#spencer reid x

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 3

in which spencer reid spends a rainy day teaching inexperienced fem!reader how to touch him. of course, her efforts don't go unrecognized, much less unrewarded

part one | part two

18+ (smut) warnings: inexperienced reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, oral m receiving, reader swallows lol, a truly sickening amount of praise, like really, you JOKINGLY refer to each other as dirty sluts, r has longish hair, spit mentioned once, thigh riding (moans loudly), its filthy idk what to tell you, i feel like i've crossed the desert on foot i don't even know what else is in here, your honor they're in love, i take you to dinner first, this part is stupidly long a/n: had a fucking field day the three separate times i had to rewrite this el oh el... but think i like how it turned out?! anyway, if u like this PLS lmk bc writing it took a small piece of my soul, and yes there will be a part four!! take care of yourselves!! i love you!!!

You give Spencer half a minute or so before knocking on his door for a second time. 

It’s miserable outside, and though the hallway you’re standing in now isn’t terribly cold, you’d much prefer to be in Spencer’s apartment, where it will be the same toasty 68.5 degrees as always. Not that the heating will magically dry you. And not that you’ll be there for long, if the date you’d scheduled last week goes on as planned. 

You’re getting worried, about to knock for a third time when the locks finally click and the door opens to reveal a disheveled Spencer Reid—not at all looking ready for a date. You take in his ensemble; blue checked pajama pants, FBI Academy crewneck, the usual questionably paired socks. He’s rubbing his droopy eyes, which slowly widen as he notices your attire. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, our date! I mean—you look really nice. I look… like this. Why don’t you come in while I get ready to go?”

He holds the door open a little wider and you step through, relishing in the familiar warmth as you pull your hood down and excess water droplets spatter on the ground. 

“When did you get in?” you ask, hanging your raincoat up on a hook. You know he’d wrapped up a case yesterday evening, but you’d gone to sleep before the team left Cincinnati. 

Spencer pauses in the middle of the room, staring at the antique flooring like he forgot what he was doing. 

“Uh… four hours ago.”

“Wh—four hours? Spencer, you must be exhausted.”

He laughs awkwardly, running a tired hand over his face. 

“I mean… I’ve definitely felt better.”

You kick your soaked shoes off and cross the room until you’re toe to toe with him. Immediately his hands settle on your waist and yours find his arms. His eyes are kind, and he’s clearly pleased by your presence despite his lack of energy. 

“The weather’s terrible, anyway. Let’s just go out another day.”

His features have softened and you can see how tired he truly is—not just in his bleary eyes, but the way his fingers grasp weakly to you, the way his head bows slightly. It seems bone-deep. 

“But I haven’t seen you in a week. I don’t want you to go home.”

Your lips twist. A clap of thunder rolls in the distance and the rain starts coming down even harder against the windowpanes. 

“We could hang out here. We can take a nap!”

Spencer sighs—half resignation, half disappointment. 

“But we made such good plans,” he laments. 

You kiss his cheek. 

“Plans that can be rescheduled. The bookstore will still be there next weekend.”

It takes him a moment to settle into the idea, but you watch the exhaustion win. 

“Okay. But no nap. I want to be awake for you. Coffee?”

You nod enthusiastically, beaming at the prospect of getting to spend the day doing nothing with him. Spencer mirrors your grin, before pressing a kiss to your head.

“You’re so cute.” Heat creeps into your cheeks and you can’t think of a satisfactory reply, but in the end you don’t need to, as he tugs gently on your hands. “C’mon. Tell me what mug you want.”

The kitchen counter bites into your palms as you lean with your back to it, watching Spencer putter all around the kitchen as he works on the coffee. It makes you tired just to watch. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap? Caffeine isn’t a substitute for sleep, you know.”

“I do know,” he agrees, measuring coffee grounds. “But other than last night, I actually slept fairly well this week.”

“You seem exhausted.”

“I… am tired in lots of ways. Not all of which can be resolved with more sleep.” he admits.

Your heart drops ever so slightly at the way his voice weakens as he looks through the fridge. Sometimes you remember there are still things you don’t know about him—sides you haven’t met. His work side is one of them, and it more than a little intimidates you.

“Bad case?” you ask, voice quiet and crackling with nervous energy. 

Spencer nods, approaching and setting a carton of milk on the counter behind you—caging you in with his arms in the process. It’s hard to find the words when he’s this close, but you manage to stumble through them. 

“Do… do you wanna talk about it?”

Spencer hums, tilting his head before gently saying, “not right now. But thank you for offering, lovely.”

“Okay, well—if you change your mind… if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better…”

Finally he stops with the teasing—the unabashed staring at your lips, the faux-attentive nods—and drops his head to your level to kiss you properly. It’s obviously an attempt to get you to shut up, you’re not dumb enough so as to miss that—but you don’t really care why he’s doing it so long as he does it at all. 

“I feel pretty great right now, actually,” he murmurs against your lips, a hint of a smile coloring his words. “Do you want sugar in yours?”

“Um…”

Your eyes dart helplessly between his as he pulls away and you struggle to un-fluster yourself enough to answer his simple question. Spencer seems to delight in this. The longer it takes you, the bigger his perfect smile gets. 

“You took too long. You’re getting sugar.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” you plead later on the couch, for the third or fourth time, setting your mostly-empty mug on the coffee table. 

His eyebrows raise. 

“I’m sure, honey.”

“But I want to help,” you pout, pulling your knees into your chest. Spencer regards you for a moment from the other end of the couch, before beckoning you closer wordlessly. 

“You are helping,” he assures you, gently grabbing your wrist as you crawl into his lap. He rubs soothing circles into the delicate skin with his thumb. “You being here and being you is plenty.”

It’s the closest you’ve been to him since before he left, and while you’ve all but given up on asking him to sleep with you, it doesn’t mean you don’t think about it multiple times per day. It’s especially difficult to keep your thoughts PG when you haven’t seen him in a week, and his hair is all messy, and he’s got his pajamas on, and you’re in his lap, and he’s looking at you like that. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer murmurs, likely concerned by your lack of response and the glazed-over look in your eyes. You reanimate, averting your gaze to the spot on your thigh he’s now rubbing absentmindedly. 

“Nothing. I just missed you.”

“I missed you a lot, too.” You don’t even have to look up to know that his brows have twisted into a pleasant sort of bemusement, like you are a particularly complex puzzle—you can hear it as he continues speaking. “I’m still not used to having something external take up so much of my attention while I’m trying to do my job. I’ve never had that before. Not something good, anyway. It’s like every time I leave, I’m thinking about you more than the time before. And I was already thinking about you a lot.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as he rambles. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he chuckles. “You prove to be incredibly distracting even when you’re hundreds of miles away. Do you know how many nights I almost called you before realizing it was one in the morning?”

A slow smile spreads over your face. 

“Oh? Whatever could you have been calling about at one in the morning?”

You’re teasing him, and it works. He blushes adorably. 

“Um… probably exactly what you’d expect. In hindsight I think it’s best that I refrained.”

“What?” You grin, incredulous, forgetting your shyness and leaning closer. “You totally should’ve. I’ve never had phone sex before. I would’ve done it.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” Spencer laughs. “It would have just been me talking to myself with you on the other line. I don’t think phone sex is really up your alley.”

“Shut up,” you laugh as your lips meet. He smiles into the kiss. Before you get too lost in it, you pull away, leaning back when he tries to follow you. “I think you’re over-complicating it. It’s just dirty talk, right? I can totally do that. It’s just, like… blah blah blah, dirty slut, something something…”

You trail off as he gives you a look. Poker faced—aside from the slightly narrowed eyes sparkling with humor. 

“You want me to refer to you as a dirty slut?”

Maintaining eye contact is an uphill battle—you crack in a matter of seconds, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes stubbornly. 

“No. For all you know I want to call you a dirty slut.”

It’s a ridiculous, but he recognizes the bravado for what it is, still smiling slightly as he rubs your hips. 

