sh3sa1dwhat

[sh3sa1dwhat]

I am dtf hairy chest Caleb, he is just so beautiful

hold me tight

content: SFW + fluff + fem!reader + established relationship (you and Caleb are married) + more fluff + kindaaaaaa ooc (i think…) this is just supposed to be a fluffy piece !

—

You open your eyes in haste, blinking away the tears the nightmare you just woke up from caused. You wipe away the fallen tears as you look at the left side of your bed and see the side empty. Exhausted and still wanting to go back to sleep despite your upsetting nightmare, you seek out your husband. Who’s probably (definitely) reading away in his office room, probably coming up with ways to find all the vintage items you’ve lost from the explosion with that brilliant mind of his. It’s four in the morning and you drag your feet across the floor, seeking out Caleb.

You expected to find him in the office, but saw him lying on the couch in the living room, reading some files. He was laying against stacks of pillow against the back of the couch, with his torso bare and wearing checkered pyjama pants.

Caleb sees you entering the living room, rubbing your eyes as you approach him wordlessly. He doesn’t question how you stand in front of him, hovering above him as he lies on the couch. As he was about to speak up, your entire upper body leans down and you immediately flop down on his body.

Caleb lets out a slight grunt from your impact, it wasn’t painful but unexpected to say the least. He knows it was a little painful for you as he hears you let out a muffled groan.

“Such a hard body.” You mutter out as you rub your face on his chest, gripping on his biceps with your hands like a vice, squeezing before you settle to rub your hand on his chest, which was a little hairy and you love it.

“Pips, are you going to sleep right on top of me?” Caleb asks with an amused tone and you hum out an agreeing reply as you stroke his chest and hear how Caleb lets out a chuckle before he continues to read his file. Seeing the logo on the files, it is definitely some classified Farspace Fleet documents you do not wanna know at the moment. Caleb knows that as well, that’s why he’s still reading the file but you don’t care cause at the moment all you want is your man and sleep.

Caleb knew you saw the logo on the files and he wouldn’t usually read classified Farspace Fleet documents in front of you, but because of your state he takes the opportunity to do so because he knows you don’t have the energy to read it yourself.

You remember falling asleep stroking his chest softly, with your cheek on his shoulder before you jolted awake. You blink your eyes in surprise and you feel Caleb rub your back, pressing a kiss against your head, still reading the file and you fall back asleep. Only to jolt awake again and this time, there’s no file in sight and you can feel tears form in your eyes.

“Are you okay, baby? What is it?” You bury your face in his chest as you lightly dig your nails onto his upper body. You feel him still rub your back gently.

“No, I want to go to sleep but I can’t.” You whine, squeezing your eyes to not let the frustrated tears fall down but it’s to no avail. Caleb feels his chest getting slightly wet and he immediately grabs your face to look at you. He was about to speak up but you beat him to it.

“Caleb, can we go back to bed? And can you maybe hold me too.” You slightly whimper out, not helping how the words slip past your mouth, even though it feels so embarrassing to ask for such things in such a pitiful manner to your husband. No matter how long you’ve known Caleb and no matter how many times he’s told you he loves to do everything for you, it’s still so embarrassing.

“I don’t know why you even ask, silly.” He rubs away your tears with his thumb, then presses soft kisses on your eyes, cheeks and nose, before he softly takes your mouth in a soft kiss which you immediately reply to. You melt against his body, leisurely moving your lips against his before he pulls away. His hands trace down your spine before he wraps his arms around your waist.

Not saying anything more, he lifts the both of you up from the couch effortlessly. When he stands on his two feet, he still hasn’t let go of his hold on your body. And you reflexively wrap your legs around his waist, softly squeezing him with your thighs. You feel Caleb pat your butt as he walks to the bedroom and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. You feel so utterly safe and relaxed in his arms. He’s so sturdy and secure, his heart thumping softly against your chest.

He places you on the bed before he joins you. Before you could even move your body closer to his, Caleb pulls you against him instead. Immediately, you sling your left leg over his hips, burrow your face into his chest, lightly wincing in pain when you accidentally hit against his chest too hard.

Caleb giggles and you furrow your brows. He rubs your forehead, grinning at you and you pout. “Better give me some apology kisses.” You mumble and Caleb lets out a slight laugh.

“It’s not my fault my chest is there.” He teases and you shake your head. “No it’s not, I just want more of your kisses.” You say as you pucker your lips. You feel Caleb squeeze your smaller body (compared to his bigger one) against him before you feel his lips take you in for another soft kiss.

When you feel Caleb smile against your mouth, you can’t help but smile too, albeit a sleepy one. He pulls away for the second time and you shake your head, wanting more kisses and he gives you a few more and you have to pull away to give him a grateful smile.

“You’re like…the best kisser in the world.” You mutter against his mouth and Caleb smiles softly, thinking about how you’re triple cuter in your sleepy state uttering cute nonsense (facts actually).

“And I can’t believe these kisses are mine. Wholly mine.” You say dreamily as you rub your lips against his, softly nipping on his lower lip before you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck again. Caleb almost lets out a hearty laugh, finding it adorable that it looks like you’re drunk but you’re actually just so sleep deprived that you look like a drunk.

“And you’re mine too.” Your voice is muffled against his neck and Caleb nods his head.

“And you’re mine. Wholly mine. Including this cute butt.” He says the last part while giving a gentle playful squeeze to your butt and you giggle against his neck.

“Tell me about the file you were reading about in the morning, okay?” Caleb hears you say and his heart swells up in more adoration for you. He knows that you're not supposed to know anything that’s in the file, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a guarantee he won’t tell you. Because you are excellent at convincing him to spill it out or else you take other measures to find out.

“And make my wife bored? That’s inexcusable!” He dramatically says and you giggle once more, shaking your head. “Nothing is boring for your hunter wife, Caleb.” You sleepily tell him, feeling more and more drowsy the more you speak.

“I know, baby.” Is all he could say with such love in his tone and you nod your head slightly, then you hear him mutter a ‘I love you’ and you’re mumbling a soft ‘i love you’ to him.

Caleb feels his heart flutter at your words you always say to him so easily, like it's as simple as breathing oxygen. He presses a soft kiss on your forehead before he pulls you closer against his bare chest and buries his face against the top of your head, thinking of how he loves you endlessly.

Then he feels and hears how your breath evens out and your body relaxes against his even more. You’re asleep and all Caleb wishes is that you get no more nightmares and that you’re always with him.

—

a little hairy chest caleb is making me wanna ask him just for the ti-WHOA! WHO WAS THAT FREAK?? BE SAFE OUT THERE YALL

if you enjoyed this, a like and reblog would be veryyyyy appreciated <3

[sh3sa1dwhat]

Chocolate Curry Buns - Black Butler

So, this is one of the most requested recipes, and also one that has taken me the most time to figure out.  If you’re looking for a quicker, more authentically Japanese curry bun, replace the curry roux and filling with a packet of instant curry and follow the instructions on a package.  This recipe is a “high class”, very British way of looking at the curry bun, with attention paid to how Sebastian cooked his in the show.  Notice the atypical additions of black pepper and red wine, frying the bun instead of baking, and, most importantly, the chocolate.  In short, his is simply one hell of a curry bun recipe.

Ingredients:

Curry roux:

3 tbsp. butter

⅓ cup flour

2 tbsp.. garam masala

1-2 tsp freshly ground black pepper (depending on how spicy you want it)

1 tbs. tomato paste

1 tbs. Worcestershire sauce

Dough:

2 ½ cups all-purpose flour

1 tsp. dry yeast

2 tbsp. sugar

1 tsp. salt

1 tbsp. skim milk powder

½ cup water

1 egg

2 tbsp. butter

Filling: 

2 tbsp. oil

1 small onion, sliced thin

1 clove of garlic, minced

½ pound beef chuck roast, cubed, or stew meat

¼ cup red wine (substitute 1/8 cup balsamic vinegar and 1/8 cup all-natural grape juice if you can’t get wine)

1 carrot

1 medium pre-cooked yukon gold potato

1 tbsp. apple puree or apple sauce

1 cardamom pod

1 whole star anise pod

1 bay leaf

⅓ cup peas (optional)

Half of a bar of dark chocolate

Instructions:

First, we’re going to start with the roux. Melt the butter over medium low heat. 

Add the flour and whisk the butter and flour together in the pan until the mixture turns a golden brown.

Add the garam masala and black pepper and stir to combine, then add the tomato paste and Worcestershire sauce and combine. Continue to cook until it becomes thick and paste-like. Remove from heat and set aside until the meat and veggies are ready.

Combine yeast, water, and sugar in a bowl. Let it sit for 5-10 minutes, until foamy.

Add the rest of the dough ingredients and knead for 8-10 minutes.

Cover with a dish towel and allow dough to rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 to 1½ hours.  If it’s cool in the kitchen, I frequently turn on a stove top burner, and let the dough sit on the counter near it to help the rising process.

Divide the dough into 8 equal portions. Let rest for 10 minutes (make sure not to let them dry out, cover them with a damp paper towel or two).

Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in your pan.  Pat the beef down with a paper towel to remove any excess moisture, sprinkle some salt and pepper on the meat, and dust with a bit of flour.  Once the pan is hot, add your meat, cooking for about 6-7 minutes on each side, or until nice and brown.  Then, put the meat into a bowl and set aside.

Heat oil in a pan, and saute onion and garlic.  While sauteing, grind the cardamom and anise.

Add the browned beef, wine, water, carrots, potatoes, salt, apple puree, cardamom, anise, and bay leaf, and then bring to a boil over high heat. 

Turn the heat down to medium low and simmer partially covered until the carrots are tender (about 45 minutes).

Add in the curry roux that you set aside in step 3 and the chocolate, and stir until the roux and liquid in the pan combine and thicken into a nice curry sauce.  Set aside to cool, and don’t forget to remove the bay leaf.

Dust your hands with flour!  Flatten the dough balls into a round disc, place a spoonful of filling in the middle, and wrap wrap the edges around the filling. Gently shape each dough ball into a bun.

In a frying pan, heat about an inch of oil (vegetable, canola, or sunflower oil are preferred). Add the buns, however many will fit in your pan at a time. Fry them on medium/low until golden brown, turning over to cook each side.

Let them cool, then present to the judges.  Or your friends.  Or just eat them yourself.

[sh3sa1dwhat]

Just wanted to repost this so I can come back to it easier.. I need to be reminded to take care of myself lately

Tips to Boost Your Happiness Today

Life is hard and sometimes feeling happy is a challenge . Here's some great tips feel better.

Source: Tips to Boost Your Happiness Today

[sh3sa1dwhat]

Yes. Just. YES!

Pride & Prejudice || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader

Summary: You're an actress auditioning for theatre production of Pride & Prejudice and Leopold finds you practicing your lines.

a/n: Okay so, I need more leopold being an actor and cute moments so this was born. Full confession. I have never watched or read Pride & Prejudice so I am very sorry if I messed up anything aksdfhl. Anyways i hope u like it!!!

The fire escape has to be Leopold's favorite place. He sits on the small chair and watches the bustling city below him. Overwhelming is an understatement when it comes to the last couple weeks.

Falling into the future sounds like a work of fiction, yet it was his reality. Adjusting hasn’t been the easiest but he’s lucky to have Kate and Charlie and well, you. 

“Do you think I could have ever considered marrying the man who has ruined, perhaps forever, the happiness of my beloved sister?” Leopold perks up at the sound of your voice. 

You’re Kate's neighbor, kind of. You live below her. Leopold has seen you a few times, mostly when you lock yourself out of your apartment and need to climb through Kate's fire escape. He knows you’re an actor like Charlie but in the day time you work at a coffee shop. 

You served him once or twice when he came to visit you. Your knowledge of theater is extensive and Leopold always had an interest in the stage so conversation came easy. You also loved movies, something he was completely unfamiliar with. He remembers your eyes lighting up at the very idea of showing him your favorite films. A soft smile across his face as he recalls your many movie nights. Though he didn’t quite understand every movie, he could care less when you were so passionate about each and every one of them.

“You arrogantly and unjustly maneuvered Mr. Bingley away from Jane. Can you deny it?” The dialogue catches his attention, you must be practicing for a show. He climbs down the fire escape to your apartment. 

“Your manner…Ugh!” You fall back onto your couch as you throw the sides onto the coffee table. 

“I’m never going to get this right.” You groan helplessly. 

“I thought you sounded lovely.” You let out a small scream as you hear another voice. Turning your head you see Leopold sitting on your fire escape. 

“Leo! What have I said about knocking?” 

“My apologies.” He climbs through the window and walks over to you. He looks at the pieces of paper and reaches down to pick it up. 

“Pride and Prejudice, I had no idea they turned this into a play.” He flips through some of the pages. He remembers reading the book and enjoying it quite a bit. 

“Have you gotten the part?” You scrunch your face as you shake your head. 

“No. Auditions are next week. I…” You hesitate to continue but he smiles softly and you cave instantly. 

“I wanted to audition for Elizabeth but a couple friends told me I’d probably be a better Charlotte.” 

Not that you had anything against the character and a part is a part no matter how small, but you wanted to play more than a side character. Leopold's brows furrow as he sets down the script. 

“Nonsense, do not listen to them. I think you would make a perfect Elizabeth.” He compliments sincerely. Of course you would, he thinks. You’d be perfect in any role. 

“Thanks.” Your eyes drift to the sides on the table. Leopold stands with his arms behind his back, even in casual clothing he radiates this aura unlike anything you’ve seen. 

“You know Leo,” You smile as an idea pops into your head. “I think you should audition too.” Picturing him as Mr. Darcy is easy. After he did his butter commercial, you realized he was a natural for acting and with his background, he’d be perfect for period pieces. Not to mention how handsome he is. You’re sure the director would be tripping over himself to get Leopold a role. Leopold seems uncertain at your suggestion. 

“Here,” You pick up the sides and hand him the one for Mr. Darcy. He skims over the lines and frowns. 

“I do not recognize this.” 

“Oh yeah, they’re from the movie. The director wanted to include his big monologue and the kiss.” You explain, making a mental note to show him the movie later. 

“I understand wanting to take creative liberties and all but…” Maybe he’s a stickler for the classics but he isn’t exactly fond of changing such a well written book. 

“Just give it a try.” He sighs and stands a bit taller. 

“You are too generous to trifle with me. I believe you spoke with my Aunt last night, and it has taught me to hope as I had scarcely allowed myself before.” He looks up from the script and you give him an encouraging smile. 

“If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me forever.” You want to melt under his gaze. It’s not fair how easily the words flow out of his mouth. How naturally charming he is. 

‘“If, however, your feelings have changed…” To your surprise he sets down the paper and walks closer to you, holding out his hand to you. Hesitantly you take his hand, unsure of where he was going with this. He pulls you up, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“I could, I would have to tell you, you have bewitched me body and soul,” His hand gently grabs your chin as he steps closer to you. You stand frozen in complete shock. The script is long forgotten, the pages having fallen from his hands. 

“And I love and love and love you. And never wish to be parted from you from this day on.” He finishes his monologue as a whisper. You part your lips but no words come out, wanting to hold onto this moment for longer. 

“I believe you mentioned a kiss,” He mumbles. 

“It’s uh, towards the end…” He hums and without another word he gently kisses you. 

Your eyes flutter closed as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His lips are so soft, so gentle yet so passionate. One of his hands snakes to your lower back, guiding you even closer to him. The kiss breaks and you’re left breathing heavily, smiles on both of your faces. 

“You’re really good at this. Maybe you should become an actor.” You say jokingly. He chuckles and brushes his thumb along your cheek. 

“I was not acting,” He admits. 

“You are truly, utterly, bewitching and If you were to accept, I would die a happy man.” Jesus, he knows how to talk. 

“I would be an idiot to say no to you.” You grab his face and crash your lips onto his. He steps back but quickly matches your fervor. 

