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pathologicalreid · 1 day

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bringing your work home with you | S.R.

spencer shares details of a case with you - with a hands-on learning approach

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: case information from 10x17 "breath play", erotic asphyxiation, choking, fingering, praise kink, aftercare, explicit consent, softdom!spencer, sub!reader, dacryphilia (ish), established relationship dl;dr. word count: 1.74k a/n: im no longer afraid of being perceived on the internet (lie) and will begin writing whatever i want (truth). including this.

“How was work?” You asked hesitantly, looking across the couch to where Spencer was sitting. He was lost in thought, although, you supposed if you had just returned from Wisconsin, you’d feel relatively similar.

Spencer hummed absentmindedly in response while flipping through the pages of the file he brought home with him. “The UnSub certainly had a unique signature,” he answered, dragging his thumb across his lower lip in thought.

You tilted your head to the side in curiosity, “Oh, yeah?” It wasn’t often that Spencer shared details of cases with you, usually because the information he’d be divulging was privileged, but you shuffled over a cushion in hopes that he’d share with you. “What was it?”

He reached over and ruffled your hair affectionately, “He had a particular affinity for erotic asphyxiation. Each of his victims had read this book, Bare Reflections, and that’s how he found them – through sexual fantasies.”

Furrowing your brows, you rested your face in your hand, “So like… sex choking?”

“Yes, love. Like sex choking,” Spencer said, not without humor, before getting up and going to the kitchen, asking you if you needed anything as he did.

When he returned, sitting down on the couch and flipping the file back open, you leaned to the side and said, “I never got the whole choking thing. Not being able to breathe never seemed very sexy to me.”

At that, Spencer closed the file he was scribbling in and set it on the coffee table, “It’s not meant to fully restrict your breathing. At least, not if you’re doing it properly.”

“And you know how to do it properly?” You challenged, raising a single brow at your boyfriend.

He laughed breathily at your test, “I know human anatomy well enough to know not to press on your trachea.”

You fail to hide the way your eyes widen when he speaks to you, his use of the words ‘your trachea’ implying that he is now thinking about choking you. “Cool,” you responded, your brain spinning as you began to think about Spencer’s hand on your throat.

“Come here,” Spencer spoke up, already grabbing your waist and sliding you across the worn leather of the couch. He carefully guided your body over his own until you’re straddling him – one knee on either side of his hips. “You’re a kinesthetic learner, you’ll do better with a hands-on approach.”

Letting a shuddered breath loose, you met Spencer’s eyes, “Hi,” you whispered, keeping your voice low as if you were sharing a secret in a crowded room. Without waiting for him to move, you ducked your head and pressed your lips to his. Quickly, Spencer’s lips coaxed yours open, allowing for his tongue to slip into your mouth.

Spencer’s arms wrapped tightly around you, pressing your chest to his so that you could feel the buttons of his work shirt through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. You were severely underdressed compared to him, lounging in just a t-shirt and underwear while he was wearing his work attire – it just added to the power dynamic you were navigating.

Gently, Spencer tugged at your lower lip, taking the flesh between his teeth before pulling away from the kiss. “Do you trust me?” He asked, loosening his hold on you, and instead running his hands down your arms in a soothing manner.

Straightening up, you nodded, “Yes,” you responded, reaching a hand up and grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

Lifting his dominant hand to your neck, your breathing faltered as he put his hand at the front of your neck, the thumb on one side and the remainder of his fingers on the opposite. “Is this alright?” He murmured, using his free hand to trace small circles on your inner thigh, leaving you wishing you could press your legs together in a desperate attempt for friction.

“Yes,” you repeated yourself, taking the inside of your cheek between your molars and sighing when he moved his hand from your leg.

Nodding assuredly, Spencer brushed your hair from your face, his dominant hand never straying from its newfound home on your throat. “Good, I’m going to keep asking because we’ve never talked about this before,” he informed you. “I won’t fully restrict your airway. If you need me to stop at any point, just tap my arm three times.”

His words led you to relax. The two of you left almost everything on the table, and you were usually good about discussing things ahead of time. You were sure he’d start doing things he knows you like in order to put you at ease. “Thank you,” you whispered, studying his golden irises.

“Such good manners for me, angel,” he praised you, noting the way your back straightens up when he does so. “When I squeeze the sides of your throat like this,” he said, keeping his voice gentle as his hand tightened around your neck, “I’m stopping some of the air from getting to your brain, which makes you feel lightheaded, and when I let go,” he released his firm hold, “You feel a release of dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins that make your head spin.”

As Spencer guided you through the process, you felt yourself getting needier. Humming lowly as you came down from the high, you noticed Spencer’s hand back between your thighs – you couldn’t tell when he had moved his hand, you were too preoccupied.

You held your breath as his hand slipped into your panties, “Hey,” he chided, snapping you out of your anticipation. “Don’t hold your breath,” he says sternly, “I won’t touch you if you hold your breath.”

Pointedly taking a deep breath, it took all of your focus to maintain your breathing as he gently slid a finger between your folds, the wet noise only muffled by the fabric of your underwear. Tentatively, Spencer slipped his finger inside you, swirling it around your inner walls before pulling it out and pushing it back in, squeezing the sides of your throat as he started fingering you at a steady pace.

“Do you feel that?” He asked, continuing the pace he had set, keeping his voice low as he spoke to you. “How when I squeeze your throat your cunt tightens around my finger?”

Reaching a hand up, you gripped his forearm and placed your other hand on his shoulder, trying to steady yourself and desperately needing something to do with your hands. You let out a soft moan as he easily added another finger to his ministrations, your volume growing louder as he released your throat. Your skin flushed as you bit your bottom lip and looked up to the ceiling.

Quickly squeezing your neck, Spencer brought your attention back down to him, “Keep your eyes on me, love.”

You nodded almost imperceptibly in response, blinking rapidly, but leaving your head where Spencer held it – gently forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he started curling his fingers inside of you, pushing his fingertips against your inner walls. “Spence,” you whispered, letting out a low whine as you feel your orgasm beginning to build in your lower belly.

“Did you wanna cum? Make a mess all over my hand?” Spencer asked tantalizingly, resuming pressure on your throat before you even had a chance to respond to him. He was enjoying this just as much as you were.