“Right. I apologize for assuming. But just for future reference, I don’t want to be called that, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable calling you that, either.”

“But you can call me other stuff,” you remind your boyfriend, pulling back and still not looking at him. 

“Yeah? Like what?”

And just like that, you’re shy again. 

“I don’t know… nice things. I like when you’re nice.”

“I like being nice to you.” It’s so sincere-sounding that you meet his gaze, examining his face. His eyes are clear and soft on you, the only source of warm light on such a grey day, as his hands keep running slow lines over your sides. “Kiss?”

And how could you ever deny him anything? 

As has happened before, the kiss starts out innocent enough. And it’s not that it gets particularly heated, or anything—it’s just that it doesn’t end, and after a few moments your mouth slips open and so does his and that’swhat gets both of you worked up over a period of minutes. Pressure and heat that you’re becoming accustomed to build between your legs, and you don’t even notice that you’ve begun rocking back and forth in his lap until Spencer is attempting to still your hips with patient but assertive hands. 

“Honey, that’s—slow down, sweetheart.”

Finally he gets a grip on you and you realize as soon as you stop moving that there had been friction occurring—and you’re pretty damn sure you know what you were grinding against. 

Your whole body feels hot with arousal and embarrassment. 

“Oh my god—I’m sorry,” you mumble, moving your hands from his shoulders to cover your face. “That was an accident, I—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assures you, squeezing your waist gently. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing because I know we haven’t… gotten there, yet.”

A moment passes—your hands fall to the FBI stitching across his chest, studying the letters without really seeing them. You haven’t gotten there yet… but why not? Why haven’t you touched him, or even seen him? You think back to the few times he’s touched you and realize that you had been too busy with either your own insecurities or pleasure to genuinely consider how it might be affecting him. He says your name gently, drawing your attention. 

“You okay?”

You nod haltingly, brow furrowed as you think. 

“I—yeah. I was just realizing that I haven’t, like… touched you, yet.”

It’s silent for another long second, and you glance up, to where he’s studying you with a dissonant kind of relaxed scrutiny—a knowing confidence that probably comes with a lot more experience than you have. 

“Do you want to?”

Woah. 

Usually you have to beg on hands and knees and prepare a slideshow presentation before he agrees to doing anything sexual in nature. He’s never so overtly invited or initiated it before. Not that you’re complaining by any stretch of the imagination.  

You nod shyly, still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“If you want to, I can show you how. But it’s also absolutely okay if you don’t.”

Show you how? 

Your brain is melting into sludge at the idea. 

“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze again. It’s kind, and you know he really wouldn’t be upset if you said no—but now that you’ve thought about it, you feel deeply compelled to try. 

“Okay. Come here, first.” You lean forward expectantly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand finds the back of your neck and he pulls you into another soft kiss. By the time your lips separate again, your head is spinning. “We’re just trying something, okay? You’re allowed to stop whenever you feel like it. Really low stakes. Got it?”

You nod, still close enough that your noses brush as you do. 

“Got it.”

He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away and leaning back into the couch. 

“Scoot back a little, angel.”

Wordlessly you do so, heart pounding with nervous excitement as he lifts his hips and slides his pajama pants down just enough to where he can comfortably pull himself out, and—

Your breath catches. 

Now, you may be about as virginal as they come, but you weren’t born yesterday. You’ve seen porn, you’ve received unsolicited nudes—it is the 21st century. Yet never before have you thought to yourself; wow, that dick is the pinnacle of beauty. Perfect. Breathtaking. But there’s just no other way to describe him. 

So that’s what hits you first—how unexpectedly pretty it is. 

The size sinks in a quick second later. 

You can’t tell with perfect accuracy how many inches he is, but you’re pretty damn sure he’s big. That’s meant to fit inside of you?

No, no—that’s a consideration for another day. Right now you need to stop staring like an idiot. You glance up at his face, and he’s sporting a cocky little half-smile which lets you know you’ve been caught. Motherfucker he’s so hot. It’s unnerving. 

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” he asks politely, quite obviously containing his amusement. But you can’t summon a sufficiently sarcastic response. 

Your voice comes so soft when you reply, “you’re pretty.”

Spencer melts, eyes impossibly softening. 

“Pretty?” His smile is earnest now. He strokes your cheek and you can’t not lean into his touch. 

“Mhm. I want to, um…” your lips twist to the side as you look back down, finding he’s not gotten less intimidating since you last checked. “But what if I’m bad at it?” you whisper. He chuckles, brushing hair over your shoulder.  

“It’s kind of a hard thing to be bad at. And I’m gonna help you, okay?”

It’s the honesty with which he speaks to you that makes you feel so safe. There are no hidden intentions or words that seem to mean one thing but really mean another. Spencer wants you as a person more than he wants you as a body and that’s been clear since the first time he touched you. You take a deep breath. 

“Okay. What do I do?”

“First, you’re gonna spit in your hand.”

You look up, alarmed. 

“You want me to intentionally get my spit on you? Is that not your worst nightmare?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not super worried about yours,” he teases. “But if you’d prefer, I can spit in your hand.”

“Actually, mine is fine,” you laugh nervously. 

Hesitantly, you do as instructed, even though it seems frankly bizarre. 

“Good. Now just wrap your hand around it, like this.” His voice is quiet, focused as he guides your hand downward. Your heart rate ticks up again as he encourages you to wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He feels much warmer than you’d expected—his skin is silken beneath your touch but he’s undeniably hard and that sort of eliminates any sense of him being fragile from the equation. 

“It’s gonna be less sensitive down here—and then, up here—” he slides your hand back up, covering your thumb with his own and swiping it just below the head of his cock on the underside. He hisses and you look up in fascination. “That’s the most sensitive part.”

Without further instruction, you do it again, keeping your touch light and watching his face for a reaction. His drawn brows twitch, furrowing deeper for a second, and his lips part. A heavy exhalation passes between them and quickly builds into a breathy laugh. 

“What?” you murmur, over-eager to please and very nervous to do something wrong. 

“Nothing. Just feels good, that’s all.”

“Don’t laugh,” you pout. Of course that makes him laugh again, and he leans forward to kiss your head. 

“I’m laughing at myself, angel. I’m a grown man fighting for my life from a handjob that you’ve barely started. I knew it would be different with you but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you look away. 

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” he urges, grabbing your free hand and encouraging you to uncurl your fingers. His thumb traces circles in your open palm, before capturing your entire hand in his. “Do you feel how much softer your hand is than mine?”

You frown, attempting to feel whatever it is that he’s pointing out. Despite the fact that you think he has very nice hands, you realize he’s right. By no means would you say that they’re rough, but you can tell where his gun normally sits in his hands, where his fountain pen rubs against his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Anything you do is going to be perfect because it’s you.”

Spencer drops his hand to your leg, rubbing it soothingly. The other moves to cover yours—the one wrapped around him. 

“You’re gonna help me, right?” you ask quietly. Some adventurous part of you is very excited about this as an experiment—fascinated by the reactions you’ve already gotten from him and eager to push it. 

“I am. Little bit tighter, honey. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

You do as you’re told, and he’s murmuring more praise—slowly encouraging you to begin moving your hand with his own. A shaky exhale catches your attention, drawing your gaze to his face. His eyes are, of course, cast downward, but his expression is hypnotizing. Those lips remain slightly parted, and suddenly you wonder if he makes noises like you do. In that moment it becomes your life’s mission to find out. 

For a while you continue letting his hand guide your movements, but he keeps things so slow for your sake that you’re getting impatient. You forgo his direction, picking up the pace but trying to keep the rhythm he’d instilled in the motion. His hand slackens around yours. 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself. The hand on your thigh rubs achingly deeper into the flesh. “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I want it to feel good.” Suddenly shy again, you slow down. His hips stutter, which you think may be a sign that it was working. “Am I—was that bad?” Spencer looses a breath, looking almost… frustrated?

