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badathumanemotions · 3 months ago

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Friction (Part 2)

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

MDNI MasterList Category: Fluff and Smut CW: Getting Together, Going On A Date, Smut, Dom/Sub Undertones, Fluff, Teasing, Oral Sex (m rec), Vaginal Sex, Squirting, Breeding Kink, Aftercare WC: 27,329 [Total WC: 52,733] Anonymous asked:

hi can you write a fic about the team is at a bar ( spencer and the reader are “enemies” ) and the readers ex shows up so she makes spencer act like her bf (they kiss 😛) and it results in them getting freaky because they realise their real feelings for each other

Part One Spencer and Reader have to figure out how to deal with the relentless teasing from the team. In the meantime Spencer takes Reader out on a date. (Not Proof Read)

You padded out of the bedroom, Spencer trailing behind you. The apartment was still and quiet, the only sound the soft creaking of the wooden floor beneath your feet. As you made your way into the living room, your eyes caught sight of the scattered remnants of last night—discarded clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor.

You bent down, sifting through the pile in search of your phone, and Spencer did the same. The moment your fingers closed around the device, your stomach twisted at the sight of the screen lighting up—multiple missed calls and a slew of unread messages.

"Shit," you muttered, unlocking your phone.

"Oh no," Spencer said at the same time, his brows furrowing as he scrolled through his own notifications.

The texts were from the team.

To You: Emily: Where the hell did you go?? JJ: Are you okay? We lost you last night. Morgan: You better not be waking up in a jail cell. Garcia: I AM TRYING NOT TO PANIC BUT YOU ARE MISSING??!! Emily: Please tell me you just went home. JJ: Just let us know you're alive, okay? Morgan: You better not be passed out in some alley somewhere. Pick up your phone. Garcia: If you don’t answer, I’m hacking a satellite, I swear. And then I’m sending a search party. WITH DRONES.

To Spencer: Emily: Reid? Where’d you disappear to? JJ: Spence, you good? We haven’t seen you since last night. Morgan: Genius, if you got kidnapped, blink twice. Garcia: OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU MISSING TOO?! Emily: This is not like you. Answer your phone. JJ: Please just check in. Morgan: Seriously, Reid, don’t make me come looking. Garcia: WAIT. I JUST TRACKED YOUR PHONE. YOU'RE WITH HER?! ARE YOU TWO TOGETHER?!

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. "Well… they noticed."

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "We should’ve expected this."

Your eyes flicked to each other’s phones, then back up. "Garcia tracked us. Of course she did."

Spencer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She probably already has a PowerPoint titled 'The Unbelievable Yet Completely Predictable Hookup of the Century.'"

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "God, what do we even say?"

You looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between you. You’d spent the whole night wrapped up in each other, lost in something you didn’t fully understand yet. But now, reality was creeping back in, and with it came the inevitable question—what now?

"Do we tell them?" Spencer asked, cautious.

You chewed on your lip. "I don’t know. I mean, we barely know what this is."

His expression softened. "Yeah. Maybe we keep it to ourselves, at least for now."

You nodded, grateful for the reprieve. "Let’s get some coffee first. We’ll figure it out."

Spencer exhaled, glancing at his phone again. "Garcia already knows. Which means we’re on borrowed time before the rest of them do."

You groaned. "She’s probably drafting the 'So You Two Finally Gave In' email as we speak."

"Or using her tech wizardry to figure out exactly when and where this would happen based on sheer determination and a questionable disregard for privacy," Spencer muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

You shook your head with a tired laugh. "We’re doomed."

He nudged your shoulder, a small smile playing on his lips. "Let’s get coffee before the interrogation starts."

As you made your way to the kitchen, the weight of the team’s inevitable questions loomed over you, but for now, you focused on the simple things—the smell of coffee brewing, the warmth of his presence beside you, the quiet promise of whatever this was becoming.

Spencer leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling his coffee mug in both hands. You sat across from him at the small dining table, stirring absentmindedly at your own cup. The air between you was thick with the weight of Garcia's discovery and what it meant for the rest of the team.

"So," he started, his voice hesitant, "what do we do?"

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temple. "Garcia knows, which means everyone else will know soon. If she hasn't already started telling them."

Spencer groaned softly, setting his mug down. "She’s not exactly known for keeping secrets."

You gave him a pointed look. "Understatement of the year."

He huffed a small laugh but quickly sobered. "Do we try to control the narrative? Or just… let it happen?"

You took a sip of your coffee, considering. "If we try to get ahead of it, that means having to tell them. All of them. And that means… questions. Lots of them."

Spencer winced, likely imagining the interrogation that awaited the two of you. "Morgan is never going to let me live this down."

"Oh, absolutely not." You smirked, shaking your head. "And Emily and JJ will be smug about it for months."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t know if I have the energy to deal with that right now."

You leaned back in your chair. "So, what? We just act like nothing happened? Hope they don’t bring it up?"

Spencer gave you a flat look. "You really think that’s an option?"

You sighed. "Not a chance."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the reality of the situation sinking in. You wanted to be with him—there was no question about that. But navigating this new relationship under the scrutiny of your team was another matter entirely.

"Maybe we just… confirm it if they ask," you finally said. "We don’t have to make a big announcement. Just—if it comes up, we don’t deny it."

Spencer nodded slowly, mulling it over. "That might be the easiest way. Low effort. Less chaos."

You snorted. "There’s going to be chaos no matter what."

He sighed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "True."

You reached across the table, letting your fingers brush against his. "We’ll handle it together."

Spencer turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours. "Together."

A comfortable silence settled between you, but it was short-lived as a notification lit up Spencer’s phone on the counter. He glanced at it and groaned. "Garcia just sent a group text. I refuse to read it."

Your phone buzzed a second later. You hesitated before picking it up, already dreading what you’d see.

Garcia: "GOOD MORNING, LOVE BIRDS. 😘 DON’T BOTHER DENYING IT. IT’S HAPPENING. YOU’RE HAPPENING. SO WHEN DO WE GET TO GUSH ABOUT THIS???"

You groaned, setting your phone face-down on the table. "She knows, she’s excited, and we are officially doomed."

Spencer ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "She’s going to be relentless."

"Oh, absolutely." You took another sip of coffee, trying to steel yourself. "And once Morgan finds out…"

Spencer’s head hit the counter with a dull thud. "This is going to be worse than I thought."

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching over to pat his arm. "At least it’s out there now. Maybe it’ll be easier once the dust settles."

He lifted his head slightly, looking at you with skepticism. "Or it’ll be weeks of teasing and speculation."

You shrugged. "Either way, we’re in it now. We may as well own it."

He exhaled slowly, nodding. "Alright. We answer questions if they ask, but no unnecessary details. We don’t need to give them more ammunition than they already have."

"Agreed." You squeezed his hand briefly before letting go, picking up your mug. "We’ll face the chaos together."

Spencer sat back, watching you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You realize Garcia probably already has a whole board of conspiracy theories about how long this has been going on."

You rolled your eyes. "Of course she does. But at least this way, she doesn’t have to guess anymore."

The two of you sat there, the weight of the inevitable hanging over you, but at least now, you weren’t facing it alone. You had each other. And somehow, that made it all a little easier.

The soft morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the quiet space. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, mixing with something unmistakably Spencer—clean, warm, familiar. It should have felt strange, waking up here, sharing this moment with him after everything that had transpired the night before. But it didn’t. It felt… natural. Easy, even. And that was the problem.

Spencer sat across from you, fingers wrapped around his coffee mug, his gaze flicking between you and the phone resting between you on the table. Garcia’s texts were still unanswered, her curiosity undoubtedly growing by the second, but neither of you seemed eager to address them. Not yet.

“I should probably get started on my day,” you finally said, though you made no move to stand.

Spencer exhaled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Me too.” He glanced at you, then down at his mug before adding, "At least we have a three-day weekend."

You blinked, the reminder settling in. Three full days before you had to step back into the BAU, back into the teasing and knowing glances you were sure to face. Three days where, if you wanted to, you could see where this thing with Spencer might go.

A beat of silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. This was the part where things were supposed to go back to normal, where you both stepped away and acted like nothing had changed. Except something had changed. Neither of you could pretend otherwise.

Still, you pushed yourself up from the chair, grabbing your bag. “I’ve got some errands to run.”

Spencer followed your lead, standing as well. “Right. I, uh… I’ve got some things to do too.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, but instead, he simply nodded, a hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You hesitated before stepping toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

His fingers twitched at his side, like he was considering reaching for you, but then he cleared his throat. “Wait.”

You paused, looking back at him. His expression was uncertain for only a moment before he straightened, his voice firmer when he spoke again. “I want to take you on a date. Tomorrow.”

Your breath caught slightly, but you managed to keep your voice steady. “A date?”

He nodded. “Yeah. A real one.” His lips quirked into a small, nervous smile. “No pretending. Just us.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you searched his face. “Okay… where are you taking me?”

His brows furrowed slightly, caught off guard by the question. “I—uh, I was thinking somewhere nice. A restaurant, maybe? Do you have a preference?”

You tilted your head, intrigued by his hesitation. “You didn’t plan this far ahead, did you?”

He exhaled a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was more focused on making sure you’d actually say yes first.”

A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “Well, yes, I’m saying yes. But I want details.”

Spencer straightened slightly, his confidence returning. “Alright. There’s this place I read about—small, quiet, great reviews. I think you’ll like it. And after…” His smile turned slightly mischievous. “That part’s a surprise.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “A surprise?”

He nodded. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

You considered it for a moment, warmth spreading through your chest at the idea of him putting thought into this. “Alright. I’ll trust you.”

His relief was evident, his smile growing. “Good. It’s a date, then.”

Before you could respond, he took a small step forward, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. The touch was fleeting, but it sent warmth up your spine. Then, without overthinking it, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips—quick, but deliberate, like he needed to do it before he lost his nerve. When he pulled back, his eyes lingered on yours for a moment before he gave a small, almost shy smile. Then, with one last glance, he turned and left your place, leaving behind the lingering warmth of his touch and the quiet anticipation of what tomorrow would bring.

You stepped outside, the cool morning air hitting your skin like a much-needed reminder of reality. You had things to do, errands to run—picking out something to wear, making sure you looked your best for tomorrow night. And yet, as you walked away, your thoughts remained tangled in the warmth of his presence, the way he’d looked at you like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

As you moved through your day, checking off errands in preparation for tomorrow, you kept glancing at your phone. No messages from him yet. But every time the screen lit up, your heart stuttered just a little, anticipation curling in your stomach at the thought of your date.

You weren’t sure what came next. But for the first time in a long time, the uncertainty didn’t scare you. It only made you excited for what was to come.

The day passed in a blur of errands and distractions, but no amount of busywork could fully pull your mind from the lingering warmth of Spencer’s touch, the way he’d looked at you before he left. As night settled in, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, the quiet hum of the city outside doing little to settle the energy thrumming beneath your skin.

You turned onto your side, your phone resting on the nightstand—silent, but not forgotten. He hadn’t texted, and neither had you. And yet, the anticipation curled in your chest like an unspoken promise. Tomorrow.

A date.

Your lips curved slightly at the thought, warmth blooming within you. It wasn’t just the idea of the date itself—it was him. Spencer, who had kissed you goodbye like he already knew he’d be kissing you again.

With that thought lingering, you finally let your eyes slip closed, drifting off with the quiet certainty that when you woke, the day ahead would be something worth looking forward to.

The soft buzz of your phone pulled you from the edges of sleep, the early morning light casting a faint glow through your curtains. You groggily reached for your phone, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the screen came into focus. A single message awaited you, and the moment you saw the sender, your heart gave a traitorous little stutter.

Good morning, beautiful.

Warmth spread through your chest, a smile tugging at your lips before you could even think to stop it. Spencer. The simple message sent a ripple of excitement through you, the reality of the day settling in. Today was your date. A real one.

You stretched beneath the covers, savouring the lingering drowsiness as you let yourself replay the events of yesterday—the heat of his touch, the way his hands had traced over your skin, the way his lips had lingered against yours like he never wanted to stop. The way he’d looked at you, like he wasn’t quite ready to go. The way he’d said it wasn’t just pretending. That this was real.

Rolling onto your side, you typed out a reply.

Morning.

You hesitated a moment before adding, Excited for tonight.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. There was a pleasant sort of nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin, a feeling you hadn’t let yourself indulge in for a long time. You had the entire day ahead of you, and already, your thoughts were consumed with what was to come.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you moved through your morning routine with an unusual sense of purpose. As you sipped on your coffee, you glanced at your phone again, checking for a response. Nothing yet—but that was fine. You weren’t going to obsess over it.

Instead, you focused on the errands you had planned. If tonight was going to be special, you wanted to be prepared. You had an outfit to pick out, details to perfect. And if your mind wandered to Spencer more times than you cared to admit, well… that was just part of the anticipation.

As you started getting ready for the evening, your mind kept drifting back to Spencer’s words. He had told you dinner, but beyond that, he’d kept the rest of the night a mystery. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, brushing a final layer of mascara over your lashes, and wondered for the hundredth time what the surprise could be.

Spencer wasn’t the type to do something cliché or over-the-top, but he also had a way of making the simplest things feel special. A bookstore, maybe? A hidden café with live music? A museum exhibit he knew you’d love? The possibilities were endless, and the anticipation only made your excitement grow.

The knock at your door sent a jolt of anticipation through you. You took one last glance in the mirror, smoothing your hands over your outfit before making your way to the door. With a steadying breath, you pulled it open.

Spencer stood there, dressed in a fitted blazer and dark slacks, his hair neatly styled yet still carrying that slightly tousled look that suited him so well. In his hands, he held a small bouquet of flowers, the delicate arrangement carefully chosen.

His lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he just stared. His gaze travelled over you slowly, as if he was committing every detail to memory, admiration flickering in his wide, awestruck eyes. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and when he finally spoke, his voice was a little rough around the edges.

"You look… incredible." There was something almost reverent in the way he said it, his eyes still lingering as if he couldn't quite believe you had dressed up like this—for him.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, and you found yourself smiling despite the nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. Your eyes flicked to the flowers, and something tender unfurled in your heart. "Spencer, these are lovely. Thank you."

His mouth quirked in amusement, though his gaze still held that lingering admiration. "I thought you'd like them."

You accepted the bouquet, inhaling their light fragrance before setting them aside carefully. "You clean up well yourself, Dr. Reid."

His amusement deepened, but there was still that undercurrent of lingering awe in his expression. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, stepping outside as he offered his arm in a way that felt both old-fashioned and entirely Spencer. You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him guide you towards the night ahead.

Spencer led you to his car, and before you could reach for the handle, he swiftly stepped ahead, opening the door for you. The gentlemanly gesture sent a small thrill through you, and as you slid into the seat, you couldn't help but smile.

As he settled in beside you, you glanced over with a teasing smile. "So, did you research the perfect first-date flowers? Let me guess—there’s some historical significance to these?"

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. "I considered a few different options, but I ultimately chose these because they symbolize admiration and new beginnings. Seemed fitting."

You raised an eyebrow. "So you did research it."

He shot you a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Would you rather I just grabbed the first bouquet I saw?"

You hummed in thought. "No, I suppose not. But tell me, Dr. Reid, are you nervous?"

Spencer's fingers flexed subtly on the steering wheel. "Not at all. Are you?"

You tilted your head, considering. "Not in the least."

His smirk deepened. "Good. Then let's see if I can keep surprising you."

