#spencer reid fics

[cumulo-stratus]

!! Babe alert !!

[triptuckers]

working from home - spencer reid

Request: nope Pairing:  spencer reid x reader Summary:  spencer works from home to take care of you when you're sick Warnings:  mentions of sickness Word count:  841 A/N: in honour of me getting covid in OCTOBER 2023 (the sheer AUDACITY of this bitch) and feeling Like Shit, here's a fluffy spencer fic

you rarely got sick and when you did, it usually wasn't that bad. as a result, you almost never call in sick. most of the times, you just take a few painkillers and head to work anyway.

this time, it was actually spencer who called in sick on your behalf.

you hadn't eaten a lot of dinner, assuring spencer it wasn't his fault. that the food was delicious, but you just weren't that hungry. spencer, being the sweet boyfriend that he is, immediately got worried. you told him you were okay, that you probably just needed some sleep.

the next morning the two of you got a call from emily, telling you there was a case. while spencer was talking to emily on the phone, he tried to nudge you awake. but when he hung up, you were still fast asleep.

spencer rolled over and nudged you again, a little harder this time. then he noticed you were radiating warmth. after laying the back of his hand on your forehead, he was quick to conclude you had a fever, so he decided to let you sleep.

he called emily, who agreed to let you stay at home. spencer would assist the team in any way he could from home, while they flew to seattle to solve the case.

after a couple of hours, spencer hears movement coming from the bedroom. he looks up from his desk to see you shuffling into the room, still in your pyjamas and your eyes half-closed.

'hi sweetheart.' he says.

'hi.' you say, walking over to where he's sitting.

you take a look at the papers scattered on the desk and frown.

'what's this all about?' you say.

'oh, it's the case we're working on.' says spencer, reaching out to loosely wrap his arm around your waist.

'we have a case? why are we still at home then?' you say.

'because you're sick. so we're staying home.'

'what? no, I can work. I'll just get some tea and a painkiller. give me a few minutes while I take a shower.'

you start to walk toward the bathroom but spencer pulls you back.

'y/n, you're sick. you have a fever. I know you don't like cancelling on work, but you need to rest. you'll only make it worse if you exhaust yourself.' says spencer.

'but I want to help them.' you say.

'you'll help them on the next case. when you feel better.'

'wait. if I'm sick, how come you're also at home? shouldn't you be with the team?'

'I already took care of it with emily. I'm staying home to take care of you.'

'spencer! you know you don't have to do that.'

'we've talked about this, y/n. it's what we do for each other. I can help the team just fine from here. now, are you hungry?'

you shrug. 'not really.'

'how are you feeling? nauseous? sore throat? I know you have a fever, that's for sure.' says spencer.

'a headache. and yeah, sore throat. I just feel like shit.' you say.

'why don't you go back to bed, and I'll get you some tea and painkillers?'

for a moment, you want to protest, but then you agree. spencer is right. as much as you want to help the team, you have a fever and you need to rest.

'alright.' you say, heading back to the bedroom.

spencer takes his time to make your tea just how you like it. by the time he brings it to you, you're already asleep. even though he can feel you still have a fever, you're shivering from the cold. he pushes the blanket down a bit to cool you down, and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

just as he walks back to his desk, his phone starts to buzz. the screen lights up, telling him it's emily who is calling. he briefly glances back at your sleeping figure in bed before picking up.

'hi emily, what's up?'

'hey reid, how's y/n?'

'taking a nap for now, but she's so cold she's shivering in her sleep even though she still has a fever. she really got it bad. I think it's only a matter of time before I get sick as well.'

'well, give her our love, will you?'

'will do. any updates on the case?'

'that's actually why I'm calling you. we found some quotes on a piece of paper, looks like poetry or a book. we were hoping you would recognise it.'

'send it over, I'll have a look.'

'will do, talk to you later.'

'bye.'

spencer hangs up and gets up from his seat behind his desk. he walks over to the bed. you’re fast asleep, but still shivering a bit.

'get some rest, sweetheart, you deserve it.' he whispers to you, even though he knows you most likely won't hear him.

but as he walks away, he hears you. very softly, you thank him.

spencer smiles and walks to his desk to take a look at the quotes emily sent over.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Max/Marit

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

A Stranger | Post Prison!Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: You and Spencer deal with the changes after he spent his time in prison. The man who walked into that prison wasn’t the same one who came out, but you have no idea why. You see the change after he defends you from a drunk at the bar. 

A/N: hope y’all like this! x 

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! Warning: fighting, blood, guns, typical criminal minds shit 

Your body shook with nerves as you stood outside the grey prison. Spencer was finally proven innocent and would be released from prison. You were a little hurt that JJ was the one to go inside to get him and you were forced to stay out here in the parking lot. It had been like that the entire time Spencer was in prison. 

You’d only been able to visit him once before you were taken off his visitation list by his request. You were hurt. Especially when everyone else was cleared, JJ included. No one would tell you why Spencer wouldn’t see you and he wouldn’t even call. 

This would be the first time you’ve seen him in 3 months. You nervously bit your lip, eyes strained on the door. You didn’t want to miss him. You played nervously with your fingers, especially the one on your left hand. 

You finally spotted the two of them walking out of the prison, they were in conversation, JJ and him both with a smile on their face, laughing about something. A pang was felt in your heart at the sight. 

He’d let his hair grow out, along with the stubble on his face. He even looked like he’d gained more muscle. 

As he neared, he spotted you, his smile not faltering, “Hi baby,” 

“Hi,” You say softly before his tall form engulfs you in his arms. You felt your body relax against his, this was the moment that kept you going all these months. 

“God, it’s so good to see you,” He pulls away to admire your face, his large hands cradling your head. 

Tears are rolling down your cheeks, “I’m a mess,” you quickly wipe them away and he wipes a stray. 

“No,” he smiles, “You’re as beautiful as the last time I saw you. Maybe even more. I don’t know how that’s possible.” 

Your shoulders sag, “God, Spencer.” 

“I know,” He hugs you tighter this time, “I’ve missed you too.” 

~ 

You couldn’t believed he’d agreed to drinks at the bar with the rest of the team, but here you were. Spencer’s large hand on your back as he stands next to you waiting for your drinks at the bar. 

You felt a presence beside you, a man elbowing his way through the crowd to order his drink. He was swaying, noticeably drunk. 

Spencer noticed as well, his hand wrapping around your hip, bringing you closer to him. 

The man ordered the drink and when he took notice of you standing beside him, his eyes raked up and down your body, tongue on his teeth as he admired you, “damn.” 

You’d missed it, but Spencer for sure didn’t. “You say something?” Spencer confronts him, a dangerous look in his eye. 

The man held his hands up in surrender, “Just admiring the lady.” 

“Spence.” you place a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him and direct his attention elsewhere. 

“She isn’t yours to admire.” 

The man shrugs, “man come on, she’s hot, you can’t expect men not to look at her. Especially with a body like that. She’s every man’s wet dream.” 

And that was the final straw. Spencer snapped, lunging at the guy. 

“Spencer!” You shrieked, eyes wide. You’d never seen this side of Spencer. He had the guy pinned against the bar, punching him again before someone, the bouncer, yanked him off the guy. 

You’re standing there in shock at the scene, the guy’s nose is bloody and his blood is on spencer’s knuckles. Two bouncers drag him out of the bar, tossing him out the door. 

You follow them out the door, still in shock at the events that just unfolded,“What the hell was that!” 

Spencer wipes his nose, “He was talking about you, you didn’t hear the crude comment he made about you?” 

Your eyes are wide, you motion to the bar, “he was drunk!” 

“And?” he runs a hand over his disheveled hair, “he shouldn’t talk about you like that.” 

“The old spencer would have never done that. You can’t go around punching people for speaking bad about me! Guys do it all the time. I’m use to it. You have to ignore it.” 

“There won’t be any ignoring it around me. You don’t deserve that. The guy deserved his ass beat” He steps toward you, but you step back. 

“I have no idea who the hell you are anymore.” You put a hand out to stop him and stare up at him. He’s a stranger standing in front of you. You shake your head, needing air and wanting desperately to be in the comfort of your home. You start down the sidewalk. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I’m going home.” 

Spencer follows behind you, “You can’t walk home alone in the dark. That’s when most kidnappings and murders happen.” 

Your mind goes to his time in prison, the denial at the entrance. Your name wasn’t on the approved visitors list. You stop, overcome with the thoughts of the last 3 months and turn abruptly to face him, “Why wasn’t I on the list?” 

“What?” 

“The visitors list! I visited once and I never saw you again, but god you were sure to have JJ on your visitor’s approved list! But your wife?! No of course not!” 

“If you knew..” 

“If I knew what spencer? I knew nothing! I still know nothing! No one told me anything. The team wouldn’t tell me shit about you in prison, what happened or what was happening with the trial. I was kept in the dark the entire time. Do you know how that made me feel!”

“If only you knew what they said about you.” His voice is soft, “The inmates. They knew you were my wife. and that I was an FBI agent.” 

“And I didn’t deserve an explanation?” You say defeated. “I went three months without seeing you. Without hearing your voice. I was heart broken.” Tears swelled in your (eye color) eyes. “You let her, in.” You pointed off in the distance, “the woman you’ve always loved. Always had a connection with.” You pointed your index finger into your chest, “But not your own wife.” 

Spencer’s shoulders sag. He never meant for it to happen this way, but the things he heard from those inmates about you. The things they spoke about you, he never wanted to hear it again, or risk you hearing it. He didn’t want you near that place. He wanted to protect you, but ended up only making it worse. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like that.” 

“But it did and the man that walked into that prison isn’t the same one who walked out. The one who is standing in front of me isn’t my husband, but I have no idea why. No idea what happened on the inside to change you. You won’t talk to me about it at all and I’ve tried giving you space, but I deserve to know.” Your fingers tug at the ring on your finger, “until you’re ready to discuss it with me-” You grab his hand and force it open. 

“don’t-don’t do this.” 

You place the ring into his hand, “I can’t do this anymore, Spencer.” You step back from him and head back the way you were going. 

~ 

You struggled with the decision you’d made. Had it been too harsh? You hadn’t left the house or seen Spencer in a few days. He’d left you to have your space and to think things over. He knew he was in the wrong. He shouldn’t have kept you in the dark, but in reality all he wanted to do was protect you. It’s all he’s ever wanted, but he did more harm than good. 

A knock on the door pulled you from your spot on the couch, “coming!” You called out as the person knocked again. You peeped through the peep hole and spotted a man, dressed nicely on the steps. You couldn’t get a good look at his face as he was scanning the neighborhood. 

Something felt off and you debated on dialing Spencer’s number. “Yes, who is it?” 

“I’m a friend of Spencer’s? We went to college together, is he here?” 

“No-” Your mind went to what Spencer had taught you, “He’s on his way home, should be here in the next 5 minutes. You’re welcome to wait or come back.” 

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you well, could you open the door?” 

Your fingers hovered over his number, before your gut told you to do it. He answered on the second ring, “y/n? I’m so sorry-” 

“There’s a guy here at the house, asking for you.” 

“what guy?” Spencer’s on alert, “What’s his name?” 