“Join me for dinner tonight, so I can court you properly.” He says breathlessly, his face slightly flushed. 

“Properly? So you don’t normally kiss a girl before dinner?” You say teasingly. 

“No, But for the sake of theater, perhaps I can make an exception.” That’s as forward as you’ve ever seen from Leopold, an innocent smile on his face but a clear spark in his eyes. Smirking, you glance at the scattered pages on the ground. 

“Good, because I think we need to run the scene again and again.” 

[sh3sa1dwhat]

This two part series is everything I ever want in Spencer Reid angst 😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖

Crossed Off, part 2

Part 1 here.

Summary: Spencer is released from prison, but you can’t shake the hurt you felt from your name being crossed off.

Tags: angst with a happy ending, spoilers for prison arc and Mr. Scratch, crying, mentions of hospital/pregnancy complications, unwarranted anger towards JJ, mentions of trauma, no further parts planned.

*I hope this is what everyone wanted - I had no plans for a part 2, and this is definitely longer than a blurb! 🥺

Spencer calls you, and begs you to come to his apartment. He promises your favorite take out, and an explanation. For a moment, you pretend you could ever tell him no.

Just like the first night he spent in prison, when you pretended you wouldn’t write letters. For that single night, you pretended you wouldn’t get his prison ID number and put money in his account. For that one night you pretended you hadn’t already rearranged your life so you could go to his apartment to see his mother every day, and stay there the nights a nurse couldn’t. Pretended you wouldn’t make sure all his bills stayed paid, his fish was taken care of, and that you’d make sure he’d still have a sanctuary to go to when he was released.

By the end of that night you’d already written a three page letter four separate times and found a photo of the two of you and another photo of his mother to include. By the end of the first week, you’d sent the maximum amount of money allowed, and mailed a letter a day. You continued that pattern, maxing out his barely touched account each week, and a letter every single day. 84 letters, although you can’t guarantee he got the last one. You don’t tell him your news in any of the letters, still holding on to a shred of hope that this has all been a huge misunderstanding, that he’s going to get out and there will be a reason other than embarrassment. On her good days, you help his mother write him, and mailed her letters along with your own.

She received replies. But you didn’t.

You made sure to be out of his apartment on the days JJ would come to visit with her boys, which made you feel guilty and ugly. It twisted something in you because you genuinely liked JJ and you adored Spencer’s godsons. But you couldn’t be near her right now, felt too raw to have her tell you that she saw your boyfriend, got to hear his voice. Because her name was first and your name was crossed off. (And you can’t pretend that now you aren’t wondering if he was the godfather because he couldn’t be the father. If there was always more going on than you knew).

Apparently, even if he wouldn’t talk to you, he couldn’t stop the prison from doing so. You’d been his medical emergency contact since the Anthrax case years ago, so each time he is taken to the prisons hospital, you get an email. You hate that these are the only updates you get from him.

Luke checks on you every week, and he tells you Spencer asks about you to everyone who visits, and he raises an eyebrow at your disbelieving snort, but doesn’t question it. He raises an eyebrow at the noticeable weight loss from your face, at the baggy clothing, and how you now clutch a pillow in front of your stomach when you sit on the couch. But he doesn’t say anything. He knows that’s why you let him in. He offers to pass along a message each time. You never give him one.

Of course it’s JJ who goes to get him out of the prison. It was Emily who risked her career, twice, to go around protocol to save him. It was Luke who blackmailed a friend and threatened another inmate to ensure his safety. It was Penelope who found the necessary evidence, who cut through bureau tape and moved mountains to prove his innocence.

But it’s JJ who he sees first, who he hugs tightly to him. You’re not even aware he’s released, not even aware that Diana is missing. It’s the first time you haven’t been at his apartment - you’d been there for 82 of the 84 days, only missing the last two. You had tried to call Cassie to let her know you were in the hospital and not to worry Diana, but were forced to leave a voicemail.

It’s not even Spencer who tracks your phone, but Luke once more. He doesn’t ask why you are in the hospital, or why you’ve been crying. Just if you’re okay, and when you say you’re just waiting on the release papers, he hurries the nurse along to get them.

You don’t make it to the office before Spencer leaves to see Cat, even though you know Luke told them he was getting you. When Emily tells you she sent JJ with him to help him keep calm, you don’t even pretend to be okay, just getting up and walking out in front of the team. Rossi’s eyes clock the hospital bracelet you hadn’t yet removed, and Luke follows you, takes you to a safe office and encourages you to rest. He promises Spencer will return soon and will want to see you. He doesn’t even raise an eyebrow this time at your snort.

You wait for him to leave before calling a taxi back to your own place, where you’ve barely been.

It’s Penelope who lets you know that Diana is found and that Spencer will be landing soon, that all is well. You thank her but can’t get yourself to go back to the BAU. Besides, you reason, his mother was just kidnapped - he’ll want to spend time with her. That part at least you can understand.

You expect it to be Luke once more when you hear a knock, and you open the door without bothering to check. You know your eyes are red and your face is puffy, but you’ve never cared about impressing anyone other than Spencer. But it’s not Luke, or Penelope, or even Emily.

It’s Spencer, clutching a stack of paper in his hands.

He sees you for the first time in 84 days, and his battered heart breaks even more. Luke had told him you were rightly upset, had been the only one to chastise him for not including your name on the visitor list, the only one who said he saw you. Rossi had only brought it up once, and JJ had told him he was allowed to make his own choices - that he was the one in prison. He had thought it was odd that she hadn’t seen you on any of her visits, but hadn’t had the energy to question it, had never imagined where your thoughts would lead.

Your face is more defined than before, and you’re wearing baggy clothing so he can’t see if there are any other differences. Your face had crumpled upon seeing him, and he knows he’s lucky that you didn’t shut the door on him. He wants to touch you, to reach out and grab you to him, to never let you go.

But you’re guarded. Your posture is defensive, eyes wary. He’s never seen you look at him like that, and he opens his mouth to say your name, but nothing comes out. You two stand on your doorstep before you sigh, widening the door to let him in.

Your place is immaculate - cleaner than normal. He notices that the trash is completely empty, even though he knows your trash day isn’t for 2 more days. You sit on the far side of the couch, instead of your normal spot in the middle, hugging a pillow closely to you. You still haven’t said a word.

He hesitantly sits on the opposite end, angling his body to you, still clutching papers in his hands.

“I’m so sorry”.

It’s not enough, but it’s the only thing he can think to say. You don’t respond, eyebrows furrowed and he watches you blink rapidly, hates that he knows you’re trying not to cry.

“I- I couldn’t- I’m so sorry, sweetheart”.

He looks pathetic, sitting on your couch. You can see bruises fading on his face, notice how he slouches to the left, as if he can’t straighten the right side of his body. He’s thinner - he’s never been able to eat group food - and his doe eyes aren’t as bright. You’re so hurt, so upset and you feel as if the pain will never fade but it’s Spencer, and even if you’re just a stand in to him, you love him. You don’t make eye contact with him as you whisper,

“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re out, Spencer.”

He wants to whine at your words. Your voice is hoarser than his, as if it hasn’t been used in days. He’s at a loss for words, unsure what to do when you look up at him.

“How’s your mom? I’m sorry for not being there - they, they had to have figured out my routine. I should have known, should have switched it up”.

“Your… routine?” He asks, confused as to what you meant, why you would apologize.

“I saw her every day. Except the last two - I, I wasn’t able to go. But I got there at the same time every day. I know she does better with routine, but I should have known. I’m sorry”.

“It’s not your fault, please, don’t apologize”. He whispers the words, his mind racing. You’re sitting here apologizing to him for something you have no control over, for doing him a favor by making sure his mom was okay daily, when he should be down on his knees begging you for forgiveness.

You nod at his words, looking back down at the ground. Before either of you can continue, his phone rings, and you see from the corner of your eye that he winces before answering.

“…what? Which hospital? I’ll- I’ll be there soon”.

You tilt your head at this but you don’t have to ask,

“The team - JJ - and the others - they were in an accident. I have to go to the hospital, I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t leave me - we have so much to talk about - I need to explain” he begs.

He watched your face go from complete concern to bitterness to resignation. Watches you sigh.

“Just go, Spencer. I’ll go stay at your apartment tonight with your mother - we have a pretty good routine already. But go see her, make sure she’s okay”.

You can’t hide the resentment when you say the word her, and Spencer is even more confused than before. He’s grateful you are going to watch his mother, but he doesn’t understand why you seem mad about JJ of all people.

“Sweetheart-”

He tries to start but your patience has snapped and all you feel is a deep ache inside you. He needs to leave before you break and you had promised the doctor you would limit stress right now, under threat of bed rest. A voice in your head says it had to count for something that he’d sought you out, right? And he’s leaving because the team is in trouble, not just JJ. (You try to ignore the voice that says he’d leave even if it was just JJ.)

“Just go. Don’t forget to call Will”.

He gets up when you do, still holding those papers. He is so unsure what to do, he’s angry - with himself, with the situation, with not knowing. He wants you to hold him, to cry and tell you everything, to beg for forgiveness and have you kiss his forehead like you used to. But his team has called him, and he has to go.

He swallows the lump in his throat but turns back to you before leaving. With two strides he’s in front of you and he pulls you into a bone crushing hug - as if he’s trying to merge himself to you. You hug him back, tentatively and he feels immediate relief. He doesn’t stop himself from asking you, whispering into your hair,

“Why did you say her like that? What’s going on?”

You drop your arms from him as if he’s burned you, stepping out of his embrace. He misses you immediately.

Your eyes are glassy as you meet his but your words only confuse him even more.

“Why was her name first?”

He doesn’t have an answer, and you don’t expect one. You turn away, gathering your bag, already packed by the door and wait for him to follow you outside.

“Just… be safe. Don’t do anything stupid, Spencer”.

You walk away from him without waiting for a reply and climb into your car to go take care of his mother, and he leaves to go help his team. He’s still so confused, and he hits the steering wheel in anger, wanting to scream. He makes it to the hospital, sees Luke first, then JJ and then Rossi, finds out about Stephen. Luke asks about you and he thinks about asking him what happened, but knows he needs to focus on the case.

When he returns home after a terrible night, happy for the mandatory 6 weeks off, he’s grateful to find you still in his apartment, cleaning up from breakfast for his mother. He’s exhausted, he hasn’t slept more than an hour at a time in 3 months. His mother looks concerned but you distract her, have already made a plan on what to do for the next 2 days so he can rest and regroup. You barely speak to him, but you hand him paperwork on different care facilities in the area that specialize in patients like his mother. He doesn’t know how you knew it had been on his mind and doesn’t get to express his appreciation before you’re ushering his mother out the door for a day of activities.

He’s able to move his mother to a safe facility almost immediately. She seems happier there already, and he promises to visit every chance he can. He still hasn’t managed to sleep, his mind going over your question every chance he’s had. That’s when he decides to call you, begging you to come over and promising an explanation. He doesn’t know why you knock instead of using your key, but he opens the door for you, ushering you over to his couch.

You sit, looking up at him expectedly. You’re nervous to be here and you haven’t been nervous around Spencer in almost a decade. You know you need to tell him your news, but you can’t do it, not yet. You need to know where you stand before, don’t want the situation to influence him.

He sits right next to you this time, knees touching yours, and his leg shakes.

“Do you still love me?” Is the first thing he asks and you rear back in shock. How could he ask that?

“You know I do” you whisper, your voice shaking.

“I- first, I need to thank you. For staying here every single day, and so many nights. For making sure my bills were paid, for feeding my fish, for the letters and for staying”. He tells you, voice soft, hand reaching out for yours.

“Letters you never answered” you say, removing your hands from his own.

“I-” he stops, swallows hard. You look at him, narrowing your eyes.

“Do you love me? I’m the one who should be asking that, Spencer. Did I wait 87 days just for you to end us?”

His mouth falls open, and he hurriedly tries to speak.

“Of course I do! I don’t want us to end- I don’t want you to leave, ever”. His voice has gotten louder and his eyes are wide, frightened.

“Then why?” Your voice is steady, anger coursing through your veins, “Why did you write her name first, and then mine, just to cross mine out? Why did you want to see her but not me?”

The anger is still there but your voice cracks on the last word, and you clench your fist together, fighting with yourself not to cry.

“What-”

You cut him off, “I saw the list of people allowed to visit you Spencer. The one you wrote. Emily didn’t hide it in time. I have been here through everything- every hospital stay, every nightmare, every ramble. Why was I suddenly not good enough to see you? Have I always been a replacement because she wasn’t available?”

You can’t fight the tears anymore as they stream down your face, and you grab the nearby pillow to hold on to, moving your body as far away from Spencer as possible. You’re upset with Spencer and with yourself - you know he’s exhausted, that he needs to rest and heal but so do you. You’d been in the hospital for that very reason, and you knew you had to control your emotions but you also needed answers, needed them now before you spiraled down further.

Spencer realizes what list you saw, and he doesn’t know what to do or say. He hadn’t been thinking of an order, but he understands how you viewed it, especially when you also saw your name crossed off. He hates that your body shakes and shies away from him, wants to pull you into his lap and tell you everything.

“You’ve never been a replacement for anyone. She and I are just friends, I told you that…” he trails off, unsure how to even start.

You scoff at him, and then ask,

“Did you return the letters she sent? Have you already talked to her about prison? About the trips to the hospital ward? Who was the first person you saw?”

You already know he answered almost every letter he received. Luke had let it slip not knowing that Spencer hadn’t sent you one.

“Answer me.” You try to demand. You need him to say the words, need him to confirm your worst fear.

“I wrote her back, and - and I had to tell her some things, because of Cat…”

“Then I don’t know why I’m here”. You can’t do this, can’t handle it. You stand, walking around the coffee table to leave and Spencer can’t let you go, can’t bare to see you walk away so he lunges for your hand, blurting out the truth -

“I couldn’t let you see me because I- I didn’t want the one beautiful thing in my life to be marred by the ugliness of prison. I crossed your name off because I couldn’t let you see me and not touch you- I knew I’d break. I knew that watching you leave me in prison would destroy me. It was selfish but it was the only thing I could think to do. I needed the most important part of my life to not be touched by that hell. I wanted to see you - wanted to be with you every second of every day. Thinking of you was the only way I survived. I read all your letters every single day, over and over and over again even though I’d already memorized them. I would sit there, and- and trace the words you’d written, imagining you and what you’d have looked like in that moment. And I answered every single one - I have 84 replies that I never sent. I didn’t mail them because I was scared - I was terrified the entire time and I still am. Please, please don’t leave”.

You had turned to look at him halfway through his speech, and he had fallen on his knees in front of you. Tears streamed down his cheeks and it was second nature for you to gently wipe them away. You weren’t convinced, his speech was pretty but it didn’t take away the hurt, the deep ache you felt in your soul. He wasn’t done yet though,

“I wrote her name because I didn’t care if she saw me. She’s the person on the team who knows me best but she is nothing compared to you. You have seen every part of me, and stayed. I had a crush on her once, yes, but that’s not even a drop in the well of feelings I have for you. I - I can’t imagine a life without her in it but I don’t want to live a life without you. You’re the- the gravity that holds me on this Earth. You’re the air I need to breathe, the reason I can wake up and still function. The reason I’m not completely broken, or already dead. Angel - you’re the only book I want to read the rest of my life. I want to write new chapters with you, and only you. There is nothing and no one in this universe who would ever make me stop loving you. Stop wanting you. Stop needing you. I’m so sorry for making you doubt that, for ever letting those thoughts enter your brain. I’m so sorry”.

