thumbs and he let out another chuckle that did nothing to quell your confusion.

Why was he crying? You were back. He could feel you in his arms, your scent in his nostrils, your lips on his skin. Somehow, miraculously, you were back. A myriad of thoughts ran through his brain. Had he died too? Was your death just a bad dream? It didn't make any sense, but at that moment, technicalities were his last concern. His dream had come true.

“I'm crying because you're here,” he muttered as if it were obvious.

Your eyebrows furrowed further and he could read the confusion in your eyes as they searched his face.

Then it hit him: the shooting star.

It all started clicking in his mind, and before he could say anything, you broke the thick silence.

“What's going on?” you sounded concerned.

“You don't know, do you?” His voice was steady, but the tone betrayed the pain he felt.

“Know what?” you asked innocently.

His heart clenched at your naivety. He didn't want to tell you, yet he couldn't keep it from you either. Something about this was very wrong, but he didn't know on which end yet—yours or his.

With a swift motion, he stood from the bed and ran to the closet, making you gasp.

“Spencer, what's going on?” you sat up on the bed, but then he opened its doors. “Where are my things?” you asked at the sight of your side of the closet completely empty.

He turned to you, shoulders slumped.

“Something's going on,” he began, as if he had barely processed your question, going back to bed with his heart aching now that he knew it wasn't just a bad dream. You really were gone.

“Yeah, I can tell,” you added. “Care to explain?”

He inhaled deeply, bracing himself for what was about to come.

“I will… but I'm not sure either. Firstly, what do you remember?”

“’What do I remember?’ I don't know, Spencer!” You let out, your patience wearing thin.

“I mean, what's your last memory? The last thing that happened before you woke up now?” He held your hands, calming you down, but the worry in his eyes made you uneasy. As you tried to recall what happened the night before, your brain struggled to find the answer.

“I… I don't know…” you let out, searching your mind for something, anything, but didn't find it. “It's like… It's there somewhere, but I can't place it.”

He took another deep breath, squeezing your hands gently. He never thought he'd have to do this, actually sit down and explain everything to you. From the day of your death until the shooting star the night before, he tried to cover everything that happened, fighting against the knot in his chest as he relived each and every painful memory with your eyes staring into his.

Your face was unreadable. A mix of confusion and comprehension, pain and anger; flashed across your features. He couldn't pinpoint whether you believed him or not, and as the seconds after the last of his explanations ticked by, his heart stammered against his ribs.

“Are you okay?” he tried.

“Okay is a strong word. I'm… processing.” You muttered, avoiding his gaze, your hands cold against his.

“Do you believe me?” he whispered hesitantly.

“Yes,” you replied after a beat. “Yes, I do.”

He nodded, patiently waiting for when you were ready to talk about it.

“So we only have today? Then what?” your eyes finally met his.

“I don't know, I think so,” he replied, his gaze reassuring. “Listen, I didn't think it was actually gonna happen when I wished for that last night, or else—”

“Don't,” you interrupted him, reaching out for his arm, the touch making his skin shiver. “I'm glad you did.” A faint smile played on your lips.

You shared a long gaze, probably the deepest, most meaningful you ever had, and his eyes watered once more. The mere sight made you cry as well, and the unmistakable redness on your nose as the tears spilled from your eyes only made him cry harder. In the ocean the two of you filled together, there was pain, longing and somehow gratitude. Love. No matter the circumstance, you were together. That's all that truly mattered.

He chuckled softly as the two of you sat there, crying and holding hands, laughing softly at the absurdity of that moment.

“I love you,” he muttered between tears.

“I love you,” you replied in an instant, your voice cracking.

With one swift, messy motion, both of his hands reached for your face, cradling it carefully as he crashed his lips against yours. The saltiness of your tears mingled with each of your kisses, sloppy and filled with a bitter kind of yearning.

“No more tears,” you murmured against his lips as he rested his forehead against yours. “You have to promise me, no more tears.”

“Can't promise that,” he let out a humorless chuckle.

“No, but you can,” you insisted. “If we only have today, you must promise me. No. More. Tears. It goes both ways.” You gestured between the two of you.

After a couple of thoughtful moments, he took a deep breath and replied, “Deal. No more tears.”

Then his lips were on yours again, but this time, with a renewed sense of hunger.