“No, I’m just—I’m weirdly close to coming.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Well,” he mutters, “not usually. Mostly it’s embarrassing.”

You giggle, a release of some tension, and begin pumping your hand again. His breath hitches and he finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes with his own lust-glazed ones. Heat pools deep between your legs. 

“I want you to come,” you admit quietly as you twist your wrist, brushing that spot underneath the head of his cock again. His jaw literally drops, and a look that is part confusion, part pleasure, twists his features. You see the surprise sparkling in his eyes and it only spurs you to keep talking. “I’ve never seen how you look when you do, but I’ve imagined it. I bet you look so pretty when you come, Spencer. ‘Nd then I would know that I can make you feel good, too.”

“You… you are making me feel good,” he assures you. The way his brow furrows and his  lips are parted give you a feeling that’s entirely new. Normally, you’re the one falling apart under his touch—but when it’s the other way around there’s a whole new kind of pleasure in it for you. You feel kind of powerful. Maybe even close to confident. 

“Really? I’m not this quiet when you touch me.”

“I’ve ha—ah—had more practice not making noise.”

“But why?” you implore, ignoring the fact that he’s slept with other women and enjoyed the sounds they made, and opting to brush your thumb across that extra sensitive part he definitely shouldn’t have told you about. His hips buck up and he hisses, which is immensely gratifying to you. 

“Because I like to listen.”

“What if I do, too?”

In a moment of divine inspiration , you cover the tip of his cock with your hand, swirling beads of pre-come over your palm. Spencer moans and his hips jut up into your grip. It’s a beautiful sound, just as you’d hoped. 

“Jesus, fuck.”

You understand why he seems to enjoy touching you so much. It’s so rewarding to watch as his breathing picks up and pleasure contorts his face—to watch him get messier and messier and lose his composure a bit more with each stroke of your hand. It’s so simple but Spencer looks at you like you’re exercising some arcane deviant power over him and he’s not sure he should be enjoying it as much as he is. 

Distantly you think about how it felt when he had his hands on you—and then, in clearer focus, how it felt when he went down on you. Both were perfect, but something about his lips so gentle on the most intimate, vulnerable part of you had felt like ascension. Maybe it was the emotional component, or maybe it just felt fucking good. Regardless, it seems an irresistible thought. 

You keep stroking him until his head is lolling on the back of the couch as he groans.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah, baby?”

He sounds so destroyed it makes you clench around nothing. Without any indication that you’re going to do so, you stop touching him, and the speed with which he lifts his head again is almost comical. Immediately, while he’s utterly defenseless and desperate, you ask, “can I use my mouth?” 

His eyes widen, and then shut, as he processes your request with a tiny shake of his head—probably trying to clear the haze of pleasure from his mind before he answers. 

“Honey,” he rasps eventually, opening his eyes and smoothing a hand over your hair, “you don’t have to do that just because I do. That’s not why I do it.”

“But I want to,” you murmur, shy and mildly embarrassed by what feels almost like a soft rejection. “I don’t think I could do anything, like, mind-blowing, but… I want to try.”

Your face is hot by the end of the sentence, and you can’t meet Spencer’s eyes as his fingers twitch over your hip. A quiet moment passes—but it’s short-lived.

“Okay. Go ahead, baby.”

Wide eyes dart up to his. 

“Really?”

Spencer smiles fondly, brushing an invisible speck from your cheek. 

“I don’t think I’m capable of turning that offer down. Not when it’s you.”

“Okay—um, should I just—” Spencer watches on, finding your sudden enthusiasm completely adorable as you scoot off of his lap and gingerly kneel in front of him. Your eyes are big and glassy as you look up at him, hands set politely on his knees. You squint suspiciously, eyes darting between his face and his cock, now about as hard as it’s ever been due to your toying. He knows it’s probably intimidating for a girl who has never seen one in real life, and he feels kind of bad about it. You do terrible, wonderful things to him that he doesn’t understand. “Wow. So... it looks bigger from down here.”

“Please don’t try to choke yourself,” he instructs hurriedly, leaning forward slightly. “I really don’t need you to do that. It’s fine if you can’t fit it all, I just—” he exhales shakily. Spencer is most definitely strong-willed but he can’t pretend like the sight of you on your knees for him, inches from his aching cock for the first time isn’t impacting his cognition. Most importantly he doesn’t want to make you feel pressured. He’s trying to not let how badly he wants this show in case you change your mind. 

Spencer watches as you psych yourself out—wilting like a thirsty flower. 

“But what if I’m bad at this?” you mumble, hands curling into loose fists atop his legs. Spencer pushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears. 

“What’s your worst case scenario?” he asks. Your answer is immediate. 

“That I’m so bad you make me stop halfway through.”

Spencer can’t help but laugh again. 

“I’m sorry—I just… honey, you are really underestimating how profound your effect is on me. I just almost came from a minute long handjob. I can assure you that I won’t make you stop halfway through because I’d rather not have your mouth on me. That is… that’s just not going to happen.”

You lean your cheek against his thigh. He might actually pass away. 

“Will you tell me if I’m doing something wrong?”

“Honestly, as long as you don’t bite, you’re in the clear.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your lips pull into an embarrassed little smile. 

“Great. Thank you for that invaluable advice.”

“Of course,” he smiles. It fades slowly as you take a deep breath and look up at him, obviously steeling yourself, before leaning forward and taking him in your hand again. He watches with bated breath, repeating no sudden movements to himself over and over as your hand moves up and down a few more times and your head lowers. 

You delicately, so lightly trace your tongue from the base of his swollen cock to just underneath the leaking tip, mapping a vein, and his hips buck as you take him into your mouth experimentally. Only the first few inches fit but the sight of your lips wrapped around him, the way you’re looking at him is so unbelievably erotic Spencer knows he won’t last very long.

From a purely technical perspective—he knows he’s gotten objectively better head. Still, something about the way you’re so delicate with him, so soft and timid in the way you lick and kiss and take him into your mouth has him fighting not to come already. Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing that he’s watching you do this for the first time in your life is obscenely arousing. The idea that you’ve never trusted another person this much; that you’re letting him be the one to help you navigate something as new and as important as sexuality. The more he thinks about it, though, the more he realizes: it’s not your inexperience that turns him on. It’s just you. Everything you do is so undeniably you—he recognizes your mannerisms in every tiny motion, in every glance, and it’s killing him. You’re like a dream as you look up at him with big nervous eyes, (no, really, he has had this dream) and he remembers he wants to be reassuring you—not pondering life and human connection. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, groaning and hips twitching as your cheeks hollow, wrapping his achingly hard cock in soft gentle warmth so sweetly it feels taboo. “So good, baby. So gorgeous like this.”

You whine around him, receptive as always to his obsequious praise, and he notices the way your hips wiggle as you seek friction. God, you must like this a lot. Spencer gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, resting his hand on your head as you begin to bob it. That, he wasn’t prepared for. He’d have been satisfied with just kitten-licks and suckling but he won’t complain about this. It’s slow, and so intentional as you keep watching him for feedback cues. Ever his observant girl, you’re constantly paying attention. Aware of his reactions. He needs to keep telling you you’re good or else you’ll assume you’re terrible. 

“Over-achiever,” he whispers through a little smile as you down even more of him. 

Spencer is for the most part a kind and gentle person. For better or worse he is also a man, and he can’t help but fantasize about getting you all teary and drooly as he holds your mouth open and sees how much of his cock he can push down your throat. But again—kind. Gentle. So when you get a little over-zealous, attempting to sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure, he pulls your head back slightly. “That’s far enough, angel. That’s—fuck. God, you’re good at this.” The words are thoughtless, muttered to himself more than you as he watches through a haze while you look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, slipping him in and out of your warm mouth, a little faster now as you gain confidence. 