Spencer is sobbing now, gripping the hand you’d used to wipe his tears away. You find yourself kneeling on the floor in front of him, both of you still crying. But for the first time since his release, you pull him towards you, and Spencer fully breaks down in the safety of your embrace. His body trembles as he clutches you, his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and he whispers, his tone pleading,

“I love you. I- I had been planning on proposing to you, before this all happened. I messed up, and I should have talked to you, should have told you. I would give up everything I have to go back and make a different choice but I can’t. I can’t and all I can do now is be honest with you. I’ve never been good with emotions - with- with saying how I feel, and I know that you know that. But I will spend every single day for the rest of my life proving how much you mean to me, how irreplaceable you are. Please, stay.”

The pieces of your heart start to knit together. You don’t agree with his decision, but you can understand. You don’t know if you would have been strong enough to leave him in the prison if you had visited. This doesn’t fix everything, but it does make the deep ache fade away, and you press kisses onto the crown of his head, rubbing his back soothingly, relishing that he’s in your arms again, that he’s real and he’s here.

“I’m not going anywhere, Spencer. I love you.”

He cries harder at your words, repeating a mantra of “thank you” mixed with “I’m so sorry” and “I love you”. You can’t kneel on the floor anymore, and you both have forgotten about dinner, moving to his bedroom instead where he lies on your chest to listen to your heart beat. He still can’t sleep through the night, but this time when he wakes up you’re there, and you kiss him each time, card your fingers through his hair and he falls back asleep.

In the morning, when he finally asks why Luke had found you at a hospital, he worries when you won’t immediately answer. When you tell him you have something for him, explain that you’d gotten it the day he left, he is even more worried. When he unwraps the pretty paper from the book you’d bought 88 days ago, he cries. This time though he’s not upset, looking at you in shock and wonder. Later, the guilt of not being there will hit him, but you’ll be there to work through it. Right now though, Spencer gives you 84 replies, and tells you every single thing that happened, not sparing you a single detail. He tells you his hope for a future with you, and even tells you about different possible futures - says that if you want him to become a cowboy with cattle, he’ll make it happen. You laugh at the notion, the first laugh in 3 months, and let him know you’re fine where you are, as long as he never leaves again. He promises he never will. He promises your name will be the first on any list from now on, but says you’ll have to make an exception for whatever name you two choose from the book. It’s a fair compromise, and one you agree with. You spend the rest of the day wrapped up in each other, slowly healing, but most importantly, together.

(When your child is born, he doesn’t argue with the decision for Luke and Emily to be the godparents, wholeheartedly agrees, just writes their names on a new list, right after yours.)

————

Tag List/everyone who commented:

@lover-of-books-and-tea @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @spicycalabaza @forhappysake @reidsnugget0867 @keiva1000 @zara555candy @olives-and-sunshine @alysena2 @whore-for-viktor @sammy-4103 @furiousheartpoetry @sewmxx @lilcuutiee @wannabewolf @iamburdened @tortelliniturtle7 @babyspiderling @arisawife @delusionaldeadgirl @sabage101 @hamwrapz @luvrrish @mindless-love @tpwk-hailee @frickin-bats @ferrjulie @scftierhee @raeharper @pathologicalreid

[sh3sa1dwhat]

Okay, I love this more than I care to admit 👀👀🥰

research purposes.

tags: spencer reid x reader. tech analyst!reader. mentions of 50 shades of grey. bau ladies are like gossiping wine moms. fluff & crack, bcos spencer has been thru enough already. referenced/mentioned sexual acts but nothing explicit. a/n: got inspired by aj cook implying mgg was reading 50 shades + the table read of cm where mgg’s name card was “matthew 50 shades of gray gubler” masterlist. requests are open !

The team is on the jet home from a consultation in San Francisco. Everybody’s either dozing off (Emily and Derek), eating (Rossi), or doing paperwork (Hotch, as usual). JJ is scrolling on her phone, catching up on the pictures and videos Will sent of Henry when she notices something very bizarre.

“Reid, are you reading 50 Shades of Grey?”

“Huh?” he looks up from the paragraph he was reading. Something about not making love and only fucking hard. Or whatever drivel he’s suffering for you.

“I didn’t peg you the type to be reading romance or erotica.”

“It’s for research.”

JJ quirks a brow Spencer doesn’t see. His eyes already returned to the book in his hands.

“Research? For Y/N?”

“Yep,” Spencer turns a page.

JJ continues to gape at him. She wants to press for more details, but with a shake of her head, decides she was better off not knowing the intricacies of the relationship of people she considers her siblings. No matter how baffled she is by the fact that Spencer Reid is reading 50 Shades of Grey, she doubts that she’d want to dip a toe in that rabbit hole. However, she has no qualms of bringing up this certain knowledge in the near future.

Spencer was in a rush to finish his case load for the day. It’s your day off, so he’s doing anything he can so that he can go home earlier than usual. With you out for the day, he can’t even pop into your office to bug you, talk your ear off, or have an impromptu make out session. It was so sad, really.

He’s down to his last three folders when Derek attempts to get his attention.

“Pst! Pretty boy,” Morgan whisper-yells.

“Yes?”

“How’s Y/N?”

Spencer’s a bit perplexed by the question. While it’s not unusual for Derek to worry about your well-being, he finds it a bit weird for Derek to be asking such a question at that exact moment. As far as he knows, you texted Derek 15 minutes ago about mold on the street that you insist looked like the aforementioned man. That was the last time Spencer talked to you as well.

“She’s fine. Enjoying her day off.”

There’s a big grin crawling across Derek’s face. Such a look on a man like Derek Morgan spelled trouble. He looks like he knows something that Spencer doesn’t. Spencer’s starting to get cautious.

“Anything exciting happened to you guys this weekend?” Derek asks with that shit-eating, I-know-something-you-don’t-know grin.

Spencer raises a brow.

“Not much. The usual,” Spencer flips a page in his file.

Morgan hums, “Ah, yes. The usual.”

Spencer looks up at Derek, perplexed. Having no idea what in the world Morgan is trying to get to.

“Late night?” Derek continues. Spencer shuts the folder in his hands.

“Are you trying to insinuate something?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

Spencer rolls his eyes and returns his attention to his work. Completely ignoring the chuckles coming from Morgan.

A few days later, Spencer is making his second cup of coffee at the office kitchenette, bracing himself for another round of paperwork when he hears somebody rush into the room. He turns from the counter to see you, flushed and embarrassed?

“Hey, darling—”

“Why did Penelope ask me how it’s like to have my own Christian Grey?”

“What?” Spencer puts his mug down to turn his full attention on you.

“She barged into my office, asking me what kind of BDSM we’re into!” you devolve into a sort of whisper-yell, eyes shifting as to check if there were other people around. The two of you were alone in the area.

“Why would she ask that?”

“I don’t know? Something about you researching BDSM for me?”

Spencer shuts his eyes in realization, “JJ.”

“JJ? What’s she got to do with this?”

“A week ago, on the jet home from San Francisco. I was reading 50 Shades of Grey.”

You take a pause, “You read 50 Shades? I thought you said it was complete nonsense?”

“My opinion hasn’t changed on that. But I overheard you and Garcia giggling over the movie’s actor… I wanted to see what it was all about.” He tries to be nonchalant with what he’s saying. You completely melt into a puddle.

“Oh, Spence. That is the cutest and sweetest thing that has ever happened to me.”

Spencer blushes red at the comment. All these years together, and you never fail to make him feel so lovestruck and bashful.

He clears a throat, “The BDSM in the book is so atrocious. Have you read it? Or are you only interested in the movie?”

“Just the movie,” you say with a grin.

“Their lack of communication is astounding. It’s completely far off from the BDSM we’re into.”

There’s a gasp behind you. You turn to see Garcia at the entryway of the kitchenette, one mug in hand, the other hand pressed against her chest.

“Oh , I knew it. Ya’ll nasty.”

“Penelope—” you start to speak. She cuts you off.

“I didn’t believe JJ at first when she said Spencer was reading 50 Shades for research. I mean, really, Spencer Reid and BDSM? Never thought to correlate those two things ever in my life,” Penelope rambles, and then mid-thought, she turns to you, “So you do have your own Christian Grey! That’s so sexy— I don’t think that’s the right word considering it’s Reid—” this earns a snort from the man watching amused, standing against the counter, “Have you recreated any scenes from the books?”

“Penelope!” you say, aghast.

“I mean, if Spencer’s using 50 Shades to spice up your sexy times then—”

Spencer begins to laugh. You turn to face him, in disbelief that he can laugh at your mortification.

“Trust me, Penelope,” he says, “we don’t need 50 Shades to spice up our sex lives.”

“Spencer!” You can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth right now. Penelope looks as if she’s hearing the greatest gossip scandal the world has ever produced.

“50 Shades is tame compared to us.”

“What?!” a third voice enters the conversation. Emily and JJ enter the kitchenette. Emily looked a bit confused, JJ looks just about ready to shit on you too.

You hide your face in your hands, trying to hide away from Spencer’s laughter. Emily, JJ, and Penelope start to bounce comments and choice words between the three of them. You hear words such as ‘unbelievable’, ‘kinky’, and the real kicker, ‘Dr. Reid will see you now’. You want to dig yourself into a hole.

Hands grip your hips, squeezing in silent comfort. Without removing your hands from your face, you mumble, “This is all your fault.” Spencer laughs once more, hands squeezing your hips one more time before he turns to pick up his coffee mug.

He moves to leave the kitchen, turning to you with a smug look on his face before he says, “Laters, baby.”

You refuse to acknowledge the three ladies descending on you like a pack of wolves.

taglist: @i-live-in-spite @khxna

[sh3sa1dwhat]

Awwweee I love the ending!!

hii!! i’ve read some of your docs and they are just awesome !!

i wanted to ask you if you could write a fic (paring Spencer x fem!Reader) about the BAU chasing the unsub and they manage to catch him, tough he did fire some shots that didn’t hurt anyone except reader but reader doesn’t realise it until she starts to feel dizzy and feels her shirt wet only to find a gun wound on her side, spencer is really worried etc etc.. you know an hurt/comfort !! :3

sorry for my bad english 😞😞

take your time !! :33

tags: spencer reid x fem!reader. hurt/comfort. reader gets shot. blood. reader using sexual jokes as a coping mechanism. a/n: unedited! set around season 12, bcos i just rewatched the s11 finale lol. i also took some creative liberties but i hope u still like this :) masterlist. requests are open !

There’s something Spencer always did before the team goes out to take down an unsub.

First, in the car, in the calm before a probable storm, he would take two fingers into the collar of your bulletproof vest. He’d tug on the back, checking the tightness of the straps while confined in the SUV’s backseat. And then, the same hand would run down your back. A comforting gesture that grounds him more than he’d admit. And lastly, he’d take your hand in his. Squeeze it three times in a silent ‘I love you’. He’ll wait for you to squeeze back, and your eyes would meet for a second, words unneeded as your gaze tells each other to take care.

It’s a routine done even before you officially got together. Tonight was different.

You were on the way back to the station after re-interviewing a witness with Rossi. You’re sat on the passenger seat, notepad in hand, attempting to arrange your thoughts on the case. A ringtone coming from the car speaker distracts you from your musings. Rossi reaches over to accept the call.

“Yeah, Hotch?”

“We found him. Garcia sent the location to your cells. You’re 20 minutes away from the address, but do not engage. Keep your distance and wait for the rest of us.” Hotch drops the call after you reply with an “On it, boss.” You flip a switch on the console, turning on the sirens.

“I still hate how loud these things are,” you make a passing comment.

Rossi spares you a glance, a bemused look in his eyes, “I haven’t gotten used to it either.”

You turn to reach for your vest behind the passenger seat. After putting it on, you triple check the straps. And then, you unholster your standard issue pistol, thumb on the catch, before you check your mag.

Rossi’s turning the corner while you holster your gun, reaching over, you turn off the siren. Based on the profile, this unsub will not hesitate to draw guns if met with law enforcement. Best not give him a heads up. A few blocks ahead, you see the bright neon sign of the motel the unsub is hiding in. Rossi shifts the SUV into a slow crawl. He stops a block away, a safe distance that still gave you a good vantage point of the motel. You keep a lookout, Rossi putting on his vest while your eyes pass over each entrance, exit, and window on the two-storey building. You notice movement on the first floor. A shadow behind a curtain on the second floor.

You’re starting to get antsy when the rest of the team, and the local cops arrive. You quickly open your door, walking toward where Hotch, Tara, and Spencer were huddled by the trunk of a precinct car.

“Are you attempting to negotiate?” Rossi asks from your side. Spencer’s eyes meet yours from where he’s hunched over a map. Embedding the floorplan into his mind. You watch his eyes rake over your body twice. Eyes running to each strap on your vest. Your heart warms at the gesture.

“He has hostages,” Hotch’s voice breaks your eye contact with Spencer. The sheriff walks toward your team, a megaphone in hand. Hotch thanks the sheriff, turns on the speaker, and begins to call out for the unsub.

“Bryan Masen! FBI! Come out with your hands above your head!”

You see the shadow shift on the second floor. And then, a loud bang. Bryan Masen has an assault rifle, shooting out of the windows of the motel lobby, while a second unsub shoots their own rifle from the second floor. In all the chaos of gunshots and screams, your mind rotates through three things; Is Spencer okay? A partner wasn’t in the profile. My ribs hurt. Is Spencer okay? A partner wasn’t in the profile. My ribs hurt. Where’s Spenc—

The following silence was deafening.

And then, a group of uniforms led by Hotch and JJ move in on the motel. You begin to stand, intending to join the second group of uniforms with Luke and Rossi. Subconsciously, your hand presses against your side. It’s warm. And wet. You take one step forward. Hear Spencer call out your name. And then, it all turns black.

Spencer’s hands won’t stop shaking. He stares at it. The red on his palms. It’s drying, and all he can do is stare blankly at it. His knee jerks. It won’t stop. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Heavy. Comforting. Unwanted. He hears Luke ask him if he needed anything. He can’t hear his own reply. Hunched over his bloodied hands, he sees the boots peeking between his fingers. Black. Leather. Heeled. JJ tries to get him to wash his hands. He feels hands guide him to a sink. That same hand on his shoulder leaving when smaller hands take his in their own. The water is cold between his fingers. The hand scrubbing his knuckles is warm. He can’t afford to look away. Can’t risk his eyes closing for more than a blink. He needed to be distracted by something. Knowing that if mind was preoccupied by any other menial thing, he won’t be forced to see your body falling onto the sandy ground. Over and over. The scream in his throat. The thud. The frantic hands. Red, red, red. Pale lips and eyes closed. Over and over.

He has half a mind to stop JJ from cleaning his hands. But then, the faucet turns off. Paper towels are pressed into his hands, and JJ guides him back to where the rest of the team are waiting. Their silence tells him that there hasn’t been anything new. He falls into a chair. Numbers. Statistics. That can help him focus on something else.

The number of GSWs treated per biennium increased from 1,349 in 1996-1997 to 1,484 in 2014-2015, with a 59% increase occurring from 2010-2011 to 2014-2015. Overall mortality was 14.6%—

An unfamiliar name calls out your name.

He stands before anyone else can react. Like a wolf descending on a prey, he begins a barrage of questions; “Where is she? Is she okay? Is she ali—”

“She alive and well. The shrapnel missed any major arteries, and we were able to take every fragment out. Major bruising around her ribs. She’s currently sedated, but you can come and see her.”

Spencer bites back an attempt to snap, wanting to raise his voice and demand that they bring him to her already. But he doubts you’d let him get away with such a behavior. And so he silently follows after the doctor, fists pressed against his sides, thumb popping a knuckle.

When he enters your room, it’s dimly lit. But he can see your face, and the bruise on your cheek from when you fell unconscious. His eyes take you in, every inch of you. The hair pulled behind your ears. The medical gown covering pallor skin. The tube connected to the crook of your elbow. He reaches a hand out, smoothing your hair, before taking a deep breath in. He remembers your comment about the smell of hospitals.

“I’ll stay with her,” he mumbles. Two fingers pushing down the collar of your hospital gown. You don’t like it when your clothes bunch up around your neck. His fingers subconsciously move to trace the side of your throat. Moving to feel the beat of your pulse beneath his fingertips.