As you maintained eye contact with Spencer, he began to press the heel of his palm against your clit, the pressure only adding to your lightheadedness. With his hand on your neck, your moans come out garbled, forcing their way through your body. “Fuck,” the word came out as a hiss as tears gathered in your lower lash line. Between the pressure on your clit and throat and the continuing ministrations of his digits, your orgasm built up quickly.

In-kind with the pressure on your throat, you squeezed firmly at Spencer’s forearm, and he watched carefully to make sure that you weren’t trying to tap on his arm.

Your tears flooded over the edge, slowly streaming down your cheeks. You blinked to clear your eyes, but you didn’t let your eye contact with Spencer waver.

A small whimper escaped your throat, and Spencer hummed, “There you go, angel.” He said, nodding as his fingers continued working you to your peak, “I know,” he cajoled when you whined again. “I know. Let it go for me,” he murmured, watching as your body shuddered.

Once your orgasm hits its zenith, Spencer released his hold on your neck, moving his hand to your shoulder to keep you upright while your pussy spasmed around his still-thrusting fingers. Endorphins flooded your mind, prolonging your orgasm for god knows how long until he finally withdrew his fingers from your underwear.

While you remembered how to breathe, Spencer moved his hand from your shoulder to your back, gently pressing on your spine and letting your body fall forward. “I knew you’d like that,” he whispered mischievously, and if you had the energy, you would have rolled your eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Groaning, you buried your face in the crook of Spencer’s neck, “Jell-O,” you responded simply.

Your eyes were barely open as Spencer reached over for a tissue box, wiping your slick off of his hand before slipping his hand beneath the waistband of your panties. You whined and tried to push his hand away, “I know, baby. I just want to wipe you up a bit.” He told you before gathering your wetness on the tissue, wrapping it up and placing it on the end table.

“Toss it,” you mumbled sleepily, ignorant of the fact that you’re still in his lap.

Wrapping an arm around you tightly, Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “When you feel like moving, I’ll clean up.” He reached over for a glass of water from the end table, grabbing it from its coaster and trying to hand it to you, “Come on, you need water.”

Sighing, you forced your eyes open, “’m tired,” you told him, reaching a shaky hand up for the glass.

Spencer kept a hand on the glass as you drank from it, setting it back down when you were done and smiling softly at your sleepy nature. “Rehydrating is a nonnegotiable,” he whispered gently, but you were already asleep - or close enough to it that you didn’t respond.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds oneshot #written by margot #mdni #margot after hours #softdom!spencer

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tw1npeaks · 3 days

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trying to keep it classy due to newfound info but god he’s such a freaky slut he might as well be naked

#the necklace #the rolled up sleeves #glasses in his shirt pocket #TAKE UR SHIRT OFF #spencer reid #mgg #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader

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minswriting · 3 days

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Dom Spencer overstimulating sub reader? Like making them cum over and over just being like “you can give me one more can’t you?” And then afterwards having them do it again

nsfw | mdni | spencer reid x reader | overstimulation, unprotected sex, praise, squirting, etc.

note: y’all ever write while highly caffeinated? it makes little to no sense. so pls give me your feedback!

you let out a choked sob as you came for the fourth time that night. you were sat on the bed with your back pressed to spencer’s chest as he fingered your pussy relentlessly. spencer stopped for just a moment, allowing you time to calm down from your orgasm. you breathed heavily in his arms as he kissed your neck, whispering praises in your ear about how good you are for him.

“good girl,” he whispered, his lips against your skin. “doing so good for me.” spencer soothingly rubbed your inner thigh with his other hand. as you calmed down in spencer’s arms, he moved his hand back to your cunt, causing you to whine and shutter from the overstimulation. “shh, shh, shh,” he said. “just one more, okay? you can do one more, can’t you, baby?” he asked as he began to gently rub your clit.

you moaned as you nodded your head. “yes,” you replied, gripping spencer’s wrist.

“good girl,” he said as he dipped two fingers into your cunt, curling them to hit your g-spot. you moaned loudly, arching your back against spencer. he thrusted his fingers at a brutal but pleasurable pace, causing tears of pleasure to well up in your eyes. the room was filled with the sound of your moans and the wet sounds of your pussy.

“oh my god,” you cried out, feeling your fifth orgasm of the night approaching quickly. “am gonna cum!”

“yes, baby, go ahead,” spencer coaxed you. “cum for me, sweetheart.” his voice was soft as he fucked you with his digits.

and so you came, your walls clenching around his fingers as you let out another choked sob. this time, however, you felt the mattress underneath you get wet as you squirted around spencer’s fingers. “fuck, baby,” spencer moaned into your ear. “you’re so beautiful, so good,” he said as he fingered you through your orgasm.

as you came down from your high, you expected spencer to stop. but he didn’t. he kept fingering you, not giving you time to calm. you started to shake from overstimulation but you didn’t want him to stop. “oh fuck,” you threw your head back onto his shoulder.

“this will be the last one, i promise,” he said. “just wanna make you cum one more time, baby.”

and so he did. then he fucked you, giving you seven orgasms in total in one night. to say you were spent was an understatement. but you most definitely had the time of your life.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminals minds x reader #🌸 — min’s asks #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n

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ssahotchnerr · 2 days

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fluffy aaron request !! reader is on a date that is going so bad when she gets called in for a case so she shows up in her like fancy date outfit and confides in hotch about her horrible date then he offers to make it up to her and takes her out when they get back <3 maybe there’s some room for slight jealous!aaron in there somewhere tehe

it's a date

there's always room for jealous!aaron 🤭 cw; fem bau!reader, mutual pining, a touch of nervous and jealous!aaron, brief standard cm case info, fluff <3

You were the last one to arrive at the BAU, departing from the far side of town and evening traffic to blame.

Consequently, you pulled stares the second you arrived within the roundtable room. Your presence was anticipated, for one, the sound of your heels clacking against the hard floor, and:

A low whistle exited Morgan.

"Look at you." He tossed out, a tickled grin spread wide across his face.

Your current attire was a dress; a fancier, slightly more risqué choice compared to your typical office wardrobe. It was a light beige, your hair was down your back in loose curls, makeup more enhanced than your usual routine. Aaron had to (internally) admit, you looked stunning.