You whine desperately around him, like you’re the one nearing orgasm and not him. The sound of your pleasure as you suck his cock makes him dizzy. His hips buck, pressing him a little deeper into your mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales. “Slow down, baby. I’m—” a louder moan from him like you’ve never heard as he thrusts shallowly turns you on profoundly. He’s so much more vocal than you’d have imagined—sonically and verbally. He breathes out a quick, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” pulling your hair slightly, and you’ve never wanted to touch yourself more but you know you can’t focus on both. Instead you work on making him come—you can worry about you later. He says your name, with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you throb. “Honey, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come—”

You swirl your tongue around the top of him like candy and he’s done for. Spencer tries to pull out, which only results in cum both in your mouth and on your face. The orgasm is his strongest in recent memory, and he grunts, watching your lips part and a little squeak escape as he comes all over your face—but you keep stroking him all the while. Once he’s 90% sure it’s over, he falls against the back of the couch, breathing heavily and looking down at you through hazy eyes. Oh, he’s going to feel terrible about this in a few seconds—but right now you look fucking perfect. Your eyes are wide, nervous as his essence drips over your face and down your neck—he groans when you swallow cautiously, averting his eyes to the ceiling lest he do another thing he regrets. 

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he mutters, forcibly clearing the haze of orgasm from his mind and sitting up, fixing his pants and looking around before locating the box of tissues on the side table. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You look up at him attentively as he wipes himself from your face as gently as he can. 

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t ask you first. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Spencer guides your head around by your chin, wiping your jaw and lips. 

“It’s okay, Spence, I—”

“No, it’s not,” he cuts you off, trying to at least turn his guilt into a learning experience for you. He’s not deluded enough to think someone like you will stay with someone like him forever, because sometimes he does things like that, and he’s reminded that there are certainly people out there more deserving of you. At the very least he can clarify that nobody should ever do what he just did to you. “It’s really not nice to do that to someone.”

“Do you care what I think at all?”

Spencer freezes, finally forcing himself to look you in the eye. Despite the fact that he’s mad at himself, he’s sure it’s coming across as being directed at you. And he knows you’re sensitive, especially about this kind of thing. 

“Of course, I do, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to come back up here with me and tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs, cupping your jaw. Hesitantly you nod. The tissues end up on the table—which he will be thoroughlywiping down later—before you crawl back into his lap from the floor. Spencer helps you settle against him, hoping he hasn’t messed this up irreversibly. He keeps his voice quiet as he rubs your leg. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say,” you begin, “that it’s fine, because you’ll remember to ask next time. And because… I kind of liked it. I like when—when you do stuff like that.”

It’s a miracle he can hear you with the way your voice drops into an almost-whisper and you’re hiding against his shirt. 

“Like what?” he murmurs. Although he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the answer. 

“Like… I don’t know. Like you can do whatever you want to me. Like I’m literally yours.” Each word makes you cringe further, but Spencer has to try hard to maintain a cool facade as he processes this. If he’s going to try and be chivalrous, you’ll have to move away from this topic—this revelation—immediately. Thankfully, you seem eager to move on. “So… how did I do?”

He almost laughs. It seems exceedingly obvious how you did, but as per usual, you require verbal reassurance. 

“That was really good, baby. You did well.”

You blossom. 

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie.”

“Was I the best girl out of all of the other girls?” 

I wasn’t in love with any of the other girls. 

Just barely, he manages to stop himself from saying it, pinwheeling his arms on the edge of a very steep verbal cliff. The realization that he’s been in love with you for a while hits him like a truck. But he can’t tell you that right now. He should wait until you’re less vulnerable.

Fuck. 

He really wants to tell you right now. 

“Actually—don’t answer that,” you decide, while all of this happens in his head in less than a few seconds. “I want to go back to pretending I’m the only girl you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“You’re the only one that matters,” he offers, relieved to express at least some portion of the much bigger truth. Then he frowns. “Not that the other women I’ve met don’t lead important lives. I actually know a lot of incredibly influential and intelligent people who are women. I have deep respect for all of them. Am I helping or making it worse?” he rambles. You giggle. He has his answer. “What about you? How do you feel?” he asks after a moment, tenderly, lowly, stroking your hair as you lean against his chest. 

It takes you a moment to deliberate, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“I feel good. I, um… liked it a lot more than I would have thought.”

“Well, that’s good. Much better than if you had hated every second of it.”

You hum in agreement, and he waits for you to say whatever you’re holding back. It comes sooner than he’d have anticipated. 

“I feel bad about the times before. How did you just… go to sleep after? Were you not, like—insanely turned on? Not that I’m, like, irresistibly sexy, or whatever—you know what I mean.”

Spencer smiles because he knows you can’t see him. 

“I wasn’t doing it to pressure you into feeling obligated to reciprocate, I guess. My line of reasoning was that it would be less intimidating if I didn’t even present it as an option until you wanted to try.”

“Oh.”

Spencer thinks he sees where this is going. 

“Why?” he asks, leaning back and encouraging you to look at him. “Are you insanely turned on?”

“Wh—that’s—I didn’t say that!”

Spencer can feel how warm your cheeks are as he presses his lips to the side of your face. 

“You can tell me if you are,” he murmurs, all smiley as he moves to kiss your lips. “If you want something, you need to ask for it. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Yes you are,” you grumble. “That’s literally what behavioral analysis is.”

Not quite true, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the need to explain to you the semantics of what he does for work right now. 

“What got you all excited?”

“You know what,” you mumble, trying to look away again. Spencer doesn’t allow it this time, gently grabbing your jaw. 

“Yes, I do. But I want you to tell me. If you want me to make you feel good, this is how you’re going to convince me that you deserve it.”

You whine wordlessly, looking at him with those big, lust-glazed eyes.

“You wanted me to teach you how to use your words, right? This is it. I’m giving you an opportunity. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Maybe we can take a nap, like you said earlier.”

“No! I liked—um, I liked all of it. I didn’t know if I would, because I was really nervous. But when I first—you know—and you got all quiet… it was like you couldn’t even talk for a minute. I was kind of proud of that. Because normally nobody can ever get you to stop talking.” Spencer narrows his eyes incredulously, a small smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t interrupt—not when it seems you’re finally starting to get more confident in your words. “And I really liked the noises you made. I think that was my favorite part. I liked when you pulled my hair back, and how you spoke to me. And when… when you got me messy and I had to swallow it. I really liked how it felt because I couldn’t think of anything else, just making you feel good. I really wanted to… make you proud, I guess. Is that weird?”

Spencer shakes his head no, a fond smile on his face when your eyes meet his again. 

“No. It’s a pretty normal thing to feel when you’re nervous and wanting to impress someone you care about. And I would have been proud no matter what, for the record. You were being very brave.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching him expectantly. Spencer should have known you’re too needy to truly absorb anything he says to you right now. Which is actually pretty cute. Everything you do is endearing to him. 

“Stand up.”

You frown. 

“But—”

“Just stand up,” he demands calmly, preferring to think of himself as firm and not bossy. 

You do, looking rather annoyed and confused as you plant yourself in front of him. 

“Why?”

“You are so full of questions.” His hands slip up the side of your legs, under your skirt, and hook in the waistband of your underwear. Spencer looks up at you meaningfully and you nod, swallowing. 

As he pulls down, Spencer can literally feel the resistance of the fabric clinging to your soaked core. Under his touch the skin of your thighs is warm and soft. He wants to feel it on either side of his face, he wants to hear you whine as his stubble rubs against it, he wants to feel it clamp around his wrist, he wants it between his teeth and he definitely wants it pressing against his hips as he—

But no. 

There will be time for all of those things—especially the last one—later. For now, he’ll reach between your legs just to see—

“Oh, my god,” Spencer half-chuckles, half-groans, upon feeling how wet you truly are for him. He drags his knuckles from your dripping entrance up over your clit, pinching very lightly and earning a squeak from you which he ignores. “You really did like having your mouth full of me, huh?”