As the car pulled onto the road, you cast him a sidelong glance, a smirk playing at your lips. "You behind the wheel is a rare sight. I was half-expecting to have to drive."

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh. "Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to drive. I just prefer other modes of transportation."

"Mmm, like bothering JJ or Morgan for rides?"

"Or utilizing public transit, which is far more efficient in most cases," he countered smoothly.

You bit back a grin. "Right. But tonight, you’re playing chauffeur. A very handsome, well-dressed chauffeur."

His fingers tapped idly against the wheel as he stole a glance at you. "If that’s the case, then I expect a generous tip."

You pretended to consider. "I suppose that depends on the quality of service."

His smirk deepened. "I’ll just have to make sure you're thoroughly impressed, then."

You shook your head, laughing softly as the city lights blurred past. The night was still young, and something told you Spencer was going to keep you on your toes every step of the way.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Spencer once again moved ahead to open your door for you, extending a hand to help you out. The warm touch of his fingers around yours sent a pleasant shiver up your spine, and as you stepped onto the pavement, you glanced up at the softly lit entrance of the restaurant.

The atmosphere inside was intimate, the soft hum of conversation mingling with gentle music. As the host led you to your table, Spencer pulled out your chair for you, another small but thoughtful gesture that made your heart flutter.

You settled in, glancing around before turning to him with a curious smile. "You put a lot of thought into this place, didn't you?"

Spencer shrugged, though the satisfaction in his expression was unmistakable. "You once mentioned you appreciate places with a good atmosphere, and I thought their menu had a few things that might catch your interest."

You shook your head, amusement dancing in your gaze. "You really do remember everything, don’t you?"

He leaned forward slightly, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Especially when it comes to you."

Heat crept up your neck, and you picked up your menu in an attempt to disguise the effect his words had on you. "Well, let's see if your choice lives up to the hype."

Spencer chuckled, his gaze lingering on you as the evening unfolded, every detail adding another layer to the undeniable pull between you both.

After ordering, conversation flowed with an effortless ease, laced with teasing remarks and lingering glances. Spencer’s natural charm, when unguarded, was disarming, and you found yourself drawn into him more with every passing moment.

When the waiter placed your drinks on the table, Spencer raised his glass slightly, his hazel eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "To new beginnings."

You tapped your glass against his, the soft chime lingering in the air between you. "And to being thoroughly impressed."

He smirked, tilting his head as he studied you. "I get the feeling that’s not an easy feat."

You took a slow sip of your drink, meeting his gaze over the rim. "Keep trying, genius."

His eyes darkened slightly at the challenge, and he leaned in just enough that your knees brushed beneath the table. "Oh, I intend to."

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could formulate a response, the food arrived, breaking the moment—but not the tension.

The night was far from over, and if Spencer’s lingering gaze was anything to go by, he had no intention of letting you slip through his fingers so easily.

As your food arrived, Spencer continued to impress you—not just with the thoughtfulness of the restaurant choice but with the way he paid attention. He remembered small details, your preferences, and even the way you liked certain flavours combined. It was impossible not to be charmed by the way he made you feel completely seen.

Between bites, you challenged him with playful quips, and he met you head-on with his own clever retorts, the two of you locked in a battle of wit and flirtation. It was different now—lighter, without the sharp edges of past arguments. Now, it was all charged energy and lingering glances, and the way his knee brushed against yours under the table didn't feel like an accident.

And when he reached across the table, fingers lightly grazing yours as he stole a bite from your plate with a smirk, you knew—this wasn’t just a date. This was something deeper, something neither of you could deny anymore.

After dessert—because of course Spencer had insisted you try something he’d read glowing reviews about—the two of you lingered at the table, neither in a hurry to leave. The hum of conversation around you faded into the background as Spencer traced a finger along the rim of his glass, his gaze steady on you.

"I think this proves I know what I’m doing," he mused, tilting his head slightly.

You raised an eyebrow. "Because you picked a great restaurant? You get credit, but I’m not convinced just yet."

His lips twitched into a smirk. "Not convinced?"

"Mhm. I’ll need further evidence before I declare this a success."

Spencer hummed, setting his glass down. "Then I guess I’ll just have to keep trying, won’t I?"

The weight of his words hung between you, something unspoken but understood. Your heartbeat quickened slightly as you held his gaze, the air thick with the kind of tension that neither of you wanted to break.

Eventually, Spencer signalled for the bill, and before you could protest, he was already placing his card down, offering you a look that dared you to argue. You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. "Fine. But only because I fully intend to make you earn it."

He chuckled, pocketing his receipt. "Noted. And what exactly am I earning?"

You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to consider. "Oh, I don’t know… maybe a goodnight kiss. But only if you really impress me."

Spencer let out a soft laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Well, now I have even more incentive to make sure the night goes perfectly."

The night air was crisp as you stepped outside, the quiet hum of the city settling around you. Spencer hesitated for a moment before slipping his hand to the small of your back, guiding you toward the car. The touch was light, but it sent warmth curling through you.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked as he once again opened the car door for you.

You met his gaze, a slow smile tugging at your lips. "I did."

Spencer’s expression softened slightly before he cleared his throat, a flicker of something—relief?—crossing his face. "Good. Because the night’s not over yet."

You settled into your seat, curiosity sparking in your chest. "Oh?"

He rounded the car and slid in beside you, starting the engine with an easy confidence. "I have one more surprise for you."

Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t question it. Instead, you let anticipation settle over you as the city lights blurred past once more.

Wherever he was taking you next, you had a feeling he was about to exceed expectations.

As the car rolled through the quiet streets, the city lights flickered against the windows, casting a soft glow over the interior. Spencer’s hand rested casually on the wheel, his eyes flicking to you every so often, a subtle smile playing on his lips. The air between you was charged, each second stretching out just a little longer, filled with a quiet anticipation neither of you quite acknowledged.

The car slowed as it turned onto a smaller street, and then, just ahead, the silhouette of the planetarium rose against the darkened sky. You couldn’t help the surprised gasp that slipped from your lips, your eyes widening as you took it in. It wasn’t like you’d ever been here before, but something about the way it stood against the night, so unassuming but regal, made your pulse quicken.

"You’re kidding," you murmured, half in disbelief.

Spencer didn’t answer immediately, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he guided the car into a parking spot. "Thought you might like it."

You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "You really know how to surprise a girl."

He was already out of his seat before you had a chance to reach for the door handle.

A soft click, and the door swung open. Spencer stood there, offering his hand, the dim glow of the streetlights casting shadows over his features. His expression was unreadable at first, but then his lips quirked into something small, something knowing.

"I try," he said, his voice low.

You stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you followed him to the building. There was a quiet elegance to the way he moved, like he was completely at ease. It made you feel a little out of place, and yet, strangely at home all at once.

The planetarium loomed ahead, silent and waiting. But the moment you stepped inside, it became clear—this wasn’t an ordinary visit.

The space was empty. The hush of the planetarium settled over you like a veil, amplifying the quiet click of the theatre doors closing behind you. Spencer’s hand hovered just at the small of your back—not quite touching, but guiding, a barely-there reminder of how close he was. The air felt heavier, charged, as realization settled in.

He’d arranged this. A private showing.

Your gaze flicked to him, but Spencer only watched you, his expression unreadable at first—then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, that same knowing glint in his eyes.

Without a word, Spencer stepped ahead slightly and gestured toward one of the plush reclining seats in the centre of the theatre. His touch, light but deliberate, skimmed over the curve of your waist as he guided you toward it. You felt the warmth of his hand even through the fabric of your clothes, the barely-there pressure sending a quiet thrill up your spine.

With a quiet certainty, Spencer extended a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against yours before he guided you toward one of the plush reclining seats. "Here," he murmured, his voice low, rich. "Let me help you." His touch was gentle yet assured, the quiet insistence of a gentleman as he waited for you to settle. "Get comfortable."

You settled into the seat, and only once you were in place did Spencer take the one beside you. The moment stretched between you, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Then, with a subtle movement, the lights dimmed further, and the vast dome overhead came to life with an endless sea of stars.

Spencer leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something softer, something meant just for you. "Cassiopeia was placed in the heavens as punishment for her vanity. The gods ensured she would spend eternity upside down for daring to claim she was more beautiful than the Nereids." His fingers twitched slightly as he gestured upward, his other hand resting casually on the armrest between you—close, but not quite touching.

You turned your head to look at him, catching the way his features softened in the faint glow. He was in his element here, effortlessly charming in a way that sent warmth curling low in your stomach.

You should’ve been looking at the constellations. Instead, you found yourself watching him.

And he—he was looking at you.

Not just glancing—watching, as if he were committing every detail to memory. The glow of the stars reflected in his eyes, but it wasn’t the projection above that had him spellbound. His fingers twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach out, but he caught himself, curling his hand into a loose fist against his thigh.

Then, his voice broke the quiet, low and reverent.

"That’s Cygnus," he murmured, gesturing toward the delicate stretch of stars above. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it wrapped around you, steady and certain. "The swan. Some say it’s Orpheus, transformed after death, placed in the sky so he could sing forever."

His gaze flickered toward the constellation, but only briefly—almost like he had to remind himself to look away from you.

He led you through the stories slowly, each word carrying the weight of something ancient, something untouchable. But there was something else beneath his voice—a quiet disbelief, a reverence not for the myths themselves, but for the moment. For the fact that he was here, with you, in this quiet, suspended space where time didn’t seem to exist.

His hand brushed yours, the barest whisper of warmth. Not an accident. Not this time.

His voice softened, something unreadable crossing his features.

"Andromeda and Perseus."

You swallowed, pulse thrumming at your throat.

He didn’t look away this time.

"She was chained to the rocks, waiting to die," he murmured. "Punished for something she had no part in. But Perseus… he didn’t just save her. He freed her. He fought for her."

A slow breath, like he was steadying himself. His fingers traced lightly over the back of your hand, reverent.

"And they weren’t just a fleeting love story. They lived—together, side by side. A full life. A whole life."

The stars spun slowly overhead, but Spencer wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at you, like he wasn’t sure if this was real. Like if he reached for you, he might wake up and find himself alone.

His thumb swept over your knuckles, a barely-there touch, and you felt the weight of it everywhere.

"They’re still up there," he whispered. "Not because they died… but because they lived."

You exhaled shakily, and his gaze flicked to your lips before he caught himself, looking away too quickly. But his fingers didn’t leave yours.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The stars above carried on, spinning silently, but everything else felt still.

You turned your gaze back to the constellations, feeling the weight of his attention linger. When you glanced at him again, you caught it—the wonderment in his eyes, the softness that wasn’t there before. He looked at you like you were part of the sky itself, like the stars had descended just to rest in your gaze. He smiled faintly, almost to himself.

"I never thought I'd be here like this with you," he said, his voice quiet but sure. "But I'm glad I am." His gaze swept over your face, lingering. "It’s funny… the stars are beautiful, but I think the way your eyes glow when you look at them is even more breathtaking."

Your breath caught, a slow, simmering warmth stirring beneath his words, and you found you couldn’t quite look away. There was a tenderness to the way he watched you, something fragile and breathtaking.

He continued to speak, his voice a soft, lulling cadence as he named constellations and traced their stories. You listened, letting the sound of his words settle over you like a hush, each name and myth feeling like a secret shared only with you. You didn’t catch every detail—some part of you too lost in the moment, in him—but it didn’t matter. His voice, the low murmur of it, was enough.

It felt like the kind of moment you’d tuck away and carry with you, a quiet kind of magic. Something romantic, though neither of you said it aloud. You wondered if he felt it too—the pull between you, as vast and inevitable as the stars overhead.

As you both stepped out of the planetarium, the night air hit you with a coolness that contrasted with the warmth you felt lingering from the show. The city lights twinkled in the distance, but none of them seemed to shine quite as brightly as the moment you just shared. It was like the world had softened, everything taking on a golden hue, a quiet, glowing magic you couldn’t quite explain.

You didn’t know what possessed you, but in that moment, you wanted him. You didn’t need words. Without thinking, you turned to face Spencer, the space between you feeling too wide for comfort.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense, the weight of everything unsaid between you settling in the air. You took a step closer, your hand finding the curve of his jaw, gently pulling him down to meet you.

The kiss was immediate, natural, as if you’d been doing this for years instead of the few stolen moments you’d shared together. It was warm, urgent, full of the tension that had been simmering under the surface ever since the first touch. His lips were soft against yours, but it didn’t take long before they turned hungry, deepening as he pulled you in closer. The kiss felt almost desperate, like the world around you had faded, leaving only the two of you in a shared, fiery space.

Spencer’s hand slid from your waist, moving to the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair and holding you steady. You gasped into the kiss as his other hand drifted lower, sliding slowly down the outside of your thigh. The heat of his palm against your bare skin was a shock to your senses, sending a shiver through you. Without thinking, your hand moved to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under your touch.

You deepened the kiss, pressing yourself against him, and his hand shifted lower still, settling on the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him. The contact sent a rush of heat through you, a delicious pressure that made you want more, need more.

He broke the kiss with a soft gasp, his lips brushing against yours as he leaned his forehead against yours. His chest heaved, just as yours did, both of you still struggling to catch your breath.

“God, you’re killing me,” Spencer muttered, his voice rough and low, and you couldn’t tell if it was frustration or desire lacing his words.

You felt the same, your body still thrumming from the kiss, from the touch. You wanted to keep going, to let the moment drag on forever, but you couldn’t ignore the pull of the car and the inevitable drive back.

“Let’s get in the car,” he said, voice almost a command, but his fingers lingered on your skin as if reluctant to let go.

You nodded, but before you could turn to walk to the car, Spencer’s hand tightened on your waist, pulling you back to him in one smooth motion. His lips crashed against yours again, even more demanding this time, the kiss melting all your restraint away. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging him closer as you felt the intensity of the moment rise again. There was no slowing down, no pulling back now.

When he finally broke the kiss, you both stood there, breathless, for a beat longer than necessary. Spencer’s hand lingered at the small of your back, the heat from his touch igniting a fire deep inside you.

Without another word, he helped you into the car, the cool leather seat seeming impossibly colder after the heat between you two. He slid in beside you, the space between you still charged with that same electric tension.

As he drove, his fingers brushed over your knee absentmindedly, the touch light but deliberate. Your body hummed with the aftermath of the kiss, every inch of you still alive with the sensations he caused. The drive felt like it took forever, the quiet of the night outside only making the distance between you seem larger than it really was. Every so often, you could feel his gaze flicker to you, dark and intent.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic beat of your heart. The air in the car was thick with the promise of something more, something neither of you had ever admitted out loud. And so, without a word, you let your legs fall open just a fraction more, the leather seat cool against your skin. Your skirt, a dark whisper of fabric, slid up your thighs, revealing the softness beneath.

Spencer’s eyes flickered downward, his gaze catching on the newly exposed flesh. His hand paused on your knee for a second before it began to trace upward, the slow, deliberate movement of a man who knew exactly what he was doing—what he wanted. The heat of his fingertips was like a brand against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You felt your breath catch as his hand slid up your thigh, the fabric of your skirt whispering against your skin as it slid higher.

The sensation was exquisite, sending shivers through your body. You bit your bottom lip to keep from gasping out loud, your eyes slipping closed for a moment. The sound of the car’s engine was a low thrum in the background, the only noise in the otherwise silent vehicle.

Spencer’s hand continued its ascent, his fingertips lightly brushing the fabric of your panties. The anticipation was a coil in your stomach, tightening with every inch his hand travelled. You felt yourself lean into the touch, your body craving more.