"Hot date?"

"You could say that."

Aaron felt his jaw move. Clench, actually.

"Sorry for cutting your night short." He apologized, forcing his sentence out deep from inside his chest. He turned towards the screen, concealing himself.

"On the contrary," You eased yourself into your chair, eagerly accepting a file from Emily. "Thank you for cutting my night short."

"With this one, you may want to rethink that sunshine." Penelope clicked her remote, illuminating the screen with the latest case photos. "Ain't no rest for the wicked."

The team collectively ran through it quickly; a brutal family annihilator, decreasing cooling off period, the gravity of the situation heightening and a panicked town. Wheels up in 30 to Oklahoma.

As the others trailed out, Penelope hurrying to her bat cave, Aaron slowed his pace. He prolonged securing his files into his briefcase, zipping it shut, leaving only the two of you in the room.

Coincidentally, you weren't in too much of a rush either.

"That bad?"

You huffed in response as your eyes found his. He was met with a hardened, utter annoyance, instead of your familiar warm liveliness.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about." The bottom of your files hit the surface of the table, loudly, stacking the few evenly together. "The guy sucked. Interrupted me every second he could. I don't think the restaurant he picked was up to code either. Thank goodness I got the call before our food arrived." You shuddered lightly, in theatrics but also genuineness. "I'm greatly looking forward to pretending it never happened."

There was a carefree airiness within your voice - attempting to wave it off, the simple acceptance of one night gone bad - but small dismay was amongst your words.

"I'm sorry." While Aaron meant his apology wholeheartedly, he couldn't help but feel relieved, for his own selfish reasons. "But I am glad you narrowly escaped the potential food poisoning."

That pulled a laugh from you, agreeing. "But it's fine, really. I didn't want to go anyways, don't know why I did." You shrugged as you disrupted the continual, shared eye contact. While the tail end of your sentence was spoken lowly, it wasn't long lasting, picking up some enthusiasm. "How was your night going?"

"Jack and I were just settling down to watch a movie."

"Which one?"

"Shrek."

Your head tilted exasperatedly, face pulling into jealousy. "Really? How fun." You whined gently, wishing your night could have been spent with the two of them. Your preferred choice of company.

"Well, he wasn't too happy it was cut short." Aaron admitted, a loose, downhearted chuckle escaping.

"You'll make it up to him. Perhaps a multiple movie feature when we're back? Shrek, Shrek 2, Shrek the Third... maybe order some pizza too." You suggested, reaching out to touch his arm reassuringly with a gentle smile. "No matter, he'll be thrilled."

Sourcing from your touch, lightning bolts dashed within his arm, feverishly. Aaron soon found himself simply studying your face, falling on the silent side. You were just, you. Extraordinarily kind, beautiful you.

"C'mon, Dave told me if I was late to the tarmac once more, he'd tell the pilot to leave and I'd have to take a commercial." You joked. Although, a small part of you feared he'd stick to his promise.

"Yeah, like I'd let that happen." He rolled his eyes, amusedly shaking his head.

The bullpen was quiet; most had gone home, the overheard lights had dimmed, the team long out of earshot. As the two of you neared the glass doors - Aaron leading - there was an urgency heightening in his chest, mere seconds away from bursting. As if each step forward, he was losing precious time. Any hesitations on the temptations he had felt for months dissolved. Now or never.

"What about you?" He asked, sweetly but timidly, finding a sudden interest in the floor.

"What about me?"

"Who's going to make it up to you?"

"Well," That caught you in a bit of surprise, your feet halting. Aaron turned, his eyes lifting. "That's a million dollar question right there. I don't see anyone lining up to take me on some extravagant outing, do you?" You forced out a laugh, your cheeks fairly blushing.

"Maybe," Aaron replied, his voice wavering with a touch of nervousness. It was rather endearing, seeing him so adorably flustered. "Perhaps the person you're looking for is right in front of you. Figuratively, at that."

A rather charmed expression formed on your face. Eyes brightening, lips pursing upwards, "Are you asking me out?"

"I'm trying." He confessed, his boyish expression just as light as yours. "So, tell me. How am I doing?"

"How about this," You spoke slowly, attempting to suppress the butterflies in your own stomach, hoping to maintain some composure within your answer. "Your next available night after your movie marathon with Jack, I'm completely and all yours."

All yours. He could get used to that.

"It's a date."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 day

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early seasons spencer and bau reader undercover at a club and it’s just like. he is so flustered but also weirdly confident and do with this what you will

in which spencer reid and BAU fem!reader have to pose as a couple at a club. she's more than a little flirty. the conversation actually gets quite suggestive. he's cute when he gets flustered.

warnings/tags: discussions of sex, reader wears a tight dress and makeup and heels, discussions of blushing but r's skin color is not implied to be light, i just needed a reason to talk about sex flush LOL, if u don't visibly blush this will still read fine

a/n: I LOVE EARLY SEASONS SPENCER X FLIRTY READER OH MY GODDD thank you for this request angel from heaven I hope you all like this as much as I do teehee

The bass buzzes through the floor and vibrates your teeth. House music has never really been your thing. Neither have tight dresses and high heels while on the job—but you’re willing to objectify yourself just a little if it will lure yet another loser who likes to chop up young couples into the awaiting arms of the American correctional system.

Or to the wrong end of Emily's Glock. Whatever comes first.

You scan the club—it’s not your usual scene, and you can only imagine how Dr. Reid is faring. As far as you can tell this is essentially his nightmare. It’s sensory overload central even for you.

Your eyes catch on him at the bar, tucked away from the writhing crowd. He’s standing near the end, one arm resting on the surface while the other hand is jammed in his pocket. He seems completely unaware of the several women circling closer and closer. The whole earnest and dorky but still handsome thing seems to work well for him. Or, it would, if he had any interest in utilizing it. He’s dressed a little sharper than usual—no doubt styled by Morgan and Prentiss. Hell, the earnest dorkiness and the well fitted dark suit is working for you if nobody else.

Sometimes he just looks… edible.

And self-discipline doesn't always come naturally to you.