“I’ll bring your bags back in an hour,” he nods once to acknowledge JJ’s words.

“Thank you,” he coughs away the lump in his throat. You’re alive. You’ll be awake in a few hours. You can go home by the end of the week. He forces himself to feel optimistic.

“Get some rest if you can, Reid,” Hotch speaks from where he’s standing nearest to the door.

He nods, opting not to say anything. Unable to make promises.

Your eyes are heavy when you come to. You can feel the crust on your lids. The cool of the AC against your cheek. Slowly, you open your eyes. There’s a painting of a grassy field on the wall in front of you. You turn your head. Spencer has his socked feet up on the armchair. Curling into himself to fit better. He has his focus on your copy of Pride and Prejudice. You can tell it’s yours by the sticky tabs peeking between the pages.

“Spence?” your voice is throaty and hoarse. Struggling to crawl out. He still hears it, anyway.

“Oh, baby,” he drops your book on the chair, moving to sit by your side. His forehead presses against yours, his hands cup your jaw. Spencer presses a kiss on the apple of your cheek.

“You scared me,” he confesses with a whisper.

“I’m okay now,” you bring a hand into his hair. He moves his kisses down to your jaw.

“I was so afraid of losing you.”

You take his kisses as he freely gives them. He hides his face into your neck, kissing where it meets your shoulder. You move your hand down to scratch where his hair ends before his nape. “You could never get rid of me,” you say with a small smile. He presses a kiss where your neck meets your ear.

Right hand on your cheek, left hand going down to grip the flesh below your scapula. Slender thumb and finger pinching the softness behind your armpit. He breathes in the scent of you. Your hand starts to massage the muscle where his neck and shoulder meet. You know that he feels heavy there whenever he gets stressed out. You want to crack a joke at how tense he is, but keep it in and choose to give him comfort instead.

“I love you,” his lips whisper against your skin.

You sigh, the sound making him look up to meet your eyes.

“I was so scared too,” it was your turn to confess.

“You’re okay. We’re both okay,” he moves his hands to take yours into his. You squeeze his hands thrice.

“I asked Hotch to give me time off while you’re on medical leave.”

“You did?”

He squeezes your hand back. Three times like you both always have, and always will.

“I also had to call your family,”

He watches you grimace, “How did they take it?” He gives you a slight wince of a smile.

You let out a sigh, “I’ll call them in a bit.”

“Your mom is taking a flight to Washington,” he informs you.

“That sucks. We won’t have the house to ourselves for at least a month.”

He raises a brow at you, “Why would it matter? You’re not allowed any strenuous activity for three.”

You give Spencer a little pout, chastised that he easily called you out, “That’s just mean.”

He gives you a withering look, “Behave.” He gives you one more kiss on the cheek, moving to stand from your bed. He has to tell the team you’re awake. Taking your phone from the end table, he begins to draft a text.

“I still have my hands, you know.”

He turns to you, caught off guard. Disbelief painting his features.

“You did not just say that,” he says.

You stick a tongue out.

“Stop it. You’re injured,” he says with a slight reprimand.

“So? That didn’t stop us when your knee got shot.”

His mouth falls open, “I can’t believe you.”

“Three months is just a recommendation. You would know.”

You grin at the blush that takes over his face.

taglist: @i-live-in-spite @khxna please feel free to send an ask to be added to my general taglist!

[sh3sa1dwhat]

hey could i request something with spencer where he like stretches and his top lifts up revealing a bit of his tummy and the reader just can’t resist reaching under his shirt and giving a little squeeze, just a cute little moment and maybe someone witnesses and teases them but they don’t care because they are just so in love with each other that it’s almost upsetting to look at 🥹

Spencer's combined stretch and yawn clearly relieve tension that's been building in the profiler's shoulders for god knows how long, but when you reach out to pinch the soft skin of his belly, he yelps in distress.

"Ow! What- you-!" Spencer blinks rapidly at you, somewhere between offended and confused, "Did you just pinch me?"

"Sorry." You shrug, "I saw it so I had to grab it."

Spencer's brows furrow, and you know his impressive brain is recalling a time when he'd heard Morgan schmooze a woman at a bar with those exact words. She'd been delightfully good-natured about the entire thing, and you hope Spencer will follow in her footsteps.

"You're a creep." He decides, "You waited until I was vulnerable, and then you blitz attacked me to incapacitate me so that you could have your way with me."

"That's my M.O," You nod patiently, "What's my motivation?"

"You love me?" He guesses, cheeks beautifully rosy as his voice peters out bashfully.

"That's why you're the BAU's genius," You grin, leaning in to kiss at his warm cheek, "You're always right."

[sh3sa1dwhat]

naww this is really cuteeeee!

maybe I should start wearing Miss Dior 👀👀

pairing: pre-seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader genre: fluff, roommate au warnings: spencer and reader are roommates !!! reader wears Miss Dior. a/n: so very sorry for not posting in so long! got busy with extracurriculars and uni started up again :( big thank you to @januaryembrs and @hotchfiles for reading through this first !! wc: 1.04k

Spencer officially joins the BAU late July once he completed his time at the FBI academy. It wasn’t necessarily fair for the other agents who hoped and prayed that they would be the lucky someone who would get to join the extremely elusive Behavioural Analysis Unit upon graduation, especially because he was the one who was chosen by name by the esteemed Jason Gideon. It also wasn’t necessarily fair to get home after four long egregious months of constant movement and firearm training to his roommate.

“You’re home!” 

He grimaces a little bit, dropping his heavy suitcases and bags at the doorway with a heavy sigh. “I’m exhausted.”

“I’d bet! You’ve got more things than you left with!” You’re beaming, taking his new FBI registered duffle bag out of his hands and into the living room. “Your hair is so long now.”

“I feel like a wet dog,” he grumbles, pushing the strands out of his face. “Were you okay with rent? I’ll pay you back and everything–”

You laugh, shaking your head and pulling him to sit on the couch by the wrists. “It’s okay, Spence, relax. One of my friends needed a temporary place to stay, so I really only needed to pay a couple weeks of rent by myself. You’re probably starving, aren’t you? I’ve got pizza on the way.”

His cheeks burn at the contact, his throat going dry and his head almost as if it’s about to explode. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” you repeat, beaming. Your fingers tug at the FBI windbreaker he’s sporting– big on his shoulders and long at the hips. “This is new. You went shopping without me?”

“Gideon insisted I get more FBI uniform,” he explains hurriedly, “he said it’d made me feel more ‘official’. They didn’t have any more in my size.”

“It’s cute! Give us a spin, Walter.” 

He does it half-begrudgingly, rising from the couch pillows and doing an awkward spin. He used to be used to it, before he went away for four months to train at the academy. He’ll need to get re-used to it, he supposes. 

“You look very official,” you say with genuinity, grinning ear to ear. “Got anything else?”

His nose scrunches in distaste as he sits back down. “There’s meant to be more?”

“The uniform isn’t just a jacket, is it?” You ask with furrowed brows. “The bag is a nice touch, though.”

“They said that I should get the polo, but I don’t think I’d ever wear it,” he explains, going through his things. They’d all need a good wash, he decides, throwing his clothes onto the floor. “There isn’t a uniform policy at the BAU, though. Just to be clean and tidy.”

“You’re already a pro at that, aren’t you, Walter?” 

His cheeks glow at your jest and he kicks at the pile of clothes at his feet. “You don’t think I’m weird, do you?”

“Weird for… being clean and tidy?” You blink, poking at his shoulder. “If that’s what weird is, then I hope there are a lot of other guys who are weird.”

“That’s an oxymoron.”

“Exactly.” He catches your smile as you speak. “It’s not a bad thing to be different. You know that, don’t you?”

“In theory,” he responds vaguely.

You huff, “You ought to remember it with that big brain of yours.”

“There’s no significant correlation between brain size and intelligence,” Spencer reminds you again, shrugging his jacket off. “You should remember that, too.”

*** 

It’s an incredibly cold November morning, just a couple of days after Halloween, and Spencer has been tearing up and down the apartment in search of his windbreaker. The team are set for Alaska this time around, and though his sweaters and wool socks provide some warmth, it was nothing compared to the inner pockets of his FBI assigned windbreaker that hold heat warmers. 

“Have you seen it?” He asks hurriedly, rushing through the living room. “I need to leave in three minutes or I’ll miss my train–”

“Seen what?” You ask, frowning as you fill his travel mug with hot coffee and sugar. “What are you looking for?”

“My jacket,” he explains halfheartedly. “You know the one.”

You let out a breath of a laugh, moving to the bathroom and pulling it off the hook. “Spencer?”

He visibly relaxes, taking it from your hands with a hint of embarrassment. “Oh.”

“You let me borrow it after you picked me up from the Halloween party, don’t you remember?” The corners of your lips quirk upwards in jest as his expression shifts into that of realisation. “I put it behind the door so that you could find it easier. Not that it helped, clearly.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks pink in the light. “Thank you. See you later.”

“See you later,” you agree, and he’s already out the door, his jacket and travel mug in tow.

*** 

“Good morning,” JJ says, her bright blue eyes drowsy with sleep despite her greeting. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Spencer nods, zipping up the windbreaker and snapping the buttons together. Even in Virginia it’s still freezing. He doesn’t want to imagine how cold it’d be in Alaska. 

“Someone smells nice,” JJ chirps with a grin. “Is that– is that Miss Dior?”

“What?” Spencer sniffs, frowning. “Who?”

“The perfume?” She repeats the name, her brows flushed together. “I’m not crazy.”

“Is that Miss Dior?” Hotch asks in bemusement, sniffing the air. He looks at Jennifer with a mix of appreciation and a nod to say good taste. “Haley used to wear it all through college.”

“I’m not wearing it,” JJ insists, shaking her head with a laugh. “Spence?”

He’s barely paying attention to the conversation, frantically Googling an image of whatever the hell Miss Dior is. He’s met with the familiar rectangular bottle with pink liquid and a bow on the neck, something that he’s seen on your dresser multiple times. 

“My roommate,” he groans, covering his face with the palms of his hands. “She borrowed my jacket a couple days ago.”

“Ooh, a lady friend,” JJ snickers, “and she borrowed your jacket. How gentlemanly of you.”

Spencer sends you a long text message about the importance of not spraying perfume on clothes once he gets off the jet.

reblogs are always appreciated !!

[sh3sa1dwhat]

This is stunning and I swear I am only mildly obsessed 😍

Little stupid doodles

[sh3sa1dwhat]

This has made me realise that I need to get me some epic pajamas to wear when I'm sad and eating my sad-girl pasta

Hi! I’m here requesting a one shot AGAIN because I am obsessed with your writing!!😭❤️

Could you do one where Spencer Reid and fem reader work together at the BAU and she is secretly in love with him? And there’s a new woman agent who comes to assist and the agent flirts with Spencer and he enjoys the attention and kind of flirts back, which causes reader to be jealous? With some angst of her getting upset and like leaving the room or leaving the office and just going home or something? And Spence being a little clueless at first as to why. And it could end with him finding out what’s going on and teasing her about being jealous and her having to confess her feelings and him assuring her she has nothing to be jealous about?? (Can you tell my favorite trope is friends to lovers??😅😂)

Obviously you have creative freedom to change whatever you want to make it better. YOURE AMAZING!!

Firstly, I apologize this has taken…. Months. I’m so sorry. This was honestly a super cute prompt and I got halfway done and then couldn’t move forward. 🫠

Nemesis

Summary: When a new agent is assigned to assist the BAU, you’re excited for a new best friend. When she flirts with Spencer though, you decide that friendship isn’t going to happen.

Originally, you had thought the new agent assigned to assist the BAU was going to become your new best friend. Granted Spencer was also your best friend (and secret crush) but it would have been nice to have a female best friend.

Now though, as you watch her brush invisible lint off of Spencer’s shoulder, again, you wonder if you’re getting your first nemesis.

So far, she’s tripped over nothing and just happened to catch herself on Spencer, found a way to take your seat next to him on the jet, and has tried to insert herself into your weekly movie night with Spencer. Twice.

You don’t see that after she catches herself on Spencer, he douses his arm in hand sanitizer, straightening his shirt where she has grabbed him. You don’t notice Spencer staring at you the whole flight you’re not by his side, puzzled over why you look so upset.

You know logically that you’re being dramatic, and she’s just trying to fit in with the new team, trying to ensure she gets to stick around, but you don’t see her trying to crash Emily and Derek’s bar nights. Or going to yoga with Garcia or talking to Rossi about whiskey. She hasn’t even tried to learn about you, unless it also has something to do with Spencer. It all had seemed harmless at first, and you’d managed to avoid having her crash your precious nights spent at Spencer’s place, but you had heard him just tell her “sure, that she’s more than welcome” to come over with you tonight. That he’d text her the address.

It’s the straw that breaks you. You’d thought you were special, being allowed in Spencer’s domain. Most of the team hadn’t even been allowed inside, never mind allowed to stay. He was private, very private. He also hated the phone - but he made an exception to text you fun facts, or call you when you didn’t see each other. You can’t swallow the envy that crawls its way inside you, but you manage to smile and nod when you notice Spencer looking over at you, as if seeing if you’ll object to the invitation he issued. When she hugs him in excitement and he physically blushes, you have to turn around. You don’t notice him awkwardly pull her arms off him, stepping out of her embrace, still watching you, frowning when he watches your shoulders fall.

Instead you’re thinking to yourself that you definitely have a new nemesis. You don’t even care if it’s dramatic.

You decide you’ll ignore your feelings and enjoy your time with Spencer regardless of the new addition. You get to his apartment early, hoping you can snag your normal seat. Unfortunately, it appears the new girl beat you here, and lo and behold, she’s in your spot. Again.

You try to smile through it but you know Spencer knows something is up, although he hasn’t pieced everything together yet. The new agent is talking, and anytime you chime in, she seems to try to dismiss your thoughts, or blatantly ignored them, only caring what Spencer has to say.

And you get it, really you do. Spencer is obviously incredibly intelligent but he’s also kind, funny, soft, an absolute sweetheart, and very, very attractive. If you were her, you’d want to become his new friend as well. But you hope you wouldn’t be as rude and dismissive as this girl was being. Hopefully you had some decency in you, and considering you hadn’t told her to shut up and let you watch the movie in peace, or at least shut up about things not pertaining to the movie, you thought you were being pretty decent.

When a jump scare occurs in the movie and she grabs Spencer’s arm, clinging on to him and moving herself closer, you almost open your mouth to tell her that Spencer doesn’t like to be touched. But instead, you watch as Spencer looks down at her, gives her a flat line smile and turns his attention back to the movie.

You feel sick. It had taken months before Spencer enjoyed your casual touches. But this, this new agent, just had to bat her eyes and he let her do whatever she wanted.

If you hadn’t been so focused on your jealousy, you would have noticed the slight clench of Spencer’s jaw and the way his hand curled into a fist on his other hand, the way his eyes darted to you over the other girls head. Instead, you feel your heart rate increase and your eyes sting as you wonder if you had made your feelings known, if something would be different.

Standing suddenly, you make an excuse that you aren’t feeling well, muttering nonsense apologies for leaving before the movie ends.

Spencer knows you’re lying about why you’re leaving - can tell you’re actually upset but you don’t give him the chance to ask what’s happening before you’re out of his apartment and down the stairs. He tries to follow you but stops, confused just outside his door when you ignore his call of your name.

You don’t know that when he goes back inside, he sits away from the new agent, putting a pillow between them. He knows he isn’t being a good host but he barely responds to her constant talking, giving one word answers, his mind on you and all the times you’ve been withdrawn or sad recently. He doesn’t walk her out, instead giving her a half wave as she leaves, blatantly ignoring her attempt to stay.