With a gentle pressure, he pushed the fabric aside, revealing the damp heat of your folds. You held your breath as he touched you, the first contact of his skin against yours making you shiver. His ring finger traced the length of your slit, the pad of it finding your clit and making you gasp. He took the sound as a cue to press down, his touch feather-light but firm enough to elicit a reaction.

Your hand found its way to his thigh, gripping tightly as he began to rub in slow, steady circles. The sensation was almost unbearable, a sweet agony that made you arch into his touch. You could feel his eyes on you, watching the play of emotions across your face as you struggled not to let the moan building in your chest escape.

With a sudden urgency, Spencer’s fingers slid inside you, filling you up in a way that made your eyes roll back. He groaned at the wetness that greeted him, his movements matching the rhythm of his thumb now on your clit. You bit your lip hard, trying to keep your voice down as the pleasure built, your body tightening with every stroke.

Your hips rocked against his hand, a silent plea for more. His touch was firm and sure, the pads of his fingers finding every spot that made you shiver and moan. It was like he’d studied you, knew every inch of your body, every secret that made you fall apart. You couldn’t believe this was happening—that you were here, with him, and that he was touching you like this.

The sound of your breathing filled the car, each gasp and whimper echoing off the windows, a stark contrast to the quiet night outside. Spencer’s eyes remained on the road, his focus unwavering despite the distraction of his hand between your legs. It was a testament to his control, a promise of what was to come.

His fingers danced inside you, curling and stroking with a skill that was both maddening and exhilarating. Every movement was calculated, designed to build the tension that coiled low in your belly. You felt yourself growing wetter, the slickness of your arousal making your skin stick to the cool leather of the seat. It was a delicious kind of discomfort, a reminder of the need building between your thighs.

You squirmed, the sensation of his touch growing more intense with each passing second. It didn’t matter that you were in a car, that the world was rushing by outside—all that existed was the heat of his hand, the pressure of his fingers. You bit down on your lip, trying to stifle the sounds that wanted to escape. But it was useless. You were too lost, too far gone.

Before you knew it, the car had come to a stop, and Spencer’s hand was withdrawing, the loss of contact leaving you feeling cold and exposed. You opened your eyes to find him watching you, his gaze dark and hungry. He didn’t say a word as he helped you adjust your clothing, his movements gentle but firm.

You groaned at the loss of stimulation, but the ache between your legs was a sweet reminder of what was to come. Your entire body was strung tight with anticipation, your breaths coming in short, shallow pants. You knew you were close to getting what you really wanted—what you both wanted.

Spencer simply said "patience," his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. He gave you one last lingering look, a silent promise of more before getting out of the car. You watched him move with that same fluid grace you'd seen in the planetarium, the moonlight casting his features shadows. He was like a statue come to life, all muscles and angles, and your body responded to the sight of him, the ache between your legs growing.

When he opened your door and offered his hand to help you out, you couldn’t help but feel like you were in some kind of dream—a steamy, erotic fantasy where the intellectual banter turned into something far more primal and consuming. You took his hand, letting him guide you out of the car. His grip was firm, grounding, a contrast to the tremble in your own legs. The cool night air hit you like a slap, but it did nothing to extinguish the fire he’d stoked within you.

Spencer didn’t say anything as he led you to your front door, his hand still holding on to yours. The moment the door was open, you didn’t bother with the lights. The moon was enough to guide you through the darkness, casting everything in a soft, seductive glow.

Without hesitation you boldly shimmied out of your dress, letting it pool at your feet. The chilly air kissed your skin as you stepped out of the fabric, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties. You didn’t bother looking back—you knew Spencer was watching, his eyes devouring every inch of your exposed flesh. You felt his gaze like a physical touch, sending goosebumps skittering down your spine.

You sauntered away, your hips swaying with an unspoken challenge. The moon’s soft light traced your figure, casting a silver glow on your skin, making you look like a goddess of the night. Your bra and panties were the only barriers between you and his hungry eyes, and you knew it was driving him wild.

As you entered the bedroom, you felt his gaze on you like a physical caress. The room was bathed in the soft luminescence of the moon. You turned to face him, your heart racing as he followed you in, his eyes dark with desire. The anticipation was a thrum in the air, a palpable force that made your skin tingle.

And then, he strode over, closing the distance between you in a single purposeful step. His hand cupped the back of your neck, and before you could even catch your breath, he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was as fiery as it was gentle. His tongue slid against yours, a dance of passion and need that seemed to go on forever, the heat of his body enveloping you as if he could absorb you into himself.

The room was a blur of shadows and moonlight, but it was Spencer that was the brightest star in your universe. His touch was everywhere—his hands roaming over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, his mouth a brand against yours that you felt in every fibre of your being. You melted into his embrace, letting the sensations wash over you like a warm wave, pulling you deeper into the moment.

He tugged at your bra, and it fell away, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. He paused, his eyes raking over you with a hunger that made you shiver, before he bent to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking and teasing until you moaned. His hands were everywhere—his fingers tracing the lines of your ribs, the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips. He seemed to be memorizing you, learning every inch of your body like it was a sacred text.

And you, you couldn’t get enough. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, down his back, feeling the taut muscles that shifted and flexed under your touch. You wanted to devour him, to feel him against you in every way possible. His own clothes came off with the same urgency.

With a growl, Spencer pushed you onto the bed, his body covering yours. The mattress dipped under the weight of you both, the fabric cool and soft against your skin. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, nipping and kissing a trail that made you arch your back and gasp.

He slid your panties off, revealing your wetness to the air. His eyes flashed with hunger before his mouth was on you, his tongue tracing the edges of your folds, teasing your clit with feather-light flicks that had you writhing beneath him. You gripped the sheets, trying to hold on to something as the world spun away. His mouth felt like heaven, his touch like the answer to every unspoken prayer.

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice thick with lust. You could feel the vibration of his words against your sensitive flesh, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of you with a hunger that was insatiable. You bucked against his face, your hips moving in a silent plea for more.

The bed rocked as he settled between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. His mouth was relentless, his tongue swirling and lapping, driving you closer to the edge with each pass. You could feel the orgasm building, a pressure that grew with every touch, every kiss. You were so close, so close to the precipice that you could almost taste it.

"I'm so close. If you stop this time," you breathed out, your voice low and filled with humour, "I'm going to kill you."

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with mirth as he took in your flushed cheeks and the desperation in your voice. He knew you weren’t being serious—not really—but the playful threat in your words only served to make him more determined. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your wet skin, and whispered, “Oh, I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

With that, he went back to his task with renewed vigour, his tongue swirling and dipping, his lips sucking gently. You could feel the tension coiling tighter, your body bowing under the onslaught of pleasure. You gripped the sheets harder, your knuckles turning white as you fought the urge to push him away, to drag him closer, to do anything to make the feeling last forever.

And then, when the moment was right, Spencer slid his fingers into you, aiming straight for your G-spot. You gasped at the suddenness of it, your body jolting as he hit the spot with unerring precision. The sensation was like a spark that ignited a fuse, sending waves of pleasure shooting through you.

You could no longer hold back the whines and moans that had been building in your throat. They spilled out into the night, a symphony of need that seemed to resonate through the very air around you. His mouth and fingers worked in tandem, pushing you higher and higher until you felt like you were going to shatter into a million pieces.

The climax hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you trembling. Your body tightened around his fingers, your muscles clenching as the orgasm washed over you. You could feel your juices coating his skin, and the thought only served to make the sensation more intense.

As the last spasms of pleasure receded, Spencer pulled back, his eyes shining with victory and something else—admiration, maybe? You couldn’t be sure. But the look on his face was one of pure reverence, as if you were some kind of goddess that had just allowed him a taste of heaven.

You watched him, panting and flushed, as he moved over you. His skin was slick with sweat, the moonlight playing across the planes of his chest, casting him in an ethereal glow. For a moment, he just hovered above you, his breaths heavy, his eyes locked on yours. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a soft rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth.

"You’re not just beautiful… you’re celestial. Like you were born from the night sky itself."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, as Spencer’s eyes searched yours. His pupils were wide, dark pools that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe—and for a moment, you felt like you were drowning in them. The room spun around you, the only constant the steady beat of your heart and the heat of his gaze.

And then, he was moving again, his body sliding against yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. You felt the tip of his erection nudge against your entrance, and it was all you could do not to beg for more. But you didn’t have to—Spencer knew exactly what you needed. With one swift thrust, he filled you completely, the sensation of him inside you making your eyes roll back in your head.

He paused for a moment, giving you a chance to adjust, to breathe. You felt him, thick and hard, stretching you in a way that was both exquisite and overwhelming. You could feel the veins of his cock pulsing against the walls of your pussy, and the sensation was almost too much to handle. But you didn’t want it to stop—you never wanted it to stop.

You reached up and placed a hand on the back of his neck, guiding his mouth to yours in a silent plea for more. Spencer didn’t need any encouragement. His lips claimed yours with a fiery passion that left you gasping, his tongue delving deep as he began to move, his hips setting a rhythm that had you rising to meet him.

The sensation was like nothing you’d ever felt before—like your entire world had been reduced to the point where you were joined. The bed groaned in protest under the force of your movements, the headboard thumping against the wall in a steady, insistent beat that matched the pounding of your heart. You could feel yourself building again, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

Spencer’s hands were everywhere, on your breasts, your hips, your ass—guiding you, urging you closer to that sweet oblivion that beckoned. His thrusts grew more demanding, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered sweet nothings that seemed to carry the weight of the universe.

You felt yourself begin to climb again, the sensation of him inside you more intense than ever. His strokes grew longer, his rhythm unrelenting, each movement bringing you closer to that precipice you’d been teetering on. You could feel the tension in the air, the electricity that crackled between your bodies. It was like you were made for this—for each other—like every moment of your life had led to this perfect storm of passion.

You watched as his cock slid in and out of you, the slickness of your desire making his skin glisten in the moonlight. The sight was almost too much, your eyes going wide as you took in every inch of him, his length, his girth, the way he filled you so completely. Your inner muscles clenched around him, a silent invitation for him to go deeper, to never stop.

Each stroke sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, making your toes curl and your back arch. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were here, with Spencer, feeling this connection that seemed to transcend the physical. His eyes never left yours, his gaze intense and focused, as if he was trying to see into the very depths of your soul.

The rhythm grew faster, the sounds of your skin slapping against his and the wet noises of your union filling the room. Spencer’s breathing grew ragged, his face a picture of pure concentration as he watched you climb towards your peak. His thumb found your clit again, playing with it in a way that had your eyes rolling back in your head, stars exploding behind your closed lids.

“Tell me how good I make you feel,” he demanded, his voice a gruff whisper. It was a command, but also a question, a need for you to put into words the symphony of sensations that played through your body with each stroke of his cock.

You obeyed, your voice a breathless pant as you whispered, “Good isn’t enough, Spencer. You make me feel alive. Like every nerve in my body is on fire, like I’m floating on air and drowning in pleasure all at once.” Each word was a confession, a revelation of how deeply he affected you.

He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before snapping open again, his gaze locked on yours as if he was afraid to miss a single second of this shared moment. His hips sped up, his strokes growing more insistent, more demanding. His thumb circled your clit, pressing harder, faster, and you felt your orgasm building once more, like a crescendo that you couldn’t hold back.

“Tell me,” he said again, his voice low and commanding, his eyes searching yours. “I want to hear it. I need to know how good it feels when I’m inside you, making you come apart around me.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, your body trembling with the effort of holding back the words. But you knew he needed to hear them, needed to know that he was the one who did this to you. So you spoke, your voice raw with passion.

"You feel so deep, so perfect, like you’re claiming every part of me. Like you own me." Your voice broke on a gasp as you clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders. "I don’t ever want you to stop. I don’t think I could survive it."

His response was a feral groan, his hips bucking harder, driving into you with an urgency that spoke of a hunger that could never truly be sated. Your breaths grew shorter, your body tightening around him like a vise. The pressure grew, the tension coiling like a spring about to snap.

And then, with a few desperate thrusts, you were there falling over the edge, screaming out his name as your orgasm crashed over you. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before—a white-hot explosion that sent waves of pleasure through your body, leaving you trembling and gasping for air.

But Spencer wasn’t finished. His eyes burned with an intensity that seemed almost feral as he looked down at you, his hips still moving with a purpose that was unmistakable. You could feel his cock pulse inside you, feel his own release building with each stroke. And in that moment, all you wanted was for him to let go, for him to fill you up with everything he had to give.

In a pleasure-drunk haze, you whispered the words that had been dancing on the tip of your tongue. “Cum in me, Spencer. I need it. I need all of you, please… fill me up." Your voice was a needy whine, raw with desperation.

Hearing your plea, Spencer’s control snapped. He growled, the sound primal and possessive, and his hips began to piston into you, his strokes deep and powerful. You could feel his cock swell even more inside you, the pressure building until it was almost too much to bear.

And then, with a final roar of pleasure, he did as you asked—his seed spilling into you in hot, thick spurts that filled you completely. The feeling was overwhelming, a rush of heat and fullness that seemed to go on forever. Your muscles clenched around him, milking every drop as if trying to hold onto him for as long as possible.

As your bodies stilled, Spencer collapsed onto you, his breaths coming in heaving gasps, his heart racing against your chest. You could feel his weight, the reassuring warmth of his body, the sticky sweat that melded your skin together. For a moment, you just lay there, panting and trembling, basking in the aftermath of what had just transpired.

Then, with a gentle smile, Spencer rolled off of you, taking care not to break the connection entirely. He pulled you into his arms, your legs tangling together, your breaths mingling as you both tried to find your bearings. The room was silent, save for the distant sound of a car passing by outside, the occasional creak of the bed, and the steady beat of your hearts.

You looked up at him, his face a canvas of pleasure and contentment. The moon had shifted slightly, casting a new pattern of shadows across his skin. You traced one with your finger, watching as it danced over the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. He leaned into your touch, a purr of satisfaction rumbling in his throat.

“That was…” he started, his voice gravelly with the aftermath of passion.

You smiled softly, finishing for him, "Incredible."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, his eyes glimmering as they met yours. "Yeah. That’s one word for it."

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable but intimate, filled with quiet understanding. You lay there, fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. His hand drifted along your back, fingertips tracing your spine with a delicate touch.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead.

You nodded, a small hum of affirmation. "Better than okay."

His hand paused, cradling the back of your head as if he could hold you together with just his touch. "Good. I just… I want this to be good for you. For us."

"It is," you said softly, meeting his gaze. "It is."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, his lips warm against your skin. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his brows knitting together. "You should use the bathroom," he said gently, his concern evident. "Just to be safe."

You smiled at the thoughtfulness, brushing your fingers over his arm. "You're right. I'll be right back."

As you slipped out of bed, Spencer watched you go with a fondness that warmed the air between you. He rose as well, pulling on his boxers and heading into the kitchen. By the time you returned, he had two glasses of water waiting on the nightstand.

"Figured you'd be thirsty," he said, offering you one with a soft smile.

You accepted it gratefully, taking a long sip before setting it down. "You're too good to me."

He chuckled, climbing back into bed and pulling you close once more. "Just looking out for you."

You settled into his embrace, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Tonight was… amazing. Not just this, but the whole night. The date, the way you made me feel. It was easy with you. Natural."

Spencer’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles on your back. "I wanted it to be that way. I wanted you to feel… comfortable. Wanted. Because you are."

Your fingers found his, intertwining them. "You make me feel… like I don't have to try so hard. Like I'm enough."

He squeezed your hand, his voice a soft murmur against your hair. "You are. You always are."