It was as if that promise tied the darkness between you in a safe, securely tucked away from the present moment, where you finally had the liberty to lose yourselves in each other.

He pushed you back gently against the bed, his body hovering above yours as your lips moved together in perfect sync. Your tongues intertwined in a sensual dance, loving and enticing. He took your bottom lip between both of his own, sucking gently. The soothing motion made a soft gasp escape his lips, eliciting a smile from you.

Your hands explored and caressed his back with a reverent curiosity, and under your fingers, he felt safe. His skin shivered beneath your careful touch, and craved more of it. Suddenly, his clothes felt wrong, almost sinful to be blocking his skin from the wonders of your own.

“Need you now,” he muttered against you, his lips attached to the sensitive skin of your neck.

No further words were needed. His hands were under your shirt in no time, pulling and tugging at the fabric desperately. You didn't waste any time either, your fingers working expertly as you tossed his own across the room.

You were both more than used to it, the movements to this heated choreography memorized like second nature by now. And yet, it never felt so unknown.

As your bare bodies tangled beneath the soft sheets, the cold outside was long forgotten. The warmth of your skin seeped through Spencer's, only adding fire to his growing desire. His lips trailed messily across your neck and collarbone, occasionally drifting back to the safety of your mouth, making him uncomfortably aware of just how badly he missed this.

The taste of your skin on his tongue, the perfect hills and valleys his hands and lips traced along your curves—a landscape he'd never grow tired of. The scent of your hair, the soft gasps his ministrations begged to elicit from you, and the sweetness of his name spilling from your throat.

When your ankles crossed behind his back, he knew he was done. A low moan left his lips as he ground down against you, your hips moving in practiced synchrony, following each step of your choreography perfectly.

His eyes met yours, and in a second of shared understanding, he knew you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

The moment your bodies connected in the most intimate way possible, he was home. There was truly no other way to describe the sanctity of your warmth, the safety of your grip, other than home. A home he wished for so long to return to, finally back around him.

“Goddamnit, I missed this,” he let out almost involuntarily.

A soft gasp escaped your lips, one that made his entire body shiver. With slow, unhurried thrusts, he began moving within you. He could feel your body reacting to every movement of his, your eyes glued to each other's. It was like your souls became one in your little bubble of love.

Your nails dug into his back, little red half-moons left behind as a trail of your longing. The slight sting of pain only urged him on, his movements growing deeper and faster.

Your moans filled the room, a beautiful choir singing with his low groans and harmonized by the soft sounds of your coupling. Your breaths mingled in the small space between your faces, bare chests pressed together snuggly as you let yourselves be overtaken by the maddening friction between you. His face buried in the crook of your neck, and as he made love to you, all that crossed his mind was how lucky he was for having you. Right then and there, he couldn't find enough strength to care about the technicalities of this. He was home, for heaven’s sake. After years of not truly belonging anywhere. And he'd be damned if he didn't enjoy it to bits.

He could feel the familiar warmth coiling in his lower stomach, the pressure enough to fasten his pace—which didn't go unnoticed by you. He felt your legs tighten around him, your breaths growing faster and more shallow.

He knew you were close too. It was evident in your touch, written in the shimmer of your eyes.

“I can't get enough of you,” he admitted, small beads of sweat pooling on his forehead as he drove into you, each thrust deep and meaningful.

“You’re so cheesy,” you teased with a breathless chuckle.

“But I'm serious,” his eyes met yours, and even through the thick haze of desire, you saw the rawness in his statement. “I can't get enough of you. I take, and I take, but it's never enough. I need more of you, I need all of you.”

“You already have all of me,”

No, I don't.

The three words threatened to escape his lips, but he caught them before it was too late. The obvious silence that followed made it clear that you could hear even his unspoken words, read them through his eyes. For a moment, he could tell you had realized your slip-up, but he didn't care to point it out. The rhythm of his hips faltered for a second, but he quickly picked it up again, averting his gaze from yours as he struggled not to cry.

“Hey,” you whispered, making him look back at you with reddened eyes. “No more tears.”

The echoed promise was like an anchor, pulling him back to the present moment and making him focus on the heat in his core. No more tears.