“I told you,” you breathe, visibly relaxing some as he continues to play with you for a moment. Then he pulls his hand away again, patting his thigh. 

“Sit.”

“You want me to…”

“Yes,” he says, simply. 

“But is it not going to… am I not going to mess up your pants?”

“You are even more neurotic about messiness than I am. I can wash them, honey. Come here.”

Spencer guides your hips over his thigh, watching your pretty face twist with uncertainty as you fully settle on him. Fuck, he can feel your warmth through the fabric instantly. Already he’s getting hard again. 

“What am I supposed to do?” you whisper, bunching his shirt in your fists. Spencer slides your skirt up higher, revealing the way you’re nestled against his thigh. He spreads you a little further apart, exposing more of your clit to the material underneath you. Immediately you press against him—he watches the delicate flesh rubbing gingerly against him and  his grip tightens ever so slightly. 

“All you have to do is rock back and forth. It’s easy.”

Already you’re starting to do it—but he guesses it’s like earlier where you don’t even realize it’s happening. 

“But… I wanted your mouth,” you admit, quietly, slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face there. 

“Do this for me first. Just get yourself off like this one time and then you can have my mouth. You said you wanted to help me feel better because I’m tired today, right?

“Yes,” you mumble, squirming over him. 

“Well, there are a lot of days when I get back home and I’m tired. I’m gonna need you to be able to get on top of me, just like this, and make me feel better. And I know you don’t know what it feels like to have something that deep inside of you yet, but it’s gonna be a lot. Even once you know how it feels to have me inside when you’re underneath me. I need you to practice for me right now so you’ll be ready, okay?”

You could come from the words alone. You nod, dazed with need as you roll your hips in a circle, pressing his thigh against your clit. 

“Back and forth, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hips forward with his hands locked around them. “Back and forth, just like this…”

You moan quietly, shamelessly, eyes fluttering as you look down and watch your clit dragging over the darkening fabric. It’s easier if you isolate your hips, grinding down without moving your legs or upper body at all. 

“It feels really good,” you whisper under your quickening breath. 

“Yeah? Does it?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, angel. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s audible now, quiet and wet and dirty. 

“I don’t,” you breathe. He sucks in a breath of his own, stilling your hips with fingers pressed deep into your flesh. 

“Sit up, baby.” You really wish he would stop making you stop, but you don’t want to keep going in case he needs you to quit—so you rise slowly, thighs trembling as you kneel. Spencer groans at the strings of your arousal momentarily connecting your core to his pants before they snap, getting your inner thighs wet. There’s a dark, very wet patch over his thigh, shining like glass. He thumbs over your slick clit absentmindedly as he looks up at you like you’re a miracle. “You’re fucking soaked. I’ve never seen you like this. Is this all from making me come?”

You nod feverishly, hips grinding against nothing in search of friction. He sits you back down on his leg, allowing you to sloppily find your rhythm again. Spencer bounces his leg lightly and you cry out softly, buckling forward. His arms wrap around you, still pressing you down against his thigh as you rut against it. 

“You’re sweet. Maybe I should have known how much you’d like it when I came all over your pretty face. You really like hearing that you did a good job, huh? I bet you like it even more when I prove it to you.”

You moan a “yeah,” barely processing his words. 

“My good girl even swallowed on her first try. Took it so well. And now look at how you’re taking this. You’re gonna love riding, baby. Just going to be another thing you’re good at as soon as you try it.”

“Spencer,” you gasp, overwhelmed by the praise. He’s bouncing his leg at regular intervals and everything is so sensitive.

“I know it’s harder to finish this way, but just one time, remember? And then you can have my tongue for as long as you want. You are my only plan for the day. Just give me one like this.”

But it’s not really harder to finish this way. Then again, you’re so turned on you could probably finish if a breeze hit you just right. Regardless, the thought of him going down on you again pushes you even closer to the edge.

You don’t know how much time goes by like that, you rubbing against him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, him pressing up into you until the pressure is so taut it snaps. There’s no time to warn him, but you suppose you don’t really need to. You writhe against him, caught between wanting to keep going and not being able to take more stimulation. He lifts you up just slightly, trying to separate you from his leg. You exhale deeply as your body relaxes, already close to dozing off against his chest.

“We can’t have you tapping out just yet. I still have to fulfill my end of the deal.”

In the end, he fulfills it three times over, and you end up showing your appreciation in kind one more time—much slower and more comfortably in his bed. He gives you plenty of time to learn what he likes, taking your teasing and coquettish explorations like a champ and never so much as tightening his grip in your hair. Turns out, you don't exactly spend the day doing nothing.

And you do end up taking that nap after all. Just... much, much later. And with less clothing on.

[velvetwilde]

please don't pin my wrists above my head and prevent me from moving while you kiss my neck and whisper all the fucked up things you want to do to me while I'm rubbing myself with your thigh

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Hostage Situation | Spencer Reid x reader

Requested by anon / Summary: Spencer is protective over his team, especially you and when a rookie officer decides to test his the water with you, Spencer steps in.  

A/N: Okay so I don’t know if this was a request or if I had wrote this on my own?? I can’t find the request but i have it was requested by anon on my list. If so, i hope you enjoy x

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} closed

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********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

Spencer’s self doubt and self consciousness rose as he saw you’d caught the eye of who he’d say was a particular handsome specimen and was what your type had been in the past. The man was tall, broad shoulders and by the looks of how tight his uniform shirt was, he was rather fit. He was leaned against his desk chewing a piece of gum and a small note pad in his hand, ready to hear the profile you would soon deliver.

This man was the complete opposite of Spencer. Spencer glanced at his tie, running it through his fingers. Seriously Spencer? a tie? He asks himself. He mentally criticizes his wardrobe choice as the rest of the team takes their place, you taking your usual spot by his side. 

He watched as the talk dark and handsome officer whispered something to his partner, smirking at you and his partner nodded in agreement. Spencer clears his throat and slips his hands in his pocket as his thoughts swirl. He didn’t deserve someone like you. 

As you begin to give the profile to the officers, some nod, listening intently and take notes. You make it only half way before the officer speaks up, raising his hand, “I’m sorry, can you repeat what you said we should look for?” 

You give your team the side eye, “Yeah so you all-” 

“I was a bit distracted by how beautiful your voice is.” 

Spencer could tell by the look on your face, you weren’t impressed, but more annoyed than anything and growing impatient at the time even wasted on this short conversation. This was a time sensitive case and you had no time to deal with officers on their high horse. 

“This is a time sensitive case and we have been asked by your chief to help and she has given us full reign. Including over her officers. So, I’m more than capable of kicking you off this case if you decide being a bloke is more important than the 5 year old girl missing.” 

A surge of pride rolled through him. That. That was the woman he’d fallen for. You wouldn’t take any shit from anyone. You stood your ground tall and strong, even if the other side towered over you by feet. The feelings of self doubt slide off him like water over plastic. This wasn’t the type of guy you were into anymore.

He and the rest of the team had to hide their laughs with a cough. Some of the other officers let out a chuckle. Spencer cleared his throat, a smile on his lips, which he tried to cover with his fingers. 

The guy blushed a deep shade of red, full of embarrassment. He wasn’t one to be shown up; especially by a young woman. 

“Right, well, like she said, everyone has their jobs.” Rossi steps in and soon the place clears out. 

~ 

It had been a long day. The leads you all had been following were dead ends and at the moment, you were lost. No idea where to begin the search. You take a deep breath and lean against the break room counter. You and your team were exhausted and the time to save the little girl was running out. 24 hours is the usual cut off and if you haven’t found her by then, the odds decline tremendously. 

“You good?” 

You glance up to see Spencer approaching you. “Yeah,” You sighed, “Just tired.” 

“Coffee?” he motions to the coffee maker, “I’ll make some fresh.” 

You nod, “I think we’re going to need it.” You turn around and lean against your elbows, your forehead resting in your hands, “We’re running out of time.” 