There was a pause, a quiet stretch of time where neither of you moved. Then, without words, he pulled the blanket over the two of you, tucking it around your bodies. His arms stayed tight around you, and you nestled closer, finding solace in the solid line of his body.

The exhaustion crept in slowly, your limbs heavy, your thoughts hazy but content. Spencer’s fingers stroked through your hair, slow and soothing, lulling you toward sleep.

"Sleep," he whispered. "I've got you."

And you did, sinking into the warmth of him, letting the world fade away until there was nothing but the steady beat of his heart and the soft rhythm of his breath.

Morning light crept gently into the room, casting soft shadows across the bed. Spencer stirred first, eyes blinking open to the sight of you still sleeping beside him. Your features were relaxed, lips slightly parted, hair splayed across the pillow in soft waves. A quiet contentment settled over him. He wanted to keep this moment, to hold onto it, but even more than that, he wanted to do something for you. Something simple. Sweet.

Breakfast in bed.

Carefully, he slid out from under the blanket, moving with slow precision to avoid waking you. He paused by the doorway, taking one last look at you before stepping into the kitchen, determination settling in his chest. How hard could it be?

Turns out, harder than expected.

He started with coffee, thinking it safe. Only, the machine sputtered oddly, refusing to brew as smoothly as it should. He frowned, poking at it like that might encourage better performance. When the coffee finally dripped through, it was weaker than expected but passable. He’d just… add more sugar. That would fix it, right?

The eggs were next. Spencer cracked the first one with too much force, half of it splattering onto the counter. He muttered under his breath, cleaning it up quickly before trying again. The second egg cracked better, though some shell slipped into the bowl. He tried fishing it out with his fingers but only made it worse, the slippery bit of shell evading him like a taunt.

"Okay," he murmured, squinting in concentration. He reached for a spoon, finally prying the shell free with a triumphant huff. The small victory felt satisfying—until he realized he’d already let the pan heat too long. The butter burned in an angry sizzle, smoke curling up as if mocking him. He rushed to toss it, opening the window to wave the smoke out.

"Great start," he muttered.

The toast was another misadventure. He set it to medium, turned his back for half a second, and it came out more charred than crisp. He hesitated, then decided maybe if he just scraped off the blackened bits, it would be fine. Rustic. That sounded right. Rustic.

By the time he was done, the kitchen looked like a minor war zone. Eggshells littered the counter, the faint smell of smoke lingered, and the toast… well, it wasn’t black anymore, but it wasn’t exactly golden either. The coffee looked questionable, the eggs a little overcooked. Still, he plated it carefully, determined to follow through.

He placed everything on a tray, hesitating only a moment before grabbing a single flower from the vase on your table. A nice touch, he thought. Maybe it would distract from everything else.

When he returned to the bedroom, you were already stirring, eyes fluttering open as you turned towards him. Your gaze softened, sleep still lingering in your expression.

Spencer smiled, though it was tinged with nerves. "Good morning," he greeted, placing the tray gently on the nightstand. "I… thought I’d surprise you with breakfast."

You blinked at the tray, then back at him. Your lips twitched, though you held it back admirably.

"This is… such a sweet surprise," you said, sitting up, the blanket pooling at your waist. "You didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," he said quickly. "I thought… well, after last night, you deserved something nice. Even if I’m not exactly a chef." He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "And the coffee might be a little weak. The toast is, um, rustic. And the eggs are… edible?"

You let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and affectionate. "It’s perfect," you said, though your smile gave you away.

"You’re a terrible liar," Spencer chuckled, but his eyes were fond. "But I appreciate it."

You reached for the coffee first, taking a cautious sip. Your expression twitched, but you swallowed it without complaint. Then you picked up the toast, eyeing it as though it might crumble into dust with one wrong move.

"It’s definitely… crunchy," you said, and the laugh that followed was free and bright.

Spencer groaned but grinned, rubbing a hand down his face. "I swear, my brain is good for a lot of things. Cooking just isn’t one of them."

"You get points for effort," you teased, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers through his. "And honestly? The thought means more than perfect eggs."

He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. "I’ll take you out for real breakfast later. Something with less… burnt bread."

"Deal." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "But this is still my favourite breakfast so far."

He tilted his head, catching your lips with his. Slow. Sweet. The kind of kiss that lingered, tasting of morning and promise. When you finally pulled back, Spencer’s eyes searched yours, like he was memorizing the moment.

"Next time, I'll just bring you coffee," he murmured, though his smile was playful.

"As long as you’re the one bringing it," you said, settling back into the pillows. "It’ll be perfect."

Spencer settled back against the pillows, his arm curling around you like it belonged there. His skin was warm, his body solid as you pressed close, letting the sheets drape loosely over you. His fingertips traced slow, lazy patterns along your spine, the kind of touch that wasn’t in a hurry to be anything but soft and steady.

You pressed your face into the curve of his shoulder, smiling against his skin. “You didn’t have to try so hard,” you said, voice low, lazy.

“I wanted to,” he murmured, his breath brushing over your hair. His fingers traced up, slow and thoughtful, until they skimmed along the back of your neck. “For you.”

The way he said it made warmth bloom low in your chest. You tilted your head, lifting your gaze to his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. His eyes lingered on you—your mouth, your cheek, the soft curve of your shoulder. His hand slid up, fingertips brushing along your jaw, light but certain.

You leaned in, and his lips met yours like it was inevitable.

It started soft, slow, but it didn’t stay that way. His mouth opened against yours, his hand sliding into your hair, fingers tangling and tugging, angling your head the way he wanted. You sighed into him, your hand sliding along his side, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

He kissed you deeper, slower, like he had nowhere else to be. Like there was nothing better than this. His hand traced down, fingertips brushing over your back, down to the curve of your waist. He pulled you closer until there wasn’t space for anything but the steady heat of him, his body solid, his breath quickening.

You shifted, your leg sliding over his, tangling close. His hands found your hips, fingers splaying, holding you there, keeping you pressed to him. His mouth never left yours, deep and wanting but never rushed. His tongue traced over yours, slow and certain, tasting, lingering like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

Your hands roamed, exploring the lines of him, fingertips skating over his ribs, his shoulders, the soft dip of his spine. Every brush of skin made him press closer, his breath catching, his hands smoothing up your back, tracing along your sides. His touch was slow but certain, like he wanted to feel every inch of you.

The sheets tangled around you, warm and soft, but it was his hands, his mouth, his body that held you there. Time stretched out, long and slow, the kind of time that didn’t feel real. You kissed until your lips were sore, until you were breathless, caught between sighs and quiet laughter, until the line between one kiss and the next blurred into something endless.

Every shift, every brush of fingertips, every quiet hum felt easy. Unhurried. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head just right so his mouth could find yours again. And when his lips dragged lower, brushing along your jaw, down the curve of your throat, you sighed, arching into him.

He hummed, low and pleased, his mouth lingering against your skin, soft and warm. You curled closer, fingers tracing the slope of his back, slow and content.

It wasn’t about urgency. It wasn’t about needing anything more than this. It was about closeness, about the feel of his skin beneath your hands, his mouth on yours, the warmth of his breath, the steady comfort of his touch.

And you stayed like that, tangled up in each other, kissing and touching, letting the world outside fall away.

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. You didn’t care.

Eventually, he pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm and uneven, his eyes half-lidded, lazy. His thumb brushed along your cheek, slow and sweet.

“I could stay here forever,” he said, voice rough but soft.

You smiled, fingers tracing lightly along his shoulder. “Me too.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, lingering. But then your stomach growled—quiet but impossible to ignore and it made you both laugh, warm and breathless.

Spencer shifted back slightly, his hand smoothing down your side. “I still owe you breakfast,” he said, his tone wry. “Or… brunch, I guess, by now. I feel bad about earlier.”

You hummed, trailing your fingers down his arm. “You don’t have to make up for anything. I’m happy right here.”

“I know,” he said, brushing his fingers along your side, slow and thoughtful. “But I want to. I want to bring you something good.”

You gave him a lazy, teasing smile. “And if I said I’d rather keep you here?”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Then I’d say I’ll be back fast. But you deserve a real meal, and I want to be the one to bring it to you.” His gaze softened. “Then we can crawl back under the covers and have a lazy day in bed.”

You exhaled, the idea settling in warm. “Alright,” you said. “But you better hurry.”

“I will.” He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. “Promise.”

You watched him as he slid from the bed, the sheets falling away, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. He stretched, slow and lazy, the muscles of his back flexing beneath skin as he reached for his clothes.

He dressed without hurry, his gaze flicking to you as he tugged his shirt over his head. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” he said, his tone teasing but warm.

You smiled, sinking deeper beneath the blanket. “I won’t.”

And when he crossed the room, leaning in to press one last kiss to your forehead, it lingered soft and certain, like a promise.

“I won’t be long,” he said, his fingers brushing one last time along your arm.

You watched him go, the door clicking softly behind him, and the room felt quieter but still warm. Still full of him.

You stretched beneath the sheets, your body humming with the comfort of him, and let yourself sink into the warmth he’d left behind, knowing he’d return soon with food, with more of this. With more of him.

The café was quiet when Spencer stepped inside, the air rich with the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread. The warmth was a sharp contrast to the chill outside, but it wasn’t enough to thaw the haze that had settled over him since leaving your place.

He kept thinking about how you’d looked when he slipped out tangled in the sheets, hair mussed, skin still warm from his touch. He could still feel the ghost of your lips on his, the weight of your body pressed to his. It lingered, soft and heady.

It didn’t feel real.

He kept thinking about last night, about the way you’d smiled over dinner, the quiet way you’d leaned into him at the planetarium like you belonged there, like you belonged with him. He’d memorized the way the soft glow of the stars lit your skin, how your eyes had caught the light when you looked at him. How you’d kissed him like you meant it. Like you wanted more.

He ordered quickly—pastries, something warm and sweet, and coffee that smelled rich and strong. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a gesture. Like something he could give you, small but thoughtful. He wanted to bring you something good. Something easy.

Walking back, he wondered if you were still curled up in bed, if you’d fallen asleep again. He liked the thought of that. Liked the idea of coming back to you warm and drowsy, your body soft beneath the sheets, your voice low with sleep.

He just liked coming back to you.

By the time he let himself back in, the apartment was quiet. He closed the door softly, toeing off his shoes, and carried the food inside. The bedroom door was ajar, and he caught a glimpse of you inside curled beneath the blankets, now wearing a tank top and panties, your hair falling loose over your shoulder. You were stretched out in the soft glow of morning, looking comfortable and warm, and for a second, Spencer just stood there. Watching.

It still didn’t feel real.

You looked up when he stepped in, your eyes soft with sleep, and gave him a smile that made something in his chest pull tight.

“Told you I’d be quick,” he said, keeping his voice low.

You stretched beneath the covers, slow and lazy. “You were.”

He set the bag down, unpacking the food as you pushed yourself up. The sheets slipped down your body, exposing more bare skin, and he tried not to stare. Tried.

“I got pastries,” he said, passing one to you. “And coffee. I thought—well, I hoped it would be good enough.”

You took it with a soft smile, fingers brushing his. “It’s perfect.”

Spencer sat beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. He watched you take a bite, the way your eyes fluttered shut at the taste, and smiled to himself.

It felt easy after that. You sat cross-legged on the bed, sharing food and quiet conversation, trading bites and soft laughs. Crumbs scattered across the sheets, but neither of you cared. His fingers brushed yours more than they needed to. He let them linger, tracing over your knuckles, your wrist, the curve of your thigh beneath the blanket.

And when you were both full, when the food was forgotten and the coffee cooled on the nightstand, you stayed close. Spencer stayed close.

The afternoon passed in quiet, easy conversation. You stayed in bed, letting the hours stretch long and unhurried. There was no rush, no need to be anywhere but here. Spencer stayed close, his leg pressed against yours beneath the blanket, his fingers brushing over your hand now and then-light, lingering, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Eventually, he shifted, leaning back against the headboard and stretching out his legs. His arm slid around your waist, fingers curling just enough to tug you gently toward him. You didn’t resist, letting him pull you in until you were settled between his legs, your back resting against his chest.

It felt natural, easy, the kind of closeness that didn’t need words. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb tracing slow, idle circles over the soft fabric of your tank top. You let your head tip back against his shoulder, and for a while, that was enough.

The conversation slowed, words giving way to the quiet comfort of being close. Spencer’s fingers drifted, tracing along your side, over your ribs, and back again. His touch wasn’t urgent, but there was a weight to it, a quiet intent that lingered beneath the surface.

Eventually, as the sky outside dimmed and the soft glow of evening settled in, Spencer's hand paused where it rested on your waist. His fingers flexed slightly, holding on like he didn't want to let go.

"I should…" His voice trailed off, low and reluctant. "I should probably head out soon."

You tilted your head, looking up at him. "You don't have to."

He hesitated, then sighed. "I do. We have work tomorrow. And as much as I want to stay, I don't think either of us will get much sleep if I do."

It wasn’t teasing, and it wasn’t light. It was truth, weighed down with the pull of wanting to stay anyway.

You nodded, though it wasn’t what you wanted either. "Yeah. You're right."

He was quiet for a moment, his hand smoothing over your side like he was memorizing the shape of you. "Tomorrow's going to be… interesting," he said, a dry note in his voice.

You gave a small laugh. "You mean the team is going to make our lives hell?"

He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah. Exactly that."

You shifted, turning slightly to look at him better. "We'll get through it."

"We will," he agreed, but the words were softer. Like he needed to believe them as much as you did. "But we need to be careful. We can’t… We can’t let this affect work."

You nodded, serious now. "I know. No flirting. No… this," you said, gesturing between you both. "Not while we’re on the clock."

His jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded. "Right. No slipping. No mistakes."

"And no giving them anything to gossip about," you added.

He chuckled under his breath, though it lacked humor. "We already gave them enough. Tomorrow, we keep it professional. No exceptions."

You nodded again, though a part of you ached at the thought. "We’ll figure it out."

His hand lingered at your side, fingers pressing in gently like he didn’t want to let go. "We will," he said, and there was something certain in the words. Not just about work but about everything. About you and him.

When he finally stood, you followed him, padding barefoot to the door. The apartment felt smaller as he gathered his things, quieter with the evening stretching between you. You lingered close as he shrugged on his jacket, and when his hand hovered at the door, you reached for him.

He turned, his expression soft and a little sad, and you lifted onto your toes, brushing your lips to his. Slow, lingering, a kiss that said all the things you couldn’t tomorrow. The kind that made him hum low in his chest, his hand lifting to cup your cheek, fingers sliding into your hair.

You pulled back first, but only by a breath. "Goodnight," you said, your voice quieter now.

His thumb traced along your jaw. "Goodnight."

He hesitated, but then he stepped back, opening the door and slipping out with one last look. One that lingered like his touch, warm and slow, even after the door clicked shut.

You stood there for a moment, fingers pressed to your lips, holding onto the feel of him. Knowing tomorrow would be different. Knowing you'd have to act like this didn’t happen.

But it did. And you'd both figure it out. Together.

The night stretched quiet after Spencer left, but his absence lingered. You moved through the motions of evening—tidying up, brushing your teeth, slipping into bed—but it all felt a little too still. A little too empty.

Your phone buzzed just as you settled under the covers.

Spencer: Sweet dreams. I’ll be thinking about you.

A smile tugged at your lips as you typed back.

You: You better not be thinking about me tomorrow. We have to be professional, remember?

The reply came quickly.

Spencer: Right. Completely professional. No thinking about you at all.