“Doctor,” you purr in greeting, grazing the forearm propped up on the bar with white-tipped nails as you insert yourself in front of him. His fingers twitch under your light touch.

Spencer doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes sink down your frame, sticking to every highlighted curve like you’re dripping honey. Or maybe he just doesn’t realize that you can see that’s what he’s doing.

“Hi. You look nice.”

“Aw,” you smile, dulling the salacious edge to your voice, “you didn’t have to say that. Someone’s improvising.”

“I meant it. That dress looks nice on you,” he says, simply, and you hate his specific brand of charm because it’s not intentional. It’s not something he puts on. It comes out of nowhere and always knocks you on your ass when it hits—even in the smallest doses. His eyes narrow and he leans closer. You can feel the energy rippling around him like a force field as he examines you. “You’re wearing more makeup than you normally do.”

“Do you like it? Penelope ordered the wrong shade of blush and gave it to me. Supposedly it’s meant to make me look like I just had an orgasm. I don’t know if I believe it.”

Much to your disappointment, Spencer leans back, scanning the crowd for your target and speaking as if he’s only half-interested.

“That’s not what you would look like. Sex flush deepens the color of your entire face and chest, not just your cheeks.”

Your brows knit as you contend with unwelcome butterflies.

“Buy me a drink before you start telling me what I’ll look like after I orgasm.”

That catches his attention, and his suddenly wide eyes snap to you. If he had a drink, he’d be choking on it.

“I wasn’t—it was a general you, I’d never—that would be inappropriate. It was. It was inappropriate. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You lean with your back to the bar, elbows propped on black granite, and swing your hair over your shoulder. Spencer’s eyes dart back down to your décolletage and then up to the ceiling like he regrets being born. You smile wickedly. Much better. This is the way God intended for you to interact with Spencer Reid.

“I’ll consider forgiving you. And I don’t blush. Not when I orgasm, not ever.”

Admittedly, you just want to milk the whole talking about you orgasming thing to see how pink you can make him. It’s not often you’re gifted with an opportunity to be so candid about your sexuality or flirt this unabashedly. But you are supposed to be posing as a couple. Maybe you’re just feeling extra in character.

Instead of stumbling over his words some more, Spencer smiles with a degree of bemusement like he’s caught you in a white lie.

His smile is so nice. His teeth are perfect, and his lips—

“Yes you do.”

Always so convinced he’s right, this one.

It’s annoying. And kind of hot.

“Uh, I promise you I do not.”

“Everyone blushes. It's a sympathetic nervous system activation response wherein blood rushes to your face. Your blood vessels dilate when you get flustered or anxious. Your face gets hot and your undertone changes.”

You raise your brows. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was challenging you.

“Yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Actually, no,” he mutters, losing any bravado and casting his eyes downward subserviently. “You have a habit of proving me wrong.”

“That’s right,” you gloat, smiling wide. Someone bumps into you, and you turn around, highly unprofessional insult locked and loaded—but it’s just a drunk girl who apologizes and stumbles off. The encounter does, however, remind you that you’re supposed to be finding a killer. “Do you think this is the best positioning? He might not be able to find us way over here.”

“You think we should move?”

You look back at him and nod, holding your hand out. He looks at it uncertainly. You waggle your fingers and infuse your words with sugar.

“Oh, come on. I don’t want to lose you. And we’re supposed to look like a couple, remember?”

Gingerly he accepts your hand. His is bigger than you’d have thought. Not nearly as freezing as your own perpetually are. It occurs to you as you grab his hand that his bone structure really is bigger than yours. He’s… tall. He is, at the end of the day, a real life adult man. His presence is palpable behind you and you enjoy the weight of his hand in yours as you tug him through the crowd, perhaps not taking the most direct route through the throng just so you can savor being able to touch him like this for a little longer.

Miraculously you spot an empty booth and slide into it. It’s a deep alcove, shadowy and secluded at the back. That’s where you settle, against black vinyl, and where you wave at Spencer to join you.

He lingers at the edge of the table, glancing around at the groups of dancing and drinking young adults.

“I don’t know. Can you even see the dance floor from back there?”

“Part of it. But I’m sure he’ll be looking in the booths for couples. He’ll come to us.”

Spencer faces you again and sighs ruefully, a begrudging smirk playing at his lips as he slides into the booth and joins you against the back wall. His side is warm against yours. He smells nice. Clean. Almost herbal, like patchouli or vetiver.

“What? You really hate sitting next to me that much?”

Spencer’s lips part wryly before he speaks, like he almost thought better of it but decided to anyway.

“I think you just wanted a reason to get me alone and secluded so you can finally accost me.”

Your knees bump. You lean into it.

“Accost you? That seems harsh,” you pout, leaning toward him clandestinely to undo his top button.

“I don’t see how. You are literally trying to take my clothing off as we speak.”

“I’m just increasing your sex appeal. It’ll be good, trust me. Maybe you’ll even end up taking one of those girls from the bar home. Or—back to the hotel, I should say.”

Spencer covers your fussy hands with his own sweetly, like he can sense the true jealousy simmering underneath the sarcasm, and places them in your lap. The touch lingers.

“Are you always like this?” He murmurs, voice lower than you can recall ever hearing it and twisted into the shape of a smile.

“Only with you, Dr. Reid. Speaking of, how about you? Do you flirt with many other FBI agents on official business?”

“Just the one. She’s kind of a full-time job.”

“Shut up. I’m basically your babysitter. If anything, I should be paid extra for dealing with you.”

“Attempting to seduce your charge seems like a bad business model. There are definitely some ethical issues there.”

His hands still rest on yours. You lace your fingers with his and speak sweetly, meeting his eyes best you can in the dark.

“I wasn’t aware I was seducing you. Do you feel seduced?”

He’s the first to look away after a few seconds pass—pulls your hands apart gently, politely arranging them back on your lap.

“I think you’re incorrigible and a terrible influence. In all honesty, you terrify me and more often than not I walk away from our interactions a little confused.”

You clap a hand to your heart, the bare skin revealed by your low cut dress warm under your fingers.

“Spencer… that kind of turned me on.”

He just looks at you for a moment, a hint of a smile on his pretty face, long enough to make you feel a bit nervous.