“I don’t know, he said you two went to college together.. I-” 

“Don’t open the door.” Spencer doesn’t waste time, slipping into his shoes and heading out the door of Emily’s apartment. “Go to the back bedroom, in the side table there’s a gun, it’s loaded. Get it and lock yourself in the bathroom. Don’t you dare open the door until I get there.” 

“Spencer what the hell-” You step back from the door. The only guy he kept in the home was the one assigned to him as an FBI and it stayed locked in the safe in his closet when he wasn’t on duty. 

“y/n!” He snaps, voice full of desperation, “Just do as I say, please!” 

Just as you turn down the hallway, the man kicks the door in and before you could make it to the bedroom, he grabs you by the arm, shoving you against the wall, the pictures crashing to the ground in a shattering puddle of glass. Your phone is knocked out of your hand and lands somewhere across the room. 

You struggle against his grip, “let go of me!” 

“Spencer’s little wife?” The man smirks, “this is going to be some sweet revenge.” A knife snaps open in front of your face, knicking your cheek. 

Your body trembles in fear and you do everything in your power to fight against his grasp, but he easily towers over you, his strength overpowering you. 

“Be still, quit moving!” 

You continue to thrash, managing a poor kick to his groin, that loosens his grip enough for you to get loose, but his reflexes are quick and he grabs you by the hair, tugging you back. 

both of you tumble to the ground and you crawl away, but he yanks you back by your leg, crawling on top of you. He punches you, stunning you. You blink your eyes trying to regain your senses, but your head is pounding.

“Now back to where we were-” His knife goes to cut at your clothes, but a loud gun shot rings out and blood splatters on you. 

You scream out in shock, the man’s lifeless body falling on top of yours. It doesn’t stay there long. 

“y/n? are you okay?” Spencer’s frantically grabbing at you, hauling you to your feet. You’re trembling, staring at the man’s dead body. 

“Hey are you okay? did he hurt you?” Spencer grabs at your face forcing you to look at him. His eyes are frantically searching yours. 

You can’t speak but burst into a sob. Spencer holds you against his chest, cradling your head, “it’s okay, i’m here. I’m right here.” 

He presses a kiss against your hair, his grip around you tightening as he stares at the man in the floor. He was in the cell block with Spencer, the same one who spoke ill words about you. and the reason Spencer wanted to protect you. 

~ 

The rest of the team showed up only moments later, taking care of everything. Spencer led you to the bathroom, sitting you on the edge of the tub. As he starts to move away from you your hand darts out to grab his, “don’t leave me,” You beg. 

“baby, i’m only getting a wash cloth.” He gently pries your hand off his wrist and turns back to the sink, wetting a cloth. 

He leans down to you, washing the blood from your face. 

Your bottom lip continues to tremble, your ears still ringing from the gunshot and blow to the head, “Was he one of them?” 

He looks to you to continue. 

“One of the guys from prison?” 

Spencer nods, “I don’t know how he was released early.” He squeezes the cloth and wets it again, “but yes he’s one I was worried about coming after you. The reason I didn’t want you at the prison.” He gently cleans the cut on your cheek before placing a bandaid on it. 

“I’m sorry I snapped on you. and gave you your ring back.” 

Spencer tosses the blooded rag in the sink before puling your ring from his pocket, “You had every right.” He sits next to you, holding the ring between his fingers, “I should never have kept you in the dark, but I thought I was doing the right thing.” He holds the ring back to you. 

“When you’re ready, I’m willing to tell you everything. Right now, I want to make sure you’re okay.” 

You take the ring and stare at it before slipping it back on your finger, “Don’t leave me.” 

He wraps his arm around your shoulder and cradles you against his body, “never.” 

“I love you spencer.” 

“I love you too.” His grip tightens around you at the words. He’s forever grateful to be able to hear you say those words. This night could have gone very differently. 

Comments, likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading. xx 

[saiilorstars]

Ch. 28: The Last Hurrah

[Story Masterlist] // [Aitana’s Masterlist]

Fandom: Criminal Minds // Pairing: Spencer Reid x OFC

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Also available on Fanfic ○ Ao3 ○ Wattpad

It was both curious and blatantly concerning for the team to be gathered around the conference table at such an early time. Penelope was the last to arrive and, unsurprisingly, was the most anxious of the group.

"I didn't get a file sent to me," she said first instead of her usual morning greeting. "Aitana didn't call me either, I...did a case go directly to Hotch?"

"Don't know," Rossi said, "But he's in his office with Serrano right now."

"What!?" Penelope practically shrieked, startling the entire group.

"Probably just talking," Seaver said for her comfort. "A case, you know?"

Penelope couldn't see it as clearly as Seaver. "No, no, a meeting this early? When's the last time this happened?"

Not surprising either, it was Spencer who answered. "Three years, 8 months ago."

The others exchanged glances with similar confusion.

"And what happened?" Seaver was the brave one to ask.

"Gideon left." Spencer knew the weight of his words for the others. It was his first thought when he got Hotch's message and it did not fade when he saw Aitana in Hotch's office either. They both seemed very grim and the last time something like that happened, somebody left the team.

Aitana hadn't given anyone a clue about what she had decided in relation to her position at the BAU but they all knew that she finally had her evaluation with Hotch a couple days ago. Who's to say that this meeting wasn't to announce her departure from the team?

~ 0 ~

"You understand that I don't support this decision?" Hotch looked directly at Aitana across his desk. He had tried coming up with a kinder way to say what had been decided over his head but it didn't matter what he said, Aitana understood.

"I get it," she assured him twice before Hotch felt some kind of guilt-release. "I mean...this has already happened before, right?" Hotch nodded silently. "They did it to JJ and she was way more qualified than I was. What did I really expect?"

"If I can help to change the decision, I'll try. They don't fool me," Hotch shook his head. "This is a sugar-coated ultimatum. Either you go work for them or—"

"I have some higher-up breathing down my shoulder for staying with a half job posting I'm not qualified to do," Aitana nodded. "Yeah, I got that too."

"Like I said, I'll do my best to—"

"Please don't," Aitana cut Hotch off. "The last thing I want is for anyone to get into trouble because of me." She also knew that his intervention wouldn't really be much help. His efforts to get JJ back to the BAU had not exactly gone so well and even though he was still technically trying, the efforts had begun to wane.

Aitana saw no point in continuing the conversation. Beside the fact that it was awkward as hell, she needed time to process. "Can I...go to my office for a moment?"

"Of course," Hotch motioned her towards the door. "I'll be talking to the team about the changes."

"Okay, I'll be there in a bit." Aitana rose from her chair and walked out of the office in a slow, almost monotonous, manner. She had a lot to process indeed.

~0~

Hotch walked into the conference room going straight to the point. The team had to be making up dozens of assumptions over their early meeting so it was better to just cut straight to it. "The Director called a meeting last night to discuss budgets."

"They skipped over Strauss?" Rossi asked, taken by surprise.

"She's away. The Bureau is facing a lot of changes and this unit is no exception. Over the next few weeks, each of you is going to be asked if you'd like to stay with the unit."

Penelope's eyebrows raised, her response coming out in a tumble. "Why wouldn't we?" She wanted to ask so badly why Hotch was even starting without Aitana present. If she thought of it, then the others had to have already asked themselves the same thing.

"There are other options for you out there," Hotch answered her plain and simple. "And while I want the unit to stay together, I understand completely if you want to see what the alternatives are."

"Have some of us already decided to leave?" Seaver asked and Penelope dared to think that she had done it to help her out. She almost mouthed a 'thank you' to Seaver.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss," Hotch cleverly said to avoid actually saying something conclusive.

Spencer, however, saw through the actual meaning. "So there is a change." Hotch met his gaze for only a second but it was enough to double confirm Spencer's assumption. It took very little to figure out where that change was happening.

"Morgan, there's renewed interest in you from the New York office," Hotch said, but Morgan almost scoffed.

"Nobody's called me."

"They will."

Morgan's expression turned incredulous fast. "That doesn't mean I'm gonna go."

Still peacefully calm, Hotch agreed. "Oh, I know."

"Are you staying here?"

"It's my intention," Hotch said, almost promising. "All I ask is if you are contacted by another division that you let me know."

There was a pause when Aitana stepped into the room. She could feel burning eyes with questions being thrown her way so she focused entirely on Hotch. "I just got a call. Virginia State police believe they've uncovered a serial killer. They need us at Zacha Road and Route 7 as soon as possible."

Hotch thanked her for the notice. "Morgan, you and Dave get out there."

"What about this?" Penelope quickly asked when the pair of agents started getting up to leave. This conversation wasn't even remotely close to being finished.

"We can talk about it later," Hotch said, getting up as well.

"I'm going to make a few calls," Aitana announced as she was already turning to walk out. Clear avoidance tactic,

Penelope was left to cross gazes with Spencer and Seaver because Hotch had gotten out of there quickly as well. She was helpless and possibly frightened. "What's happening?"

Neither agent had an answer for her.

~0~

Paige Hawley

Jake.

The case would turn out to go deeper than it being a lone serial killer. Aitana knew that the moment she spotted a familiar face walking into the bullpen. She had secluded herself in her office while she worked through the pending paperwork on her desk. There wasn't much the team could do until Rossi and Morgan examined the crime scene. Aitana expected Penelope to pop into the office soon enough and she had yet to come up with a good explanation for the questions Penelope would no doubt ask her.

When Penelope eventually did peek her head inside the office, it wasn't to ask her questions. "Hotch wants us in the conference room."

A life saver, thought Aitana. It would buy her a bit more time. "Okay, let's go." She got up from her seat, dumping a folder over her paperwork.

"Well hey," Penelope grabbed hold of Aitana's arm. "Is there something you need to tell us?"

Poor thing was full of concern that it made Aitana feel terrible. It's not your fault, she had to remind herself.

Aitana put on a small smile for her friend. "Nothing yet." She gingerly removed Penelope's hand from her arm and led the way out of the office.

Yet. Penelope held onto the word tightly. It was a warning that something was already coming.

SSA Andi Swan,the head of the Domestic Trafficking Task Force, was waiting for the BAU to gather in the conference room. She'd been notified of the corpses the team had found and as such, she was certain that it was one of her guys responsible.

"Do you know who did this?" Seaver asked her. Even a small guess could help them move faster.

Unfortunately, Andi shook her head. "I've been 2 steps behind an organization that abducts college kids throughout the U. S."

"How long have you been tracking them?"

"Three years." The weariness in Andi's tone was palpable. "But this is the first time there's been an identifiable body."

"So you think this is their work?" asked Spencer.

"It's definitely their type. Stressed-out, vulnerable kids. They're all from good families, making them low-risk for abduction. Young innocents are worth more money. And they're harder to lure, so they hold on to them for a longer period of time."

All the information was more repulsive to hear rather than when she would just read about it. Aitana couldn't remember ever doing a job so close to human trafficking. "How many victims are they holding at once?"

"That's hard to say. But from what I can tell, there's a lot of turnover. Customers don't want to see the same faces twice. We don't think they travel with more than a handful of victims at one time. They hunt all over the country. All they need is a car. They might be low-tech, but they're organized. And profitable. The rumor is that they hold events for 2 days in metropolitan areas and then they disappear."

Penelope dreaded to ask knowing what the answer would probably be, but her curiosity got the best of her. "What kind of events?"