“Garcia’s working on a lead now-” Before Spencer could even finish his sentence, Rossi called in everyone. There was a break in the case and a new solid lead to follow. 

“sorry about the coffee.” Spencer apologizes as he follows you out of the break room. 

“Make it up to me later?” You tease, “Maybe you could buy me a cup of coffee after this case was over?” You suggest, “I really like-”

“Brooklyn on Main, iced caramel latte. extra caramel” Spencer finishes with a small grin. He knew your order by heart. 

You nod, impressed with a small smile on your face as you enter the SUV.

When you and the team arrive at the old building, the officers are standing by, ready for the instructions. 

You and the rest of the team tighten your vests in place and instruct the officers to stay behind you and the team. They are to follow strict orders and do things your way or else it could end in disaster. 

The rookie cop was the first to speak up against the orders, “Why can’t we storm the place? Surround it, shoot the guy and save the girl.” 

“We have no confirmation the girl is even in there with him. She could be at a secondary location and killing him could put her in danger. We wouldn’t have any idea where she could be.” JJ tell him. 

You can see on his face he doesn’t approve of the orders, “He’s to be taken in a live. Everyone understand?” 

The officers agree and begin following you and your team inside. That’s when everything went wrong. There was gun fire everywhere. There was more than one person like expected and soon bullets were flying from every angle. 

Trying to escape the rookie cop trampled you, sending you flying into a room where the bullets were then aimed at you. You’d hit your head in the fall and couldn’t ground yourself as the world spun. Before you could react, someone had grabbed your foot and was dragging you across the cement floor. 

When your eyes finally adjust, standing above you is two men with very large guns aimed at you. You were in deep deep trouble. 

~ 

Spencer had seen the whole thing go down and before he could get to you, the team grabbed him and retreated out of the house, outnumbered and unprepared. “Stop! Stop! Y/n’s still in there!” He tried to protest but the ones that grabbed him had won. 

“Where is agent y/n?” Rossi asks, looking back toward the building and at Spencer. 

Spencer fills with anger and rage as he sees the Rookie cop, the one who had pushed you into the line of fire. “What the hell is wrong with you!” He stormed the man, grabbing him by his vest and throwing him against the nearby van, “You threw her into the line of fire!” 

“What? Dude are you crazy, let me go!” 

“She could be dead because of you!” Spencer yells. Rossi and JJ grab Spencer, “Spence calm down!” 

“You’re psycho man! She was shot!” The rookie tries to defend himself with a lie, “I saw her go down!” 

“no. she wasn’t, you pushed her to get out of the way, I saw it happen.” Rossi practically drags Spencer away, “Spencer, talk to us, what happened?” 

“The coward pushed her to get out of the way so he could get out of there, but he pushed her right into the line of fire. Into the room where they were” Spencer tells Rossi and JJ, and now Emily who has just approached. 

“He said she was shot, she went down.” Rossi says.

“No, Rossi. I watched it happen with my own eyes.” 

Rossi knows you’re a great agent and knows Spencer wouldn’t lie. If Spencer saw it happen, then it happened. And that’s one of his agents in there. No agent would be left behind. “Damn it.” Rossi looks to the building, knowing the situation they are now in. 

Emily catches on as well, “We now have a hostage situation.” 

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

[mcntsee]

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

[roselilies]

[itshelia]

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

[thatboisus]

“english isn’t my first langua—“ say no more.

[lovelyspooks]

Me at 3am clicking “keep reading” on the most jaw dropping, earth shattering, pantie dropping, smutty fic when I have to be up in 3 hours

[l0caltiredgirl]

when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut

the struggle is real

[natti-ice]

18+ mdni

Me: “fuck, I need his cock”

Him: *is literally just words on tumblr*

[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❤️

[velvetwilde]

RAIL ME INTO THE MATTRESS, SPIT IN MY MOUTH, CHOKE ME, PULL MY HAIR, LEAVE MARKS ALL OVER ME, USE ME AS A TOY. JUST DO SOMETHING

[frost-queen]

What we choose (Reader x Spencer Reid)

Requested by: @alanalanalanalanalanna Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia,  @elllie-does-the-posts, @alex--awesome--22, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @imagines-by-her, @vviolynn, @melsunshine,  @evilcr0ne,

Laying in his arms, everything was just right. Everything just like you always wanted. Nothing more, nothing less. Blessed with a smile, you turned round feeling his arm lift gently to give you more space. Now facing him, you pushed your arms around him. – “Comfortable?” – Spencer mumbled with his eyes still closed. – “Yes.” – you said softly as he inhaled deep through his nose.

His arms tightening around your body, pressed against his bare chest. Not a half an hour ago he had proofed to you just how much he loved you. Loved every bit of your body like a holy grail. The smell of sweat still in the air from how your bodies had worked together. His leg brushed against yours underneath the sheets whilst he hummed pleasantly. You kissed his chin, laying your head back down.  Everything was just right you thought before falling asleep.

It was by accident that you found it. Perhaps lucky you found out at this stage or else it would’ve been a hell lot bloodier. It was a standard medical examine at work that every employee had to do every two years. You sat patiently waiting on a chair in the hallway. The call note in your hand. Your posture shot up when the door opened. A lady walking out with a smile on her face. You gave her a sympathetic smile back before you got called in.

Getting up, you collected all your things heading inside. The examine room wasn’t that big. Just a simple desk and some equipment. You gave the doctor your note as she accepted it. She started typing a bit on the computer, probably pulling up your medical history. She started her standard questions which you answered honestly. Followed by some custom procedures. The bomb came afterwards in a letter.

The results of your medical examination. You were healthy enough to continue your work yet something else was spoken off to. A sweet congratulations that you were with child. To many this would be indeed good news. News to cry your eyes out over and scream delightful. Yet to you it wasn’t great news. It wasn’t anything positive. Reading the words made you instantly sick. Rushing to the bathroom to throw up. Throw up with disgust at what was growing inside of you.

After the sickening feeling came the tears. Not tears of joy, no. Tears of anger, disgust, and stupidity. Stupidity of how you could’ve let it come to this. A child! There was a small person growing inside of you and it felt alien-like. Reaching for your stomach you gave your skin a good squeeze. – “I don’t want you.” – you told it with loud sniffling. It might seem cruel or rude to many others, but this was just how you thought about it. You couldn’t help it.

Ever since you were young, you proclaimed to never want children of your own. You remembered clear how your mother used to laugh it away, telling you, you’ll grow out of this idle idea. But you never did. You never outgrew it. It increased by the years. Children just weren’t for you. It never was. You didn’t feel love towards them, you couldn’t help it. Sitting down on the bath’s edge you exhaled deep.

“You are ruining everything do you know that. I was happy. I am happy and you! you ruin it with your presence.” – you said out loud. Letting the letter drop to the floor, you stared out in the distance. Mind spinning with what now. There was no way you were going to keep it. It felt unfair to the child to welcome it in the world when you felt indifferent for it. You were empathic enough to not wish that upon the child.

The door had opened as a voice echoed through the house. – “Y/n babe are you home?” – Spencer called out setting his bag down. – “Sorry I’m a bit later, it was crazy at the BAU.” – he continued while moving around the house in search for you. He frowned noticing the door to the bathroom was slightly open, light coming from inside the room. With a creaking noise pushed he the door open. – “Y/n what are you doing in here?” – he asked stepping inside.

The first thing he noticed was the letter on the floor. He immediately bend down to pick it up. His eyes darted rapidly over the words, processing the words. – “What?” – he called out stunned. – “You… you are pregnant?” – he blurted out with a smile. – “Y/n this… this is…” – he lowered the letter ready to express cheerfulness upon you, yet then he saw your face and remembered how you stood against children.

“This… is unexpected but we can see together what will happen now.” – he said. You finally moved lifting your head up to him. – “What will happen is that I will get it removed.” – you said bluntly. Plain with any emotion. – “What? Get rid of it?” – Spencer called out baffled. – “But… Y/n this… this is our child… just give us a moment to think about it.” – Spencer continued as you got up.