His guest hasn’t even made it to her car before he’s grabbing his jacket and his own rarely used car keys, needing to verify why you really left. Needing to make sure you were okay.

He doesn’t know exactly what he’ll say, not sure if he should blurt out his thoughts or verify his hastily thought of theory first, but he knocks incessantly on your door, not stopping until you answer.

When you do, he frowns at your red rimmed eyes and the pajamas you only wear when you’re sad.

“Spencer?” You croak out, clearing your throat.

“You’ve been crying- Why did you really leave? W-what’s wrong?”

You stare at him in disbelief, moving to close the door, “It’s late, Spencer. We can talk about this tomorrow. I’m fine”.

He grabs the door though, his large eyes begging with you to let him in. You hate that he doesn’t need to say anything to get you to do what he wants. Sighing, you open the door, letting him follow you to your couch.

He waits for you to plop down in the corner before he paces, one hand running through his hair. He turns to you, eyes narrowed in thought before sitting next to you, angling his body to face you. Your knees brush, and you hate the way your breath hitches.

“Did I do something?” He asks, quietly. He doesn’t think he did, not technically, but he’s afraid to say what he thinks. He doesn’t want to mess up his friendship with you, even if he wants more.

“No! No, you’re perfect, you’re always perfect. Please, everything’s fine…”

His eyebrows quirk at your words, knowing he is far from perfect and that while you love hearing him ramble, he annoys you sometimes.

You give a weak smile. “Okay, maybe not perfect but… you didn’t do anything wrong”.

Spencer stares at you, becoming more and more sure that his theory isn’t just a theory.

“… Were you jealous?”

You aren’t expecting the question and flinch, eyes going wide.

“Wh-what?” You splutter out, immediately going on the defense. “What could I possibly be jealous of?”

Spencer doesn’t hide the small smirk from you, your blush and stutter confirmation enough.

“You are! You’re jealous of the new agent”.

“No. No, of course not - don’t be ridiculous!”

“Then why did you leave?”

You stand up from the couch, unable to come up with an excuse. You had known that you were crushing on your best friend but having to admit it, to him? You don’t think you can. But then you turn to look at him and his stupid perfect face, with that little smug smirk on it and you just snap.

“Fine! Yes! I hate that little miss newbie can touch you and sit by you and just — It took months for you to hug me and she hasn’t even been here weeks and she’s coming over to our nights and sitting in my seat.”

Your lip wobbles when you finish, hating how juvenile and immature you sound, like a child learning their best friend has other friends. It’s worse when you look at Spencer to see him smiling at you.

He stands, his arms reaching out for you and cupping your face gently.

“You’re dumb sometimes”.

“What?!” Your emotions are a bit all over the place and that is not what you thought he’d say. Before you can get angry though, you see him swallow and then feel him press a tender kiss to your forehead.

It causes you to fall completely silent. His warm breath hits your skin, and you feel him lean back, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. He’s still smiling, softer now, his eyes lit up.

“I already told Hotch that I didn’t think she was a good fit. He agreed. He was going to get your feedback this week.”

You don’t respond, brain still stuck on the forehead kiss. Thankfully, you’re able to stutter out a reply.

“B-but you, you - she touched you, grabbed on to you and has sat next to you and you texted her - you hate texting - and she came over and sat in my seat—”

He leans down and kisses your cheek, then moves to kiss your other cheek, effectively stopping your sputtering. Quietly, he responds, voice soft.

“You’re the only person I want touching me. I was trying to be polite, because she had told me how nervous everyone made her feel. I audited a class she was in last year. She felt more comfortable around me because she thought she knew me. But you’re the only one who really does.”

You hear the explanation, but your mouth doesn’t work immediately.

“… you want me to touch you?” You hear yourself whisper.

Spencer laughs, throwing his head back like a little kid. He gives you a look you haven’t seen before.

“Yes. And I’ll make sure no one ever takes your seat again, okay?”

You nod, unbelieving about the last 20 minutes of your night. You look up at Spencer, still in disbelief to see him looking at you fondly.

“I’d kiss you right now, but those are your sad pajamas, and I can’t let our first kiss be in something you wear when you’re sad.”

“I can strip” you reply immediately, not even thinking about the implication of your words.

He blushes, chuckling before pulling you to his chest, hugging you closely, saying something about taking you on a date instead. You nod your agreement and then hear him whisper above you,

“Can’t believe you thought I’d ever want anyone but you.”

Requester Tag: @fictionallovee

[sh3sa1dwhat]

I would gladly take the murder charge if this is how I kill him

I can't stop thinking munch!spencer x reader who's insecure about having thick thighs (it's me, I'm reader)

take a seat | s.r

hi thank u for requesting!! i tried to be ambiguous about reader’s size but if it doesn’t come across that way lemme know and ill fix it!!!

wc: 1.7k

cw: 18+ smut minors dni, afab reader, face sitting, munch!spencer my beloved, insecure!reader who i took to be a little self indulgent sorry, fluff, hurt comfort but no hurt lol

this is also not proofread sorry

_______________________________________________

the thing about spencer is if you have any fear or qualm about anything, his main verbal form of comfort is information. and it’s not a bad thing, not at all. finding comfort in the facts is what spencer hopes to achieve when he spews his tidbits. it’s just, sometimes it’ll do more harm than good, or even worse, do nothing at all.

that’s where you’re at right now, sitting in spencer’s room with your legs tucked under you while he sits up at the head of the bed. the top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, tie strewn somewhere in the room. you’re still fully clothed albeit in a loose t shirt and some panties. the want in his eyes is undeniable, his question still lingering in the air.

you weren’t exactly the most confident person, but was anyone really? did people really wake up in the morning, look at themselves in the mirror and say, ‘wow, i look beautiful today.”? tell themselves they’re going to have a good day because they said so?

so when you’d spent your whole life living in the shadows trying to blend in and just do your job, one day an ever observant spencer reid saw you struggling to carry your coffee and your bag into the bullpen and came to your rescue before it could spill all over you. you were a mumbling mess, uttering thank you’s and i’m so sorrys and i’ll be more careful next time. but his gaze on you was unwavering, even in the face of your uneasiness, and firmly but softly told you nothing was wrong, and suggested that maybe you and him should get coffee before work to avoid this rush next time.

falling in love with him was too easy after that.

spencer never failed to make you feel cherished, loved, safe, always going above and beyond to care for your needs and wants. the trust you had in him was immense and you knew he would never steer you astray.

so sitting in front of him on his bed while he adorns a small smirk asking, no telling, you to sit on his face, made you falter a bit.

“you want me, to sit on your face?”

he nods, “yeah.”

any thought you’ve ever had vanishes from your brain, “b—but, won’t it be uncomfortable? for you?”

“not at all.”

seeing spencer be surprisingly calm about this is having the opposite effect on you, creating the unsettlement in your gut. like he’s been thinking about this for while, has wanted you at his mercy in a way you haven’t experienced before, has thought through all the facts and possibilities and ruled with absolute certainty that this was what he wanted, needed. and right now your body is betraying your mind as the heat pools between your legs.

but that brain of yours, a blessing with its vast knowledge but a curse at how easily a single thought can send you into a deep spiral, is working overtime to convince you that this isn’t really what he wants.

he can see the cogs working overtime and scoots closer to you and places a comforting hand on your thigh to rub soothing shapes with his thumb, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“nothing i-“ you stop before you can get too deep.

his eyes look at you expectantly, luring you to continue.

“what if i hurt you?”

“that is literally impossible.”

“what if i suffocate you?”

“then that would be a great way to go out.” he chuckles.

you lightly slap his leg, “stop that.”

he gestures you closer to sit curled into his side, a comforting arm smoothing you up and down. “if you really don’t want to do it that’s okay i don’t want to push you, just want you to feel good s’all.”

you ponder for a minute, “…you would tell me if it’s too much right?”

“i would,” he nods, “but i won’t need to.”

he squeezes your hand in reassurance, and you remember that spencer reid would never lie to you.

which is why you say, “okay.”

his eyes light up like a carnival, “yeah?”

you take a deep breath, “yeah.”

“come here,” cupping your cheek to bring in and kiss you.

it starts off slow, deliberate. like he wants you to know how much he appreciates you placing your trust in his possession, and how gently and carefully he’s going to take care of it.

you hike a leg over his lap to straddle him and wrap your arms around his neck, letting his lips mark you like a road map. he moves down your jaw and uses his nose to nudge your neck away, giving him better access to litter the skin with love bites.

the moans spilling from your mouth spur him on, he starts subconsciously bucking his hips up causing you to grow restless for more.

he senses this and motions for you to lift up on your knees above him so he can slide his body down flat between your legs. the warm palms of his hands rest where your thighs meet the swell of your ass.

you look down at the sight of him laid out for you, and catch his shit eating grin staring back. the dichotomy this position gives you with a sense of power to be over him like this but the vulnerability at feeling so exposed caused a swirl of emotions for you.

“hey,” he squeezes his palms laid on your ass, “if this is a lot, that’s okay.”

“no, no.i think i want this. i’m just scared.” you softly admit.

“nothing to be scared of, angel. it’s not like i haven’t eaten you out before, it’s just a different position,” his hands move closer to your core, “let me make you feel good, please.”

you stare into his eyes once more, being met with nothing but trust and lust for you. with a deep breath, you nod your head.

he smirks again, “alright sweetheart, take a seat.”

you slowly inch your body up his own, hearing him outwardly groan as your cunt came into his line of sight.

“jesus fuck, you have the prettiest pussy.”

you preen at his words once you’ve reached the position, and you hover in hesitation. he wraps his arms under and around your legs and gently pulls you down.

and he attacks you like a man starved. his tongue licking a full stripe up your cunt, letting it swirl around your clit. the feeling is so intense in this position you have to lean forward and brace yourself on the headboard.

with a gasp you whine out his name, “oh my god, fuck.” he continues to use his tongue to barrel you towards your peak, knowing exactly where to touch and lick to rile you up.

he can tell you’re still holding back, feeling the tense muscles in your upper thighs harden under his touch. with a sharp tug he pulls you to be seated fully on his face, and he lets out a deep groan that vibrates through your whole body.

you’re fully at his mercy now, held down by his large hands and his mouth working so hard to make you see stars. the pleasure is overtaking all of your senses, when you look down to meet his eyes they’re staring right back at you, reveling in your ecstasy. a languished moan leaves you as you tangle your hands in his hair and pull.

he laps up your arousal with urgency, tongue moving in such a delicate and intricate way you would think he’s writing a love letter with it.

the coil in your gut starts to tighten and you can feel your peak coming fast, “spence…” you whine.

he hums in response, silently acknowledging what you mean. one more slow lick up and down your slit was all it took to push you overboard. the endorphins rush over you like a tsunami as you try to ride out the wave of your orgasm.

spencer doesn’t stop his motions and continues to work your overly sensitive clit, gripping your legs tighter to him as he prevents you from escaping.

“shit, oh god baby, you need to st—stop.” you brokenly moan out. you tug on his hair hard as you try to release his grip on you, and after a few minutes he takes pity and lets you go.

you let out a big and tired sigh as you flop to the side of him, one leg still draped over him as you’re both panting heavily, attempting to come down from the heat of the moment.

he smoothes out the leg over him with his hand and turns to face you, face plastered with a stupid grin and glistening with you.

“see? that wasn’t so bad.”

you scoff breathlessly, “i think maybe you’re trying to kill me.”

“maybe,” he laughs, “ but you liked it right?”

you nod bashfully, “did you…like it?”

his eyes widen, “are you kidding? you looked so hot it drove me insane. you’re always so beautiful but having you like that…i like making you feel good, it makes me feel really good, and that is a win-win.”

you smile at him and move closer to fit under his arm and into his side, your hand resting on his chest. he tightens his arm around you and whisper, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you say through hooded eyes. your hand starts trailing lower, “must have been really good for you seeing how painful this looks.” you softly say, gesturing to the aching bulge in his boxers, the dark patch stained by precum.

his breath hitches as you inch closer, “baby, no it’s okay. you don’t have to do th—“ the sentence gets cut off when your hand gives him a tentative squeeze.

“i don’t have to, but i want to. i should thank you somehow for making me feel so good,” your voice dropping an octave in lust, “will you let me show my thanks, honey?”

you stare at him with the sultriest doe eyes he’s ever seen, and he’s thoroughly convinced in that moment that you are, in fact, trying to kill him.

still a great way to go out, he thinks.

[sh3sa1dwhat]

This is everything 🥺🥺🥺

need you now | 2 |

in which readers true feelings are revealed.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings/tags: angst again (whoops) miscommunication (it’s short dw) fluff, reader is hungover lol, spencer is handsomely disheveled (moans) mentions of blueberry muffins being readers favourite type of muffin (sorry for not being vague but also if you don’t like blueberry muffins??? why) some tears, some swearing, some kissing, suggestiveness at the end of you squint (WHOOPS *evil smirk*) no use of y/n!! wc: 2.1k a/n: call me slim shady because i am back!!! i procrastinated writing this because i was scared everyone was secretly judging my writing and actually hated it and a second part would be a stupid idea but THEN i realised that was a little bit silly so im here B) part one got over 1000 notes (INSANE) all the support has been so so lovely—every note, reblog, and comment means the world to me, thank you!! i hope this part is okayy, feedback is always appreciated :) i hope you enjoy it you choose to read!!! <3 p.s kissing scenes are so difficult to write, i think i done absolutely awful!!!so let’s ignore that…. if you haven’t already and you’d like to, you can read part one here!

Your eyelids twitched as the early morning sun filtered through your bedroom. What was usually a calming wake-up call now felt like being blinded.

You burrowed your face into your pillow, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to dull the throbbing in your head. This is why you didn’t drink often.

Asides from the obvious headache and nausea, you always seemed to wake up with a sense of dread; ‘hangxiety’—a friend had called it once. It was creeping up on you now, and even though you weren’t sure exactly what you had done, you knew it was bad. You flipped onto your back, fixing your gaze to the ceiling as if it could tell you what irreparable mistakes you had made last night.

It couldn’t, of course. The only thing you had realised is that you should probably coat it in a new layer of paint soon.

“How’re you feeling?”

You shot up, eyes widening at the sight of a man in your doorway. A man whose sleepy voice and disheveled hair threatened to make you melt, but a man who should not be in your doorway, nonetheless; Spencer.

Your brain was quick to supply you with information then, your memory coming back in hazy remnants. You were upset so you…called Spencer for the first time in months. Yikes. He didn’t answer so you turned to a bottle of high end whiskey instead—yikes, again—and passed out on your couch, only to wake up to your ex-boyfriend in your apartment. Cue more sobbing, a pathetic attempt at asking—no, more like begging—him to get back together with you, and that was it. Well, mostly. There was also the promise of discussing your breakdown in the morning. The morning, which was now.

What the fuck.

“Like I’ve been napalmed.” You weren’t sure you were just referring to your raging hangover.

That prompted a raspy kind of chuckle from him and Jesus Christ—you really shouldn’t have called, because it was going to be infinitely harder to watch him leave when he inevitably told you you were sad loser who needed to get a grip and move on—except, he’d be a lot nicer than that, wouldn’t he? Because even if things were over between you, he was still the sweetest person you had ever met and he’d never say anything to intentionally hurt you. Maybe things would be easier if he did. If he wasn’t so sickeningly perfect—if he just insulted you in the way you were certain you deserved, then maybe you’d get over him quicker.

“So, I-ah-uber’d breakfast—“

Your inner turmoil came to a screeching halt at those words.

“You uber’d? You?”

He scoffed, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“The team’s been very into it lately and I always finish my paperwork first so it only makes sense that I—stop laughing! I can uber!”

“Sorry! I just can’t imagine the great Doctor Reid stooping to the levels of a fast food delivery app. Do you ever order to the wrong place?”

“No.” he said, unconvincingly. “Well, only once—“

You were laughing again.

He whined, turning on his heel.