He leaned in and captured your lips again, swallowing the heaviness that had formed between you until the only thing left was love. His hands squeezed your hips tightly, the kneading of soft skin an anchor to the present, grounding him back to you—and in that moment, he knew: that was what he was put on earth to do. To love you.

Your tongues battled for dominance as your hips moved together desperately. He angled his thrusts, determined to hit that special spot inside you every time, needing to make you see stars. You moaned his name, and it went straight to his crotch. He groaned against the shell of your ear, his movements becoming harder and more needy. He was close. Agonizingly close. His eyes sought yours and found his desire mirrored in them, your lips slightly parted as you struggled to hold back.

Bring me home, whispered with each slap of your skin, pull me closer, his body begged with every in-and-out movement. He didn't want to leave, not just yet, but the pressure in his lower abdomen was overwhelming. Knots tied together pleaded to be undone, and he couldn't help but want to give in. His hand reached between your bodies to rub tight circles around your most sensitive spot, set on bringing you with him. Your soft moans became louder, the sounds like music to his ears for now he knew he had you with him.

Your legs trembled slightly around his waist, letting him know exactly what he had to do. With the last of his strength, he continued driving deep into you, his thrusts growing faster by the second and bringing both of you impossibly closer to the edge. His rhythm was clear and purposeful, back and forth then back again until he felt you unravel in his arms. Flowers blossomed in your core as you came undone, the soft brushing of the petals against his skin enough to tear him apart. He found shelter deep inside you, burying himself as close as humanly possible as he met the peak of bliss within your heat.

Home. He was home.

His chest crashed down on top of yours, your bodies tangled and limp against the mattress. You struggled to catch your breaths, minds still hazy with ecstasy.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” you muttered back, and it was like the world wouldn’t be complete without those three words coming from your lips. He’d waited years for that sound—years of whispering it to the silence and falling apart with the void left without the echo of your voice after his. But now you were there, saying it to him, and that’s all he could think about.

Soon after, you were padding down the hallway toward the kitchen in one of his shirts. He followed right behind you, watching every step you took.

“You kept the pictures,” you mentioned, pointing at the frames in the hallway, all filled with pictures of the both of you.

“JJ helped me take them down once, but I put them back up,” he explained quietly.

“It's not fair to you,” you added.

“That's what she said.” His voice was steady as if trying to end the subject. He already knew what you were going to say. That he deserved to move on and be happy, find somebody else and leave you in the past. He didn't want to hear that now—or ever if he was being honest.

“I want you to be happy without me,” you insisted.

He let out a soft scoff, “I know you do.”

“Well, are you?”

The words hung heavy in the air between you. You turned back to look into his eyes, but he was quiet. He didn't need to say anything, you already knew the answer. He could see it in your eyes, though, the whirlwind of words you wanted to say but didn't. You knew they were useless.

“I'm sorry,” you broke the silence.

“It's not your fault.”

“I know,” you replied in a heartbeat. “But I'm still sorry. And I wish I could change things.”

He took a deep breath, pondering what to say, but nothing felt right. “No more tears, right?”

“Right,” you nodded, averting your gaze and trying to ease the atmosphere.”No more tears.”

He followed behind as you continued your way to the kitchen, separated by a counter from the living room. Everything looked the same as you remembered—the plates were still organized on the corner shelf the way Spencer always insisted on doing, and the cups were carefully aligned on the cupboard. One thing was out of place, though. There was a mug on the table near the window, something he never left behind.

“What's this?” you asked, curiously stepping closer and taking it in your hand.

“Oh, that's just, uhm—”

“Hot chocolate,” you interrupted. “You don't drink hot chocolate. Or marshmallows.” You said, stirring the now cold liquid and mushy little white marshmallows, soaked and melting from being left there, untouched for too long.

“Yeah, but you do,” he said. “I made your recipe last night since I never admitted to trying it.”

“But you didn't drink it?” You asked.

He was quiet for a moment before replying. “Didn't feel like it,” he simply shrugged.

You stared at him then turned to the sink to pour it down the drain.

“What are you doing?” He asked, confused.

“I'm making you the real thing. You clearly added too much cocoa powder, that was undrinkable.” You replied with a plainness that made a shy smile appear on his lips.

“Yeah… too much cocoa,” he sighed, admiring the way you walked around the kitchen gathering items to make him the beverage.