You could almost hear the sarcasm in it. Almost see the way he’d be smiling, soft and teasing.

You: Good luck with that.

A beat passed, and then,

Spencer: Goodnight.

You: Goodnight, Spencer.

You set the phone down, but it took a while for sleep to come. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, fingers brushing over the empty space beside you. It felt like something unfinished. Like something waiting.

But eventually, sleep pulled you under.

Sleep didn’t last long enough.

You moved through the morning on autopilot—shower, coffee, dressing for the day. Routine helped, steady and familiar, but there was a thread of tension underneath it all. A sense of anticipation you couldn’t shake.

You paused by the mirror, studying yourself. Trying to find that steady, composed version that wouldn’t give anything away. That could walk into work and pretend nothing had changed.

Professional. Unshakable.

You adjusted your clothes and took one last look.

This was fine. You could do this.

The drive in passed in a blur, but when the building came into view, your stomach tightened. It was easy to imagine the teasing looks, the knowing glances, the way the team would pounce at the first slip.

In the elevator, you caught your reflection in the metal doors. You smoothed your hands down your sides, pressed your shoulders back. Tried to look like nothing had changed. Like you weren’t holding onto the ghost of Spencer’s touch.

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open, and you took a breath.

Steady. Calm. Professional.

You stepped out, heels clicking against the floor, and walked toward the office.

The bullpen was already humming with quiet activity when you stepped off the elevator. Garcia was perched on Derek's desk, legs crossed, a look of pure mischief lighting up her face. She wasn’t even pretending to look busy, eyes fixed on the elevator like she had been waiting just for you.

Her grin was immediate and sharp. "Well, well. Look who decided to show up."

You kept your expression neutral, though it was difficult with the way her gaze swept over you like she was analyzing every inch.

"Morning, Garcia."

She slid off the desk with slow grace. "Morning? Oh, I bet it is." Her voice dripped with implication. "Good weekend?"

Before you could answer, the second elevator chimed, and Spencer stepped out. He caught sight of the group and hesitated just a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Garcia's grin turned predatory.

"Speak of the devil," she said sweetly.

You watched as Spencer’s eyes flicked over the bullpen, taking in the scene, taking in you. There was a tightness to his jaw, the faintest blush colouring his cheeks, but he kept his stride steady as he crossed to his desk.

Garcia’s grin widened as she gave Spencer a slow once-over. She tilted her head, voice sweet but laced with mischief.

“You’re walking a little funny this morning, Doctor Reid.”

The words hung in the air. There was a beat of silence, just long enough for the implication to land.

Spencer froze, the colour rising sharply to his cheeks. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond.

Without a word, he hurried to his desk.

Garcia just smiled, looking far too pleased with herself.

Derek let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Well, that explains a lot."

Emily smirked, her gaze flicking between you and Spencer. "Guess all that arguing was just foreplay, huh?"

JJ, walking in with a coffee in hand, raised her brows as she caught the tail end of the exchange. "Did I miss something, or is this just Monday morning chaos?"

Morgan chuckled. "You missed the revelation of the century."

You set your bag down, refusing to let your smile slip. You didn’t plan to deny anything, but that didn’t mean you were about to serve up details either.

Garcia tilted her head, her grin unrelenting. "Come on, you’re not really gonna act like I didn’t catch you two, are you? Phones don’t just spend the night together by accident."

Morgan crossed his arms, looking smug. "Makes sense now. All that tension? All those arguments? Classic case of unresolved chemistry."

JJ grinned, her tone teasing. "Yeah, we just didn’t realize how unresolved it really was."

Emily laughed. "You know, I always thought it was going to end with one of them throwing a punch. Turns out it ended… differently."

That earned a round of laughter, and Spencer, though he kept his head down, wasn’t fooling anyone. His ears were burning red.

Garcia beamed. "Well, whatever it was, I'm glad you worked it out. This place was almost getting boring without the two of you bickering like an old married couple."

"Turns out they just needed to get it out of their system," Morgan added, grinning.

Emily shook her head with a laugh. "Or maybe they just found a better way to argue."

The laughter that followed was easy, though under it, you could feel the curiosity lingering. Questions were brewing, but before anyone could push further, Hotch's office door opened. The sound was enough to pull everyone's attention back to their desks, a momentary reprieve.

But you knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The morning passed in steady rhythm, but every so often, you felt it—Spencer’s gaze. Quick, flickering glances from across the bullpen. At first, you thought nothing of it. Habit, maybe. Or the lingering awkwardness after the weekend.

But then you caught it again. His eyes weren’t on your face.

You crossed to the filing cabinet, crouching to sift through the lower drawer. Papers shuffled under your fingers as you searched, but the weight of his gaze pressed against you, lingering. Curious. You straightened, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see Spencer quickly look away, his focus snapping back to his desk with suspicious intensity.

Strange.

You brushed it off and returned to your desk. But when you bent again—this time to reach for a file on the lower shelf—you caught it once more. A fleeting glance, sharp and quick, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted away.

You frowned slightly, puzzled. What was he looking at?

It wasn’t until you sat back and caught the way his gaze dropped—just for a second—that it clicked.

Ah.

You bit back a smile.

Leaning forward, you reached for your coffee, letting your blouse shift just enough, casual and effortless. You didn’t look at him, not yet, but you felt the shift in the air, that slight tension when someone’s trying not to stare.

And when you glanced up, there it was. His eyes, caught mid-glance, guilt flashing before he dragged them back to his desk.

Still, his blush gave him away.

You said nothing. Just smiled to yourself and turned back to your work, already thinking of how you’d make him squirm later.

Suddenly Garcia strolled into the bullpen, her heels clicking softly as she made her way to your desk. She perched on the edge, her voice low and laced with mischief. “So,” she started, eyes bright, “have a fun weekend?”

You looked up, keeping your tone light. “Relaxing. You?”

Garcia hummed, leaning in slightly. “Oh, quiet. Except for when I noticed two certain phones spending the night together. That definitely kept things interesting.”

You lifted an eyebrow, teasing. “Must’ve been a wild night for the phones.”

Emily, not even pretending to be focused on work, grinned. "Maybe the phones are dating now. Saved us all a lot of time waiting for them to catch up."

Laughter rippled through the bullpen, and you fought to keep your smile in check.

Garcia’s grin only widened as she turned back to you, her voice low and conspiratorial. “So… is it serious, or just a one-time thing for the phones?”

You took a slow sip of your coffee. “Guess you'll have to keep tracking to find out.”

Garcia chuckled, a sparkle in her eyes. “Oh, don’t tempt me.”

Garcia didn’t waste time. As soon as she slipped off your desk, she strolled toward Spencer’s, her steps light and casual. She leaned in just slightly, keeping her voice low but sweet.

"So," she said, eyes sparkling with mischief, "was it just a fun little weekend, or should I be picking out engagement gifts?"

Spencer glanced up, his expression calm but guarded. "That’s a little fast, don’t you think?"

Garcia smiled, undeterred. "Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes things just… click. Fast and hard."

He paused, as if considering his next words carefully. "I’d say it’s more complicated than that."

Garcia tilted her head, her grin widening. "Complicated is just code for interesting. And I love interesting."

Spencer gave a faint, knowing smile but said nothing more.

She lingered for a second longer, clearly waiting for something—anything—but when Spencer simply returned to his file, she straightened with a soft, playful sigh. "Fine, be mysterious. But don’t think I’m done yet."

And with that, she walked off, not quite satiated.

The teasing air didn’t go away. It hummed beneath every glance, every smirk that lingered a second too long. Every time you crossed the bullpen, there was an expectant pause, like the team was waiting for something to slip.

Morgan, leaning back in his chair, caught your eye as you passed with a file. His grin was slow, sharp. “Careful, sweetness. Don’t throw your back out carrying that—though I guess you’ve already had a good workout this weekend.”

You didn’t miss a step, just shot him a look over your shoulder. “I can handle it.”

But when you glanced at Spencer, his gaze wasn’t on the file. His eyes dipped lower, lingering for a beat too long. His jaw flexed, and he shifted in his seat, flipping a page in the file like it could cover the moment.

Emily caught it too, biting back a grin. She met your gaze and gave an exaggerated wink.

You kept walking, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck.

But Spencer wasn’t doing as well. His gaze flicked up quickly, catching yours before darting away, his fingers drumming a little too fast against the desk.

Later, in the file room, you were too focused on the folder in your hands to hear the door open. Too focused to notice the soft click of it shutting.

You didn’t hear him until you felt him—until his body pressed against your back, warm and solid. His hands landed on the shelves on either side of you, caging you in.

You froze, breath hitching as the heat of him curled around you.

Then his mouth was at your ear, his breath warm, his voice low enough to be dangerous. “Why today?" The words dragged slow and rough. "Why wear something so damn tempting?”

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs. You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. "Didn’t realize it was a problem."

Spencer’s laugh was quiet, low, curling at the edges. His nose skimmed the line of your jaw, a touch so light it left your skin burning. "It is," he said, the words nothing but a whisper. "Because I can’t think about anything else."

You felt his hand drift up, fingers brushing against your side, tracing the curve of your waist, so soft it could’ve been accidental—but it wasn’t. His fingertips skimmed the edge of your blouse, lingering just beneath the fabric’s hem.

Your breath stuttered, caught somewhere between a gasp and a challenge. "Maybe I wanted you distracted."

That earned a sharp inhale, but his laugh came dark and quiet. "Careful," he murmured. "You’re going to get exactly what you’re asking for."

Then, in one smooth motion, he turned you. His hands slid to your waist, firm and sure, and your back met the shelves with a quiet thud.

You barely had time to react before his body pressed close, his hand bracing beside your head. His other hand drifted along your hip, teasing, slow, fingers tracing the shape of you.

And then he was leaning in, his lips brushing close to yours—not touching, but close enough to feel the heat. Close enough to taste the possibility.

Your breath caught, chest rising to meet his. He stayed there, hovering, letting the anticipation crackle between you.

When you tried to close the gap, just a little, his hand slid up to your jaw, holding you still. His thumb traced your cheek, soft and maddening.

"Not yet," he whispered, his lips barely ghosting yours. His eyes were dark, heavy with want. "You don’t get to have it that easy."

The words sent heat spiralling low, sharp and hot.

You swallowed hard, your pulse thundering in your throat. "You’re cruel," you breathed.

He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Only when you deserve it."

And then his hand was gone, trailing down your side like a promise as he stepped back. The air felt colder without him, and your legs barely held steady beneath you.

But Spencer wasn’t unaffected. His jaw was tight, his eyes darker than before. He hesitated for half a second—like he might take it back, close the distance—but the sound of footsteps outside snapped the tension.

He turned, slipping from the room without a word.

And it wasn’t hard to notice the way his pants fit tighter than when he’d come in.

You stayed against the shelves, trying to catch your breath. Your skin still burned where he’d touched you. Your lips still tingled from the ghost of what almost was.

The afternoon stretched, slow and deliberate, each hour marked by lingering glances and barely-there touches. The teasing still hadn’t let up. Emily’s knowing looks, Morgan’s smirks, and JJ’s subtle glances over her coffee mug all pressed against the edges of your focus, reminding you of the tension that simmered beneath the surface.

Spencer tried to keep his attention on paperwork, but every time you shifted in your seat or reached for a file, his eyes flicked toward you. Quick, but not quick enough. And when you caught him, he'd glance away, his jaw tight and the tips of his ears faintly flushed.

You weren’t doing much better. Every brush of his hand when passing a folder, every moment his gaze dipped lower than it should, sparked a quiet heat beneath your skin. The tension built in the space between you—heavy and electric.

Morgan chuckled low, catching Spencer’s lingering stare. “If that’s how you look at her here, I can’t imagine how you look at her when it’s just the two of you.”

Emily didn’t miss a beat. “Bet they don’t argue nearly as much when it’s just them and locked doors.”

Morgan grinned. “Nah, I bet they argue more. Just… with less clothing.”

JJ glanced up, her smile sly. “Well, as long as they showed up to work in one piece, I guess they figured it out.”

Laughter rippled through the bullpen, and you fought to keep your face neutral, though heat prickled at the back of your neck. You didn’t dare glance at Spencer.

But you didn’t have to. His hand twitched around his pen, his shoulders stiff. He flipped a page, eyes down, like the paper could shield him. The flush along his cheeks was unmistakable, and he shifted slightly in his seat, jaw tight.

Emily leaned back, still grinning. “Come on, Reid, you’re the genius. What’s the probability of you making it through today without getting caught staring again?”

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t look up. “Low,” he admitted quietly.

The bullpen broke into another round of laughter, and you pressed your lips together to hide your smile. You weren’t sure if it was crueller to leave him hanging or to come to his rescue—but either way, it was definitely fun.

By the time the day edged toward its close, it felt like every second was strung tight, pulled taut with what neither of you said out loud. The office felt too small, the distance between desks too wide.

You stepped out of the break room and nearly collided with him in the hall. His shoulder brushed yours, his hand steadying you with a touch low on your back—too brief, but enough to send a jolt through you.

“Your place?” he murmured, his voice low, words skimming warm against your ear.

You didn’t turn, just glanced at him sideways, lips curving. “After work.”

He smiled, slow and sure. “I’ll bring dinner.”

And then he was gone, leaving you there with a heartbeat that wouldn’t slow and a promise hanging in the air. The rest of the day stretched endlessly, every tick of the clock a reminder of how close, and yet how far, the evening was.

When the day finally wound down, you gathered your things, pulse thrumming. Spencer wasn’t far behind, though neither of you said a word. It didn’t go unnoticed.

Morgan’s voice broke the quiet hum. “Don’t stay up too late, lovebirds. Gotta be sharp for work tomorrow.”

Spencer paused, his hand hovering over his satchel, gaze flicking up to meet yours before dropping again.

You didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be sure to send him home before curfew.”

That earned a ripple of laughter, light but sharp enough to make Spencer’s ears tint pink. He ducked his head, focusing a little too hard on his bag.

You exchanged no more words, but as you moved toward the elevator, you felt his stare, steady and warm. A glance back caught it—his eyes lingered, heavy with something unspoken.

The doors slid open, and you stepped inside. Just before they closed, Spencer caught your gaze again. A subtle tilt of his head. A silent promise.

When you finally got home, the weight of the day lingered in your bones. You kicked off your shoes, rolling your shoulders as you took in the quiet of your apartment. The teasing at work had been relentless, the stolen glances with Spencer torturous, and the slow crawl of time utterly unforgiving. Now, the waiting was finally over.

You had just settled onto the couch when a knock at the door sent a thrill through you. When you pulled it open, Spencer was standing there, slightly out of breath, brown paper bags in his hands, his messenger bag still slung over his shoulder. His tie was loose, and a few strands of hair had fallen over his forehead.

“Delivery,” he said, holding up the bags.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame. “You’ve never been a delivery guy in your life.”

Spencer stepped closer, eyes twinkling. “I brought food. That counts.”

You rolled your eyes but stepped aside to let him in. He made a beeline for the coffee table, setting down the food before shrugging off his bag. You followed, grabbing plates while he started unpacking the containers.

“You better not have picked something weird,” you teased, eyeing the bags suspiciously.

Spencer scoffed. “I have excellent taste.”

“You have questionable taste.”

“Only in women,” he quipped, earning a playful glare.

You settled on the couch with Spencer, the plates of Chinese food steaming between you. You talked about your workday, the teasing still fresh in your mind. Each shared story was met with laughter and the occasional eye roll, but there was a comfort in the banter that went deeper than the surface. It was easy, this back-and-forth, the way you could poke at each other’s buttons without fear of retribution.