“Each moment I waste thinking about it, it grows larger!” – you answered loudly. – “I don’t want this! I don’t want a child and you know that!” – you accused with wild gestures. Spencer grabbed you by the shoulders. – “I know, I know but let me just think.” – he begged for a pause to let him process this properly and think clearly. – “What is there to think I want it gone!” – you shouted swaying your arm up so his grip was off you. – “What if I don’t!” – Spencer shouted back swept up in your anger and commotion.

His reaction made you stare with anger and disgust at him. – “It’s… it’s our child Y/n!” – Spencer called out trying to reason with you. – “I don’t want it!” – you repeated wanting to get it in his head. – “I do!” – he yelled out squeezing your arms tight. Tears swelled up in your eyes as they rolled down your cheek. – “I don’t want this, and you know that!” – you screamed out trying to get him to listen to reason.

“I know, but I think you are thinking irrational. Just… just give us a few moments to discuss it.” – he said gentler soothing your arms. – “What is there to discuss, I don’t want this!” – you cried out, getting frustrated that he wasn’t listening. – “I never wanted a child and you agreed with your type of work it would endanger it anyways, we were on terms with this.”

Spencer sighed deep knowing he did agreed to it. Yet to him it felt as if things might have changed with this sudden news. A chance for him to get something more in life. Something he was perhaps willing to try even if it meant failing numerous times to get it right. Sobbing loud you ran your hands through your hair. – “I’m getting it removed whether you like it or not.” – you told him. Spencer puffed brief. – “So no matter what I say, I won’t get a say in it.” – he replied as you shook your head. – “So this is it then. You are going to end the life of our child.” – you weren’t sure if he was trying to gaslight you or guilt trip, but it sure left a dirty taste in your mouth.

“If you are so eager to have a child, perhaps you should find it elsewhere!” – you called out against your better judgement. A slip of the tongue manifesting from your anger. Spencer’s eyes widened. – “Perhaps I should!” – he shouted back, taking a turn and shut the door behind you. The slam of the door startled you. Giving you that nudge to surrender completely to your tears. Sobbing loud you crashed down. In just a few hours your world had come crashing down.

Why was no one considerate towards you? It felt as if your feelings were shoved aside or labeled as unwanted or irrational. You were very much sane to know what you were speaking off. Not everyone was meant to have children and that should be alright too. It is not easy being a mom, that is a fact. So if you do not feel like having them, it shouldn’t be a crime. It was rather human to make this decision.

As the tears rolled down your cheek, you left the bathroom to make an online appointment with the abortion center. For the following days you hadn’t been seeing Spencer much. It was as if he was avoiding you. He wouldn’t be already looking for another girlfriend would he now? The waiting for the appointment was already stressful enough. You still loved Spencer very much despite the argument you had with him. You dearly wished him to be present when you would undergo it.

To have him of some comfort that you weren’t utterly alone in this world. You left a voicemail to Spencer’s phone letting him know you were going in today and that you hoped to see him there for support. The ride to the abortion center seemed dreadfully long. As if meeting the grim reaper and volunteering to give him your life like you had given up on earth. Wanting to be somewhere else where there was no pain. The moment you entered it felt heavy on your chest.

A woman announced for you to sit and wait till the doctor came. In the meantime she gave you a form to fill. Your hand trembled, knees shook at the scary thought of going through such a procedure. You knew this wasn’t the 40’s anymore where risks like this were high upon the mother. Yet you couldn’t deny the fear. Checking your phone you hoped to have heard of Spencer. There was none. Minutes ticked by as you felt yourself go numb.

You practically jumped up when it was your turn. Looking saddened back to see no sign of Spencer. How much you had hoped he would be there. To show you he still loved you and wanted to go forwards with you. His absence spoke loudly. You sat down with the doctor as she explained what would happen. She pressed on if you were certain of your choice. You were. You kind of felt sad there wasn’t any guilt inside of you towards letting it die. You couldn’t muster up the feeling. The moment you were prepared your heart started to beat faster.

Sweat forming on your forehead. Fear of what it might feel like. – “Are you certain?” – the doctor asked one last time. You nodded sternly. – “I am.” – you responded. Feeling the doctor come near, you turned to look up to the ceiling. Trying to set your mind apart from what was going to happen. If only Spencer was here. You needed him here for support. You didn’t want to do this alone. Suddenly you started to cry, sniffle loud because of Spencer’s absence. Perhaps his love for you wasn’t as deep as you imagined.

The doctor stopped and looked at you. – “I can still stop if you want. There is no shame in changing your mind.” – she said soothingly. Shaking your head you disagreed. It was then that she understood. – “You are going to be alright. I wish I could offer you my hand, but I’ll need it.” – she said with comfort. – “Do you want to hold my hand?” – she asked. You nodded with teary eyes, lip trembling.

She held her hand out to you. You grabbed it, giving it a big squeeze. – “All will be well. You are not going through this alone. I am right here with you.” – she said with a smile. The door busted open as a nurse stumbled inside after a panting Spencer. – “Y/n!” – Spencer breathed out. You instantly started to cry more opening your arms as he fell down in your embrace. The doctor nodded to the nurse that it was alright. – “I’m so sorry for being so late.” – he said to you. The doctor smiled. – “I believe she might need a hand.” – she added. Spencer nodded taking your hand in his.

“I shall begin then.” – the doctor spoke as you nodded. Spencer shushed you, stroking your hair with comfort. – “It is you and me darling. Nothing in this world can make me separate from you.” – he said as you squeezed his hand so tight you thought it would break. Spencer’s presence made the procedure less frightening. You were brought to a recovery room to come at ease.

Spencer sat down beside you, holding your hand tight. – “I didn’t think you’d come. I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.” – you told him. Spencer smiled softly. – “For a moment I didn’t think I would. Then something overcame me as I couldn’t let you go through this alone. We made a choice Y/n. A long time ago and I have been foolish for going against it. Never in a million years do I want to part from you. I will have you, all of you. Nothing in between.”

Spencer bend down to kiss you. You got up letting yourself fall against his chest. His arms wrapping tightly around you. Exhaling deep he embraced you with every emotion inside of him. – “I love you Y/n.” – he whispered making you hold on tighter to him.

-----------------------------------------

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[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Shots Fired | Spencer Reid x reader

Requested by anon / Summary: After a heated argument, you and the BAU are called into the field, where shots are fired and you get injured. Will Spencer have the chance to apologize? 

A/N: Hope you like it! x Thank you for requesting xx

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“I told you to stay put!” Spencer enters the conference room, hot headed and ready for an argument. 

The two of you had went to talk to a potential suspect and when you arrive, there wasn’t anyone home. Or so you thought. Spencer had told you to stay on the porch while he entered the home, however you weren’t going to let him enter the home without backup and followed in after hearing the commotion. 

“He had you pinned, you’re lucky I came in when I did!” You sit down, continuing to hold pressure on the small wound on your head. 

You’d tackled the guy and he’d gotten the upper hand, throwing you into the nearby furniture. It was only a small knick, nothing needed stitches and it would probably bruise but Spencer made it sound like you’d just been shot in front of him. 

“Yeah you handled it well.” he motions to your head, “I told you to stay put and you didn’t follow orders. You work under me. You listen to me.” 

“No Spencer I don’t work under you.” You pop open the first aid kit, “We both work at the same level. You went into that home without knowing what you were walking into. I heard the commotion and came to your aid. Technically, I did listen to you.” 

“You’re a risky agent. You never listen to orders and in the end thats going to get you or one of your team members killed.” He walks out of the room with a slam. 

You didn’t understand his anger, why he’d gone in on you like that. You did listen to orders. You stayed and kept watch until you heard his commotion and came to his aid. Was it a pride thing? Because you had to help him? 