“What are you doing just standing there? Go grab the cinnamon,” you said, already mixing up ingredients.

“Right, of course,” he straightened up with a smile, quickly obeying and grabbing the cinnamon to help you.

You two moved about the kitchen in a quiet, domestic dance. Handing each other ingredients, standing by the stove together with his arms around your waist as you stirred the pot—it felt so natural, it almost made him forget you weren’t truly there.

He could feel you, yes, the taste of your skin on his lips when he pressed a kiss to your shoulder blurred his senses; but you weren't truly there. You were like an idea he wished he could bring to life, not just for a day, but forever. He needed you forever.

You sat on the couch, your legs draped over his lap, hands clutching a warm mug of hot chocolate. He stared at you as you took a sip, quietly amazed by the way you blew on the liquid not to burn your mouth.

“You're not gonna try it? I came back from the dead to make you some of my delicious hot chocolate and you're not even gonna try it?” You joked, noticing the way his eyes were glued to your every move.

Stolen from his musings, he lets out a soft chuckle. “Of course I will try it. Can't a man enjoy the view for a moment?” He teased back, looking down at his own mug.

You watched as he brought the rim to his lips, carefully sipping on it and savoring the taste on his tongue. “So? Is it good?” You asked eagerly.

He took a deep breath before saying, “It's good.”

You leaned in when he smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips, “Told ‘ya.”

He blushed, meeting your eyes with a soft gaze. He lost himself in them for a moment, drowning in the color of your irises and the depth of your wide pupils taking him in. He looked at you like he wanted to memorize it—as if he hadn’t already. That tone, that specific shade so uniquely yours, was his favorite color—and he missed it more than he could have expected.

“Does it bother you?” He broke the comfortable silence as you nursed on your mug.

“Does what bother me?” You asked, eyebrows frowning slightly with curiosity.

“That there isn’t an afterlife. That you simply didn’t exist when you were… you know,” he added awkwardly.

“Oh,” you let out, not expecting that question. “I don’t know, Spence. I didn’t even know I was dead before waking up next to you today. Maybe if it weren’t for that shooting star, I never would have known. I think maybe it was like sleeping, but then again, I can’t be sure.” You searched your brain for a better answer, but there really wasn’t one. He could see right through you.

“Don’t you wish there was a heaven? I prayed every night for heaven to exist, just for you to be there,” he admitted quietly.

Your eyes softened at his admission, your gaze averting for a moment as you thought about his words. Not that you needed to, though, the answer was right on your lips already.

“No,” you said without hesitation. “Even if there was something like that, it wouldn’t be heaven. Not without you.”

His heart sank at your words, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. If asked this question, he knew his answer would be the same.

You shared that moment for long minutes, sipping on your hot chocolate. He told you about his job and his friends, about his mom and his trips to Las Vegas, about his newest favorite books and spots to read. You listened intently, enchanted by the way his lips moved and how passionately he spoke about his interests. He loved it—being under your admiring gaze.

The quiet warmth of the moment gave way to an idea. Spencer stood, gently pushing your legs off his lap and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he said softly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s go outside.”

You raised an eyebrow but took his hand without question. Moments later, you were bundled up in warm coats, stepping into the crisp air of the backyard. Snow blanketed the ground, shimmering under the faint winter sun. The world felt still, as if time itself had paused to make room for this fleeting miracle.

Spencer watched as you took a few steps into the snow, your breath visible in the chill. You tilted your head back, eyes closed, letting the delicate flakes fall onto your skin. He stood frozen, his heart aching at the sight. You were alive, somehow—more alive than he’d ever seen you.

“I missed this,” you murmured, turning to him with a wistful smile. “Snow always felt like magic to me. Like each flake carried a tiny piece of the universe’s secrets.”

He smiled, though his chest tightened. You always spoke like that, weaving poetry into the mundane, seeing beauty where others saw nothing. He never realized how much he needed that until it was gone.

As you wandered, something caught your eye near the edge of the yard—a patch of wildflowers poking through the snow, defying the season. You crouched down, carefully plucking a few stems. “Look at these, Spence. They’re still blooming.”

He joined you, kneeling in the snow as you began weaving the flowers together with deft fingers. “How do they survive in this cold?” you mused aloud, your tone soft and full of wonder.