“Just take your aspirin and hurry up!” He grumbled petulantly as he left the room, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

After a quick freshen up and taking the pills placed on your bedside table—as per his request—you padded through to the living room, joining Spencer on the couch.

You gasped delightedly as he pulled out muffins from a brown paper bag. To be more specific, blueberry muffins; your favourite.

“Did you know that blueberries are good for fighting hangovers? They’re rich in vitamin C, which helps break down and metabolise blood alcohol. Muffins too, they—what? Do I have something on my face—“

“No! No, sorry,” You had been caught staring—ogling, more like. “I just missed…that.”

“What? My incessant rambling?” He was joking, but you could hear the insecure twinge in his voice—the one that told him he was too much. Over the course of your relationship, you had showed him that he didn’t have to think like that around you—that he was never too much; he was perfect in your eyes. You hated that he doubted that now.

“Yes, actually.” You tried to keep your tone light, unserious. But there was nothing unserious about just how badly you had missed the man sitting beside you. How you could hear his voice in your mind when you drove late at night, giving you statistics on accidents. Or how on other late nights, you swore you could feel his hands ghosting over your skin—only to find out it was your imagination.

If he could see how truthful you were being, he didn’t acknowledge it, turning his attention back to the coffee table.

“I’ll, um, save you the facts on how beneficial coffee is for hangovers, anyway.” He smiled awkwardly, shuffling a paper coffee cup to where your muffin sat.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, “for the coffee, not the withholding of information—i’m a real fiend for coffee facts…especially when they’re related to curing hangovers!” You said a little too cheerily, trying to alleviate the awkward tension. Although, that only seemed to make it worse.

Spencer just huffed out a little laugh in response, taking the wrapper off of his muffin.

The rest of breakfast went by in silence. Not the comfortable silence you always seemed to have with Spencer—when you were together, you reminded yourself—but a strained one. The kind of silence that occurs when there’s something left unsaid, and you’re just waiting for someone to spit it out.

Spencer broke first.

“So we should probably talk…about last night.”

You finished the remainder of your coffee, setting the empty cup down before turning your whole body to Spencer, tucking your legs up underneath you.

“Right, yeah…”

A beat passed, Spencer’s eyes darting around your face—assessing you.

For someone who had imagined this conversation in your mind countless times, you certainly weren’t saying much.

“I—uh…was very drunk.”

Something in him shifted, like he was putting up imaginary walls.

“So you didn’t mean…any of it?” His brow furrowed, his nose twitching slightly.

“Well no, but I—“ You what? Meant every word you said and more? You couldn’t just say that. You had just got a small part of Spencer back and you didn’t want to ruin it by coming on too strong.

He waited for you to add something, anything, to show him that maybe, maybe there was a tiny part of you that still wanted him as badly as he wanted you. But you didn’t. You just sat there, playing with the fabric of your—his—t-shirt.

He couldn’t do it.

He was so tired of loving people only for them to leave like he had meant nothing to them. Was that all he was to you? Someone you could call when your inhibitions were lowered, looking for comfort? He would do anything to be back in your life again, but he couldn’t be a person of convenience; someone you only wanted when you were lonely.

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing down the tightness in his throat.

“You were drunk and you got carried away, I get it. I think I better go though—“

“What? No, I—“ You bobbed your mouth like a fish, trying to find the words necessary to keep him here. There were too many of them and yet none at all. None except for three. Three words that you wished you had the courage to say months ago, or weeks ago, or last night. But you never claimed to be a courageous person, and you weren’t about to spill your heart out again only for it to end up in rejection.

Spencer stood, making his way to your bedroom to grab his shoes and coat. He didn’t care about his other clothes, he could buy more—he just needed out before he broke.

You sat dumbfounded on the couch, willing yourself to do something, say something. It was like you were frozen. And you stayed frozen. As Spencer shuffled around your bedroom, as he returned to the living room—completely avoiding your gaze—even as he searched for his keys. You hadn’t realised he had driven over here. He didn’t usually drive unless he had to get somewhere urgently. Were you someone worth seeing urgently to him?

He picked up his keys, heading for your door and only then did you realise how dire the situation was. If he left now you weren’t sure he would ever come back.

“No—wait, Spencer!” You stammered, lunging off the couch to try and stop him. He unlocked the door, moving to leave when you grabbed onto his jacket sleeve.

“Please don’t—I love you!”

“What?”

He turned to face you and you noticed just how wrecked he looked—not at all dissimilar from how you had for the last few months. Had he looked like that the whole time?

You must’ve been staring because when you came back to your senses he was calling your name exasperatedly.

“Do you mean it?”

You were fed up living like this; harbouring so much love for someone and not being able to express it. Even if he didn’t love you back, even if he was over you, you couldn’t go another moment without at least telling him how you felt.

“Yes,” you heaved, “I love you—I never stopped loving you, I was just…” You knitted your brows together, unsure how to phrase what you were feeling.

“I’ve never loved someone the way I love you and that’s…terrifying. I thought the way I felt was wrong, like—when you were on cases, I missed you so much, more than I thought humanely possible and—well, I never wanted to be the kind of girl to base her happiness on another person because that’s how you get hurt. So, I thought the only way to combat that was by…distancing myself. I thought if you weren’t in my life anymore then I’d be able to get a grip and become more independent—“ you huffed, trying to stop the wobble of your voice. “but it didn’t work, because then I was just missing you twice as much, except I couldn’t see you at all—“

“You could’ve answered my messages, we could’ve—“

“So you could return your key? Then things would actually be over. Why do you think I ignored your messages?”

“Why do you think I kept messaging? Angel, I was never going to return that key—at least not willingly—I just wanted to see you, to see if you were doing just as horribly without me as I was without you. You know, I couldn’t even focus on cases—Hotch even suggested I take some time off.”

You frowned, your voice impossibly small. “I’m sorry.”

He took a step toward you, cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“Don’t apologise, you were dealing with your emotions in the best way you knew how. I just wish…” he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I wish I hadn’t let you go so easily.”

His eyes were shining and—God, you wished you could take it all back. All the pain you had caused him, caused yourself, just because you were too scared to talk about your feelings.

“I wish I hadn’t left.” You blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes. “Y’know, I read a book on astrophysics because it reminded me of you. I didn’t understand any of it but I couldn’t put it down. I still—“ you let out a watery chuckle. “still have it in my bedroom somewhere.”

Spencer smiled, swiping under your eye at a tear that must’ve escaped.

“Yeah? Maybe I can read it to you—help you understand it.”

“I’d like that.”

You didn't know much about celestial bodies or the ultimate fate of the universe, but you could've sworn you'd seen the stars pictured in that book in Spencer’s eyes when he looked at you.

“Say it again.” He mumbled, tilting his head down so that your faces were just inches apart.

“I love you.”

And then his lips were on yours, impossibly soft and everything you had been missing since you had broken up. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed and all you could do was sigh into him because you knew the feeling.

He leaned back all too soon, resting his forehead against yours.

“Well, I should probably go—“ He smirked, but you cut him off before he could continue his teasing.

“You’re not funny.”

He narrowed his eyes, sucking his teeth.

“I don’t know, I—“

You pressed a firm hand on his chest, bunching the cotton of his t-shirt into a fist.

“Stop. Stay—we can have a pyjama day and maybe for dinner, you can show me just how tech savvy you’ve become and uber us some food—“

He rolled his eyes, kicking the door shut before pressing his lips to yours with more force this time.

“Stop talking.”

[sh3sa1dwhat]

I have just one word...

YES

the theory of love ; intimacy (18+)

Spencer Reid x BAU Reader

TLDR: reader feels insecure about measuring up to Spencer's intelligence, Spencer tells her about Plato's Theory Of Love, and we all learn what intimacy is: SMUT! 18+ MDNI but it does cut off before anything really happens - angst, fluff, smut - 6159 words

Warnings: MDNI 18+ sexual themes and content below (fingering for legit one second at the end) talk of boring your partner, mentions of God and stuff - honestly don't think there's many considering the wordcount but please let me know if more, i'm happy to add and change xx

Notes: Second Person, no y/n because it's 2024 and I can't keep reading about Yename. Fem reader. This takes place over a random episode around season 9 and then the opening of season 10. Pleease don't go into this expecting a full smut scene, it's written for the intimacy

-

Doctor Spencer Reid.

The first thing you’d ever said to him was, ‘Doctor, huh? I guess that makes you the brains around here’, and the first thing he’d ever said to you was, ‘Well, I do have three PhDs and an IQ of one-eighty-seven, but everybody here has their merits’.

It stunned you, as it would stun any normal person.

You feel like you’re smart. You have to be smart to get into the FBI, and the BAU is a pretty exclusive, coveted unit to join – they don’t let you walk in with a shiny face and a promise to try your very, very best. Behavioural analysis is still a niche area – some might say a pseudoscience – but that was part of the appeal for you. It’s weird. It’s about interpretation and meaning and the depth behind every action and aspect of a person’s life. It’s about the why.

You have always asked the question why.

Your bond with the team grew well with time. You liked to keep your past to yourself, as everybody did, but you helped keep things light and affectionate and warm in the face of gore and tragedy and horror. It’s something to be admired. Truly. It takes bravery to be earnest and kind when you stare into the void of torment every day.

Spencer made that easier, though. It was hard to be less than tender with him around.

Six months into the BAU, Spencer fell asleep next to you on the jet. As you landed, you woke him with a hand on the knee and a soft shake, and his hand found yours and clung to it briefly as he stirred to consciousness, then snatched it away in realising what he’d done.

Rossi’s brows raised.

“So much for pathogens, huh?” he remarked.

“I’m sorry, I was asl-, I wasn’t thinking, sorry,” he pat your hand again in a ramble of apologies, “uh, sorry! Sorry for that one, too, sorry for both.”

“It’s fine.” You said, all too amused, “Most action I’ve had in months.”

Rossi laughed, and looked to Derek, whose head shook in delight. Spencer stuttered to say something like, it wasn’t action, I wasn’t – um – putting an action on you, but it made no sense, and he thought he’d messed it up enough anyway, so blushed and rubbed his sleepy eyes, and made a silent pact to keep his hands to himself.

You asked him out two days later.

And now, you are nine months into dating. Nine blissful months of teasing and taunting and smiles that say it’s all done with love, alongside quiet conversations, borrowed sweaters, and testing the line of PDA; not just between you and Spencer in private, but with how much you two could get away with in the workplace.

Turns out the line is drawn somewhere between a hand on the base of your spine when you and Spencer are close, and wrapping your arms around Spencer’s neck as he sits at his desk.

You settled into your own rhythm. Your lives became… exclusive… in this kind of special, intimate way. It was in how your eyes would search for the other in a room, or you’d subconsciously count the seconds you were apart, and how soft comments were exchanged just for you and him but dismissed as ‘nothing’ to anybody whose curiosity had been piqued.

Undoubtedly, he is the smartest boyfriend you’ve ever had; the smartest person you’ve ever known.

And it’s always difficult, with Spencer, to find the line between complimenting his intelligence and valuing his gifts, and chalking him up to being a walking, talking brainbox that has nothing else to offer.

That, and… in a horrible way, you wonder if a guy like Spencer, with all his wisdom and knowledge, would, at some point, notice that you don’t quite make the cut of ‘genius’. You’re a crystal formed of something else. Wit, maybe. Light, possibly. But not genius. No. Not genius.

When you met, despite his awkwardness, you pictured his type being a carbon copy – maybe a clone he brewed in his kitchen – or some sophisticated, intelligent, mellow person who could match his genius and keep him grounded – maybe a university professor, or a researcher. Finding out he was single was both obvious and impossible at the same time.

Not that it mattered anymore.

He was yours.

Right?

A few days ago, Spencer greeted you with a kiss on the top of the head and a question about twerking.

“I don’t twerk, baby, sorry.”  You said, sipping your morning coffee as he settled at his desk opposite yours, dashing in his lilac shirt and dark tie, brows scrunching as a short sigh leaves him. “I mean, I can start practicing, but I doubt it would really do anything for you – it’s not exactly impressive.” You vaguely gesture to your behind.

Spencer spent the time tidying up his desk and found a stray pencil, which he had inspected – God knows for what – and then toyed with as you spoke.

“You always impress me.” swivelling in his seat, he smiled innocently, eyes glinting at you.

How do you impress the 187-eidetic-dorkazoid? What is there to bring to the table that could, in any way, impress him?

You swallowed the compliment like a stone and scratched your head, turning back to his initial question as a pathetic means of escape.

“Believe me, I’m better off on my own two feet, avoiding all forms of dance. I’m unstable enough as it is… and undignified.” You smirked, taking in his appearance, “I like your shirt.”

“Thanks,” he suppressed a grin, “I thought you’d like it. It’s – uh – why I picked it out.”

“You have good taste. Or I do.” your gaze traced his shirt and then his hair, bohemian and wavy, “You look handsome today. Too handsome. I might have to do something about it.”

He paused in his spinning, his brows raised, and his lips get trapped in a bashful smile. He shuffled his chair to close the gap between you slightly.

“Well…” he scratched his scalp with his pencil, “I missed you last night, so…”

“That’s you sneaking into my hotel room tonight, right?”

“Keep it down – I don’t want a disciplinary on my file.” Spencer blushed.

Rossi’s infamous past decades before meant that couples in the BAU couldn’t officially be paired together in hotel rooms, but that didn’t stop you from trying, and Hotch’s preference was to turn a blind eye to it.

Anyway.

Earlier today.

Nevada.

Frozen corpses found floating in bodies of water.

After a briefing, you’d all taken to the jet.

Rossi, Kate, Hotch, and Spencer all sat around a table, whilst Derek and JJ stood, and you slumped over the back of Spencer’s chair, peering over at their papers, fingers not so subtly toying with his hair. The slight, tactless tilt of his head kept his locks firmly within your reach.

“We should also build a suspect pool based on boat ownership. How many boats are there on Lake Mead?” Hotch asked, turning to Spencer.

“One thousand, nine hundred and eight.”

That’s my boy, you thought, and your lips perked in a smirk at the random fact, your thumb swiping a little firmer across his head like a praise.

“Come on, you just know that?” Kate asked.

There were a million times where you’d pondered the same thing, but overtime, grew to accept it – it’s comforting, in a way, to have somebody so close who knows so much.

A beat of quiet passed.

“Yeah. There are one-thousand-nine-hundred-and-eight boats on Lake Mead.” He said it so simply, as if he was saying ‘the sky is blue’.

Kate closed her file, dark eyes daring him.

“Where’d you get that number?” she asked, voice firm.

Rossi glanced your way and a smirk lined his lips.

“Based on the population density of the area, I… estimated.”

Rossi grabbed his phone then.

“You guessed.” Kate perked up, and suddenly the whole thing felt a lot sharper – more… personal, in a way, not that you hadn’t wanted to smack Spencer on the shoulder every once in a while, for knowing absolutely everything – “I mean, is this guy really a genius, or does he just say things with authority, and we all believe him?”

You’ve always been a bit like a guard dog.

Spencer really didn’t hold grudges. He’s too good for it. You, however, have never claimed to be too good to take a feeling to the grave. It was Spencer who told you to let it go after Alex Blake’s ‘Aspergers’ comment because you were making things uncomfortable. Good, you’d said, I want her uncomfortable. He petted your head and said, very nicely, ‘stop it, sweetheart’, and that was the end of that. Sometimes, you wonder if you hold resentments so he doesn’t have to. Maybe it’s because you’re the more emotional of the two of you, or you see something precious in Spencer that needs protecting.

Guard dog.

“Oh wow, thank you,” Derek said, “ten years!” Derek and Kate fist-bumped and your strokes along Spencer’s hair slowed, “It took ten years for someone to finally have my back. All right, Einstein, she just called you out. Bring it.”

Spencer, however, didn’t seem all that bothered.