Then he’s leaning forward, and unconsciously so are you, almost forgetting to breath when you’re practically pressed against him in this booth and he’s whispering so low and sweet into your ear.

“He’s watching us. Right across the floor, next to the girl in the blue dress. White button up and a leather jacket.” His hand slides over yours, fingers skimming your collarbone in the process as he interlocks your grasp once more. “Keep your hand right here and lean closer. We need to maintain his interest.”

“I don’t think I can lean any closer,” you breathe, hoping it doesn’t register as nervous as it really is. You’re supposed to be the confident one who teases him. “But if you want me to sit on your lap, just ask. I won’t say no.”

He chuckles, too loud to be amorous. It’s clearly genuine. It sounds like the way his reddened cheeks always look. It almost does more for you than the bedroom voice.

“You… you are beyond help. I don’t think you could be appropriate if your life depended on it.”

Slowly you pull back so you can look into his eyes—much closer than you normally have an excuse to. They dart wildly over your face, partially obscured by the dark which cuts shadows deep into the dramatic hollows of his bone structure. He really is so pretty.

You glance toward the man, who’s pretending not to watch you. When you focus your attention back on Spencer, sliding your hand up the curve of his jaw, you find yourself making a dangerous wish. You find yourself wishing that you didn’t have an audience. That this wasn’t all for show. That neither of you had earpieces in.

His pulse hammers under your little finger, and his lips part slightly as he doesn’t have the wherewithal to not glance at yours. He’s so unaware of how obvious he’s being. It’s cute.

You run the tips of your fingers through the hair in front of his ear, the one sans bluetooth, pushing it back, before leaning in close once more to whisper.

“Good thing we’re not going for appropriate. Actually—your hands could stand to wander a little more, Dr. Reid. Let me know if you need me to tell you where to put them.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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venusbyline · 3 days

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my type: pretty boys who are professors, FBI special agents, ex-con, probably autistic and have real puppy eyes

#venusbyline #i have so many thoughts #will graham #spencer reid #will graham x reader #spencer reid x reader #hugh dancy #matthew gray gubler #post prison reid #hannibal #criminal minds #i need him #i can fix him #i need them #i can fix them #prison spencer reid #prison will graham #mgg pics

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qlossytbh · 2 days

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𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐟 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you had been affected by harsh comments you overheard about yourself and spencer finds a way to cheer you up.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 mean comments on readers physical appearance :( , fem!reader, use of makeup, insecurity, tooth rotting fluff bc why not!, established relationship

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.7k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 no bc i would literally die if this happened to me, why do i write perfect men that don’t exist

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It was stupid.

You repeated that to yourself, like a prayer. Like maybe if you continued to repeat it, you’d somehow convince yourself to believe it.

During the long tedious hours of work until the quiet drive back to your apartment, you tried convincing yourself that what he had said did not really prick a nerve the way it had.

You climbed out of the car, stiletto heels clicking against the crisp pavement. You popped your phone into the back pocket of your pants, grabbing your bag and closing the door with a huff.

The two of you were silent— both for ostensibly different reasons. Spencer was exhausted, sluggishly moving with each step he took towards the door of your shared apartment. You however, had your mind slowly, painfully eating you away.

It hadn’t necessarily been what the particular officer had said, if not how he said it— Quoting something along the lines of ‘using too much makeup because without it you knew you weren’t much.”

You hadn’t been paying attention, hearing it was a complete accident— Morgan was ranting non-stop about something you were initially paying attention to when you heard a pair of officers beside you chattering.

They were talking to each other, laughing emptily while glancing over at you every once in a while. You were sadly accustomed to the perpetual obtrusive gaze of men and they objectified you in and out of the job, something Spencer had yet to get rid of.

You didn’t let it torment you, continuing your attention on Morgan. Until their comments were filtering into your attention more vividly than what Derek was even saying.

They had been cruel in every way, shape or form— evidently your clothes, your makeup, the way you talked— were all a problem to those specifically snobby officers.

You held yourself firmly enough that these things usually never got to you— you wouldn’t let them.

Usually.

Spencer opened the apartment door, slipping his satchel onto the ground beside it with a soft thud. Your hand reached up, rubbing soft, reassuring circles into the back of your neck.

Things were quiet.

You headed to the bathroom, Spencer headed into your room. There was a familiarity between the two of you— coming home together, unwinding the day together, doing most things together. You fell in love with it ever since Spencer asked you to move in, but now it felt almost impossible to hide this growing insecurity from him.

Girls like you weren’t insecure— I mean you were, you just couldn’t show it much. It was pathetic, how something so stupid had dug its claws so deep into your skin.

A few minutes later, Spencer walked into the bathroom, watching you inquiringly reapply some pink shade of blush. You glanced up at him through the mirror, shooting him a quick smile before turning back to yourself and fixing the two coiled strands that framed your face gently.

He sneaked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your body and sighing heavily, immediately infected by the virulent sweet smell of you. You leaned back into him, allowing him space to dig his face into the crook of your neck and rest there while you continued. These small moments with you tugged at Spencer's heart, but he still wondered.

“What are you doing?” His voice was muffled, hot air tickling the side of your neck as he spoke.

You caught him gazing up at you through the mirror. “I’m retouching my makeup,”

“How come?”

You opened your mouth to answer but opted with a shrug, not entirely sure what to answer without allowing his prying gaze to see right through you. Spencer said your name once, in something nearly above a whisper.

“Hmm?” You hummed, trying to make nothing of his worried gaze.

“Did something happen?” He asked, pulling away from you. His voice was drenched in concern, grabbing you lightly by the shoulders and encouraging you to face him.

“No!—“ You were quick to jump to your defense, but the instability in your voice gave you away almost immediately. “No, it was nothing—“

You sighed heavily. Spencer’s hand came up to your cheek, lightly grazing it under the soft touch of his thumb, reassuring his presence just like he always did. You found yourself annoyed at the exposure— not at Spencer, of course not. But something about having to show him that the things you always reassured didn’t get to you in fact did, nicked something in your ego.

“I overheard some officers saying stuff about me,” You mumbled with an eye roll. You straightened your shoulders and reassured Spencer firmly. “I don’t care, I promise but—“

Spencer waited. Patiently, like he always did when you got like this. Maybe that’s what was so perfect about him. He was always willing to listen, whether it took you months to open up, or a quick shot out ramble, he was always there.