“Speaking of, I think we may have permanently lost our credibility as professionals today.”

You snorted. “We had credibility to begin with?”

Spencer gave you a pointed look. “I did.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, if you’re so reputable, you should’ve been able to keep a straight face when Emily caught you staring at my cleavage.”

Spencer groaned, covering his face with one hand. “That was humiliating.”

“You turned red,” you teased, nudging his knee with yours.

“I panicked! There was no good way to recover from that!”

“You could’ve denied it.”

Spencer shot you a dry look. “And no one would’ve believed me. Besides, after that, there was Derek.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh god, yeah. He looked so smug when he caught you adjusting your tie like it would somehow erase the fact that you got caught drooling.”

“I wasn’t drooling,” Spencer muttered.

“Mmm,” you hummed, dragging out the sound. “That’s not what I heard.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “Do you enjoy my suffering?”

You grinned. “A little.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head as he picked at his food. “At least I wasn’t the only one suffering. You had Garcia and JJ tag-teaming you all day.”

You groaned, flopping back against the couch. “It was relentless. Garcia kept looking at me like she was proud—like I finally made a respectable life decision by dating you.”

Spencer smirked. “Well, I am an excellent choice.”

You shot him a look. “You’re a choice.”

His smirk widened. “A choice you chose.”

You huffed, nudging his knee with your foot. “Don’t get cocky. And JJ wasn’t any better—every time I looked at her, she was just smiling at me. Like this soft, knowing little smile. And when I asked what she was grinning about, she just shrugged and said, ‘Oh, nothing.’”

Spencer chuckled. “That’s worse than outright teasing.”

“I know!” You threw your hands up. “And then she had the audacity to say, ‘You two make sense.’”

Spencer tilted his head. “That’s kind of sweet.”

You pointed a fork at him. “It was smug and you know it.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t argue with you.”

“You never argue with me,” you shot back sarcastically, eyes twinkling.

The sarcasm goes right over his head. “Now that’s not true.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fair point. You argue with me about everything.”

His lips twitched. “Not everything.”

You arched a brow. “Okay, name one thing we haven’t argued about.”

Spencer opened his mouth, hesitated, then sighed. “Give me a minute.”

You smirked. “Exactly.”

You nudged Spencer’s knee with your foot, smirking as you picked at your food. “You remember the sticky note war?”

Spencer groaned, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I’m reminding you.”

It had started with a single correction—Spencer, unable to resist his need for precision, had scribbled an annotation onto one of your reports. You retaliated by leaving a sticky note on his desk that read, Clarification: You’re insufferable.

The next morning, you arrived to find a meticulously written response stuck to your monitor: Insubstantial claim. Please provide evidence.

And so it escalated.

Every day brought new additions. You scrawled sarcastic commentary on his files; he responded with passive-aggressive footnotes. You left him a sticky note with a simple No one likes a know-it-all. He countered with a full printout of a psychological study on passive-aggressive behaviour, highlighted and annotated just for you.

You declared war.

One evening, after everyone had left, you gathered every sticky note in the office and wallpapered Spencer’s desk. His chair, his drawers, his keyboard—everything was covered in a sea of bright squares, you wrote on as many as you could. Some were snarky 'You brought this upon yourself', some were outright taunts 'Can’t clarify your way out of this one, genius', and some were just ridiculous 'Fun fact: You're annoying'.

When Spencer walked in the next morning, he stopped in the doorway, staring in stunned silence.

You had never seen him so speechless.

As you sat together on your couch, Spencer was still shaking his head at the memory. “Do you know how long it took me to get rid of all of them?”

You grinned. “You should’ve surrendered.”

Spencer huffed. “I don’t surrender.”

“And yet, you never retaliated.”

Spencer took a slow bite of his food, eyes narrowing. “Because I knew I couldn’t win. You’re ruthless.”

You held up a finger. “Strategic.”

“Unhinged.”

You shrugged, smug. “Admit it. I won.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head. “You may have won that battle.”

You smirked. “And the war.”

He gave you a look but didn’t argue. That was admission enough.

Spencer scooped up a bite of rice, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you nearly buried me alive in paperwork.”

You snorted. “You act like I did it on purpose.”

Spencer levelled you with a look. “You stacked those files like a reckless maniac. I barely touched one, and the whole thing came down like an avalanche.”

You smirked around a bite of food. “Maybe you should’ve had faster reflexes.”

He scoffed. “I was ambushed.”

You could still picture it perfectly. Spencer had wandered over to your desk, reaching for a file you’d worked on. But the moment he slid it free from the pile, the precariously stacked tower of paperwork had given way, cascading down on top of him in a flurry of folders and sticky notes.

You had turned just in time to see him flail, letting out a startled yelp as he was buried under the mess.

It had taken you a full thirty seconds to stop laughing before you actually helped him.

“I thought I was going to die under there,” Spencer grumbled, stabbing at his food.

You grinned. “And what a tragic way to go. Drowned in documentation.”

Spencer huffed. “And then, after all that, you had the audacity to lecture me on why my filing system is inferior.”

You shrugged. “It is.”

Spencer set his plate down, turning fully toward you. “No. It is efficient, logical, and, most importantly, does not result in near-death experiences.”

You pointed at him with your chopsticks. “My system works for me.”

“If by ‘works,’ you mean you have to dig through mountains of papers every time you need something, then sure.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s organized chaos.”

“It’s a safety hazard.”

You grinned. “And yet, you still went digging through my stuff.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Never again.”

Spencer tapped his fingers against his plate, eyes narrowing slightly. “You know, I still haven’t forgiven you for the pen-clicking war.”

You smirked. “Because you lost?”

His scoff was immediate. “I did not lose.”

“Oh, you definitely lost.”

It had started with the smallest complaint. Spencer had been sitting across from you in the bullpen, diligently working on something, when he suddenly exhaled sharply.

“Can you stop that?”

You looked up, feigning innocence. “Stop what?”

“The pen.” He gestured vaguely at your hand, where you had been clicking your pen absentmindedly against your notepad.

You paused—then clicked it one more time, just to test him.

Spencer’s jaw tightened. “That.”

A slow smirk stretched across your lips. “Oh, this?” Click.

“Yes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because it’s annoying,” he said flatly.

That had been the moment you decided to make it your mission to annoy him as much as possible.

You clicked the pen relentlessly, varying the rhythm to keep him guessing. Sometimes, you’d click it twice, pause, then click it again just when he thought it was over. Other times, you’d hold it near his ear and click it absentmindedly while reading.

Spencer had lasted exactly twenty-three minutes before he retaliated.

He started talking—rambling, really—about anything and everything. The mating habits of deep-sea squid, the complete history of the Dewey Decimal System, the statistical probability of tripping while carrying a full cup of coffee.

The worst part? He was staring directly at you the entire time, waiting for your patience to crack.

It became a game.

You clicked the pen during every pause in his speech. He started filling those pauses with increasingly useless facts.

By lunchtime, Emily had thrown a crumpled napkin at both of you and declared she was going to start charging for babysitting.

Spencer sighed, shaking his head at the memory. “You never fight fair.”

You grinned. “Oh, I fight smart.”

Spencer gave you a look. “You fight dirty.”

“And yet,” you said, biting into your food, “you still lost.”

Spencer muttered something under his breath, but you caught the way his lips twitched. Even in defeat, he couldn’t help but be entertained.

Spencer pointed his fork at you, expression serious. “I still haven’t forgiven you for the peanut butter and jelly incident.”

You smirked. “Oh, you mean the time you were wrong?”

He scoffed. “I was not wrong.”

“You were so wrong.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “You threw a sandwich at me.”

“You deserved it.”

It had started in the break room, a simple, innocent lunch break. You were at the counter, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, carefully spreading peanut butter on one slice and jelly on the other. Spencer had wandered in, probably to refill his coffee, when he happened to glance at what you were doing.

And then he spoke the words that sealed his fate.

“You know, you’re making that incorrectly.”

You froze mid-spread, turning your head ever so slightly. “Excuse me?”

Spencer stepped closer, peering at your sandwich with an air of intellectual superiority. “You’re supposed to spread the peanut butter on one slice, then put the jelly on top of it, on the same slice, before putting the other piece of bread on top.”

You gaped at him. “That’s—Spencer, that’s insane.”

“It’s practical,” he argued. “If you put the jelly on a separate slice, it soaks into the bread too quickly and makes it soggy. The peanut butter acts as a protective barrier.”

You narrowed your eyes. “First of all, if you eat it immediately, the bread doesn’t have time to get soggy. Second of all, spreading jelly on top of peanut butter is just wrong—it doesn’t spread properly, and it gets all mixed up. You’re ruining the integrity of the sandwich.”

Spencer made a face. “You’re overcomplicating a simple process.”

You huffed. “And you’re making a mess. If you put the jelly on top of peanut butter, it slides around when you try to spread it! You end up with uneven distribution, which completely defeats the point of making a sandwich in the first place.”

Spencer crossed his arms. “I think you’re just bad at spreading.”

You inhaled sharply. “Take that back.”

“No.”

So you did what any reasonable person would do. You grabbed the top slice of your sandwich, fully loaded with jelly, and threw it at his chest.

The break room went silent.

Spencer stared at you, then slowly looked down at the smear of jelly now adorning his vest.

You sipped your drink to hide your grin. “Oops.”

Spencer shook his head. “You know, most people would’ve just verbally disagreed.”

You grinned, nudging his knee. “And most people wouldn’t have deserved to get assaulted with a PB&J.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Spencer glanced down at his feet, then back at you, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “I assume you’ve finally accepted that matching socks are inherently unlucky.”

You scoffed, setting down your chopsticks. “No, I’ve just given up arguing with someone who’s clearly delusional.”

Spencer hummed, clearly amused. “That’s not what you said the day you tried to force me to wear a matching pair.”

You groaned. “Because you were about to testify in court, Spencer! You were literally representing the entire BAU, and I thought maybe—just maybe—you could act like a normal person for one day.”

Spencer shrugged. “And I still gave flawless testimony. The jury didn’t convict based on my socks.”

“You don’t know that!”

The argument had started that morning at the office. You had stepped into the conference room where Spencer was reviewing his notes for court. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, and his slacks had ridden up just enough to reveal an egregious sight—one sock was navy with tiny books on it, and the other was bright green with planets.

You had stopped in your tracks, horrified. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Spencer barely glanced up. “Good morning to you, too.”

You pointed accusingly. “You are about to testify in a murder trial looking like a child whose parents didn’t do their laundry.”

Spencer blinked at you. “That’s dramatic.”

“No, this is dramatic—” You dug into your bag and pulled out the emergency pair of black dress socks you kept for specifically this reason. “Put these on.”

Spencer finally looked up, lips twitching. “You carry emergency socks?”

“I carry emergency Spencer socks because I knew you’d pull something like this.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I appreciate the effort, but I can’t wear matching socks.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You can, you just won’t.”

Spencer lifted a single finger, as if about to explain quantum mechanics. “The last time I wore matching socks, I had the worst day of my life.”

You folded your arms. “Oh, really?”

Spencer leaned back against the couch, his lips twitching in amusement. “It was years ago. Back when I was still new at the BAU, and I thought I’d try being… conventional.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Meaning what?”

He sighed. “Matching socks. Crisp, freshly pressed shirt. Everything put together like a normal, functioning adult.”

You snorted. “Bold choice.”

Spencer pointed at you. “A disastrous one.”

You gestured for him to continue, already intrigued.

“That morning, I got to the office early. I figured, you know, new day, fresh start, maybe I’d have a productive morning. I sat down at my desk, opened a file, and immediately knocked over my full cup of coffee. All over my case notes. Ruined. Just black ink bleeding into a giant, useless mess.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.

Spencer gave you a dry look. “Then, while I was trying to salvage what I could, Hotch called me in for an urgent briefing. I grabbed the wrong file—completely irrelevant information—walked in, sat down, and didn’t realize my mistake until I opened it in front of the whole team.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Spencer shook his head. “Hotch just gave me that look—you know, the one that makes you feel like you’re six years old and getting scolded by a school principal.”

You grinned. “I know the one.”

Spencer exhaled. “So, after making a fool of myself in front of the team, I went back to my desk, only to find that my chair had mysteriously vanished.”

You frowned. “Someone took your chair?”

“No, it was still there—I just didn’t notice because I wasn’t paying attention. So I went to sit down and… missed. Completely. Ended up on the floor.”

That was it. You burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Derek nearly passed out from how hard he was laughing. I was humiliated.”

You wiped at your eyes. “Okay, but that was just one day.”

Spencer lifted a finger. “That was before I left the office for the day.”

Your laughter slowed. “There’s more?”

“Oh, there’s more. I got caught in a sudden downpour without an umbrella, missed my bus, and when I finally got home, I realized I’d left my apartment keys in my desk drawer at work.”

You winced. “Oof.”

“Had to take a cab all the way back to the office just to get them. By the time I made it home, I was drenched, exhausted, and swore that I would never wear matching socks again.”

You shook your head, still grinning. “You’re ridiculous.”

Spencer smirked. “And yet, I haven’t had a day that bad since.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not proof of anything.”

“It’s proof enough for me.”

Spencer stretched an arm along the back of the couch, fingers idly brushing against your shoulder. His other hand rested on his knee, occasionally toying with the fabric of his sleeve. The room was quiet now, the remains of dinner pushed to the side, your plates stacked neatly on the coffee table.

He shifted slightly, tilting his head toward you. “Come here.”

You raised a brow. “I am here.”

“Closer.”

There was something in the way he said it—soft, certain—that sent a pleasant hum through you. You hesitated only for a second before giving in, leaning into his space. His arm slipped down around you, pulling you snug against his chest. He exhaled in satisfaction, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your arm as you settled against him.

Neither of you spoke for a while, content in the warmth of each other’s presence. Then Spencer sighed, his voice laced with amusement. “You know, for all the teasing today, no one brought up the pen incident.”

You tilted your head to look up at him. “The pen incident?”

Spencer smirked. “The day you nearly had a full-blown meltdown in the bullpen.”

Your eyes narrowed as the memory clicked into place. “Oh. You mean the day you stole from me?”

Spencer scoffed, feigning innocence. “Stole is a strong word.”

“No, it’s the exact word.” You poked his side for emphasis. “That was my favourite pen, Spencer.”

“Which I borrowed,” he corrected.

“You didn’t borrow it! Borrowing implies permission. You swiped it off my desk when I wasn’t looking.”

Spencer shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “I needed a pen.”

You huffed. “I needed that pen for three days.”

It had started as a minor annoyance—an everyday item that had mysteriously vanished. At first, you assumed you had misplaced it. You sifted through the papers on your desk, checked beneath your keyboard, even dug through your bag just in case. But the pen—the one pen you actually liked writing with—was nowhere to be found.

By the end of the first day, frustration had set in.

By the second, it was personal.

By the third, you were on the verge of losing your mind.

It was your pen. The only pen you liked writing with. It fit perfectly in your grip, the ink flowed just right, and unlike every other pen in the bullpen, it never smudged or skipped. Losing it wasn’t just an inconvenience—it was a betrayal.

Desperation turned into suspicion.

You turned to Emily first. “Hey, did you take my pen?”

Emily barely looked up from her file. “Nope.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

She gave you a dry look. “Yes, I’m sure. Why would I steal your pen?”

That was a fair question, but it didn’t stop you from asking Gideon and JJ the same thing.