“Look it up!” he said simply; the confidence of which, had it not been clouded by the grudge forming in your stomach, would’ve typically had you blushing.

Rossi tapped on his phone.

“I am.” He said.

A moment of quiet.

“And the kid’s right.”

Derek sighed dejectedly, and Spencer – smug, unusually – turned to Kate.

“I accept your apology.” He said simply.

Kate glanced at him with an entertained defeat.

After Derek declined a fist bump and Hotch offered one in return, Spencer reached up to find your fingers in his hair and stroked along your knuckles – an acknowledgement of your presence, of your affection.

Your gaze drifted from Kate and you toyed with Spencer’s hair, a short sigh leaving you.

He really is smart, you thought, and you’d blindly accepted it as somewhat normal in your weird little life, but it’s extraordinary. Like really. No wonder Gideon took him under his wing. Imagine what he’d know by fifty.

Your hand abandoned his hair, and you slumped back in your own chair, finding your file.

Really extraordinary.

You couldn’t even remotely guess how many boats there are on Lake Mead. Without this case, you wouldn’t know where Lake Mead is. You’ve yet to admit the team that you’re not sure you know all fifty states, and you found out an embarrassing nine months ago that New Orleans is not in fact its own state – nor is Boston, or Seattle.

There’s also two Washingtons?

Either way, regardless of your knowledge, or lack thereof, on America as a country, you certainly don’t challenge him mentally. If anything, sometimes you worry he thinks you lack intelligence completely. It was him who told you New Orleans is in Louisiana, after all, and you’re grateful he’d told you on the downlow rather than barking it out. It’s difficult never being the smartest person in the room; never being the most of anything. You wonder what it is he sees in you at all – what your value is, your worth.  

So, that night, settling into Nevada, you spend far too much time in your bathroom, doing an everything shower, plucking your brows, scrubbing your skin until it’s beyond exfoliated and is more like carpet burn, and slather yourself in a moisturiser. Your hair, scrunched in a towel, forms a temporary curl. You might find your worth in the shine of your skin or the arch of your brow.

It’s late. Too late. You wonder if Spencer is coming at all.

Just as you search for your phone, there’s a gentle knock on the door – a rhythmic tune that could’ve been half as short and gotten your attention just the same, but it’s Spencer’s little way of declaring himself.

You open the door for him. Even with all your obviousness, he still peers up and down the hall anxiously, like you might be caught, like anybody would care.

Adorned in a sweater, he beams at you, eyes heavy with a need for sleep.

“Hey pretty,” his eyes trail your frame and his lips perk in a smirk, and you widen the door for him, “your room’s better than mine.” He mumbles, peering around, “I don’t even have a window, and they’re more likely to have stagnant air with high levels of pollutants and a decreased level of oxygen over time. And mould.” He frowns at the last part.

“No mould in here, just me.” You smile as you shut the door, leaning against it.

You don’t mean to sound self-deprecating; you’re not actually sure where it comes from, but Spencer tuts and ruffles your hair, then pets it smooth again.

“You look nice.” he says, gazing at you dreamily – if he weren’t stone-cold sober, you might’ve thought him drunk with how he looks at you – his thumb reaching up to your cheek.

It’s the tilt of your head that encourages his hand to cradle your cheek completely.

“Thank you.” You say.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I got caught up with something.”

Government reports, you groan internally – he’d once criticised your lack of knowledge on the water quality in your area.

“It’s all right, I just missed you, that’s all.”

It comes out quieter than you intend.

Spencer’s brows crease as he slouches on the end of the bed, and you step into the gap between his legs to brush your fingers through his hair.

Missing somebody is a dangerous thing, you think. To feel somebody’s absence so deeply. It’s truly a weapon to be wielded; Spencer could really hurt you if he wanted, but he never would. Maybe that’s why you missed him so much.

“You feeling all right?” he rasps.

“Yeah, I’m tired,” you smile softly, kissing his hairline, “long day.”

“Yeah, these times zones really mess with us, huh?”

Spencer’s fingers wrap the backs of your legs, caressing your lower thighs, thumbs tracing absent lines – drawings, perhaps, or equations more likely – on the delicate surface of your buffed skin. You are marble.

“I swear it’s a capitalist lie.”

“Actually, time zones were decided in eighteen-eighty-four following Sandford Fleming’s proposal six years prior about dividing the world into twenty-four different zones, and a conference held in DC decided Greenwich, England was the prime meridian. There’ve been some adjustments since but generally modern time zones stick to the decision of the International Meridian Conference,” his fingers flicker about your skin as though using your body to demonstrate, as though you might learn better this way, and it heats up your face a lot more than it should, “with some of the primary reasons being the development of the modern railway as well as global trade.”

“Mhmm.” You mumble, lips pressed together.

“What?” he asks, all innocent.

“Nothing,” you say, begrudgingly shifting from between his legs so you can straddle him instead, and his eyes widen and flutter about your face, hands adjusting to drag up the length of your thigh, across the band of your underwear, and up to clasp your hips in one smooth, synchronised motion, “you’re hot when you’re talking about time zones.”

“E-explicitly time zones?”

“No, no,” you mumble, coiling his hair about his ear and kissing him briefly – gently – your exhaustion rendering you both placid against his oblivious affects and much too tired to do anything spirited about it, “you’re hot talking about anything and everything,” he smiles all proud when you say this, and you take an extra strand of time to stroke his cheek and play with his hair, “but it does sound like they were brought in because of capitalism.”

“I – well – I guess so.” He stammers, “But they’re pretty handy.”  

His lips meet yours again and his grip tightens on your hips, sliding up the narrowest point of your waist. When he kisses you like that – slow, patient, savouring you like he’s overly aware of the infinity of time before and after you, and how your time shared is a blink of light in the overwhelming darkness – you forget where you are, who you are, and that there was ever a part of your life before him.

“I love you.” You mumble, eyes flicking about his face, and his doing the same in return, as though every moment apart is spent memorising the other.

“I love you too.” He swallows, brows raising, “Probably more than I care to admit.”

Your expression softens at him. Spencer always feels a pang of pride when he can crack through your raised brows or expressive eyes and get deep into your heart.

But you find yourself again quickly.

“Probably?” you tsk, “Gonna need more certainty than that, Doctor Reid.”

He sighs, head softly shaking at you.

There is no ‘probably’ about it, he knows that. He decides maybe you need to know it too.

“You want certainty?”

Your brow flicks up at him.

Even birds demand a nest. The most unsettled of creatures still build homes – constants – for themselves along the way. Though they might never land again, there is the knowledge that they can, and they can do so safely.

Loving Spencer is like that.

You are wild. You find comfort in thrashing waves and stormy skies. Spencer built a nest for you to land when the turbulence became too much to bear, even for your strong, daggered wings.

You nod softly.

You see the cogs turning in his brain as he decides what to do with you.

“I’ll give you certain.”

His fingers lace the base of your t-shirt, toying with the fabric between his fingertips, like an experiment, his mind collecting details for later, and for a moment the act is not about you at all – that is, until, he looks deep into your gaze with his hazel eyes, a decision having settled in his blown pupils.

“Can we take this off?”

“You could do whatever you wanted.” You smile sweetly against him, eyeing his lips as he talks.

“Then I’m not about to take advantage of the privilege.”

Your eyes roll, though it’s in pure bashfulness at his comment; he has no idea how he is. Not a clue.

“Yeah, you can take it off.”

Spencer smiles at your agreement, fingers grasping the end of your shirt, and lifting it gently over your frame. Your arms raise in the air and before your top has fully cleared your head of hair, his lips find your neck; at first, you think, the kisses will be harsh and laced with Spencer’s deepest hunger, only to find they’re slow, heavy, and completely intentional in their placement. Your soft inhales, fluttering lashes, and tensing of your thighs around his are all catalogued in his infinite memory.

“Love,” he mumbles, gripping your hips, helping you find relief from the aching between your legs against his lap, “in our brains, is like a – uh – lab experiment of different chemicals.” you tremble against his breath brushing your skin, and your hand finds comfort in his brown curls once again, “Oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin… but you already knew that, because you’re a smart girl.”

You swear some part of you dies and is resurrected.

Spencer’s knack for calling you just the right thing at the right time is to be marvelled at. He knows which name will soften you, which will embolden you, which will ignite the sparkler of yearning in the pit of your stomach.

“But… in literature… in art – more your speed than mine – in philosophy, Plato proposed the theory of love. You know about that?” he asks.

You search for your voice. He pulls away to help you find it, but his hazel gaze on yours makes it no easier. His head slightly cocks as he awaits your response patiently, palms rubbing back and forth your hips.

You pause your motions.

“Uh…” you gulp, “the one about… how we were split down the middle?”

He smiles at you.

“Yeah.” He says, fingers stroking your cheek as a reward.

Spencer admires your body straddling him, how your throat blossomed with tiny red marks that would fade within the hour, trailing your angular collarbones and the slope of your torso and how your ribs expand with each shallow inhale. His gaze returns to yours, of course, as it always does.

“Plato proposed,” he kisses your shoulder, his hands sharper – more pointed – sliding up your waist, and in a delicate move, he lays you down on your back and finds a home between your parted legs, “back in the ancient days of Gods and monsters and heroes, we had roamed the Earth as two people in one – like with four arms, four legs, two faces, and one big old heart. Humans were disorderly,” he lays a kiss to your throat, “and disobedient.”

“I’m not disobedient.” You grumble.

“I didn’t say you were.” He chuckles gently, “Why, did it feel directed?”

“Yes.” You smirk.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Spencer rasps, and he hovers above you, long enough for your own grip to find the base of his sweater, and his eyes roll as he shifts to take it off, “needy.”

“Maybe.” you proclaim, “Such a bad thing?”

“Again, I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth tonight.”

His eyebrows pinch as he glances at you, all in jest.

Your cheeks burn red. Typically, you’d never let him get away with that, but you’re very distracted with your own government report and so let him win on this occasion.

“’m sorry.” You mumble.

“You don’t need to be sorry. Now, where was I?” he mutters, “The humans threatened to storm the heavens and take the power for themselves. The gods, afraid – or maybe, just proud – decided something had to be done.”

He hooks the band of your underwear.

“What about these?”

“What about them?” you drearily ask.

“Sweetheart…”

“Yeah, fine.”

His fingers work your underwear off one leg and then the other, and he tosses them aside before returning to lingering above you, then planting kisses down your collarbone and décolletage. His touch is always a reminder that he’s right here. It’s never driven or rushed or like its sole purpose is accelerating you both to the end. His touches are for you. He is for you.

In your infinite curiosity, you tame your thoughts and body as best you can to hear his story. In your pitiful human nature, your hips rise, searching for him, and a soft gasp escapes your lips when you do find him. Spencer smiles against your skin. His palm traces the delicate curve of your spine and trails down to the small of your back, cradling you.

“So… Zeus, the god of thunder… he cut the humans right down the middle and ripped them in half,” Spencer’s fingers, having traced the lines and contours of your delicate frame on the chalky sheets of the bed, now drape the dip down from your heart to your stomach, “leaving them to wander the world, yearning, on two legs, with two arms and half a heart.”

The rise and fall of his voice renders you hypnotised, your body moving on its own, your hands shifting from his hair to his arm to the cool sheets that soften every twitch you haven’t noticed.

“They say the scar of such violence – and a reminder of our disobedience and what can be taken from us – is our belly button. The Gods separated us across the world, across universes and dimensions and time, like a dandelion in a storm.”

To end your suffering, his hand navigates the contours of your hip and thigh to where you need it most, and your hips jerk up, and Spencer’s face leaves your torso to observe you, his gaze absorbing your expression in a blend of amusement and adoration. He lingers just on the outskirts. A slight twitch would finally curb your craving.

But you’re being patient. Unusually. You’ve been lured into a submission so soft that you haven’t noticed.

Spencer makes a note of all he’s done so he can try it again at a later date and test his hypothesis that all it takes for you to simmer down is gentle touches and a good story.

Despite his enjoyment, he can’t help but note:

“You’re awfully quiet.”

And, like lightning, your nerve returns.

“I’m paying attention.” You grit.

“Good.” He murmurs, beaming down at you with nothing but innocent love, “You’re helping me study for my Philosophy bachelor’s.”

“The degree you’ve been doing for as long as I’ve known you?”

He tsks, head shaking.

“Smartass.”

“Joining your three PhD’s and two bachelor’s? God,” your hand rests behind his head, and he expects the next thing out of your mouth to be another poke and prod as you love so much to do, “your brain is brilliant, you know that?” your nails trace patterns on his scalp and down the nape of his neck, slightly bunching his hair in your grasp, “You’re brilliant.” You clarify – worrying about the whole brainbox and nothing else thing – and a soft sigh leaves you, “Completely brilliant. I hope you know that.”

It’s Spencer who is now suspended between his expectation and reality and finds himself endearingly surprised by your frankness.

“Well, I hear it daily from you.” He kisses your forehead, barely able to complete the gesture because of his smile.

“I just… don’t want you to think I don’t know.” your brows tense, lips sealing together.

His fingers, which had been dancing far too close to the point of no return, manoeuvre their way back to your side. You’d groan had the moment not been intimate in an entirely different way; that and why would you want to rush anything with him?

“What do you mean?” His hand runs up and down your hip, caressing from the narrow of your waist to the width of your thigh and back again – I’m right here, I’m right here.

“I mean, I…”

You short-circuit. You’d lost half your brain between the foot of the bed and here, and the soft sheets dulled your senses and Spencer had thrown the rest of them to the wind. In a vain effort to get your words in order, you sit up on your elbows, closing your distance slightly and helped by how he leans in – maybe intentionally, maybe not – to the sound of your voice.

“You’re… you, I know that you’re you.”

“You know how you said earlier about certainty-,”

“I’m aware that…” you try to find some less-than-shameful way to say it – that he’s probably much brighter than you deserve, that you likely bore him, that there is no conceivable way, even in the romantic tales of Plato, that you and him had ever been from the same heart and mind, for yours is destructive and reckless, and his is reminiscent of Sunday mornings – but no easy way presents itself, “well, my only way of helping you study is being an avid listener.”

You hope he understands. You hope it’s enough.

“Uh… well, I have an eidetic memory so I-,” he swallows, jaw tensing as he ponders your words, “but you- what are you saying, sweet girl?”

You hate this. Honesty. Vulnerability. Your thoughts are protected by bone and muscle and flesh. Everything inside you is sheltered, and safe in its shelter.

Maybe it’s your position, or maybe it’s how gently he speaks, or maybe it’s the moon, but it’s easier to say than you anticipated.

“’m not a genius.” You admit with a quiet mumble and a smile.

Smiles are defensive in nature. Signs of submission. Signs that yes, yes, I am dancing, do not strike me, I will dance.

“Intelligence isn’t really quantifiable-,” Spencer stops himself and rolls the phrasing around in his head again, “and what, you think I…” his head slightly shakes, “I… okay, uh…”

It’s not an easy discussion to have. I know you’re not as smart as me but that’s okay because nobody is! You can’t imagine that phrase leaving Spencer at all.

It’s not about him being smarter. Of course he is. It’s about you not being smart enough, in any sense, that eventually you’ll stimulate his brain as much as paint drying. He’ll look at you with boredom.

But fuck, trust your own insecurity to ruin the moment.

Now you feel really exposed. There’s a coolness to the air that perks up the delicate hairs lining your already vulnerable skin, and he’s sitting back, deep in thought, whilst you’re spread out in front of him – like a fucked-up biology project. You glance about for a blanket or something as your cheeks burn red.

He scoffs, but he’s looking off into space.

“When I was a kid, I-I thought I was really dumb,” he says, “because I- everybody else seemed to sort of understand something that I didn’t. I never really figured out what it was. I learnt that I was different in a way, that I thought differently and felt differently, but knowing you’re different doesn’t mean you can acclimate the way you want to. You’re just… overtly more aware of how much you don’t fit in.”