“Maybe they’re like you,” he replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Something too beautiful, too stubborn, to be snuffed out.”

You paused, your fingers stilling on the flower crown you were building as his words settled between you. Slowly, you looked up, your eyes meeting his. No more tears. But this time, the promise was harder to hold onto. Spencer felt the weight of his words but didn't press you to say anything. Your smile was more than necessary.

You swallowed hard as you finished your creation. “Hold still,” you whispered, leaning toward him. Gently, you placed the crown on his head, shifting it until it sat just right above his messy curls. “There. Perfect.”

He chuckled softly, the sound catching in his throat. “A flower crown? Really?”

The snow fell quietly around you, a fragile peace settling over the moment. You adjusted the garment on Spencer’s head, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Mhm. And you look ridiculous,” you teased, your voice light but warm.

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “I think you just wanted an excuse to make me wear this.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, tilting your head to study him. “But it suits you.”

Spencer’s smile softened, his eyes tracing your face. “You always do that,” he murmured.

“Do what?”

“Make the smallest things feel… infinite,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “Like this moment will last forever… you always find a way to do it, even now—even when…”

You reached out, placing a hand on his wrist. “Don’t,” you said gently. “Not today.”

He hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “It’s hard not to think about it.”

“I know,” you replied, your voice steady. “But we promised, remember? No more tears.”

“No more tears,” he echoed, though his voice wavered.

Your breath hitched, and you looked down at your hands, twisting a stem of the leftover flowers between your fingers. “But it can, you know,” you continued quietly. “Last forever. If we let it.”

He tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “How?”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek. “By holding onto it. By remembering it—not with sadness, but with love.”

Spencer closed his eyes at your touch, his voice soft and full of longing. “I don’t want to remember, though. I just want to stay here… with you.”

You smiled, though your chest ached. “Then let’s stay here. Just for now. Don’t think about what comes next for a minute. You’ll have forever to worry about that.”

He opened his eyes, and for a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared. “You’re right. No more thinking about it now,” he whispered.

And for a while, the two of you simply sat there, wrapped in the quiet peace of the moment, the snow falling around you like a blessing from a world that had finally stopped spinning.

The afternoon unfolded like a dream, each moment sharper and more vivid than the last. Spencer couldn’t stop watching you, memorizing every detail—the way your laugh filled the air, the sparkle in your eyes as you teased him, the warmth of your hand in his. You played around in the yard, throwing snowballs at each other and laughing together. Those moments were fleeting but eternal at the same time, lasting far less than what Spencer wished they did. But he knew he’d have them in his heart forever.

Yet the weight of the looming evening seemed to get heavier by the second.

Both of you knew it was bound to happen. You couldn’t simply come back from the dead, life was never that simple. So despite the obvious hope Spencer had been feeding throughout the day, he knew it was unlikely for you to be back for longer than one day. Life had never been kind to him before, why would it start now?

This was typical Spencer Reid. Finally getting something really good only for it to be ripped from his hands.

You'd been leaning against the porch railing for some time already when the sun began to set. The quiet wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, filled with the weight of words unspoken, of feelings too big to contain.

Eventually, the cold began to seep through your layers, and Spencer noticed the way your shoulders trembled.

“I think it's time we go back inside,” you broke the silence, turning to face him. The flower crown still hung loosely over his head. You reached up to grab it with a smile on your face, fiddling with the small flowers between your fingers.

“You're right, it's getting too cold,” Spencer said, wrapping his arms around you, not wanting to leave this moment just yet. You set the crown on the railing to curl your hands over his arms that were crossed on your stomach. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your neck as he savored your scent.

Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing the sensation of having him close. A soft hum escaped your mouth, the gentle vibration trembling against Spencer's chest pressed on your back.

“We really should go, though, it's getting late,” you muttered quietly, though none of you made the effort to leave.

“Mhm,” he hummed in agreement, squeezing you tighter.

It was as unfair as unfairness could reach. He was sure, right then and there, that there was nothing in his existence that could feel more right than this—than you, in his arms. But the moment was slipping from his fingers like water, and he could feel it. He tried to grasp it. His hands tried to reach that water, to hold it and keep it to himself—desperately trying to make the feeling linger for a split second longer if it could. But it didn't.