"Where top-paying customers can do things like this—" Andi made a gesture to their evidence boards holding the photographs of their two victims, "—and worse to the victims. It seems impossible to trace. We study their behavior. They're not a good breed, but they're still human. They make a few mistakes. We've also recently established an undercover unit."

"Wait, how can you infiltrate them?" Seaver paused to think. "Wouldn't your agents have to commit a crime to be accepted as a customer?"

Andi nodded. "Exactly. That's why we can't pose as buyers. The entire system is set up to protect the customers, but there's no way we can trace them from that end."

"Your agents go in as targets," said Hotch. "Do you have anybody under now?"

"Locally a few. They're still establishing the backstories. They might be able to help. I'll call." Andi excused herself to go do that. In a matter of minutes she would come to find out that one of her U.C.s had disappeared, prompting an emergency check in from her and Hotch.

The remaining agents were to go through the missing people cases until Morgan and Rossi returned from the morgue.

Penelope came into the room with a fresh new load of files in her arms. "Here are the missing coeds since 2009." She let them drop unceremoniously on the table beside Seaver's spot, making her flinch.

"Wow…" Her eyes widened at the big pile. She looked over to Spencer for some help.

"Yeah, uh, we still need to narrow this down…" He moved over to grab the first file and give it a quick skim. "Let's look at last-known locations. Maybe there's an overlap."

"They're from all over the place," Penelope informed rather tersely.

Seaver grabbed the next file to give a skim as well. "These guys hunt in target-rich environments. Clubs, malls, that kind of thing."

"What are Morgan and Rossi finding?" Spencer asked Penelope. He noticed her staring a bit too hard at the table. He could only wonder how many things were running through her mind at the moment.

"Uh…" She had to rack her brain to remember what Morgan had told her earlier. "A lot of mud on the car and the victims."

"Mud? Did it rain here?"

"No, not here. South. Morgan has a theory that based on the gas mileage, they must have filled up within 70 miles of the accident."

"Gotcha. How many gas stations you find?"

"42."

"How'd you narrow that down?"

Penelope frowned. "I didn't."

Spencer paused to give her a look. Now that was concerning. "Why not?"

"I didn't have any more parameters."

Even more concerning.

Seaver thought the same thing. "That never stopped you before."

Penelope seemed to get the gist of their hints and straightened herself up. "I'll be right back..." She bumped into Aitana at the doorway and while Aitana tried to greet her, Penelope moved right around her and kept going.

Aitana blinked and looked after her for a second. "She's upset with me, isn't she?" She sighed. She should have seen that coming.

"Don't take it personal," Spencer said, "She really doesn't like change."

Aitana turned around and shot him a smile. "Running theme amongst you guys, huh?"

Spencer dove his attention back to the file in his hands. Yes, yes it was.

"Is there something we should know about?" Seaver cautiously asked Aitana. She had seen practically everyone bite their lip to keep themselves from asking the scary question. She couldn't do it.

With a sigh, Aitana nodded. "You guys are going to figure it out anyways. I just don't really know how to tell Penelope. Or...everyone actually."

"You're leaving," Spencer said, trying to be as casual as he could about it. Like stated, he did not like change either.

Aitana sighed again, deeper. "It looks that way, yeah."

"It looks?" Seaver repeated, her expression twisting with confusion. "What do you mean?"

Even Spencer looked up from his file, actually lowering it to study Aitana. She seemed more upset than anyone else and that wasn't the behavior of someone who wanted to transfer. He felt a twinge of something in his heart. "What's happening?"

Aitana teeth dug deep into her bottom lip. "They want to move me," she said. It was difficult talking about it knowing it was already in the works. "It's like Hotch said, the directors are looking to make cuts in units. They're looking at everyone's records including mine. They saw my history and they think I would be better suited in the Human Resources department." She was sure that she had the same stare of shock as Spencer and Seaver on her face when Hotch told her the news earlier in the morning. "I'm one of the few FBI agents who managed to come back from WPP and, apparently, successfully reintegrate enough to continue working in the same field." A success story is what she was reduced to.

"What? So they...they just want to move you like that?" Seaver asked. That was all well reasoned by the directors but what would be the point?

Aitana nodded. "They want me to work with the FBI academy. The new agents coming in should have someone with firsthand experience of the hardships of the job." Essentially, they wanted her to weed out the agents who wouldn't be cut out for the FBI. "I'm meeting with the head tomorrow."

"They're not giving you a choice," Spencer said, speaking from the unfortunate experience at the beginning of the year. They had done the same to JJ and now they were going after Aitana too.

"Technically they are," Aitana swallowed hard. This is the part she feared would gain her the disdain of the team, especially Penelope based on how she was already acting.

Spencer was curious. "What do you mean?"

"The BAU needs more profilers and since I technically have seniority than you," she made a quick point to Seaver, "They were willing to consider my switch of positions within the BAU as a full time profiler. Hotch had already asked me if I wanted the job but I wasn't sure back then. I am now. I don't know what possessed JJ to ask me to take over her job but now I'm glad that she did because I love it. What used to be hard for me is now one of the things I like to do. I like being closer to the families and you know what?" A laugh slipped out of her. "I love putting reporters in their places."

At that, both Spencer and Seaver would agree with her. She didn't earn her nickname for nothing.

"But if I became a full-time profiler, I would lose that connection. I can't be that close to a job I want while I work with something else. It would just be too much." She thought about it over she's over since the morning. Hotch told her she could still agree to be a profiler but the more thought, the less she wanted to do it. She was finally back to a point in her life where she was confident that she knew how to do her job and that she wanted to do it. She didn't have to work a job that was handed to her with a cautious hand because she might snap from her WPP days. She was more healed now than she had been at the beginning of the year.

"At least in the human resources department, I can talk to people kind of how I do here." She had to console herself somehow and this was the nicest thing she could see in the midst of all the gray. "They want me to weed out the 'weak ones' but there are no weak people. I can give them the tools that I didn't have when I first started."

"That's a really nice way of thinking," Seaver said. "You would've definitely helped me out." Role models were desperately needed within the academy. She had Rossi but he was hardly there. Someone needed to be looking out for the new students and she knew Aitana had the caring gene packed down.

"Thanks," Aitana said. "I just feel terrible that I...I have to go."

"It's not your fault," Spencer said. "Penelope will see that. I see it."

"So you guys aren't mad that I chose to leave?" Aitana looked between the pair with anxious eyes. "They gave me the option…"

"You stood your ground, that's the most important part," Seaver offered her a friendly smile.

"Yeah, I'm just so sorry they're doing this again," Spencer added. He couldn't possibly guess how much his input relieved Aitana. Even though they'd worked through their problems, she feared that he might be like Penelope in the end.

"You sure?" She had to ask just to fully get rid of her doubt.

Spencer nodded. "Of course. You felt like you needed to do the right thing."

"Yeah," Aitana exhaled. She leaned her hands on the top of a chair, gripping it so tight her knuckles were turning white. "I just hope it turns out okay." It was all she could do at this point.

~ 0 ~

"Using the club Renée went to as a template, there are potentially 63 others who were taken by the same offenders." Spencer was happy to give the files back to Penelope. It was tough to go through those files knowing they would only save a potential few of the missing people.

Seaver unknowingly shared the same sentiment. She handed back her share of files with a heavy sigh. "There's no way to know which ones are still alive."

Aitana quietly slid her share back as well. There were just no comments to coherently describe what she felt with this case. She could only hope they found a lot of victims still alive.

"Andi Swan," Morgan looked at the woman coming into the room with Hotch. "How you been?"

Andi could only bob her head. "Better. Thanks for helping out."

"Nice to see you again, Andi," Rossi shook hands with her next.

"What'd you find?" Hotch asked the pair.

"We tracked the driver to a gas station outside Culpepper," Morgan said. "He used a pay phone to call another one in the same town."

"So they're close. And careful."

Morgan nodded then glanced over to Andi. "What's their budget on location?"

"Not much. They pay cash, no questions asked. Security's top priority."

Aitana was sure that every time they asked Andi a question, things were worse than the previous answer. "So this guy's found a place to hold let's say a dozen victims? That means we're looking for a secluded spot in rural Virginia." A sour smile crossed her face. "That shouldn't be hard to find."

"I thought traffickers concentrated in port cities," said Rossi after a moment's thought over the rural locations.

"International ones do," Andi clarified. "Unfortunately, domestic traffickers abduct all over the country. It doesn't seem like they stay in one location long after an abduction. They move quickly and efficiently. My guess was in a nondescript car, and until this morning that was just a theory."

"Well they've lost their driver now, so they're in jeopardy," Penelope said, hoping that would spark some hope that they would be able to catch them on a mistake.

"They'll move out tonight," Andi said with all the certainty in the world.

Morgan was a bit more reluctant to fully believe it. "But they've got customers and victims lined up. They don't want to lose the money."

"And technically, their location hasn't been compromised yet," Aitana added, unknowingly following Penelope's hope path. "If they don't move tonight, we have a window of opportunity."

"She's right," Hotch said, eyes shifting to Andi. "You said Renee went to the local clubs, do you know which ones?"

Andi nodded. "She'd report back if anyone suspicious approached her. We followed the leads, nothing panned out."

"What was the last club?" Penelope asked, fingers wiggling over her keyboard.

"Scotty's in Georgetown." Andi held her breath while Penelope searched for the club. Too many things were running in her mind but the main one managed to slip through her lips. "If they find out she's an agent, she's dead."

"Penelope's incredibly fast at searching, she'll have something for us to narrow the search down," Aitana said, offering the blonde analyst a kind smile.

Penelope paused for a brief second to meet Aitana's gaze. Whatever frustration she held for Aitana dissipated with her kind words. It was almost frustrating how those big eyes of hers were just too sweet to be angry with.

"Let's discuss the leader," Hotch switched them while Penelope did her search. Their window of opportunity wouldn't last all night. "We need to look at this from the leader's point of view. A group like this requires a strong leader."

"Yeah, this guy's in charge of some unstable personalities," Morgan remarked. "Do you have any theories?"

Andi nodded. She had thousands of them but she narrowed them down to fit the situation. "I have always thought he led through fear. This guy can blackmail his whole team. Look at the progression of this network. They started abducting victims for sex and then adapted to killing."

"Because he saw the growth potential in his assets," Spencer said, a logical reason. "Instead of just disposing of them, he made it into a show."

"And that's why the victims are so young," Andi said. "The customers will pay top dollar to see them tortured."

"But the average guy doesn't have that kind of money laying around," Seaver said out of sheer common sense. Oftentimes, that was all they needed to get to the next point. "So they're successful. And incredibly deviant. That's their big secret. If it was revealed, they'd be ruined."

"But they still have criminally prove themselves to join the club," Aitana said, her expression scrunching with confusion. "How can they be upstanding citizens and still prove themselves to these people?"

There was a moment of silence while everyone considered the options.

"It could be a white-collar crime, like money laundering," Morgan thought first.

Hotch went with it and added: "That's often done through real estate. Garcia, who owned the clubs where the victims went missing?"

Penelope quickly opened a new tab to turn her search around. "Um, Bruce Harmon owns the club in Arizona."

"And in Ohio?"

"Bob Moore."

"And Scotty's in Georgetown?"

"Bob Moore is a partner in that."

There was the beginning of something.

"Do any of them own property in Virginia?" asked Hotch.