The two of you had dated for a short period and decided it wasn’t the right time. However, that seemed to cause tension between you and Spencer. You had no idea why but Spencer would start arguments with you, pick fights over little things. Little things like this. 

Rossi thought it would be best to get this out of your system, learn to work together again and sent the two of you to talk to the suspect. Well, you see how that turned out. 

You were frustrated. Why had he’d changed toward you? Why did he have to be hostile? It was a mutual separation. You did regret your decision at first and missed Spencer dearly, but soon he became angry at you, like he despised you. It made you wonder if there was even a chance for you two in the future. So, you started moving on, which unbeknownst to you, only drove Spencer even more mad. 

He didn’t know how to deal with his feelings. Yes, the two of you had a mutual separation, but now he was frustrated. He missed you and he wanted you back, but it seemed you were moving on just fine. On to the next guy. Date after date. He decided to bury his feelings, which also meant pushing you away. 

“You okay?” Emily asks softly as she enters the conference room after hearing the conversation. She even felt the hate and anger in spencer’s voice. 

You sniffle, deciding to put on a tough front. “I’m fine.” Digging through the first aid you find a band aid and the antiseptic. 

“He’s going through a lot at the moment.” Emily takes a seat next to you, “His mom’s treatment isn’t working and she’s only worsened.” 

You perked up at that, “What? When did this happen?” You hadn’t known this about his mom and soon his anger began to make sense. He truly wasn’t frustrated at you. 

“He didn’t tell you?” She takes over the first aid care, gathering the ointment on a small q-tip before applying it softly. 

You shook your head, “He doesn’t.. he won’t talk to me anymore.” 

She mumbles an apology as you wince, but finishes quickly and sticks a bandaid over the cut. “Ever since the whole prison ordeal, Spencer doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions. It’s like 0-100 with everything. It sounds like he’s under a lot of pressure and is taking it out on you.” 

“That would make a lot of sense..” You lean back against the chair, “Emily, it’s like he repulses me. I didn’t even do anything wrong.” 

“I know,” She sighs softly, discarding the trash and placing the first aid kit back where you found it, “Boys.. can be stupid. They’d rather hold everything in than show emotions.” 

“We have a new lead, we’re being called out into the field. Time to suit up.” JJ says at the doorway, but notices your bandaid, “What the heck happened?” She heads toward you as you and Emily stand from the table. 

“That suspect me and Spencer went to interrogate. He got the upper hand.” You sigh, “I’m fine though.” 

“Are you sure you don’t need to sit out?” JJ asks. 

“I’m sure, JJ. It’s really just a small cut. Didn’t even need stitches.” 

She sighs and nods, “Alright, well lets go.” 

~ 

When the team arrives at the abandoned building, the team gets prepared and briefed on what you’re going to do. 

As you and the team make your way inside, you were unprepared for the smoke bomb the three suspects tossed at the door. Grey smoke filled the air and you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. 

Soon gunshots rang through the empty building, ricocheting off everything. Someone grabbed your vest and yanked you back behind a shelf; the smoke had cleared enough and you could see if was Emily. 

You nod a thank you at Emily. As you and the team fought against the gunfire, y’all were able to take down the two, but the other ran free and you took off after him.

“What the hell are you doing!” JJ yelled out. 

“We can’t let him get away!” You knew this man needed to be taken alive, he had the known location of the one you were looking for. 

You chased after him and ducked behind cover when he turned to shoot blindly at you. You fought back, trying to aim at his legs to take him down, but soon his gunfire stopped and he took off running down an alleyway. What you didn’t see was the other two men waiting and walked right into the line of fire. 

It was like the earth moved in slow motion. You felt the burning and the rush igniting through your body. You’d been hit by one of the men’s bullets. 

Spencer had chanced after you and had seen the men before you, but he was too late in his warnings and watched the scene unfold. 

You could see the men retreating, skidding off as quickly as they could. Someone was calling your name, but you were focused on your hand. You touched the tender side where the bullet had pierced you, blood staining your hands. 

“Y/n!” 

You turned around at the voice, your hand hovering over the wound. Spencer’s panicked face was nearing yours. “Y/n!” 

“spence?” You said softly, your voice shaking with fright. You’d been shot before, but nothing of this nature. It was usually a graze, a few stitches there and done but this, this felt different. your whole body burned. 

He approached you just in time to catch you as you fell, dropping to his knees with you in his arms, “Oh god, okay.” usually his mind was sharp, ready for anything but his mind was foggy. He needed to call an ambulance. He needed to alert the team. He needed to stop the bleeding. 

“Stay with me,” his shaky hands struggled to un velcro your vest, the useless vest. “damn it!” He finally ripped it lose, throwing it nearby. 

“spence, it hurts.” 

If his heart hadn’t broke yet, it did now, seeing the terrified look on your face. The “I’m going to die” look.

“I know doll, I know it hurts.” He presses hard against the wound, sending a jolt of pain through you. His free hand fumbles with his phone, smearing the phone with your blood as he dials Rossi. 

He holds the phone between his shoulder and ear, tapping softly on your face, “you have to stay awake, okay? eyes on me.” 

“I don’t want to die,” you sob. 

Spence yells over the phone about needing an ambulance, an agent is down and then his attention is on you. “shh shh..” he tries to comfort, “You are not going to die, you hear me? You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Spence,” You gasp, feeling the world fading fast. You reach up to touch his cheek with your hand, “I-” The world fades away before you can finish your sentence. 

~ 

Spencer’s hands shook as he tried to clean the blood off his hands in the bathroom. He could see his reflection in the mirror and you’d thought he’d been injured as well. Blood soaked his shirt and blood on his face and neck. His mind kept flashing back to the moment you’d passed out. It had terrified him to no end. 

He hadn’t even heard Rossi open the door, “She’s out of surgery.” 

Spencer followed Rossi numbly through the hospital corridor and to the waiting room where the rest of his team sat. The doctor stood in front of them, explaining the extent of the surgery and that you would be expected to make a full recovery. 

You were going to be okay; the next thought was seeing you. “Can we see her?” 

The doctor shook her head, “She’s in recovery at the moment. When we bring her to her room and get her settled in I will send a nurse for you.” 

So, Spencer and the rest of the team had to wait another agonizing two hours before finally getting to see you. 

The team sent Spencer first, knowing he needed to see you. 

Spencer was quiet as he entered your room, wondering what he would say to you. He wanted to apologize for everything, for being an asshole. He wanted to tell you how much he loved and miss you. How he couldn’t do this without you. 

He edged himself closer to the bed and you stirred, relief when you see it is him. “Spence.” 

“Hi,” His voice cracks and he looked pained, taking a seat next to you, “y/n-” He chokes up, his hand shaking as he takes yours in his. What were the words he wanted to tell you? 

He’s overwhelmed with emotion and breaks down in a sob, bringing your hand to his lips. 

“Oh spence,” you say softly, your own eyes stinging with tears. 

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know why I.. I love you, with all my heart and I miss you and-and-” He struggles to even find the words to explain himself. 

Your hand cups his cheek, “I know,” His eyes meet yours and you nod, “It’s okay.” 

He leans into your touch, “I thought I lost you.” 

“I thought so too..” Your hand moves up into his hair, softly running your fingers through his hair, “I didn’t get to finish what I wanted to tell you, but I love you Spencer.” 

He wipes a falling tear from your cheek, “god, I’ve missed you.” 

side note, i hate writing reunions because I have this grand scene in my mind and when I write it, it’s shitty. I also hate ending fics because I suck at them, but comments likes and reblogs are always appreciated and thanks for reading! x 

[bethsvrse]

STOP MAKING MY LIL AWKWARD NERDY BOYS BE CONFIDENT AND SO SURE OF THEMSELVES!!! I LIKE THEM BECAUSE THEY’RE NERDY NOT BECAUSE YOU FANFIC WRITERS MAKE THEM EGO MANIC ASSHOLES

[reidiot]

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