One moment you were outside, and the next, you were inside again, the faint glow of the Christmas tree casting soft shadows on the walls. The night darkened the room through the windows, and it only made the realization that the day was almost over even heavier.

The living room felt warmer than it had that morning, as though the house itself had soaked up the joy and sorrow of the day. You sank onto the couch, pulling a blanket over your lap, and Spencer joined you, sitting close enough that your sides touched. Your head fell softly against his shoulder, the weight a comforting reminder that you were there—but also, not for long.

The Christmas tree lights blinked softly, almost sadly with the room's atmosphere, their rhythm hypnotic in a way. You stared at the ornaments, each one a tiny fragment of a life you used to know.

“It’s almost over,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Spencer turned to you, his expression pained. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you said, your eyes fixed on the tree. “The day’s ending, and so is this. I can feel it.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t want it to end.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But we can’t stop it, Spence. We can only… hold onto what we have left.”

He reached for your hand, gripping it tightly as though he could anchor you here, as though his touch alone could defy the inevitable.

“I wish…” His voice cracked, and he looked away, blinking rapidly. “I wish I could have more time.”

You turned to him, your heart aching at the sight of his tear-filled eyes. “Spencer,” you said softly, cupping his face in your hands. “We had today. That’s more than most people ever get. We had this.”

“But it’s not enough,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’ll never be enough.”

You pulled him into your arms, holding him tightly as his body shook with silent sobs. “I know,” you said, your voice thick with tears. “It’s not enough for me, either.”

“I wish I could go back in time and wish to have you back forever, and not just for one day. Man, am I stupid,” he let out a humorless chuckle, the sound muffled against your hair. You chuckled back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands.

“I wish I could go back in time and not leave in the first place.”

The way you admitted that stung like a knife in his chest. Suddenly, he was brought back to all the painful memories from the first months after your passing. The relapse, the withdrawal, the attempt… All of it ached as if the wound was fresh. He couldn’t say anything, he didn’t want you to know all that he went through trying to get over your death. You didn’t deserve to know it, not during your last moments with him. So he simply pressed his lips to your temple in a gentle, lingering kiss. He wished you hadn’t left in the first place either.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, clinging to each other as though you could merge into one being.

Eventually, Spencer shifted, pulling you into his lap. You curled into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you, holding you as though you were the most precious thing in the world.

The lights from the tree reflected in his eyes as he looked down at you, his fingers brushing through your hair. He noticed your red eyes as if you had been holding back tears for hours. “No more tears,” he whispered, though it was mostly to himself—he needed to be convinced, somehow, that crying at this moment was useless.

You smiled faintly, your eyes glistening. “No more tears,” you echoed.

But the promise was impossible to keep. The weight of the moment, the knowledge that this was fleeting, was too much. A tear slipped down your cheek, and he kissed it away, his lips warm against your skin.

“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice steady despite the tears. “You did an awful job decorating the tree, by the way,” you chuckled softly, the sound muffled by your tears.

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “I’m not half as good at this as you. I use the same decorations you did, but my lack of talent makes me barely want to try.” He joked, but the words had a bitter flavor.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your smile sad but genuine. “Well, you’ll have to try harder next year. I’ll find a way to haunt you if you don’t.”

His face crumpled, and he pressed his forehead to yours, the laughter fading as the weight of your words sank in. Next year. The words hung in the air, a bittersweet hope neither of you dared to believe in. Next year. Next year you wouldn’t be there. Again.

And as the night deepened, the two of you sat by the tree, wrapped in each other’s arms, mourning the end of the day but cherishing the miracle of having had it at all. The world outside faded into darkness, but inside, beneath the glow of the Christmas lights, time seemed to stand still, holding you both in its tender grasp for just a little while longer.

The blinking lights of the tree cast soft patterns on the walls, the room dim and quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the sound of your breaths mingling. He wanted to hold onto this—onto you—for as long as he could.

But Spencer knew it was useless to hold onto a moment that barely existed. Whatever this day had been, the miracle that was to have you in his arms again—even for just another heartbeat—was too good to be true. He knew it didn't matter how much he prayed, how much he begged the skies down on his knees. You'd never be back, not the way he needed you to. He could feel the way gratitude warred with downright bitterness in his chest.