Penelope nodded fairly quickly. "Moore also is a partner in the development of a private facility."

"What happened to it?"

"It...looks like bad guys go through hardship, too," Penelope rolled her eyes. "Financiers pulled all the money out in 2009, so it's not anything."

Another something.

"What was it?" asked Rossi.

"It was supposed to be a tough-love rehab center, but now-" Penelope stopped when seh saw a photograph of the property, "Now it's just an abandoned factory in the middle of nowhere. With a lot of acreage and mud."

"How close to the gas station?" Morgan asked.

"Eight miles west of it."

They had the something.

"Let's go," Hotch ordered the group, though Andi was already on her way out.

"I'll gather the other divisions," Aitana said, feeling bittersweet once she realized this was the last time she would be doing any such thing for them. It actually hurt.

~ 0 ~

They were in stealth mode when they arrived at the building. There were no visible guards outside which just spoke volumes of the group's confidence in their solidarity. They divided themselves up into three different teams to take the various entry ways into the building.

Hotch would lead a handful of the S.W.A.T. team directly from the main entry of the building. Rossi and Morgan would lead through the back and Aitana and Seaver followed Andi through the maze of hallways from the side of the building. They had the true element of surprise in the situation and they would use it until they couldn't anymore.

Morgan would be the first to break the element of surprise but with Rossi's help, they were able to keep it under wraps. One by one, they all took down the guards without startling their predecessors.

Aitana came across a set of double-sliding doors. A big chain protected it so she stepped back and motioned one of the S.W.A.T. to break it down. As soon as they did, the others rushed inside. Cages lined either side of them and each one was filled with victims.

"Oh my God," Seaver was outright horrified. She froze in the middle of the aisle while the rest of the team swarmed past them to free the victims.

Aitana couldn't remember another moment that had caused Seaver such a deep emotion, and that was saying something considering everything they saw each day. "C'mon," she tugged the woman by the arm. "We got the victims, you can get the bastards paying for this crap."

Seaver nodded her head though her body seemed to shake. It was unnatural of her usual composure. She turned around and headed back in the direction they'd come in through.

Aitana would make a note to check up on her afterwards but right now her main priority were the victims. She was sure they would all need some type of medical attention. By the time she oversaw the victims' transfer from the building into either ambulances or cars, the others had gotten all the "customers" in handcuffs and packed into the backs of cars.

Hotch and Andi were together when Aitana stopped by. They had just witnessed Renee Matlin being taken in an ambulance. She was beaten but she would make it.

"Please tell me we got everyone?" she asked the pair.

As if to answer her question, Seaver walked by with one last handcuffed man. "This is the last one," she told them.

"How many arrests?" asked Hotch.

"Eighteen."

"And 7 victims rescued," Aitana added, meeting Seaver's gaze. It was a win tonight.

They heard loud screech of tires and in the next moment, a car burst from the building.

"Hey, stop that vehicle!" Hotch yelled hte order, prompting a series of gunfire to take shots at the fleeing car.

They managed to stop the car not too far from them. A swarm of them ran to arrest whoever was behind the wheel. However, they found the driver dead from one of their bullets and one more girl in the backseat.

Rossi helped her out of the car. She was in tears and seemed rattled by everything.

"She needs medical attention," Rossi called, already making way for them with the girl.

Seaver made a hurry to inspect the rest of the car for any other victims the unsub might have taken with him. Aitana came around the back to see Seaver opening the trunk. There was no one. No one else was in the car.

"Hey Hotch?" Aitana called, leading Hotch and Andi to come over. "I may be off here but...that guy behind the wheel...he only took one girl?"

That was beyond weird. These people didn't typically care for victims if they crossed into being a hassle.

"Seven victims," Seaver said, eyebrows knitting together. "Left in the cages while the customers made a run for it."

"No, no, these guys don't…" Andi shook her head, "They just move on, they don't…"

Hotch realized it first." Renee was last seen with a brunette. It's her. DAVE!" He yelled seconds before they heard a gunshot.

Rossi stood in his spot, completely stunned to see the dead girl on the ground. Morgan lowered his gun and walked over to Rossi. The quickness was sometimes...just too quick.

~ 0 ~

When the group returned, Spencer and Penelope were still in the conference room putting away their evidence into boxes. Spencer noticed the way Morgan was walking in with his right arm held a bit too close to himself.

"What happened to you?"

"That guy was huge," Morgan muttered.

"Seriously. You should start working out." Spencer cracked a smile at Morgan's reaction, the latter wasn't very amused.

"Oh, you got jokes now?"

"Mhm!"

"Boys," Penelope scolded the pair, or at least tried to. She failed with her overwhelming concern for everyone who'd gone out.

"What is it, kid?" Rossi had noticed Seaver staring a bit too contemplating at the files on the table that had yet to be put away.

The young agent shrugged her shoulders. "We only rescued 7 victims today." She picked up the decent size of piles. "What about the rest of these?" She didn't understand why this was hitting her more than the other cases she dealt with. Seeing the files, holding them, just irked her. Why was the pile so heavy? Why couldn't it be smaller? Thinner?

"It's a never ending cycle," Aitana said as if she'd been reading Seaver's mind.

"I'm not sure I like it," Seaver said, surprising herself and the others. She carefully set the pile back on the table, her eyes lingering on them with another thought.

"Good work, everybody," Hotch said upon coming in. "Go home and get some rest. Nobody needs to come in till 9:00." He turned to leave but paused to amend his timing, "...:30."

"We were supposed to talk about the meeting!" Penelope exclaimed, stopping Hotch for a second.

He didn't say anything, merely glanced at Aitana. 'It's your call' he was basically saying.

Aitana inwardly sighed. Yes, yes it was and she had already made the decision. She had to go through with it now. "I got it," she assured him. "I'll...handle it." He nodded and continued his way out.

"Handle what?" Penelope asked, her lips close to forming a pout.

Aitana turned back to face them. "Um, I'll be transferring to the Human Resources department." Before Penelope could anything, Aitana quickly added: "I didn't ask to be transferred but it's happening."

"They're doing it again?" frowned Morgan.

"It's different," Aitana promised him. "I know what happened to JJ and she didn't have a choice but I technically did. They want profilers and I've recently reached the conclusion that I like being a liaison. I like being both and the directors don't want that from me."

"But they want you for something," Rossi caught onto her choice of words. She should've known better than to try to be subtle.

She had to nod. "I'm a success story to them right now. I came back from the WPP and I'm still working as an FBI agent. I'm the person they want to use to call new agents into the academy. They also want me to pick the ones I see with potential."

"So it's not because you didn't want to be a profiler—the directors want to use your story," Morgan was disgusted. Plain and entirely disgusted.

"Can't we...can't we fight? Do something?" Penelope's stomach churned as her recent behavior came back to gnaw at her head. Oh, she'd been terrible!

"Yeah, maybe we can reverse their decision," Seaver said. She herself wasn't supposed to be at the BAU after graduation and yet they hadn't touched her.

Aitana shrugged her shoulders. Her teeth chewed deep into her bottom lip. "I would want nothing more than that but I think right now there's nothing I can do. I don't want to be just a profiler and I know it's stupid, possibly childish that I'm leaving rather than taking what they offered—"

"It's not," Spencer said, giving her a sharp look. She had to remember why she'd made the decision in the first place. "You can't be something you don't want to be. I think we can all understand that…?" He looked around the room to make sure they were all agreeing with him.

They were.

"Doesn't mean I won't try to get you back," Penelope warned, "They already took JJ from us, I am not letting them take away my sweet Sprinkles!" She hurried over to encase Aitana in a big hug.

The brunette chuckled. "Does this mean you're not upset with me anymore?"

"Oh honey, I am so sorry!" Penelope broke into a fit of apologies and how she would never let Aitana get distant from them. It was too sweet and very Penelope.

"Hey, is anyone hungry?" Spencer asked the group.

Seaver was quick to answer with a hand on her stomach. "Starving!"

"There's this super good Indian restaurant. It's a little ways away, but it's open 24 hours and they have amazing chicken tandoori."

"Ooh, that sounds good," Aitana said, eyes flickering to Penelope still holding her in a massive hug. "Since we're still attached, you wanna go?"

The blonde nodded. "Yup!"

"Okay, then let's start turning. I gotta go to the office first."

"Okay!" Penelope started turning them for the door and produced an awkward hobble with Aitana that had the others shaking their heads with laughter.

"Looks like you've been replaced in the favorites department," Rossi said to Morgan.

"Yeah. A noble loss," Morgan agreed.

[sinfulspencer]

NSFW FICS

My darlings, I finally decided to post my works on Wattpad. Do not interact if you're under 18+. Come check it out here.

[smurphyse]

No rush, this is just an appreciation post but I ADORE your Spencer fics and can't WAIT for the next one!! Hope you're having a lovely day ❤️❤️❤️

Awhh thank you!!! I'm working on chapters for Bunny, R405, and OSL atm, just slowly going back and forth between them when the inspiration hits! I'm almost done with the next Mutual Irritation chapter and I'm still staring at an empty page for the next ADA chapter 🥲 my brain is resisting that one for some reason.

I'm having a wonderful day! Had a nap with my pitbull on the couch and did some dishes... How about you nonnie??💕

[reidiot]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

part two

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues. 

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong. 

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs. 

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface. 

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more. 

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment. 

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable. 

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness. 

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak. 

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you. 

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down. 

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!” 

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time. 

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.” 

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could. 

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs. 

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips. 

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade. 

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin. 

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh. 

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles. 

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg. 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. 

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs. 

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases. 

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents. 

Almost. 

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed. 

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention. 

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him. 

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm. 

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him. 

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back. 

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them. 

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again. 

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him. 

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good. 

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice. 

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

 He hums contemplatively. 

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum. 

“About what?” 

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine. 

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?” 

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?” 

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again. 

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you. 

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away. 

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet. 

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes. 

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it. 

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message. 

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky. 

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort. 

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh. 

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly. 

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile. 

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily. 

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck. 

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly. 

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy. 

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids. 

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin. 

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum. 

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you. 

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you

I love you. 

[incognit0slut]

Beyond the limit

>> Part two: the breaking point

Spencer is hesitant when you ask him to be rough, but when he realizes how much you enjoy it, he wonders just how far he can push your limit.

warnings: (MDNI, 18+) dom spence, guided/mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation (use of slut), orgasm control, hairpulling, choking, overstimulation, creampie, cumplay, squirting, rough sex, so many body fluids

a/n: 4k words for 4k followers! Thank you all so much, consider this as a token of my appreciation. This one is for you, I love you all ♡

Spencer considered himself as someone with a strong sense of self-control... until he found himself on top of you, right between your legs. How could he resist when your body felt so soft against his? When all his restraint seemed to vanish into thin air?

He had you pinned against the bed, his palms tracing your hips before moving to your breast. You moaned out his name as your nipples hardened against the thin material of your shirt—his shirt, to be exact. After all, it was how it all started.

The moment he was greeted by the view of your perfect ass when he came home from work, barely covered by his shirt you were wearing, something in him snapped. You looked so damn good, so damn tempting, practically begging to be touched.

It didn’t take long for him to discard his bag onto the floor before scooping you in his arms. You simply giggled, amused at his sudden urgency yet eagerly welcoming it as he led you into your shared bedroom.