When you got to Derek, he smirked. “You’ve been talking about this pen for three days. If I had it, trust me, you’d already know.”

And he was right—because when you finally found it, the betrayal was so immediate, so visceral, that you could feel the blood leave your face.

Across the room, Spencer sat at his desk, absently tapping the end of a very familiar-looking pen against his notebook.

Your eye twitched.

You stormed over, stopping just short of his desk. “Where did you get that?”

Spencer barely glanced up. “Hmm?”

“That pen, Spencer.” You pointed at it accusingly. “That’s my pen.”

Spencer frowned slightly and turned it over in his hand, as if just now noticing. “Oh. Huh.”

“Huh?” you repeated, incredulous. “Huh?! That’s all you have to say?”

He blinked up at you. “Well, in my defense, I needed a pen.”

“You—” You inhaled sharply, trying very hard not to strangle him in the middle of the office. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

Spencer shrugged. “You were busy.”

“Oh my god.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “And when, exactly, were you planning on returning it?”

He tilted his head, thinking. “Soon?”

You gaped at him. “Soon?! Spencer, it’s been three days!”

Spencer winced. “Oh. That’s… longer than I thought.”

You snatched the pen from his hand with a dramatic flourish. “Unbelievable.”

Spencer smirked. “You could just let it go.”

You pointed the pen at him like a weapon. “I will never let this go.”

And you hadn’t.

Even now, curled up against him on the couch, you could still feel the sheer betrayal of that moment. Spencer, of course, was entirely unbothered.

He smirked, fingers still trailing idly along your arm. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You huffed. “You’re lucky I don’t hold grudges.”

Spencer chuckled. “Oh, please. If I took another one, we’d be right back where we started.”

You gasped, scandalized. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Spencer just sipped his drink, looking far too smug.

So you made a move to sit up, feigning exasperation. “That’s it, I’m leaving.”

Before you could so much as shift away, Spencer’s arms tightened around you, pulling you firmly against him.

“Nice try,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

You huffed a laugh, letting yourself relax back into him. “Unbelievable.”

“Completely believable,” he corrected.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Spencer only hummed, his hold on you unwavering. You could feel the faint vibration of his laughter against your back, warm and steady. He knew exactly what he was doing. As much as you wanted to keep up your righteous indignation… you let him win this one.

With a mischievous spark in your eye, you turned in his arms. He blinked in surprise, his smirk fading into something softer, something hopeful. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his, and suddenly the air around you was charged with a different kind of tension.

You straddled his hips, deepening the kiss, feeling the heat between you grow as his hands found your waist. His fingers flexed, holding you closer, like he was afraid you’d pull away again. But you weren’t going anywhere. Not now.

Your hands fisted into his hair gently tugging, pulling him closer, as if you could somehow merge into one being. Spencer’s mouth moved with yours, exploring, claiming, until you both had to break away for air.

One hand skimmed down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. It was like a metronome, keeping time with the rhythm of your own. Your thumb traced the line of his collarbone, feeling the heat of his skin, and then lower, the soft fabric of his shirt giving way to the firmness of his chest. His breath hitched when you reached the first button, and his eyes darkened, watching you intently.

Your hand found the hem of his shirt, tugging it free from his waistband. You felt the warmth of his skin as you slid your hand under the fabric, feeling the ridge of muscle, the smoothness of his stomach. His belt buckle was cold against your fingertips, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. You traced the leather, then the button of his slacks, teasing him gently, watching his reaction.

Spencer’s eyes fell closed, his breath shallow as your hand played over his body. You could feel his restraint, the effort it took for him to not take over, to let you set the pace. But when your fingers hovered over the zipper of his pants, he groaned, a low, needy sound that sent a thrill through you.

With deliberate slowness, you unbuckled his belt, watching his stomach muscles tighten in anticipation. The leather slid through the loops with a whisper. Then, with the same teasing grace, you pulled down the zipper. His pants parted, revealing his boxers, and the thick outline of his arousal pressing against the fabric.

Spencer’s breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. His eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils dilated with desire. You reached into his pants, feeling the heat of him, and he trembled at your touch. You took your time, enjoying the way his body reacted to your every move.

With a gentle tug, you pulled his slacks down enough to expose the waistband of his boxers. His half-hard cock strained against the fabric, begging for release. The sight of him, so vulnerable and eager, had you biting back a groan. You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his skin as you kissed him.

His hips arched slightly as you traced the outline of his cock with your fingertips. Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips. The fabric was thin, almost translucent, and you could feel the heat of him, the firmness growing as your touch grew bolder.

You tugged his boxers down, freeing his cock. It bobbed between you, half-hard and flushed with need. Spencer’s hand shot out, gripping the edge of the couch, knuckles white as you leaned in, your breath ghosting over the tip. He was exquisite, the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability.

With a wicked smile, you hovered just out of reach, watching his eyes follow your every move. Then, with a deliberate slowness that had him groaning, you let a bead of saliva pool on your tongue, dropping it onto his cock like a warm, wet kiss. The saliva trickled down, painting a glistening path that made his length pulse with anticipation.

As Spencer’s eyes grew darker, you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the velvety skin and the pulse of his desire. He hissed in a breath, his body jerking slightly as you began to stroke him. Your movements were gentle, exploratory, learning the rhythm that made him shiver with pleasure.

You watched his face, the way his mouth fell open and his eyes grew heavy-lidded. His chest was rising and falling rapidly now, the muscles tensing and releasing with each shallow breath. You could feel his cock thicken in your grip, growing harder as you stroked, your thumb brushing over the sensitive skin just beneath the head. His hips rolled into your touch, seeking more.

With a gentle squeeze, you quickened the pace, your hand moving in a firm, steady rhythm that had Spencer’s eyes sliding shut. His head fell back, a soft groan escaping him. His hand found your thigh, his fingertips digging in as you continued to pleasure him. The room was filled with the sound of your breathing, the slick noise of skin on skin, the rustle of fabric as his hips tried to meet your hand.

You leaned in, kissing along his jawline, feeling the stubble scrape against your lips. Spencer’s hand tightened on your thigh, his body tense as he tried to hold back. But you knew him—knew the way his breathing grew erratic, knew the tension in his muscles that signalled his impending release.

With your other hand, you reached down, cupping his balls gently. They were warm, heavy with need, and Spencer’s entire body jerked at the contact. His eyes snapped open, his gaze locking with yours as you began to massage them in time with your strokes. His hips bucked, pushing his cock further into your hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.

You could feel the tension coiling in him, tightening with every pass of your thumb, every squeeze of your fingers. You knew you had him right there, just on the edge, ready to fall. Spencer’s breath grew ragged, his chest heaving as he fought for control.

And then, just as you felt the first tremor of his release, you pulled your hand away.

Spencer’s eyes shot open, his body tensing in protest. He stared at you, his pupils wide, his cock still hard and glistening with your saliva. For a moment, he was frozen, his breath stuttering in his chest.

You watched him, your expression one of sweet innocence, a stark contrast to the wickedness of your action. You hadn’t moved away entirely, but your hand was now hovering over his cock, teasing him with the promise of touch but delivering nothing.

Spencer’s eyes snapped to yours, confusion and desperation warring in their depths. “What—what are you doing?” he managed to rasp out.

You smirked. “That’s for stealing my pen, Dr. Reid.”

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening into fists against the cushions. His voice was low, dangerously controlled. “You really want to play this game?”

You smiled. “I already won.”

The sound he made—half growl, half strained laugh—told you exactly how much trouble you were in.

But you didn’t care. You took hold of him again, your thumb pressing against the slit of his cock, smearing the precum that had gathered there. Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut, his body bowing off the couch.

You leaned in, your mouth hovering just above his. “Say it, Spencer. Say I win.”

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, his pupils dilated with lust. He didn’t speak, but his grip on the couch tightened, his hips rolling up into your touch, begging for release.

With a smug smile, you leaned in closer, whispering, “Say it, Spencer.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mix of desire and frustration. He was so close, and you revelled in the power of holding him there, teetering on the brink.

“You win,” Spencer finally gritted out, his voice a low rumble.

Your grin widened, and you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his mouth. “Say it like you mean it.”

“You win, okay?” Spencer’s voice was a desperate whine. “Just—please, don’t stop.”

With a wicked chuckle, you leaned down, blowing softly on his heated flesh. Your breath sent a shiver down his spine, making his cock pulse in your hand. Spencer’s eyes rolled back, his body trembling with need.

“Please, your mouth…” he whined out, the desperation in his voice music to your ears.

With a smug smile, you leaned in, finally granting his wish. You swiped your tongue along the underside of his shaft, feeling him twitch in your grip. Spencer’s eyes flew open, his gaze locking onto yours as you took him in your mouth.

The sound that escaped him was raw, primal—a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure that sent a jolt straight to your core. You felt your own arousal spike, the warm wetness between your thighs growing as you tasted him.

You took him in deep, letting your tongue swirl around the head of his cock before pulling back, teasing the slit with the tip of your tongue. Spencer’s hand found the back of your head, his grip tight but not demanding, urging you to take him deeper. You complied, his cock filling your mouth as you took him to the back of your throat, the muscles there tightening around him.

He groaned, his hips thrusting up slightly, and you had to fight the urge to gag. You pulled back, taking a deep breath, and then took him again, swirling your tongue around the base of his shaft before flicking it against his balls. Spencer’s entire body tensed, his hand in your hair tightening as he tried to control himself.

You could feel the pressure building in him, the way his muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. You quickened your pace, your hand working in tandem with your mouth, stroking him faster, harder. Spencer’s eyes were squeezed shut now, his teeth clenched, his body straining for release.

And then, with a sudden, fierce determination, you increased the suction, hollowing out your cheeks as you took him in deep, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat. He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, his hips jerking upward as if trying to bury himself even deeper.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he whispered, the words barely coherent.

You took Spencer’s praise as the ultimate victory in this playful battle of wills. His hand in your hair grew more insistent, his hips jerking as you worked him closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke of your tongue was met with a strangled sound of pleasure that sent a thrill through your body.

Suddenly, Spencer’s breath grew ragged, his hips stuttering upward, and you knew he was there. You sucked harder, feeling his cock pulse against your tongue. And then, with a strangled groan, he came, hot and thick in your mouth. You swallowed, savouring the taste of him, feeling his body shudder beneath you.

Spencer’s hand in your hair tightened almost painfully, but you didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. You continued to suck, drawing out his orgasms, milking him until he was boneless and panting. His body jerked with each swipe of your tongue, his cock still pulsing with the aftershocks of his release.

He was panting, his chest heaving, once he had enough you sat back, licking your lips. The smug satisfaction in your gaze was unmistakeable. Spencer’s eyes remained shut, his expression one of pure bliss, as he tried to catch his breath.

But before he could recover, you decided to up the ante. With a sultry smile, you stood up, peeling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion. His eyes snapped open, watching in surprise as you revealed your bra, the swell of your breasts above the fabric.

"When you're done here," you purred, "meet me in the bedroom."

You sauntered away, leaving Spencer stunned and still half-dressed on the couch. His eyes followed your swaying hips until you disappeared around the corner. He took a moment to compose himself, his heart racing, and then with a deep breath, he stood and followed.

The moment he stepped into the bedroom, his eyes widened. There you were, naked and kneeling in the centre of the bed, the soft glow of the lamplight casting shadows across your bare skin. The sight of you was like a punch to the gut—beautiful, tempting, and utterly irresistible.

Spencer’s cock twitched with renewed interest. You beckoned to him with a crooked finger, your eyes dark with desire. “I want you inside me, Spencer. Now.”

Without a word, he shed his clothes. You watched as his shirt and pants fell to the floor, revealing his naked form, his chest heaving with excitement. You bit your bottom lip as he climbed onto the bed, his body moving with a grace that belied his usual clumsiness.

Spencer’s hands found yours, pulling you towards the edge of the mattress. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours as he positioned himself between your legs. The anticipation was almost unbearable as he reached between your thighs, feeling the slick heat that awaited him. His thumb found your clit, and you moaned into his mouth, your hips arching to meet his touch.

He broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours as he dipped his fingers into your wetness. You watched as he pulled them away, glistening with your arousal, and brought them to his lips. The sight of him tasting you was intoxicating, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes closed for a brief moment, savouring the flavour, and when they opened again, you could see the hunger in them—for you.

Spencer pushed you back, his hands firm but gentle as he dragged your hips to the edge of the bed. Your legs parted wider, inviting him in, and he didn’t disappoint. He hovered over you, his cock standing proudly, the head nudging at your entrance as he kissed his way down your neck. His touch was feather-light, teasing, as if he was afraid to break the delicate spell that had been cast over you both.

He stopped at your breasts, his eyes darkening with desire as he cupped them in his palms. His thumbs flicked over your sensitive nipples, drawing gasps from you. He squeezed, gently at first, feeling the weight of them in his hands, the way your body responded to his touch.

Your back arched, pushing your chest up to meet his, silently begging for more. Spencer didn’t disappoint. He rolled your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, the pressure increasing until you were panting, your eyes fluttering shut. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you crave his mouth on your skin.

He lowered his head, his hot breath washing over your sensitive peaks, making them pebble even more. He licked at one, the sensation sending a jolt straight to your core. The cold air followed, making you gasp as your nipples tightened even further. Spencer chuckled against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

With a smirk, he moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. The combination of heat and cold was exquisite, making you squirm beneath him. He took his time, savouring each taste, each reaction. His tongue swirled, his teeth grazed, and you could feel yourself growing wetter with every flick of his tongue.

Once he had his fill, Spencer took hold of his cock. He positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your pussy lips in a delicious tease. The sensation was maddening, and you reached for his hips, trying to pull him closer, needing him inside you.

He could tease you, try to turn the tables and get revenge for earlier, but the truth was, you had wrecked him. And Spencer Reid was man enough to admit defeat. It didn’t help that he was also desperate to sink into you.

With a groan, he positioned the tip of his cock at your slick entrance. Your eyes went wide, anticipation building as you felt the blunt pressure of him pushing in. And then, without warning, he grabbed your legs, lifting them up and over his shoulders. The move was swift and decisive, leaving you open to him, exposed and ready.

He thrust into you, the head of his cock parting your folds and filling you in one smooth stroke. Your body took a moment to adjust to the sudden fullness, the shock of his entry sending a bolt of pleasure through you. You gasped, your nails digging into the comforter as he pushed deeper, filling you completely.

Spencer held still, his eyes locked on yours as you both felt the connection. He was so thick, so hard, and the way he stretched you felt like he was claiming you. He began to move, setting a slow, torturous pace that had you biting your lip to keep from screaming out. Each time he pushed into you, it was like a wave crashing over your senses, filling you up with pleasure until you thought you’d drown.

With every thrust, he put all his weight behind it, pushing deep and retreating almost to the tip before plunging back in again. His eyes never left yours, watching as you felt each inch of him, your body stretching to accommodate his length and girth.

You could see the fascination in his gaze as he watched himself disappear into your warmth, his cock disappearing into your body as if it were made for him. And maybe it was—the way your walls clamped down around him, the way your hips rolled to meet each of his thrusts, it certainly felt like it.

Spencer groaned, unable to tear his gaze from the place where your bodies met. The sight was almost too much—the way your pussy swallowed him whole, the way your juices coated his shaft. His hand moved to your hip, his grip tightening as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding.

Your breasts jiggled erratically with each pounding thrust, the nipples hard and sensitive from his earlier attention. The erotic sight was more than Spencer could handle—his eyes were glued to the bounce, watching as your body reacted to his every move.