Spencer could never hate anything responsible for bringing you—the light of his life—back, even if it were just for a day, but he'd be damned if he wasn't already blaming himself for the heightened pain of your absence that already began to stir within him. It was like the quick sample of what it was like to have you with him again made his already unbearable pain even worse.

But then your whisper broke the silence, soft and comforting, your voice trembling slightly, “Come to bed.”

Spencer hesitated, his arms tightening around you as though letting go, even for a moment, might break the fragile spell keeping you there. He knew what going to bed meant. He knew that going to bed would be officially saying goodbye to the last shred of you he'd ever grasp. Going to bed meant fully acknowledging the ending of this day—this perfect, painful day. But he nodded, his lips brushing against your temple. “Okay.” There was nowhere to run, and he didn’t want to make this any heavier on you.

He helped you to your feet, his hand gripping yours tightly as though afraid you might disappear too early if he let go. The walk to his bedroom was silent, the air thick with unspoken fears and lingering sadness.

You climbed into bed together, the sheets cool against your skin as Spencer pulled you close. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the weight of everything you couldn’t say. His fingers traced absent patterns on your back, and he clung to you like a lifeline, unwilling to let go.

“Spencer,” you whispered after a while, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion.

“If I’m not here tomorrow…” You paused, your throat tightening. “I want you to promise me something.”

He stiffened, his arms tightening around you. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Please,” you said, your voice breaking. “Promise me you’ll keep going. That you’ll let yourself be happy again. I know what we talked about earlier today, and I know it's not that simple. But please... Promise you'll try. Not for me, for you.”

He didn’t answer at first, his breath hitching as he tried to hold back the tears. He knew that was a promise he couldn't keep. Losing you—yet again—felt like a battle he could never win. He didn't want to lie to you, but the thought of waking up to an empty bed again, especially after what you lived that day, was a pain he could barely fathom—let alone expect to ever get over.

Yet he couldn’t help but consider it. The tone in your voice, the genuine pain in your eyes—it got to him. He needed this, despite not realizing it through the immense agony the idea of being left alone without you again brought him. He knew it was what you wanted for him, and deep down, it was what he wanted for himself as well. It would take a while to process it, but it was inevitable—he’d have to learn—because regardless of everything that happened, he could never regret meeting you, having you. Spencer knew that no matter how much suffering he went through, how many tears he shed because of you; if he could go back in time, he’d do it all over again without changing a single thing. Even if it meant reliving your loss, the aching your absence left behind, the dark places his mind stayed in for years… it also meant reliving the firsts, the kisses, the hugs, the love… and he’d never seen or felt anything more beautiful in his life.

Regardless of everything, having had you, however long for, had been his biggest blessing. His one true miracle. And for you, he’d do anything and everything. Even if meant going on without you, even if it meant getting over you. Having had the chance to taste your love was enough. It had to be.

Finally, he nodded, his voice trembling. “I promise.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Thank you.”

The two of you lay there, clinging to each other as though you could freeze time, as though the night would never end. The question of whether you’d still be there in the morning loomed over you both, unspoken but ever-present. But for now, you had this moment, and being in each other's arms made itself enough to silence your fears for a handful of moments.

The seconds stretched on, but they were like a blanket that could never cover you both. Spencer could feel it slipping away along with your incoming slumber, but the moment you shared lingered, somehow. And neither of you was willing to let it go.

Before either of you could realize it, sleep overtook you. Tear-stained cheeks pressed closely, arms entangled as if their mere closeness could defy nature's rules and keep you there a little longer. Let your warmth remain forever tingling on his skin.

In his dreams, Spencer had you. It didn’t feel painful, though. All he felt was your love. It overwhelmed his finally resting mind. It had been years since he’d had dreams like that, dreams that felt like a balm to his aching soul instead of thorns coiling all around his chest. It was as if the dreams were there to ease his heart through your departure—and in a way, they did. His sleep was peaceful and undisturbed, unlike the rest of his day. It healed him in a way.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and soft, casting an eerie stillness over the room and pulling him back to sensibility. Spencer’s eyes fluttered open slowly, his body surprisingly light despite the weight of sleep, but there was something else—an ache that gripped his chest. He reached out instinctively, but his hand met only the cold sheets beside him.