Now he was right between your thighs, pressing his hard erection right against your panties. You could feel yourself getting wet by the friction and you found yourself parting your legs even further, grinding your hips along with his as his mouth continued to suck on the spot right below your ear.

Anytime you whimpered, he gripped you tighter, and your shaky hands clutched onto button-down shirt. There was something about him still dressed in his work clothes while you were nearly half-naked, his shirt bunched around your waist, leaving your lower half exposed. And you liked it. It made you feel vulnerable being pressed under him like this, sparking a strange desire to submit to him completely.

And now you craved more. You wanted to surrender to him, to let him take the lead. But to your dismay, his movements suddenly slowed down, leaving you momentarily confused because you could feel the way he was holding back. His hands were trembling against your body as if he was consciously avoiding being rough.

You slid your hands up to his chest, lightly pushing him away and he quickly drew back. His brows furrowed as he gazed down at you. "What is it? Did I do something wrong?"

Shaking your head, you reassured him. "No," you replied softly. "But... you don't have to hold yourself back for my sake, you know.”

His eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "I mean, I know you're trying to be careful, but... I want you to take control, without holding back. I want... more.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his features. "You want me to... be rough?" he asked cautiously.

You nodded, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I do."

"But I- I don't want to hurt you."

You reached out, cupping his cheek tenderly. "I trust you, Spence. I trust us. And I want you to trust yourself too."

His expression softened under your touch. You took it as enough of a sign to push forward as your thumb swept back and forth across his jaw.

"If it's too much I'll tell you," you assured him.

He searched your eyes for a moment, uncertainty flickering within his gaze. "What if I hurt you?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You bit your lip, studying his face for a moment before responding. "I think I'll like it if you do," you confessed, your cheeks flushing slightly. "But we don't have to do anything crazy you're not comfortable with. We don't necessarily have to do something you don't want to."

Spencer swallowed hard, processing your words. "So what do you want then?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand slid up the length of his jaw until your fingers slipped into his hair. Very carefully you gripped a handful of his curly strands in your fist. "Do whatever you want, baby," you answered. "Mark my skin. Pull my hair. Talk me through it."

You noticed the way his lips twitched at your words and you smiled.

"Fuck me hard," you demanded boldly.

His breath hitched as he searched your eyes. He definitely wanted to do those things, too. When he finally relaxed into your touch, a rush of anticipation surged through you, your heart beating rapidly.

"Are you sure?" he asked slowly.

You nodded, gripping his hair a bit harder, enjoying the way his breathing grew shallower. "Please," you whispered, your voice filled with desire.

With a barely audible groan, Spencer gave in to your request, his resolve melting away as his lips crashed against yours. Your pulse sped up excitedly in your chest in response—this was exactly what you wanted. That pure, raw desire that was too strong for him to contain. When he finally pulled away, he was breathing even heavier now, his shoulders heaving with each audible inhale.

"If we're going to do this, we'll do it my way," he declared firmly. "You will listen to me, understood?"

You nodded, feeling a shiver of anticipation run down your spine at the commanding tone of his voice. "Yes," you replied breathlessly.

And just when you thought he was about to delve into another kiss, he surprised you by pulling away. He sat back, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you. "Sit up and lean back on the pillow," he commanded.

Your heart raced as you complied, eagerly following his lead.

"Take off the shirt... leave your panties on."

You followed, leaning forward, your fingers grabbing the hem of your shirt before pulling it off your body, revealing your soft-looking skin to his eyes. His predatory gaze was locked on your breasts, noticing the way your nipples hardened as the cold air brushed your skin. When you leaned back again, he dragged the tips of his fingers up your thighs, gripping your waist for a moment before another demand left his lips.

"Spread your pretty legs," his soothing voice told you, staring intently between your thighs. You did as you were told, parting your knees, your feet propped up on the bed as you waited with bated breath for his next instruction, feeling yourself throb behind the drenched fabric.

"Now touch yourself." You gulped at his tone, sliding your fingers inside your panties. He suddenly called out your name in a warning, his voice alone stopping your hand in its tracks. "Over your panties, I'll tell you when to touch yourself directly."

You nodded, letting your fingers hover over the fabric of your panties. You let out a gasp when you felt how drenched you were before you found your clit. You were hyperaware of every movement you were making, you realized, and it turned you on way more than it should. You choked on your next moan, squeezing your eyes shut as felt the sensation growing along your body.

You suddenly felt a hand gripping your jaw and you quickly opened your eyes, greeted by him staring down at you. "Keep your eyes on me."

There was nothing else for you to do but to oblige. Your fingers continued to press down your clit, swirling around the sensitive bud desperately as he released his hold on your jaw before trailing down your chest, teasing your aching nipples. You whimpered and watched as his eyes traveled down your body.

Spencer hungrily took in the way your legs were spread apart before him, the way you were touching yourself so eagerly. Your fingers moved rapidly over your panties, the material now too drenched as it slipped between your folds every time you moved. Your pussy was barely covered and he could see your arousal dripping down your legs.

"Look at you," he mused, his hand traveling down your body, resting slightly at the inner part of your thigh. "You like putting on a little show, don't you?"

Your breaths came out in shallow, eager gasps, but when you attempted to increase your pace, he quickly shook his head. "Slower. We don't want to rush."

You complied, adjusting your movements to match his pace, and he rewarded you with a smile. "That's it. Nice and slow," he praised, his gaze locked on yours with intensity.

Through hooded eyes, you watched as he began to undress, each deliberate movement teasingly slow. His tie came first, followed by his shirt which he discarded carelessly onto the floor. His pants followed suit, and when he was completely naked, your eyes hungrily drank in the sight of his exposed body.

Your fingers on your own body slowed down as you took in the sight before you, the way he slowly gripped the base of his cock before squeezing it hard.

"Don't you stop, I didn't tell you to stop," he reminded you, his voice firm.

With a sharp inhale, you resumed your movements, the urgency returning as you focused on pleasuring yourself under his watchful gaze. Then as if to taunt you, he began pumping his length slow and steady as your eyes focused in on the motions.

"S-Spence," you whined, pushing your hips faster against your hand, trying to keep your rhythm in check though the sight of him pleasuring himself had you so weak in the moment. "I- I wanna take my panties off."

He gripped his cock tighter, working his fist quicker along the length as his breaths deepened. "Yeah? You wanna see how wet you are?"

His words sent a surge of warmth through your body, spreading from between your thighs to your cheeks as your fingers quickened in pace and your legs spread further for him to see. "Yes-yes- please," you begged.

"Such a desperate slut," he muttered. His crude words shouldn't have brought you pleasure, but they did, and your tight walls clenched around nothing. He noticed the effect it had on you and smiled. "You liked that, huh? You liked being called a slut?"

You gulped, your fingers moving faster. "Y-Yes."

He simply hummed in response, snaking his hands between you, finally slipping off your panties down your legs. His fingers then gripped the soft plush of your thigh, spreading you open for him, exposing your cunt to the open air as he massaged soothing shapes into your skin.

He sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, taking in the mess between your legs. His gaze traveled your stomach, up to your perky breasts, before meeting your half-lidded eyes. He then slowly took your hand and your jaw slacked open when he abruptly sucked your fingers into his mouth.

His tongue felt hot, searingly so, as he laves over the pads of your middle and ring fingers, then dipped between them to caress your knuckles down to where they meet. A wave of heat traveled through you as he held your gaze, licking off your fingers one last time before guiding them back between your thighs.

"Keep going," he instructed, and you wasted no time in rubbing your clit feverishly. Your face twisted with pleasure, brow wrinkled, body tense, and each circle around your sensitive flesh brought you closer to the edge. The bedroom was filled with the sounds of crisp, rustling sheets underneath you and the slick motions of your fingers roaming your folds.

"Do you hear that? You're getting so loud. So wet," he gritted out. His eyes flickered up to your face, observing the delicate scrunch of your nose and your parted lips. "You're close, aren't you?"

You looked over to him. The view of his hand gripping his cock drew you so close to the edge you were balancing on, all the while attempting to feign control to give him the show he requested.

"Y- Yes," you admitted breathlessly, your body trembling with need.

He hummed a reply, soothing your thigh with his other hand. "Be a good girl and beg for it."

A choked whine escaped your lips.

"P-Please, let me come," you pleaded, the desperation evident in your voice as you sought his permission to release the tension coiling in your stomach.

"Ask nicely," he said, his tone firm yet encouraging. "Can I what?"

"Can I... I-I come?" you stammered, your eyes fluttering close, fingers moving rapidly on your clit.

"Look at me. Ask again."

Your eyes flickered open, meeting his intense gaze. "Can I-I come?" you begged, the desperation in your voice echoing your urgent desire.

"I can't hear you."

A moan ripped out of you, your body shaking uncontrollably under his gaze. Tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes as you struggled to hold on. "P-Please," you pleaded, your voice trembling with need. "Please let me come, I-I can't hold on much longer..."

"Louder," he demanded, his voice cutting through the haze of your desire, and that was when everything snapped. It was no longer a plea; instead, you were babbling incoherent words, unable to contain the overwhelming need coursing through your body.

"I-I'm s-sorry, I-I can't—" you cried, your voice strained with the effort of holding back.

But it was too late. Your resolve shattered, overwhelmed by the intensity of your desire. With a tear falling down your cheek, you locked eyes with him desperately as your climax crashed over you, consuming you entirely in its wave of ecstasy. It crept up on you, a gentle crescendo that abruptly peaked before slamming right into you.

Something in him snapped. Spencer never imagined he would enjoy having this much control over your body, but in this moment, he did. It was twisted, and although a hint of remorse flickered within him, his desire overpowered any sense of guilt.

Even as your body trembled uncontrollably from the intensity of your orgasm, he acted on impulse, flipping you over to lie on your stomach. The shift in position only fueled his desire further, igniting a primal need to dominate and possess you completely.

A moment later his hand came down on your ass with a sharp smack that drew a gasp out of you. He then crawled over you as his knees landed on either side of your thighs, the mattress bowing under his weight. Both of his hands dropped roughly down onto your ass, kneading the soft flesh.

You felt him lining his cock up with your entrance, your eyes closing in anticipation of him filling you. And then he plunged himself into you in one swift, sharp thrust which had your head dropping down into your pillow, burying your face in it as you tried to muffle the cry of pleasure that flew out of you.

He began pumping into you, his pace was slow at first, long strokes of drawing his cock out and back in earning quiet whimpers from you against the pillow. One of his hands released your hip before you felt him grabbing a fistful of your hair, just at the base of your skull, and sharply pulling.

"Stop burying yourself," he grunted. "Let me hear those pretty sounds."

You let out a moan, body shaking with every thrust of his hips, the room spinning as he picked up his pace. You felt the slow withdrawal of his cock as his hips drew back from you, but you weren't prepared for the way he rammed himself swiftly forward into you seconds after while tightening his grip on your hair.

A high-pitched, breathy noise of pleasure tore out of you at the feel of it. Encouraged, he repeated the gesture, the tug on your hair even rougher. You moaned loudly in response, your hips beginning to eagerly press backward into him as he brutally fucked you into the mattress.

"That's my girl," he praised. "Just like that, let me hear how good my cock makes you feel."