“I don’t know, it made me think,” You said, shaking your head.

“About?”

“Like if I actually tie my value to the superficial perception others have of me,” You explained, as accurately as you could. “People like what they see, and I do too, but I think that’s one of the only reason why I do,”

You looked up at Spencer, who was gazing into your eyes deeply, trying to puzzle together your thoughts for you. “You think that your beauty is judged solely on what people think of you?”

Your cheeks blazed with heat and you let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know, it’s stupid Spence—“

“Hold on,” Spencer let you go, reaching into your side of the shared bathroom drawer. You blinked, completely bewildered as to whatever it was that your boyfriend sudden idea. You watched him, brows slightly crinkled as he pulled one of your bottle’s of makeup remover, along with a few cotton pads that had been lying loosely in the drawer. He popped the cap open, pouring a tiny bit of liquid onto the fluffy white pads.

He turned to you, cotton pad in hand. You looked between the small piece of cotton in his hand and his face. Before he could reach over to grab your chin, you quickly grabbed him by the wrist, eyes panicky. “What are you doing?”

Spencer huffed. “Do you trust me?”

“Not really,” You said, giving his wrists a small squeeze as a smile crept onto your face. Spencer deadpanned at you.

“Please?”

Your lips pulled into a tight line before accepting your defeat and nodding gently. He reached forward, grabbing your chin softly and bringing it across the side of your cheek. He then dragged the cool pad over your temples as your face twisted in disgust.

“It’s cold,” You hissed. He chose to ignore your complaints, aimlessly dragging the cold pad across your face and removing all the makeup that sat on it comfortably.

Somehow, this felt like undressing yourself in broad daylight— maybe even worse. You never usually walked around without at least a bit of makeup on, so allowing the person you loved the most to see what you were so insecure about was scary.

It erupted a string of thoughts and countless worries in your head, that were probably way too destructive than kind. What if he found something wrong with your face? What if he was somehow disappointed? What if he only got with you because of your beauty and now he’s realizing you really weren’t all that much?

“Is this your attempt at proving a point?” You asked as the cotton pad hovered over your left eye, rubbing gentle circles.

“Yes,” He answered, tongue sticking out in deep concentration. You began pulling back, hand tight around Spencer’s wrist. You squirmed under his grip.

“You’re getting it in my eye!” You whined.

“Stop moving around then,” He groaned, moving onto the other eye. You blinked, peering through your only available eye.

“You’re going to see my eye bags and I promise you it’s not a cute look,” You warned.

“Seriously?” He asked, sarcasm lacing every single word in his voice. You glared at him through your single eye.

“And my acne scars,” You listed, voice getting close to that of a warning. He hummed nonchalantly.

“And my lanky eyebrows and my lips—“ The cotton pad hovered across your lips, shutting you up, probably on purpose.

“The horror,”

“Spencer,” You muffled a groan, pushing his hand off your lips.

He pulled back, taking a quick look at your now bare face. Spencer wasn’t exactly used to seeing you like this. You’d never really walk around without any makeup in front of him, it was always either too dark to see or too early for him to even realize.

And god if he thought he had won before, he was now realizing he had won the whole lottery. His eyes raked across every freckle, every line, every dot on your face and he was absolutely stunned. He felt himself fall in love twice as hard as he already had. He set down the last used cotton pad and directed your chin towards the mirror at your own reflection.

“Look,”

“Hmm,” You shrugged, squinting your eyes indifferently. “Didn’t realize my eye bags were getting darker.”

Spencer pinched your side, causing you to giggle. “You look beautiful.”

You looked at Spencer through the mirror. This time, the compliment sat much differently. It always meant the most when the words ‘beautiful’ came from Spencer, but having him say it when it was just you, bare and exposed, meant the world and it made your heart start pattering harshly against your chest.

He guided your chin back at him, and cupped your face in his palms, softly stroking his thumbs across the soft pads of your cheeks. “So, so beautiful,”

He brought your face up to his and closed the space between the two of you. You sighed, melting once again under the substantial comfort of Spencer’s touch. You breathed him in— every part you possibly could while your hands rested on either side of his torso. The kiss was soft, but heavy with feeling.

He pulled away, wallowing in two more soft pecks to keep himself satisfied. You smiled before your eyes fluttered open. Spencer himself was decorated in a lopsided smile as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You watched him concentrate his attention on your fly away hairs. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

He nodded, pecking your lips once again. “And I love you,”

“Even if my eye bags get darker?” You pipped pursing your lips.

“Especially if,” He smiled, pulling you into a tight hug.

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iluvreid · 3 days

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How to become a cupcake no borax no glue

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #mgg #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #mgg pics #criminal minds smut #i need this man biblically

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sincerelybubbles · 20 hours

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it's a date || spencer reid x reader

masterlist

warnings: cannon-typical violence/mentions of murder and kidnapping, slow burn, fluff!, early seasons spencer, not proof read

word count: 6.1k

You sigh and crack your knuckles, staring down at the pot simmering on the stove. You know that the sauce would be okay if you left it for a few minutes, did something else, but you remain standing, uselessly stirring it every few seconds. Truthfully, you’re bored. Your mind shifts from cooking to work tomorrow, itching to pull out your documents and scan through them one more time. But you know you shouldn’t, advise about work-life balance tugging at your attention.

You’re debating if you should pick up a book and try to read, something light to take your mind off of the day, when a knock sounds from the front door. Your dog, Penny, a lovely golden retriever you rescued a few years ago, lets out a weak woof before slowly standing and trotting to the door. She’s old, more grey than golden, but she never fails to answer the door with you.

You turn the stove off and move the pot off of the burner, wiping your hands as you walk, when another knock echoes through the hallway. It’s sharp, official, loud. The sound fills you with anxiety. You stand on your toes to look out of the peephole.

“Hello?” You ask through the door, not recognizing the men standing outside and seeing no package in sight.

“Hello, Jason Gideon, FBI, could we have a word?” The older man says, voice stern but not unkind.

You open the door without unlatching the chain, peering out through the crack. “FBI?”