The bed was empty. The house was quiet.

You were gone.

For a moment, he lay still, hoping that you’d walk back in, your smile lighting up the room. But the silence stretched on, and he knew.

You weren't there, and you’d never be again.

He closed his eyes tightly, a sharp pang cutting through him as reality settled in. He missed the dreamland of sleep, where he was sheltered from the pain of reality and could only feel the light of your love. Of course you weren’t there. He’d known, deep down, that you wouldn’t be. The day before had been too perfect, too fleeting to be anything but a cruel dream.

Spencer lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, his heart heavy and his throat tight. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to face the emptiness of the house without you. But then his phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the silence.

He reached for it with a trembling hand, his vision blurry as he read the message from Morgan:

["Merry Christmas, kid. I know this time of year is tough for you. I’ll swing by later to drop off your gift. Hang in there, alright?”]

Spencer sat up, frowning. Christmas? But… yesterday was Christmas… Wasn’t it? There was the shooting star on Christmas Eve, then he woke up with you the next morning and you spent Christmas day together, right? He stared at the message, confusion swirling in his mind.

If today was Christmas, then… when had you been here?

His heart raced as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his mind replaying every moment of the day before. It had felt so real—your touch, your laughter, the way you’d smiled at him like nothing had ever changed. Too real to be a dream. Too dreamlike to be real.

He pushed himself off the bed and made his way down the hall, his steps slow and hesitant. The house was quiet, almost unbearably so, and the absence of your presence was palpable.

Confusion stirred within him, but at the same time, it felt only natural. He had to have dreamed it, it was grief playing tricks on him once again. But still… if it had been a dream, it was one like none other he’d ever had. One that messed up his concept of time and reality, making him pinch his skin softly, as a reminder and confirmation of his own existence.

He was there. You weren’t.

Spencer turned on the radio, needing something—anything—to fill the silence, to quell his racing mind. The soft, mournful strains of Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley filled the room, the lyrics cutting through him like a knife. He’d never been one to relate much to music. He’d learned it from you, the beauty of song. This time it felt like a curse, though, the relatability of the mellow lyrics burning in his chest.

"Maybe I'm too young

To keep good love from going wrong

But tonight you're on my mind

So... you'll never know

Broken down and hungry for your love

With no way to feed it

Where are you tonight?

Child, ya know how much I need it

Too young to hold on

And too old to just break free and run"

He sat by the window, watching the snow falling. The ache in his chest was different now—not the sharp, relentless pain of loss, but something softer, warmer. He could still feel your hand in his, still hear your laugh echoing in his mind. And as the song played, each lyric seeming like it was leaving from his own lips, each chord sounding like it was being played from his own heartstrings, the moment sank in.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad that it had all been a dream after all. Maybe it was exactly what he needed. But yet, the warmth of your presence loomed over him with a heaviness that felt nearly unnatural. You had really been there, one way or another. He was sure of it.

"So I'll wait for you, love

And I'll burn

Will I ever see your sweet return?"

He could feel you. Even now. He knew it wasn’t over—it would never be.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered to the silence, a tear slipping down his cheek.

And somewhere, he knew you were whispering it back.

He sank into the couch, his head in his hands as the song played on, each word twisting the knife deeper.

"It's never over

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

It's never over

All my riches for her smiles

When I've slept so soft against her

It's never over

All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter

It's never over

She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever"

The tears came then, hot and unrelenting, as he mourned the loss of you all over again. Regardless of their newfound taste after the collection of memories he gathered with you, whether it was a dream or not, the bitterness in his tears remained unmistakable.

But then, through the blur of his grief, something caught his eye. He froze, his breath hitching as he turned toward the window.

There, like a mirage—a window to the unknown, a sight he’d never expected—sitting on the porch railing, was the flower crown you’d made during the day before. Just where you’d left it. The lines between dream and reality blurred, but Spencer didn’t question it. You had been there. And that was enough.

"Lover, you should've come over

'Cause it's not too late"

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author's note 2: this is it!! i hope you guys enjoyed it, and thank you sooo much for reading it all the way! please share and let me know your thoughts on this :)

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check out these amazing fanarts my dear friend cami (@/camiwhatuwant on twitter) drew for this story!! i'm in love, they're so perfect <3