Your eyelids grew heavy under the weight of his words, your mouth going slack. Spencer was as loud as you as he repeatedly buried his cock in you over and over again. It didn't take long before his vicious thrusts had your eyes rolling back behind closed lids, your mind going entirely blank to everything but this very moment.

He then lowered onto his left forearm as his front molded over your back. The hard, solid feel of him behind you had you pressing back up into him, teeth gritting together as his cock buried itself somehow further inside of you. He released his grip on your hair, his hand swiftly moving to encircle your throat.

A moan escaped your lips as you felt the slight pressure of his grip, a surge of arousal coursing through you. His hand slid up further, encircling the bottom of your jaw as he carefully pulled your head backward, drawing it towards his shoulder until his mouth was beside your ear.

"Is this what you wanted?" Your breath hitched at his proximity, the heat of his body searing against your back as you struggled to form a coherent response. You could only manage a breathless nod in response.

"Let's see how far I can ruin you," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that sent a thrill through you despite the underlying threat in his words.

As his grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly, you couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips, surrendering completely as he picked up his pace, his hips rocking more rapidly into you. You were panting hard, your head tilted back against his shoulder.

His lips pressed onto the sensitive spot just between your shoulder and your neck, sucking on the skin while he mercilessly fucked you, his sweat-slicked body still flush to the back of you as he continued his fast, relentless pace. You were vaguely aware of his ragged, drawn-out groan and you could tell he was close.

It was evident in the way he was starting to lose control, his grip tightening around your throat as his breath grew hot and heavy against you. He was on the brink of spiraling, and you welcomed it, giving yourself over completely to please him.

"T-That's it, baby," you moaned. "You fuck me so good."

It was enough to make him come undone. He released inside of you, panting and huffing as he gave into the bliss. His motions slowed but he continued spilling inside your drenched walls, sweat beading against his forehead, lips parted, and face flushed. You squeezed yourself around him just to hear him suck in a sharp breath, gulping and exhaling with his brow wrinkled before he pulled out.

But when you thought he was done with you, he flipped you onto your back again. You were so wonderfully disheveled, your cunt clenching around nothing, gleaming with your arousal and his own release. He ran his fingers over your outer lips, spreading you open to have a better view of the white liquid trickling down your ass. He was quick to collect it with his fingers, tracing it up your folds so he could messily rub it over your clit.

"S-Spence..."

Spencer was known for his aversion to getting dirty, yet he didn't mind the mess he made between your legs. "You should see yourself," he muttered. "You're so pretty like this."

And then to your surprise, he positioned the tip of his cock right at your entrance again. You gasped, prompting yourself on your elbows as you looked down between your legs, wondering how on earth he was still so hard. Then a moan left your lips as you watched him slowly sinking into you again.

"Look at how I'm stretching you," he murmured, pushing his hips further. Both of your eyes were locked on the way your pussy stretched so wide around his girth. His previous release slipped back inside you every time his cock disappeared into your wet cunt, white cream coating around his length.

He moaned when your walls clenched around him, his eyes flickering between your face and the way his cock was stretching you. Spencer should have stopped. You were both too tired and too sensitive to continue further. Even his body ached with exhaustion, but he couldn't stop himself from thrusting forward as your walls swallowed his cock eagerly, practically begging for more.

The rational part of his brain urged him to pause, but the primal, carnal desire within him overrode any sense of restraint. Ignoring the way your body shook with exhaustion and the tension in his own muscles, he focused solely on the intense heat between your legs. So he continued to fuck you.

He was fucking you to the point where you couldn't even moan anymore, your voice caught in your throat with each thrust. He was fucking you so good there were tears in your eyes but you couldn't whimper or blink, you were just staring up at him, wordless and in awe, nails digging in his arms while your knees brushed up close to your shoulders.

He was fucking you roughly, dipping down every so often to press his lips to yours, the times he was not whispering encouragement, telling you how pretty you look, how wet you were, how much of a slut you were, and good you felt wrapped around him. And you could feel it, you could feel how good you were as your walls clamped down, sucking him in.

He thrust into you ruthlessly, consumed by a primal need to push you to your limits, to explore just how much you could take of him. Then when you felt that coil spreading along your limbs, you finally came without saying a word. But he didn't stop, continuing to fuck you into your next orgasm, and even when the sensation began to feel too overwhelming, he abused your clit with his thumb.

That was when everything blurred. The overwhelming pleasure finally consumed you entirely, rendering rational thought as a surge of liquid gushed out between your legs. He moaned in surprise at the sensation, his desire only fueled further by your response.

"Do that again," he begged, his voice husky with need as he continued to roll his hips into you. And you did, another wave of pleasure crashing over you as you drenched everything around you—his body, the sheets, every surface within reach. He moaned again, acutely aware of the mess you created.

Your grip on him slowly loosened and a pang of guilt hit him as he realized your body was already exhausted. Yet he couldn't resist the urge to use you once more. Your silence urged him to continue, thrusting into you relentlessly, your slicked-sweat skin sliding against his as he chased his second orgasm of the night.

He finally came with a grunt, his hips pumping into you with desperation, once, twice, before finally stilling. You cried out at the sensation, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all—the quickening of his breath, the hard grip of his hand on your skin, the throbbing ache between your legs.

Your vision suddenly became a hazy blur, and you gasped for breath, struggling to anchor yourself amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. Despite your shaking form, Spencer managed to pull you into his embrace.

“I-I got you," he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of emotions as the rush of dominance that had driven him moments ago was replaced by a wave of panic. He continued to hold you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively as he whispered soothing words into your ear.

You focused on controlling your breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly as you sought to regain your composure. Gradually, the haze began to lift, and after a moment passed, you found yourself able to see clearly once again. Your eyes traveled to him, and with a tired and sleepy smile, you leaned into his touch.

Spencer released a breath he wasn't aware of holding. "We are never doing that again."

"What? Why?" you asked, confusion evident in your voice.

"You scared me!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with both relief and exasperation. "What if you passed out? What if I had to take you to the hospital and—and explain that—"

"That I passed out because your dick was too good?"

He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're impossible," he teased, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You grinned up at him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his affectionate gesture. "But you love me anyway."

His smile softened as he gazed down at you. "I do."

"And I love you," you assured him. "Don't worry, I'm alright. And be honest with me, you seriously don't want to do that again? Wasn't that hot?"

His cheeks flushed slightly at your question, and he hesitated for a moment before meeting your gaze. "It was..." he began, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words. "Intense," he finally admitted, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. "But maybe we should take it slow next time."

"Spencer, you were the one that kept going."

He gave you a sheepish smile. "I guess I got carried away a little," he admitted, a touch of embarrassment coloring his tone.

“A little?”

“Fine, more than a little,” he confessed. “But you didn't stop me either."

"That's because I was enjoying myself."

His embarrassment faded into amusement. "You're going to be the death of me one day, you know that?"

You grinned playfully at his remark. "Only if you're lucky," you teased, a mischievous twinkle in your eye.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head fondly as he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. He studied you, taking in the warmth in your eyes and the happy but serene smile that graced your lips as a surge of affection washed over him. "Then I must be the luckiest man alive."

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Spencer Reid enemies to lover in the works! read below for the summary:

Summary: Spencer Reid is going undercover. His task? Make the daughter of a famous drug dealer fall in love with him so he can get on the inside and take down your father once and for all.

He knows the number one rule of going undercover and that is: he can’t fall in love with you.

However, there’s a twist you’ll never see coming…

[saiilorstars]

Ch. 26: Beyond the Liaison & Profiler

[Story Masterlist] // [Aitana’s Masterlist]

Fandom: Criminal Minds // Pairing: Spencer Reid x OFC

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag​​​​​ @arrthurpendragon​​​​​ @anotherunreadblog​​​​​ @maaaaarveeeeel​​​​​ @stareyedplanet​​​​​ @averyhotchner​​​​​​ @foxesandmagic @kmc1989​​​​​​

If you’d like to be a part of Aitana’s taglist, please let me know!

Also available on Fanfic ○ Ao3 ○ Wattpad

Aitana brought her game tonight even if it meant feeling her soreness each time she moved quicker than she should. Still, she was very proud when she fit the last piece of the puzzle before Spencer could even reach for the damn thing.

"Ha! Yes! I win—" She had barely cheered with fists in the air when she felt the sharp jab on her side and was forced to pull her arms down. She settled for one mock salute afterwards.

Spencer was only holding his laugh because it looked like she'd hurt herself badly. "I, uh, thought this was supposed to be a friendly puzzle..." He remarked, pushing his chair closer to the table.

Aitana snorted, very subtle passing a hand over her wound. The kitchen table thankfully hid the movement from Spencer. "You do realize that everyone else was happy to tell me that you're secretly competitive, right?"

"Spencer frowned. "I'm not competitive."

"That's not what Morgan swears."

"I'm not!"

Aitana raised a hand, indicating she would pause the argument. "You know what? Because you so kindly came over to lend me a new book and you actually sat down to do a puzzle with me, I'm going to pretend that Morgan wasn't right. You've given me some fun on this solitary evening of mine."

Spencer deadpanned her. "Wow, so big of you. Thanks."

Aitana smiled proudly. "Yes, I am."

Spencer pretended to disapprove of her tidbits. She was right, though, in that the evening had turned out to be a little more fun than expected. Keeping true to his promise, he had let her borrow some of his books while she recuperated at home. Tonight, he'd stopped by to pick up the finished book from her and to give her a new one in place. He found her alone at home doing a puzzle and when she asked if he wanted to stay for a bit, he couldn't refuse. More to the fact that he actually liked doing puzzles, he wasn't fond of the idea of her being alone while she was healing a bullet wound. In the case of an emergency, it would be better if someone was with her. It was also a better way to spend his free evenings. He had found himself drifting to JJ's home a lot more lately and he would like to give her couch a break. Aitana seemed to help distract him in a good way.

So, she allowed him to help her with her puzzle. Somehow along the way, it may have turned into an unspoken race to see who could finish it first. She did, apparently. It was all still very shocking to Spencer.

"Alright, I'm sorry," Aitana said in the end, offering him one genuine smile. "I may get a little competitive myself."

"Noo," Spencer feigned shock.

"But it's not often I can do it with puzzles!" she exclaimed. "My family doesn't do them and Elia thinks they're kind of stupid so I'm usually only competitive with myself. But now I have you!"

"Lucky me…"

"I'll stop," Aitana said, leading Spencer to laugh.

"No, it's fine. But you do know that I let you win, right?"

Aitana raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh? You let me win?"

Spencer nodded, now growing his own smirk. "Sorry to tell you the truth, but you don't get a pass just because you have an injury."

Her 'ha!' echoed in the kitchen. "We'll just see about that," she warned. She reached for the puzzle box and pulled the lid open. "You know I have like a hundred more of these boxes, right?" She asked as she started dumping their finished puzzle into the box.

"Are they actually challenging?" Spencer was full blown proud of himself by this point. He couldn't tell if the incredulous shock on Aitana's face was real or not but he liked it either way.

"Oh, oh, it's on!" she pointed at him. "It is so on! Just you wait!"

"I look forward to it," he said, flashing her a casual smile that just irked her even more.

Before she said anything else, they heard the front door opening. Spencer didn't even have the time to consider the possibility of an intruder when a familiar voice called.

"Aitana?"