Jason Gideon, the one who spoke, pulls out his badge first. The lankier man next to him follows in suit. Your eyes linger on him for a second longer than the other agent, taking in his toussled brown hair. You scan the badges for a second before shutting the door to undo the chain.

“Sorry, you can’t be too careful, you know?”

“Oh, we know that all too well,” Gideon says good-naturedly, “it’s good to be cautious.”

He asks your name, you give it, and nods sharply, looking to his partner. “Well, like I said, I’m Jason Gideon with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI, and this is my partner Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Well, come on in, Agent Gideon and Dr. Reid,” you say, waving them both in and shutting the door.

“Just Gideon is fine.”

Dr. Reid sends you a tight lipped smile as he walks in, adjusting his shirt and otherwise avoiding your gaze. He seems nervous.

“Would you two like something to drink while you tell me why you’re here? Coffee, tea, water?” You ask, twisting the dishcloth between your hands as you lead them inside.

“I wouldn’t say no to some coffee,” Gideon says. You nod and turn to Dr. Reid, who is staring at you with his mouth slightly agape.

“Oh, yeah, coffee for me too, please.”

“Of course, have a seat,” you say, waving them to the small table in your kitchen and moving to prepare their drinks. Neither of them sit.

“How well do you know your neighbors?” Gideon asks as you start the coffee.

You shrug. “As well as anyone does these days, I guess. I wave when I drive past them, smile when they’re out front at the same time. Why, has something happened? I saw the police cars earlier, on my way home from work, but I haven’t heard anything else.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dr. Reid says, even though he looks your age, maybe even a few years older. “Your neighbor across the street was murdered last night, Mrs. Furgison, and her eight-year-old son is missing. Did you hear anything?”

You fall still, facing away from the two officers. Numb, you shake your head, “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t home last night. I was watching my niece for my sister.” You turn around to face them, leaning back against the counter. “But there are cameras outside, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?” “Yes,” Gideon confirms with a nod. “Would you be okay if we took a look at the last few weeks of footage if you have it?”

“You want to see if he’s been visiting before last night,” you mumble, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you work in law enforcement?” Dr. Reid asks, the question erupting from him like he couldn’t hold it back. “You’re shockingly calm and seem to know what we’re going to ask before we get to it.”

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, waving a hand in the air and turning to pull the pot of coffee out. “BAU, of course, you’d see right through me. I’m a victim liaison. I read through this process hundreds of times a week. Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” Gideon answers as Dr. Reid blurts out, “Yes, please.”

You set the mugs on the kitchen counter along with a container of sugar.

“Help yourself, I’ll grab my laptop to get those files for you.”

When you come back, laptop in tow, Gideon and Dr. Reid are having a hushed conversation, both holding their mugs of coffee. You round the corner slowly but loudly, aware that sometimes agents can be jumpy. Gideon smiles at you while Dr. Reid looks over sharply.

It fits, given their ages and presumably how long each have been in the field. You try to send him a reassuring smile. He reciprocates but still looks obviously awkward, fixing his hair and taking a sip of coffee.

“Would you like me to put the files on a USB? Email them somewhere? Or just,” you motion with the computer, offering it over.

“I can take it,” Dr. Reid offers, “send the files to Garcia.”

You let him, passing him the computer easily. With your job, the government is already elbows deep in that laptop, anyway; you have nothing to hide.

You watch as Dr. Reid begins typing away on your computer, leaning over the table and resting his forearms on the edge.

Both of the agents are dressed professionally: button-down shirts, slacks, dress shoes. Guns ready at the hip.

“You like to cook?” Gideon asks, nodding toward your forgotten pasta on the stove.

“Yes and no,” you admit, chuckling and turning your attention to him. “It always tastes better than takeout but it’s hard to get the motivation. Are you hungry? Can I offer you anything else?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“Of course. I know how overworked you lot can be.” You cross your arms and lean back against your counter. “What about you? Do you cook?”

“Not as often as I should,” he admits, smiling sadly. “Victim liaison, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You seem a little young.” “Could say the same about him.” You nod at Dr. Reid who doesn’t hear you, too focused on his work. “But I guess drive and pretty much no social life can get you anywhere,” you admit with a laugh.

“Garcia should have the files in a minute,” Dr. Reid interrupts, looking up from your laptop.

“I’ll give her a call.”

He steps out with a nod to you, walking back into the front hallway of your small home and leaving you alone with the doctor.

He opens his mouth to say something before his eyes focus over your shoulder and his attention is stolen. “Sorry,” he says, moving past you and into your living room, toward your bookshelf. “Is that a Russian copy of Crime and Punishment?” He asks, brushing his finger over the spine of the book.

“Oh, yeah, it is.” You follow him, staring up at your own bookshelf like you’ve never seen it before. It’s crammed full of books. There are more filling your bedroom down the hall as well. “It’s a slow read, I have to use a lexicon a lot of the time, but I sort of like the work. Translating’s a hobby of mine, I guess. When I have time. Sorry, that might be weird.”

“No, it’s not weird at all! Not to me, at least. Are you using a Dictionary-based lexicon? Can I see it? I have one that I love. I haven’t read much Russian but I have one for Greek. They’re rarely used anymore, falling out of popularity with the creation of the internet where everything is readily available to just search up, but I find them fascinating and I’ve never seen one for Russian before.”

He talks enthusiastically with his hands. His eyes shine, the interest lighting up his face. You think, before you remember the reason why he’s there, that he’s actually quite handsome. You become slightly breathless at the realization. You don’t really notice people like this often. But, towering above you, buttoned shirt pushed up to show his forearms and a self-concious smile stretching across his face, you’re a little flustered.

You take a breath, remembering that your neighbor is dead and a little boy is missing, sending Dr. Reid a small smile and motioning behind you.

“It’s in my office if you want to go look at it. I prefer it to just typing out the stuff I don’t know — mostly because I don’t have a Russian keyboard — and it’s easier to learn when you have to research it.”

“I would actually love –”

“Reid,” Gideon interrupts, ending his call, “Garcia got the files, we have to go.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Thank you so much for your help,” Gideon says, walking toward you and offering his hand. “And for the coffee. So sorry to have interrupted your cooking.”