With a roar that was part passion and part animalistic need, Spencer bent you in half. Your legs were still over his shoulders, your body arched, giving him the most intimate access to your depths. The new angle allowed him to drive harder and deeper, his cock plunging into you without mercy.

Your whines grew louder, your voice hoarse from the pleasure that was bordering on pain. The friction was intense, and the way he filled you up was almost too much. You could feel your orgasm building, the pressure coiling in your stomach, tightening your muscles around him.

Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing. You could feel every vein, every throb of his cock, and it was driving you wild.

Spencer’s pace was relentless, his hips moving like a piston, driving in and out of you with a ferocity that was almost frightening. But you were lost in the sensation, unable to think, unable to do anything but take what he was giving you. You were at his mercy, your body his to do with as he desires.

The orgasm that was building inside of you was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. It was as if every nerve ending in your body was alight with pleasure, each thrust of Spencer’s cock sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. It was intense, almost painful in its intensity, and you could feel it coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring ready to snap.

You gasped out the words, “I’m close, Spencer. So close,” your voice breathless and desperate. His eyes snapped to yours, his own gaze filled with a fierce determination to push you over the edge. He picked up the pace, his strokes growing faster, harder.

And then, as if reading your thoughts, his hand snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. The pressure was just right, the rhythm in sync with his thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure skyrocketing as he stroked you, increasing the intensity by tenfold. Your body tightened around him, your muscles clenching and releasing in an erratic dance that had him groaning in response.

You were so close, so very close. The orgasm was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to consume you. You could feel it, the impending release, the wave about to crash down on you. Your eyes squeezed shut, your breath coming in shallow pants, and when Spencer’s thumb slid against your clit with just the right amount of force, you almost yelled out.

The sensation was like a bolt of lightning, striking you at your very core. Your body arched off the bed, back bowing as much as it could as the orgasm hit. It was as if every nerve in your body was on fire, pleasure coursing through your veins like molten lava. Your pussy clenched around his cock, squeezing him in a vice-like grip as you felt a rush of liquid spill out of you.

You had never felt anything like this before—the intensity of your climax was so powerful that it was almost painful. Your muscles clenched and released in rapid succession, each spasm sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, watching as you gushed around him, your juices coating his thighs.

He was still moving, still driving into you with a ferocity that was both terrifying and thrilling. But now there was something else in his gaze—something primal, something that told you he needed more. He needed to hear you beg for it, needed to hear the acknowledgement that he was the one making you come apart like this.

"Say it," he growled. "Tell me how much you need me to cum inside you."

You didn’t need to think, didn’t need to hesitate. The truth was there, pulsing through your body with every beat of your heart. "I need it, Spencer," you gasped out. "Please, cum inside me."

Spencer’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating with lust. His thumb worked your clit harder, his cock plunging into you with a new urgency that had your toes curling. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice low and gruff.

"I need you to cum deep inside me," you moaned, the words slipping out with ease. "Make me yours, Spencer."

With a feral snarl, he gave into the demand, slamming into you one last time, so deep it was as if he was trying to reach your soul. His cock pulsed, thick and hard, as he filled you with his hot cum, the sensation sending you spiralling over the edge once more. Your pussy clenched around him, milking him for every drop as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your shared orgasm.

Spencer stayed inside you for a moment longer, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of release. His breath was hot and uneven against your neck, his fingers gripping your waist as though letting go might break whatever fragile, beautiful thing had settled between you in the aftermath.

Your body was spent, trembling beneath him, every muscle wrung out and aching in a way that promised to linger. Your legs were still slack over his shoulders, your hips sore from being bent in half for so long. But none of it compared to the deep, satiated warmth flooding your body.

Spencer pressed his lips to your temple, a whisper of something sweet and unintelligible before he finally—reluctantly—pulled out of you. You winced at the loss, a small sound of discomfort slipping past your lips.

He caught it immediately. “Are you okay?” His voice was still thick and heavy with exhaustion, but the concern beneath it was unmistakable.

You nodded, but when you moved to shift your legs, a sharp twinge shot through your hips, making you suck in a breath. “Just sore,” you admitted, your voice raspy.

Spencer’s hands were on you in an instant, his touch impossibly gentle as he smoothed his palms over your thighs, easing them back down. His fingers traced light circles over your skin, coaxing the tension from your aching muscles.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips twitching slightly, though his voice remained tender. “I guess that’s what happens when you let me fold you in half.”

You huffed out a tired laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. He caught your hand before you could pull away, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss to your palm before setting it back down.

Despite the teasing, his eyes stayed warm, scanning your face with quiet attentiveness. He could read you better than anyone, and right now, his expression told you he wasn’t going to let you brush off the soreness.

Without another word, he slid an arm beneath your shoulders and another under your knees. His movements were careful, deliberate, as he lifted you effortlessly, shifting you further up the bed so you weren’t half-hanging off anymore. He took his time settling you against the pillows, smoothing a hand down your side before pressing another soft kiss to your temple.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured before slipping into the bathroom.

A moment later, the low rush of water filled the quiet.

You barely had time to miss him before he returned, his hands warm as they found your waist, coaxing you onto your stomach with gentle ease.

“A warm bath will help,” he told you, his voice soft, already kneading slow, careful circles into your hips. “The heat increases circulation. It’ll help relax your muscles and reduce soreness.”

You hummed in agreement, your body already melting beneath his touch as his thumbs pressed into the tender spots, working out the tension.

Spencer had always been meticulous in everything he did, and this was no exception. His fingers traced the path of each ache, pressing into the tight muscles with an almost surgical precision. He started at your hips, kneading slow and firm before moving down to your upper thighs, his palms smoothing over the lingering soreness from how tightly you had been held open for him.

Then, as if sensing the exact moment the bath had reached the perfect level, Spencer shifted, pressing one last kiss to your spine before slipping off the bed. A second later, the sound of running water ceased.

He returned just as quickly, his hands finding yours as he helped you sit up. The movement sent another twinge through your sore hips, but he was there, steadying you, keeping you upright with infinite patience.

"Think you can walk?" His voice was soft, but there was an undertone of quiet amusement, like he already knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes. "Of course I—"

The moment you shifted your weight, your legs wobbled, refusing to cooperate after everything they had been through. Spencer caught you instantly, his grip firm but gentle.

You sighed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. "Okay. Maybe not gracefully."

Spencer chuckled, tightening his hold around your waist. "I’ve got you," he murmured.

And he did.

With slow, careful steps, he guided you toward the bathroom, letting you lean into him as much as you needed. The warmth of the steam wrapped around you as soon as you stepped inside, the faint scent of soap lingering in the air.

The bath was full, the surface shimmering with a light layer of bubbles. The water looked inviting, and your sore muscles practically ached at the sight of it.

Spencer helped you ease down, his hands steadying you until you were fully settled in the warmth. The heat licked up your skin, the contrast making you shudder as the tension in your body slowly began to unwind.

Spencer lingered for a moment, watching you with something quiet and unreadable in his expression. Then, with a final brush of his fingers along your skin, he murmured, “I’ll be right back,” and stood.

You barely registered him leaving, too lost in the warmth of the water, the way it cradled your sore body. You let yourself sink deeper, the tension melting away with each passing second.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, eyes closed, mind drifting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. The water lapped gently at your skin, its warmth working into every sore muscle, and for a moment, you let yourself exist in it, weightless and pliant.

Then the sound of quiet footsteps pulled you back.

You blinked your eyes open just in time to see Spencer step back into the bathroom. Your gaze flickered over him, tracing the lines of his lean body, the familiar angles of his hips, the gentle curve of his stomach. He was already a little flushed from the heat of the steam, and when he caught your eyes on him, a small smirk tugged at his lips.

“Miss me?” His voice was light, teasing, but there was something softer beneath it, something warm.

You hummed, tilting your head back against the edge of the tub. “Depends. What did you bring me?”

Instead of answering, he stepped into the bath behind you, lowering himself into the water with a quiet sigh. His legs bracketed yours, his chest pressing to your back as he pulled you effortlessly against him. The warmth of his body only added to the heat of the water, sinking into your skin, wrapping around you like something safe and steady.

“Does this count?” he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder.

You exhaled, your body already melting into his. “It’s a good start.”

Spencer hummed in amusement, his arms looping around your waist, his fingers skimming lightly over your stomach. His touch was absentminded at first, just the slow, lazy drag of his fingertips over damp skin. But then his hands wandered lower, tracing over the sore muscles in your thighs, his touch becoming more deliberate.

“Hurts?” he asked, his voice low against your ear.

You nodded, sighing as he pressed his thumbs into the knots along the inside of your thighs. His touch was gentle but firm, working out the lingering ache with slow, methodical pressure.

“I was a little rough with you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You smiled, reaching down to place your hand over his. “I liked it.”

Spencer let out a soft breath—half a laugh, half something else entirely. His lips brushed the back of your ear, his nose nudging against damp skin as he murmured, “I noticed.”

Heat curled in your stomach, but it was different this time—softer, lazier. You were both too spent to turn this into anything more, too content to do anything but sit there, tangled together in the warmth.

For a while, you just existed like that, the quiet hum of the water surrounding you, Spencer’s hands smoothing over your skin, his breath a steady presence against your shoulder. It felt intimate in a way that went beyond the physical, something unspoken settling between you, something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Then Spencer shifted slightly, reaching for a washcloth.

He soaked it in the water before lathering it with soap, then smoothed it over your shoulder, working slowly, unhurriedly. He worked down your arms, to your wrists, then across your collarbone, taking his time as if there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. When he reached your thighs, he was just as careful, his hands skimming over the lingering soreness with a tenderness that sent warmth curling deep in your chest. And when his fingers slipped between your legs, it wasn’t sexual—it was soft, a quiet act of care that made your breath catch in an entirely different way.

Spencer pressed a kiss to the side of your head, his voice barely above a whisper. "Okay?"

You nodded, sinking deeper into him. “Yeah.”

Spencer pressed a kiss to your temple before setting the cloth aside. Then, finally, he reached for his own, making quick work of cleaning himself before shifting behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist again.

“We should get out before you fall asleep in here,” he murmured.

You made a small, sleepy sound of protest, earning another quiet chuckle from him.

Still, you let him help you sit forward.

Spencer stood first, stepping out and grabbing a towel before turning back to you. His hands were steady at your waist as he guided you up, wrapping the towel securely around you before grabbing another for himself.

He took his time drying you off, his movements careful and slow. There was something so grounding about it—the way he ran the soft fabric over your skin, the way he made sure you were completely warm before leading you back into the bedroom.

The warmth of the bedroom welcomed you as Spencer led you inside, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows over the freshly made bed. Your steps slowed slightly as you took in the small changes—clean sheets, fresh bottles of water waiting on the nightstand, the quiet thoughtfulness in every detail.

You hadn’t even noticed him doing all of this, yet somehow, he had.

A quiet sort of surprise settled in your chest, spreading through you in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the bath. Spencer didn’t say anything about it, didn’t draw attention to the care he had taken. He just guided you forward, steady as ever, as if making sure you were comfortable was second nature to him.

Wordlessly, he reached for one of the water bottles, twisting off the cap before pressing it into your hands. “Drink it slowly,” he murmured.

You nodded, lifting it to your lips and taking a few small sips before setting it aside. When you turned back to him, he was already moving toward the dresser, pulling out a soft tank top and a pair of underwear.

His gaze flicked to yours as he held them out. “Unless you’d rather sleep naked.”

You smirked, arching a brow. “Would that be a problem?”

Spencer’s lips twitched, but he only hummed in response, waiting patiently as you stepped into the clothes. His fingers brushed against your skin here and there, never lingering too long, just small, fleeting touches as he helped ease the fabric into place.

Spencer grabbed his discarded boxers from the floor, shaking them out before stepping back into them. Once they were settled low on his hips, he turned his attention back to you, his fingers brushing over your wrist in a silent check. His gaze traced over your face, searching for any lingering discomfort. Satisfied, he gave your hand a small squeeze before stepping over to the bed.

He pulled back the covers, motioning for you to slip in first before following after you. As soon as he was beneath the blankets, he reached for you instinctively, guiding you closer until your body was pressed to his. One arm curled around your waist, his fingers grazing over the hem of your tank top in absent patterns.

There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet, lingering warmth between you, something deeper than exhaustion and far softer than lust.

Spencer’s fingers traced lazy patterns against your side, his touch featherlight, barely there. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the quiet hum of his breathing—it was everything, a rhythm you had never imagined would feel so natural.

You sighed, shifting just enough to look up at him. His eyes were soft in the dim light, golden and half-lidded with exhaustion, but still watching you like you were the only thing that mattered. Like he was trying to memorize you, afraid to blink in case this moment somehow disappeared.

A small, sleepy smile tugged at your lips. "I can’t believe we’re here."

Spencer’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering over his face. "In bed? Or…?"

You huffed, swatting lightly at his chest, but this time, he didn’t catch your hand. He let you get away with it, probably because neither of you had the energy for anything more than this lazy teasing. Probably because it was different now, softer somehow, the sharp edges of whatever had existed between you dulled by something warmer, something neither of you had been ready to name before now.

"You know what I mean." Your voice was quiet, not accusing—just full of wonder, of something tender and deep-seated.

Spencer exhaled, his hand stilling on your waist. "Yeah," he murmured, voice low. "I know."

A silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was full—full of everything that had led to this moment, full of every argument, every stubborn, exasperated glare, every sarcastic remark. Full of every moment you had spent challenging each other, pushing, pulling, refusing to give an inch—until one day, the fire had shifted from something destructive to something entirely different, something that burned just as intensely but no longer threatened to consume you whole.

Spencer’s fingers moved again, tracing slow, thoughtful circles into your side. "I used to think we’d end up tearing each other apart one day. Like two forces that couldn’t exist in the same space without colliding, without breaking something in the process."

You laughed, the sound muffled against his skin. "So did the team."

"Probably still do," he mused, the corner of his mouth twitching. "But I think we surprised them."

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "We surprised ourselves."

Spencer didn’t argue. He just looked at you, something unspoken shifting in his expression, something too vast to put into words. He swallowed, as if trying to find something to say, but for once, he had nothing. No facts, no statistics, no carefully crafted words—just you, just this.

You reached up, smoothing a hand over his cheek, feeling the faint roughness of stubble beneath your palm. "I’m glad," you whispered. "That we’re here. That it’s you."

Spencer’s fingers curled slightly, gripping you just a little tighter, as if to ground himself in the moment. His voice was quieter when he spoke. "Me too. More than you know."

You exhaled, letting your eyes flutter shut, the weight of sleep pulling at your limbs. But before you could drift off completely, you felt Spencer shift, pressing his lips to your forehead, soft and lingering. His breath was warm, his presence steady, unwavering.

"Get some sleep," he murmured against your skin. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because you were safe. Because you were where you belonged.

Because you were his, and he was yours.

And for the first time in a long, long time, everything felt exactly as it should be. No more resisting, no more second-guessing. For so long, friction had kept you apart, pushing and pulling, igniting sparks that threatened to burn everything down. But now, it was different. Now, it was warmth, steady and sure, something to lean into instead of fight against.

Everything else faded—the past, the doubts, the stubborn refusal to see what had always been there. All that remained was the warmth of him beside you, the steady cadence of his breath, and the quiet truth that you had finally stopped resisting what was meant to be.

The End. Part One

#criminal minds #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #mgg #mgg smut #request #ask box #enemies to lovers #part 2/2 #bau reader

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