"Kitchen!" Aitana didn't look up from the puzzle she was dumping into the box.

Spencer recognized Angel when he walked into the room.

"We have visitors?" He looked at Spencer with some curiosity.

"Competition," Aitana corrected, shooting Spencer a little mock-glare.

Spencer smiled only briefly now. It was hard not to feel self conscious around Angel after everything that happened — things that almost happened. He was beginning to realize that he had actually spent quite a few hours with Aitana tonight. There was nothing wrong with it of course (they hadn't done anything wrong) but there was the senseless guilt gnawing at him anyways.

"I'm sorry, what was the name again?" Angel asked.

Spencer cleared his throat as he pulled himself up from his chair. "Spencer Reid," he could only wave a hand at Angel.

"I'm Angel, nice to see you again. Sorry, I forget just about everything."

"His head wouldn't be there if it wasn't attached," Aitana remarked and smirked when Angel shot her a look.

"Ignoring her," Angel pulled his attention off her a second later. "If you stayed with her voluntarily, I commend you."

"Uh, it was…" Spencer was naturally puzzled with the words. They seemed a little harsh, in his opinion.

Aitana rolled her eyes at the comment. "Don't mind him, he's extra rude when he comes home from work."

"I own a restaurant so I deal with a lot of people," Angel exhaled a heavy breath, his dark eyes widening as he probably thought of his day. "We had multiple big parties today, so..."

Spencer nodded. That sounded hectic and definitely not what he would want to do with his day. "I should get going," he said.

"What?" Aitana blinked in surprise. "But I said it was on! You can't leave once I say it's on!"

Spencer smiled at her. It was a whole other side he was seeing of her and it was very amusing.

"She is so competitive, don't mind her," Angel shook his head.

"I am not!"

"Right."

"It's fine, Aitana, you need to rest. Penelope really wants you to come back already." Spencer counted at least a dozen moments in which Penelope said those exact words. She had grown attached to Aitana working as co-liaison partners.

"Do you mean to tell me it's just Penelope who wants me back?" Aitana feigned offence. "Nobody else?"

"Of course we all want you back," Spencer amended his fault even if he didn't have any. "But to do that, you do need to rest."

Aitana sighed. "Fine, but you're not off the hook."

"God forbid you get off the hook," Angel reiterated with a small laugh to follow.

Aitana chose to ignore him. "Thanks for the books, Spencer. I'll take good care of them, I promise."

He had no doubt that she would. She was the most organized person in the team. "I'm glad they're helping with the boredom. I'll see you soon."

She nodded. "Yup!" If it was up to her, she'd already be back at the BAU.

"Bye." For some reason, Spencer left in a hasty manner like he was trying to get away. He was smart enough to know why but it was better to pretend to be confused. It saved him the embarrassment.

"I cannot believe you forced that poor guy to do a puzzle with you," Angel said as soon as they heard the front door close. "Seriously? Did you want to torture him like that?"

Aitana rolled her eyes as she finished placing the lid over her puzzle box. "Some people actually like doing puzzles and for your information, Spencer is one of them."

Angel snorted at the idea. "Why?" He headed for the kitchen cabinets.

"They're relaxing!"

"Not with you! Ten bucks says you got competitive with him." Angel paused to see Aitana's face and was more than pleased with himself to see her looking away with guilt. "I knew it." He snagged a glass from the cabinet and headed for the filter.

"It's not my fault," Aitana shrugged. "You and Mateo never wanted to do puzzles with me. I always did them by myself so now that I actually have a friend who likes to do puzzles, I want to keep my winning streak." Angel shook his head at her then drank water. "And I'm going to keep them, eidetic memory or not."

Angel snorted again, nearly choking on his water because of it. "It's not healthy to be that competitive, you know."

"It's fun." Aitana gathered her puzzle box and got out of her chair.

"You're going to run him off, you know!"

Aitana smirked. "Doubt it. He invited me to the movies Friday."

"Oh!" Angel barely made a face when Aitana added that it was a group invitation. It was nowhere near what he was thinking.

"There's a movie that Penelope wants to watch," Aitana said, shrugging her shoulders. "So there's your FYI. You better cook dinner yourself tonight."

Angel snorted then fully laughed. "When do you ever cook dinner for me!?"

Aitana rolled her eyes and decided to head upstairs for some relaxing reading. She did have something new to read after all.

~0~

On Friday, Aitana received an apology text from Penelope because they'd gotten a new case and their movie plans were unfortunately put on hold. Aitana sent back a response assuring her that she of course understood.

She spent the weekend moving around as much as she could without forcing herself too much. The idea was to slowly ease her body back to her old routine so she could finally go back to work.

She went around her room organizing her things. Her shelves had gathered dust from her bed rest days and her poor plants needed more of her attention. Even her fish tank downstairs got a well deserved cleaning. After she felt like her home was decent enough to live in, she got to reading the books Spencer let her borrow. He'd been so nice this whole recuperation time, letting her read from his personal shelves. She wasn't a big reader growing up, at least not out of her favorite subjects (space and marine life). And wouldn't you know it, the first book that Spencer let her borrow was a space fiction story. After that, Spencer started bringing her a few classics he thought she might like.

This time, it was Crime and Punishment. Aitana couldn't help her smile when she first saw the title. It turned out to be a book of moral dilemmas, reminding her of the trolley problem (which she would happily compare to when Spencer asked her about the book). It was fascinating and she couldn't wait to find out how it ended. She hoped to finish soon. She had an inkling fear that Spencer was too nice to tell her not to take too much time with his book. She learned well by now how he was with his things and she did not want to upset him by any means.

She was so deep into her book that she almost missed Penelope's text message on Sunday night.

Hey Sprinkles! I know it's a little late but I managed to convince the others to go to the movies! If you're interested, we can pick you up!

Aitana answered within the minute. Of course she was ready to go at any time. And even though she insisted on getting to the theater on her own, Penelope insisted that she should take it easy. Seaver would pick her up. And in an hour, Seaver was at her front step.

"You're going out?" Angel caught the pair unexpectedly just as they were getting ready to leave. "Kinda late, don't you think?"

"What are you? My mother?" Aitana playfully rolled her eyes.

"Well, I know Pamela wouldn't like it."

Seaver smiled at the pair. "It'll just be a movie," she assured Angel but Aitana scoffed.

"Please don't indulge him. He thinks he's so cool being an annoying big brother."

"It's a fun job," Angel said with a completely serious face. Seaver had to laugh.

"Goodbye!" Aitana ushered Seaver out so she could shut the door. "God I hate him sometimes!"

"He's funny," Seaver remarked on the way to her car. "I always wanted a sibling…"

"You want him?" Aitana gestured back to the house. "You can have him. Or Mateo, really. He's my other brother. Both of them are up for grabs, seriously."

Seaver laughed again. She unlocked the car so they could get in. "I just thought it would be fun having someone else in the house. A sibling would've made a big difference."

"I guess they would," Aitana would have to agree. As rowdy as her childhood had been with Mateo and Angel around, she couldn't fathom the idea of living as an only child. "It would be too quiet without them," she realized. "My house was always loud. Angel's my step brother so he wasn't always in our house. He came by every weekend but even then, it was still loud."

Seaver turned the ignition on and soon drove into the street. "You know my childhood," she said with a sigh. "It was so quiet at times. I could hear every little noise in the house."

"You didn't have friends over?" Aitana curiously asked. "I always had Elia over too."

Seaver shook her head. "Not a lot. My father didn't really like them coming over."

"Oh, sorry about that…"

Seaver didn't seem to think long about it. She had long ago learned to move past the troubles in her home.

"You're more than welcome to stop by my place anytime you want," Aitana promised, "As annoying as Angel is, he's actually really easy going. It's why we work as roommates."

"Looks like it," Seaver chuckled. "I've never met any pair of siblings willingly living together, honestly."

"Ah, well, there's a reason why we have this arrangement," Aitana admitted. "I, um, had a lot of trouble living by myself after coming out of WPP. My parents had been looking for a while to rent the house so they decided to let me rent it. And I know they didn't want to say it out loud but I knew that they didn't really trust me to live on my own yet. Angel offered to pay half the rent. I couldn't say no."

"I'm sorry about that too," Seaver said. "It's ironic how many different ways there are to ruin a person who's lived peacefully all their lives."

Aitana hummed in agreement. "I was different," she said. "I know that I'm better now but I also know that I will never be who I used to be, not with the things I saw and lived through."

"I can share that sentiment too," Seaver said and shared a small laugh with Aitana. "The things that my father did...I could never go back to being who I used to be before we found out what he was. And I tried…"

"Yeah, we always try," Aitana whispered, falling distant with the memories of her failed attempts to reintegrate into society after WPP. "I went through so many jobs within the FBI. The leniency they had with me...dear Lord."

"I changed my name," Seaver reminded lightly, exchanging a brief glance with Aitana. "I was naive for thinking I wouldn't have to do it. The stares that I used to get…"

Aitana sympathetically looked at the woman. That would have to be something hard to live with.

~0~

"They're parking," Penelope looked up from her phone to Morgan and Spencer. "We should start buying the tickets. Save Aitana the extra walk."

"Well, we could've avoided it altogether if someone had just postponed the plans for later," Morgan shot her a look. She was so eager, as usual, to go out even after what felt like the longest case.

"Shush," Penelope waved him off. "She's bored. And I want to see a movie!"

"Can't be that bored…" Morgan swayed his head in Spencer's direction, leaving the man little time to ready himself for the inevitable teasing, "Not when Pretty Boy over here is stopping by every night to see her." Penelope snickered between them.

"I am not!" Spencer frowned.

"But you have been several times," Morgan flashed him a smirk.

Spencer's eyes landed on Penelope, accusing her for all this. She should know better than to tell Morgan this kind of stuff. She had the decency to smile a little bashfully.

"So has Penelope, so has Seaver," he said as his genius defense.

"Yeah, but you're doing puzzles with her and lending her books…"

"Talking about fishes and space," Penelope decided to add, giggling when Spencer glared at her. "Oh c'mon, you guys talked for guys about her little space project for her fish tank! It was really cute!"

Spencer shook his head at the pair. It was all harmless talking and they knew it. He knew it. It was actually really fun getting to know more about Aitana's side projects at home. She was more in depth than anyone at the BAU would expect their liaison/profiler to be. For the past 7 months, she'd been thoroughly focused on healing and reintegrating, leaving very few moments to really get to know her. Now she was beginning to open up and she was turning out to be a very interesting person. She was huge on space and, by an odd extension, fishes. He even learned that she had been president of an astrology club in her old high school. She had more plants than she needed to, she was constantly on the hunt for new fishes for her tank, she liked to dance, and there was still much more to her. She was surprisingly competitive when it came to doing puzzles, though he should've seen that coming with her little playful point system with him. Her easy going nature provided for a comfortable atmosphere, a trusting atmosphere. It was easy talking to her and therefore spending time with her, even alone.

To say, she even made it a little easier to tell her more of the situation with his mother. He still felt guilty for lashing out at her on their last case and though she had every right to still be upset with him about it, she welcomed anything he wanted to talk about. Everything was nice, everything was easy. The last thing he needed was for it to shatter because of some incessant, baseless accusations. Everyone also seemed to conveniently forget that Aitana was very much in a relationship. That alone proved she was just a friend.