He meets your gaze then. It’s intimate. Gentle. You understand the way he looks at you when you break your heart in half and show him the gutless insides; you try your best to emulate the softness so naturally contained in his gaze. It’s so easy.

“Being a 'genius' doesn’t mean much aside from knowledge. I think there’s a hundred other more important things to be. If I had to choose between 'genius-ness' and empathy, I’d choose empathy every time, and…” his fingers toy absently with the ends of your hair, “you are… incredibly intelligent… and unbelievably empathetic. You have… such a natural grasp on emotions, on feelings, on… how you can make others feel and how others are made to feel, and… it’s an incredibly admirable trait. I’ve told you before that your own understanding of emotions is – what I think – scares you so much about opening up. You know how they can be used. So what if you don’t know about the origin of time zones or… or how many boats there are on Lake Mead?” he scoffs, and somehow, you do too, “This is not me saying that I don’t think you’re brilliant – you are, you are so knowledgeable – but what I’m saying is that…”

He's so careful with how he speaks. So understanding of how his words might sound.

“You don’t need to worry… about ‘genius-ness’. It’s… it’s not real to me, it’s not a separator of value, it doesn’t put me on a pedestal. I don’t think less of you. The same way that… I know you don’t think less of me when I – uh – say something I shouldn’t, or do something I shouldn’t, or… feel something that other people wouldn’t feel.”

“But I... I don't think you do feel anything wrong.” your voice cracks.

“Because you’re a genius.” He counters, beaming at you, “And I love you.”

Your delicate heartstrings are entirely intact, which is all anyone can really ask for when exposing themselves so aggressively. This is where it might hurt. Spencer, look how easily I burn. Look how I have been hurt before. You could learn a lot from these scars. You can see what I will take.

But, of course, you feel none of that at all. You are grounded. You are standing in your nest.

He is standing in his nest.

He has shown you his bleeding heart, right where it could turn cold, and you have said:

“I love you.”

And it, by default.

Spencer smiles, finding your hand and pulling it to his lips, kissing it firmly, leaning a little closer to one finger than all the rest.

“You’ll never be bored of me?” you ask.

You would usually never let such a bold, emotional question slip past you. You would never be so honest – so ready to be torn apart like Jezebel – but you blame Washington DC and Greenwich, the modern railway, and the one-thousand-nine-hundred-and-eighth boat on Lake Mead.

It doesn’t change how terrifying it is to admit something so… bordering on prophecy.

Even Spencer takes a moment to understand the depth of your question, and the slight squeeze of his grasp against yours is that subtle you did good, you did well that you’d receive after stomaching some horrible ordeal. You will not be torn apart by dogs. You will be held. You will be loved instead.

“Never.” He says, “I find you infinitely fascinating, like a… an Ernest Hemingway novel… and the words won’t stop changing. I have no choice but to reread you over and over again to find what I might’ve missed.” His smile burns his cheeks, “And in all the time I’ve known you, I still can’t predict the next thing out of your mouth.”

“I like to keep you on your toes.” You grin smugly.

“So, how could I ever be bored of you?” his smile widens in return.

Your thumb strokes over his knuckle.

“Well, I – uh-,” this part is easier because it’s about him, “I would never feel… ashamed of you… or anything like that. Just so you know. Not for a minute. I know how anxious you get around people, around… saying the wrong thing, being the wrong way, but… everything you’ve ever felt, ever thought… is entirely valued, completely right… just… totally okay to feel. You’re important. To me. To everybody. God, sometimes I think you’re the most important person on the planet.”

His eyes drift away. His hand squeezes yours again.

“You’re…” he sighs, and the air grows thick with words unsaid, “thanks.” He settles on at last.

“The end of your story, do… do people ever – like – get back with the people they’re supposed to be with?”

Spencer beams.

“Such a good memory,” he says, kissing your forehead again, and a hum of contentment – or potentially smugness, Spencer thinks – leaves your throat, but you stay quiet in anticipation, “well, it is the eternal punishment to spend the rest of our lives longing and searching.” He shrugs, “But, my point, about my certainty, was… I can’t say I’ve done any searching for… a very long time. I think I’m… I know I am perfectly decided. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

You gulp, glazed eyes observing every micro-expression absorbing his face, tracing the curve of a curl caressing his cheek where your thumb should be. You correct this mistake, of course, and treasure the warmth that comes so naturally from him.

“I know.” you say, "I know too."

Spencer takes your palm from his cheek and kisses its centre.

A smile lights up your face, which turns into a soft chuckle.

“You’ve weaponised a story you don’t even believe in to seduce me.” you retort.

There she is. Spencer’s head shakes.

“We’re back to this now, huh?”

He laughs at your sudden change in demeanour, kissing your hand again, then crouching down and returning his lips to your neck, which in turn demands you drop your elbows and allow your pretty head to meet the pillow once more.

“Believe is a big word in philosophy, but also… not always important. Believing is the last worry when it comes to these stories and ideas, it doesn’t matter. I’ll teach you a basic rule of the subject, sweet girl, if you’ll let me of course.”

You nod, your hips rising again like a puppet on a string. God, aren’t you just?

“Hmm?” he taunts.

“Yes, Spence, Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t bring him into this.” his fingers trace down your body again.

Between the subtle, brushing friction of his sweatpants and his taunting motions, every inch of you lights up like keys on a dashboard at NASA, nerves blinking on and off in an enigma of spectacular colour, which Spencer watches, studies, learns.

Beneath your wetness, he finds your clit, aching and desperate, and rewards you with a firm, unhurried circle. Your hips rise once again and another breath abandons your lungs, as though to truly comprehend anything your body must first be void of oxygen. Another circle and he has to angle his legs to keep yours against the bed and open, your eyes having fluttered closed.

“Anyway,” he tuts pointedly, tauntingly somehow, and God, would you love to snap back over it, but you’re completely gone, “what I was saying, was…”

His forefinger and middle finger, at long last, find your entrance and, with no friction at all, push inside of you, and an ungodly moan abandons your flushed throat.

“Everything is truth if it teaches you something.”

-

and if i said season 10 spencer was superior? what then??

if you liked this, check out my masterlist for some other works :)

feedback and requests welcome - i know ive written some smut here but i do it on my own terms sort of so im not accepting smut requests right now but please check the masterlist for any changes around this.

xoxo gossip girlllll

[sh3sa1dwhat]

Awwwwweee this is so wholesome 😭 😢 💖

heyy just had this thought of reader being super touchy with spencer and really cute.. maybe only hold 1 or 2 of his fingers instead of holding his hand or smth

Always attached

Spencer had never really been good with PDA. You understood and although you felt the same sense of awkwardness when people saw you kissing him or holding his hand. yet you still craved contact.

  Behind closet doors you were a completely different couple. It wasn’t at all odd to find you straddling Spencers lap hugging his shoulders as he held a book behind you reading. More often then not you fell asleep there.

You’d gone out with him to meet his friends over dinner and he’d sat you down before you left. Holding your hands ”I know that we spend most of our time in here and that we’re comfortable with each other but” You’d squeezed his hands ”I know baby, But when we go out at least this first time can we keep the touching to a minimal” Biting your lip hurrying to add ”Not that I don’t love it, but you know with others watching I feel” Spencer sighed softly smiling ”Awkward?” You nod nervously and he kisses the back of your hand ”Me too”

   Spencer kissed your quickly ”but I love our weekend routine of you in my lap, it’s just when we go out” You nod smiling kissing him quickly ”But where is there line” Spencer kissed you again smiling "We’ll figure it out”

  You’d walked in hand in hand to the restaurant that time. He’d kisses your cheek and you’d whispered in his ear but that had been it. What you had learned was that even though neither of you felt like PDA was for you. You had learned that you hated not touching Spencer.

 You’d walked in elbow hooked around his. you’d hugged his friends before returning to his side. Sitting on a couch you and Spencer tucked together in the middle with people on either side.

   Your legs were tight up against him. Normally people couldn’t see the two of you from the other side of a table and Spencer would simply curls a hand around your thigh or around your knee. But with two perceptive women on either side of you that wasn’t an option. Every one had ordered and drinks where served. 

   Discreetly you found his hand on his leg hooking your pink around his. Hiding them between you. your turned your head when no one talked to you whispering into his ear ”This okay?” Spencer turned his head lips touching your ear as he adjusted the grip locking his pinky and ring finger with yours. Breathing ”perfect” You smiled turning back to the table.

  You had to release him when dinner came but Spencer gently brushed his foot against your reminding you with soft touches that he remembered you. His hand returned to yours every now and again. His lips found your ear whenever he though something was only funny for you and him alone. 

  A lull in dinner matched with half the table leaving for the bathroom. Spencer turned his head kissing your cheek ”Okay” You turned your head pecking his lips quickly humming in reply, Smiling softly. Spencer smiled down at you dipping his head. You blushed as you leaned back letting you nose brush against him ”Easy there pretty boy, we’re in public” Derek teased you as he sat down. JJ slid in beside you again ”ignore him” Spencer found your fingers under the table again and you gently leaned your head on his shoulder. Spencer squeezed your hand letting your know he was there and that this was okay.

   You car pooled home sitting in the back seat with Spencer and Penelope. Spencer held you hand as he talked to Aaron who drove. Penelope leaned on your shoulder ”you’re so cute, holding hands and whispering, it’s adorable” JJ peaked back with a smile ”This is your stop pen” She pulled her out of the car ”I’ll be back”

  The doors closed and Aaron peeked back at the two of you ”you two still staying together?” Spencer nodded his head ”we are” He nodded his head ”Until JJ comes back I’m going to stare straight ahead, so if you two wanted to do something I wouldn't see”

   You blush opening your mouth to tell him there’s no need. But Spencer cups your face turning you and kissing you. You gasp hand clutching his jacket as you arch into him. It’s nowhere near as long as you want it to be. You press your lips together as he brushed your hair back whispering ”I love you” You smile sighing softly scolding him playfully ”Spence!”

You grin leaning up kissing him softly ”I love you more” Spencer shakes his head not indulging you in the 'I love you more' game, just as the door opens and JJ slides in. You lean your forehead on his shoulder. JJ sighed softly ”okay” glancing back at Spencer as he holds your hand as he looks out the window. Aaron clears his throat "here we go”

  You arrive at Spencers apartment and thank Aaron for the lift. You wave to jj and Spencer winds an arm around your waist. You smile leaning into his side as you take the stairs up. 

   Once the door of your apartment clicks shut and Spencer flips the locks you turn. Hands on his Chest ”you kissed me in front of your boss” Spencer smiled cupping your face ”he said he wouldn’t look” you smile blushing trying to scold him but it comes out softer every time you say his name ”Spencer” he kisses your nose ”Spencer” your lips. You sigh breathing his name as he walks you backward until your knees hit his bed. Spencer smiles softly ”He won’t tease me or you or tell anyone. I just could help myself” You blush swooning as you kiss him softly ”okay”

[sh3sa1dwhat]

Heyoo! Just wanted to quickly say that if I repost your work and you don’t want me to, please please PLEASE message me!

(I usually try and look for consent to repost but sometimes I can't see a statement saying yay or nay)

I will absolutely take down the repost when requested 🥰

[sh3sa1dwhat]

Sir- 👀🫡

Hi, love your work and i was thinking of a good story where it's "the reader and Spencer's wedding they are having a good time and Penelope wants to congratulate them but can't find them, she walks around and finally spots reader she is resting against the wall of a cleaning closet, they talk for a bit and she leaves, when Penelope leaves spencer comes from out of readers dress, and says that that was a close one"

Couldn’t Wait

18+❤️‍🔥MDNI‼️

My response to this lovely request 🥰

“You are insane! There has to be a hundred people out there!” You giggle at your new husband.

Spencer smiles at you, his cheeks staining red with pure adoration. He is overwhelmed by how gorgeous you look in your wedding dress. He wants nothing more than to rip it off of you and bury himself deep.

“It’ll be fine, no one is back here,” he shushes you and drops downs to his knees.

“Oh my god…” you look from side to side.

He had pulled you into a small closet with a curtain instead of a door. It was in the back hallway of the venue but you could still hear the music playing as the reception carried on.

“Spencer…” you warn. He nestles himself under your dress, and shoves you by your thighs against the wall. He spreads them wide and adjusts himself so his face is up against your cunt.

He is completely hidden under the massive gown of your white wedding dress but you can feel him. He starts kissing and nipping at your lace underwear. You want to smack him away but it feels so good when he presses his gorgeous face into your pussy.

He pulls your underwear to the side and sinfully dips his tongue between your folds for the first time as your husband.

“Oh…” you exhale at the warm welcoming feeling of his tongue. You wish you could run your hands through his hair but the dress is a barrier between you two.

It’s heady- not being able to see him but being able to feel him lap at your cunt like a man starved. You feel him humming and moaning into as his tongue swirls around your clit and he drags it back down into your entrance. Your entire body is on edge, alive, as he strokes you slowly.

His nails push into your soft thighs as he keeps your legs parted enough to keep tasting you. His head moves as he dives relentlessly into you and you start losing yourself in the sensation. The bass of the music beats in your chest and you throw your head back as you ride your grooms face.

“There you are!” Penelope appears in the doorway, slinging the flimsy curtain out of the way. “Why are you hiding in here?”

“I’m not hiding, just taking a moment,” you clear your throat and try to appear unfazed. Spencer has frozen between your legs.

“Where’s Spence?” She asks.

“Oh, I don’t know I thought he was with Ethan and Derek earlier,” you shrug.

“Well I just wanted to congratulate you personally…” she trails off when you startle in response to Spencer’s tongue on your clit again.

“T-thank you Penelope,” you huff a laugh. “It means the world to me that you’re here.”

You hope she doesn’t see your face turning red as your mans tongue teases you. You’re lucky Penelope isn’t a profiler. Emily or JJ would know what was going on immediately. You shift on your feet to try and get him to stop without being obvious.

“Are you okay?” She tilts her head.

“Yeah! I just get anxious at these things,” you lose your words for a moment when you feel his middle finger pushing at your entrance. “Social gatherings, I mean…”

“I understand. Especially because all the attention is essentially on you,” she smiles sincerely.

“And Spence,” you say his name as a half warning for him to hear because his entire middle finger is inside of you curling gently. You sputter out a cough to keep from moaning.

“Of course,” she beams. “I’ll see you back out there.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” you reassure her. When she’s out of view you drag the curtain shut.

“I will kill you. I just married you and I will kill you Spencer Reid. Do you understand me?” He laughs but then latches his mouth back onto you.

You’re sent back against the wall and resume riding his face as he sets a rhythm with his finger and tongue.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“You taste so good Mrs. Reid,” he praises and he knows you’re getting close.

God this perfect man between your legs, licking and finger fucking you while he’s moaning like it pleasures him… it’s too much. Your legs go taught, stars explode in your vision and your orgasm crashes through you.

He pulls his finger out and pushes his mouth into your harder, greedily lapping at you to get everything you have to offer him. He takes extra time to clean you up with his tongue before replacing your underwear to their correct position.

“Well that was close,” he smiles mischievously up at you. He pops out from under your dress, with his messy hair, black tux, maroon tie, handsome as hell.

You wipe the edges of his face as he grins proudly. He kisses you hard, greedily as if you didn’t already know you were his.

“I love you,” he whispers and holds you close.

“I love you more,” you promise.

When you walk hand and hand back out the reception area, Derek and Penelope greet you first.

“So pretty boy, you just couldn’t wait for the honeymoon, huh?” Derek claps him on the shoulder. Spencer’s face to red but he follows Derek who has his arm around him.

“Oh my god,” you whisper yell in horror at Penelope for telling.

“I blab! I’m sorry. You guys are just so cute,” she stamps her heeled feet and hugs you.

“You know I love you anyway,” you laugh and hug her back.

She hands you a glass of champagne and clinks her to yours.