"Hey there Sprinkles," Penelope was the first to greet Aitana when she and Seaver joined them. They already had the tickets and were merely waiting for the group to be together.

"Hey," Aitana waved before hurriedly stuffing her hand into her pocket. She was a little cold. "You guys look like crap, no offence."

"Just because it's you, I'm going to let it go," Morgan sarcastically wagged a finger at her.

Aitana's small laugh was short but it appeared like she could laugh freely without feeling the pain of her wound now. "Spencer, still reading the book. Might hang onto it for a couple more days if that's alright."

"Take your time," he said. "And I always have more."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do," she nodded, chuckling.

"More space?" Morgan asked with a healthy tease smile.

"Don't diss it," Aitana waved him off. Penelope started leading the way into the theater. "You know I was president of my astronomy club in high school?"

"And that's supposed to be cool?"

"It sounds cool to me," Seaver said, earning a grateful 'thank you' from Aitana.

"I even got us a camping trip to see the constellations! We saw Ursa Major on the first night, then Cepheus and Cassiopeia the following nights!"

"What? No shooting stars?" Morgan reached for the entry door first to hold for the others.

"Unfortunately, nothing fell from the sky those three days," Aitana dramatically sighed.

"You know, it's estimated that 60 tons of debris falls from space each day into our atmosphere," Spencer remarked.

Aitana scrunched her face at the fact. "I think I would've seen it."

He smiled. "A lot of it is microscopic particles that burn up when they enter the atmosphere."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, a lot of it ends up falling into the ocean."

"Those lucky fishes!"

Spencer laughed with her. From behind, Penelope nudged Morgan. She mouthed 'this is what I meant' to him, and consequently, Seaver. The two had a fairly amusing time understanding exactly what she meant.

~0~

"Unnecessary!" Penelope huffed as soon as they were out of the theater. Not even the chillier air could distract her from the deep disappointment of their movie. "There's too much blood and gore and eew!"

"Garcia, it's a slasher film," Spencer reminded her. "How do you do a slasher film without violence?"

"You imply it!"

"Baby, the movie is called "Slice 6." What were you expecting?" Morgan could barely hold his laugh for her sake.

"A refreshing beverage with a twist of comedy!?"

"That's what you got from the title?" Aitana made a face. "I would think the word 'slice' is a dead giveaway of what the genre was."

Penelope did not care for reason. "I'm gonna have nightmares for a week!"

"With everything that we do and see on a daily basis, that got to you?" Seaver had to ask because from a logical point, it didn't make sense.

"Listen, newbie, you may be all Sigourney Weaver ass-kicking tough, which is awesome, but the mystical mavens of innocence like myself jump at things that go bump in the night!"

"Why are you worried? I'm sure that Morgan will protect you," Spencer gestured to the man, though he added with a growing smirk: "As long as he's not jumping out of his chair like a prepubescent schoolgirl." The others snickered.

"The only reason I jumped is 'cause you guys woke me up," Morgan said.

"How could you sleep during that?" Aitana asked. Several people had screamed around them multiple times.

"Easy. They dragged me out after a 12-hour workday...for what? You telling me that girl didn't know that the unsub was waiting for her upstairs? Come on, now."

"Villain," Spencer corrected.

"What?"

"Villain. In movies, unsubs are called villains."

Morgan playfully rolled his eyes. "My bad."

"You want to know why horror movies are so successful?"

"Why is that, genius?"

"They prey on our instinctual need to survive. In tribal days, a woman's scream would signal danger and the men would return from hunting to protect their pack. That's why it's always the women and not the men who fall victim to the bogeyman."

"Count on you, Reid, to break a movie down to science," Seaver said with eyebrows raised. At this point, she shouldn't even be surprised.

"I don't know, if you ever meet my maternal grandmother, the boogeyman will seem scarier," Aitana said, causing an eruption of laughter from the group. "She's got a tough attitude if you cross her."

"Oh, so we know where you get it from then," Morgan smirked. "Spicy Sprinkles."

She rolled her eyes at him. She would keep in the fact her parents often said the same thing. He didn't need the extra ammunition.

"I actually like horror movies but I need to be mentally prepared for them," Penelope said, thankfully changing the topic. "My favorite thing about horror movies is the suspense factor."

"Ah, the ticking clock," Spencer hummed. "The helpless victim walks through the dark. Shadows reaching out to get her. A sudden noise draws her attention. Is someone there, or is it just in her head?"

"Still, it's totally unrealistic," Penelope said, "No one should be walking through a dark alley by themselves at night."

"Ahem, hello?" Morgan made a clear gesture to himself.

"Ah," Penelope immediately endeavored to fix her mistake, "No one should be walking through a dark alley without a Derek Morgan by their side."

"But the best part of a horror movie is you never know when the end is gonna come," Spencer said. Their movie had ended suddenly on them, leaving a big 'what if?' for the audience to leave with.

"Unfortunately, that's also how it goes in real life," Aitana said, folding her arms over her chest. She turned around to the group, smiling wryly at them. "And with that, I bid you all goodnight."

"Oh, what a lovely send off," Morgan remarked.

Aitana mocked a bow, almost losing it when Penelope exclaimed a sharp 'Oh my god!' and tried straightening her back up. "Your wound!" She reminded.

Aitana laughed. "Pen, I'm good. Doctor says that I'll be able to go back to work next Monday."

"That'll be good," Seaver nodded, "We really need you around."

"I'll be back, promise," Aitana raised a hand. "I can't wait, honestly."

"Well you take care of yourself," Penelope said, reaching over to close Aitana's coat. "We want you nice and healthy for Monday."

Aitana promised her that she would take care of herself. She was going crazy at home doing nothing. She couldn't wait to go back to work. She just hoped she didn't miss anything important in the meantime. She also hoped that the first case back would be an easier one to prove for sure that she was just fine.

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

[tinyluvs]

imagine dating spencer and you come to visit or something and make him so distracted that he literally can’t info dump on something and the rest of the team is just shocked

yes yes, a hundred times yes 🤭 thank you so much!

catching a glimpse of yourself in the elevator mirror was the last thing you needed right now. you were covered in paint, your dungarees showing up every coloured streak and hand print against the light denim. you're sure there's paint in your hair but you don't have time to dwell on it, you're late

you'd got stressed, painting your boyfriends apartment on your own, lost track of time and then didn't have the time to change before running out of the apartment, just about managing to remember to grab yours and spencer's lunch on the way

"i'm so sorry i'm late," you sigh and frown as you rush through the bullpen to the collection of desks you're oh so familiar with, "please excuse the state of me,"

spencer turns at the sound of your voice, "hi sweetheart," he hums, looking up at you just as you dip to kiss him quickly before pushing the bag of food onto his lap

"hey," you smile softly at your boyfriend before turning to his colleagues, "hey guys, how are we all?" you ask, getting a mixed bunch of replies back

"how's painting?" derek laughs, looking at your appearance and the state of your clothes

you slide onto spencer's desk, pulling your legs up to sit cross legged, "standing six feet up a ladder trying to hold a tray of paint and a brush is hard, i've nearly fallen off twice," you huff,

spencer hands you the sandwich he knows is yours and then seemingly looks at you properly for the first time since you've been there, "hey," he says, almost breathlessly

"hello?" you question, head tilting slightly, "you've already said hi," you say, looking at emily and jj who just snicker and shrug their shoulders but spencer doesn't reply, "oh before i forget!"

your boyfriend watches you carefully as you produce a piece of paper from the tiny pocket on the front of your dungarees, flapping it around to unfold it, your other hand busy clutching your food

"the living room is next, i need to know how much paint to buy," you explain, handing the paper to him, "the cans are one litre or five litres, i can't figure it out"

truth be told you hadn't bothered to try and work it out, knowing spencer would be able to reel off the answer like it's nothing, naturally, he knew the exact measurements of every wall in his house

the boy stares up at you blankly, big brown eyes soft and sparkly. your cheeks heat up under his gaze, your eyebrows raising slightly, "spence?" you nudge him with your knee

he jumps ever so slightly, his head shaking a bit, "hmm?" he asks before only just registering you've handed him something, his eyes scan over it, "oh!" he blushes, turning his chair to face his desk

"what colour are you doing the living room?" jj asks while she stabs at her salad like it's offending her. you'd consulted the girls with all of the decorating developments.

"a light brown i think, we have so much to hang on the walls," you pause to swallow, "so something neutral," you finish with a slight nod

a door opening to your side grabs your attention, aaron coming out of his office with his lunch. he comes down into the bullpen, sitting on the edge of emily's desk, "the paint fighting back?" he asks you, slight smile creeping over his face

you roll your eyes at him, playfully, while the other laugh at your expense, "very funny but i don't see any of you offering to help"

penelope scoffs, "actually, i did" and she was right, however her idea of getting wine drunk and decorating had been quickly shut down by spencer, the only input he's actually offered up in the whole process

giggling, you turn back to your boyfriend who's been far too quiet, "boy wonder?" you say gently, pushing your fingers through his hair, "got an answer for me?"

usually he would have an answer within seconds, his minutes of silence making you frown, he turns to you with the same frown painted across his face, "i don't know," he says

people around you gasp, loudly too, "what do you mean, you don't know?" emily almost chokes on her lunch, sitting forward to gawp at the boy

"i do not know how much paint we need" he confirms

derek scrambles, pulling his phone out of his pocket, "say it again, i need record of this moment" he pleads while garcia smacks him

"well there's a first," david says, wandering over after hearing spencer say i don't know for possibly the first time, ever

your boy stares at the paper in his hand and then up at you, confused, "i have to go and work it out, excuse me" he says, rushed, as he stands and takes off towards circle table room

after a moment of shocked silence you turn to the team who are all staring directly at you, "i'll go check on him, i wonder what's wrong?" you say to no one in particular as you hop off of the desk

"i think i know," jj sing songs and the others hum in agreement as you hop up the stairs and along the walkway into the room.

when you get into the room spencer is stood in front of the biggest whiteboard you've possibly ever seen, marker in hand though the board is still empty of his handwriting

"spence? angel?" you say quietly, staring at his back as he starts to write the measurements of the walls in his living room, "everything alright?"

he hums, not turning to look at you as he continues to work through the problem, "yeah, fine, just can't think properly when you're around," he admits, "not when you look like that," he turns slightly to look at you

"oh, do you want me to leave?" you're sad, its obvious in your voice. nervously you start fiddling with the sleeves of your sweatshirt

your boyfriend gasps, "no, no, honey that's not what i meant!" he says, holding his arm out. you slide into the space, head resting on his shoulder, "you're so beautiful and i love you so much, so so much, my brain just switches off when you’re around"

"really?" you giggle, looking up at him. he hums and nods his head, a light blush rushes up his neck before taking over his cheeks, "i love you too,"

he's taller than you, forcing you onto your tip toes to kiss him, not caring when someone, emily, whoops from the bullpen. gentle hands squeeze at your waist, while you hold his face with one hand, the other resting on his shoulder

"three litres," spencer mumbles against your mouth, you pull away with a sight hum, forgetting what you'd asked of him, "you need three but it's cheaper to just buy five and have left over, now come back" he huffs, his arm wrapping tighter around you to pull you back in for another kiss

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily!! send prompts to my ask box!

❥ spencer reid masterlist !!