“Anytime detective,” you say, shaking his hand and smiling up at him, “always happy to help. I can give you my card if you need anything else?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

You rush to your bag to pull out one of your cards and hand it to Gideon before turning to offer Dr. Reid your hand.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Dr. Reid.”

He takes your hand firmly. “Spencer’s fine,” he says, stumbling over his words slightly but still smiling. “Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime,” you repeat, letting them out and returning to your sad pasta.

Your mind wonders, not to the murder or kidnapping, but to Spencer Reid. Wide brown eyes, tousled hair pushed out of his face, a sweet smile. Smart, too. Way too smart.

You’re not exactly experienced when it comes to dating, you hadn’t lied to Gideon when you said you don’t make time for a social life, dating included, but you do know that an interest in a too-smart profiler might spell bad news.

Still, as you portion out your meal, you can’t help but think that you’re feeling awfully motivated to return to working on Crime and Punishment. You don’t lie to yourself about the origins of this sudden spark of motivation, but you do rationalize it. What’s the harm in a fleeting crush, then? Especially if it gives you the push to finally finish one of the many projects hanging on your ever-growing list?

You suppose you might see them arround the office if they’re working in this jurisdiction, but then he’ll be gone and it’ll fade away. In the meantime, you make yourself a plate of food and settle down in your living room with the book and lexicon.

||||

“Well, that certainly poses an interesting problem,” you hear Cheif Saunders say as you walk into the police department the next morning, arms full of files ready for sorting.

You round the corner to escape this attention but aren’t fast enough and he calls you over by name. Cringing, you turn on your heel and are faced, once again, with Gideon and Spencer. With them are two more men and two girls, all intimidating and confident.

All FBI, if you had to wager a bet.

“Morning,” you say, nodding to Gideon and Spencer respectively. “Nice to see you two again.”

“You’ve met?” The tall man next to Gideon asks, pointing the question to Spencer. He grins, white teeth overtaking his dark, handsome face. He reaches his hand out to shake yours, “Morgan, nice to meet you.”

You introduce yourself, explain your position, and receive introductions from JJ, Elle, and Hotchner as well.

“Where did you meet our friends?” Chief Saunders asks, folding his hands in front of him and setting an accusatory glare on you. “Still preening for a new job?”

“No sir,” you say, uncomfortable. The chief is often cold with you, refusing to acknowledge your knowledge or work. When he found that you were looking to transfer stations to the one a district over, he’d still thrown a fit, though. You guess he can’t ignore how well your numbers reflect on him as easily as he deflects your accomplishments to your face.

“We stopped by to get access to her cameras, she lives across the street from the Furgison’s,” Gideon explains, watchful eyes glancing between you and the chief.

“They proved to be surprisingly useful,” Spencer interrupts. “We now know the make, model, and color of the unsubs car as well as his general height. Garcia is still trying to make out plates, but we are able to confirm at least pieces of our profile with the information.”

“You live across the street?” The chief asks, still staring at you. You shift your weight, holding the files closer to your chest.

“Yes, sir. In a duplex.”

“Then, fellas, I’ve found the solution to our problem. You’ll set up with our little liaison, then.”

“Sorry?” You ask, startled.

“We have reason to believe that the unsub is returning to the crime scenes after the police have left the area and allowed the family to return. But, if we know our guy, and we think we do,” Elle says, begrudingly, “he’s smart. He’s going to notice if we’re camped out in a car. And, in a residential street, it’s much harder to hide in a building.”

“So, you’ll have the opportunity to make yourself useful,” Chief Saunders chuckles, laying a heavy hand on your shoulder and shaking you.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Gideon adds, glancing at you with a patient expression.

“Yes, it would be a complete invasion of your privacy, agents would be there twenty-four-seven monitoring. We would only stay in the front areas of the house, of course, but you needn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. There are always other ways.” Agent Hotchner fixes you with a level look, voice sincere.

“Oh, she’s comfortable, aren’t ya?” The chief says, shaking you again with a wide smile.

“Yes, of course,” you say, nodding at the others. You mean it, you’ll do whatever you can to help out, you just wish you could’ve made the choice yourself.

“This way, you don’t have to worry about confidentiality, either. Little Miss has full access to ongoing investigations, she’ll be there for all of the briefings and such.”

You nod, discretely moving a step back so his hand falls from your shoulder.

“Yes, I’m meant to be kept up to date with all ongoing, violent investigations where and if possible to act as a bridge between law enforcement and victims and families of victims. Especially those with children involved — I should have mentioned we would cross paths again last night, I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, we’ve worked with our fair share of liaisons,” Gideon chuckles, looking over his shoulder at JJ who gives him a small smile.

“Then it’s all set. You boys let me know when you have your profile ready.” Elle watches him walk off with a hard stare, obviously just as rubbed wrong by him as you are.

“Lovely man, isn’t he?” You joke, trying to make the situation lighthearted.

“We’ve interacted before. Our headquarters isn’t actually far from here, just a twenty-minute drive, we’re up in Quantico. He doesn’t get any better with time, though.” Agent Hotchner shakes his head, turning to grab a file off of the desk behind him.

“Well, he always forgets to offer his office space to visitors so I usually keep mine available. It’s quieter and there’s a whiteboard, follow me.”

||||

Since you started renting the small duplex by yourself, you’ve never felt awkward in your own home. Now, though, you feel odd taking up your own space.

The majority of the Quantico team is set up in your front room with laptops, cameras, and microphones.

“We don’t know exactly how long he usually takes to come back to scenes, only that it typically happens within the week,” Elle explains to you apologetically.

“No problem — comes with the job, no?” You say, smiling and trying to brush it off. Elle laughs gently, nose wrinkling as she shakes her head.

“No, not really. I wouldn’t be thrilled if these boys set up shop in my house, you’re taking this with much more grace than I would.”

You shrug, crossing your arms and tilting your head from side to side. “I won’t act like it’s normal, it is pretty weird having you guys here, but if it helps you catch this guy, why would I say no? Better me than some random civilian.” You hesitate, scrunching up your nose, “Better now than waiting for him to kill someone else.”

“Much more compassionate than I am,” Elle jokes, shaking her head and walking away as Gideon calls her name.

The main problem, you think, is that the duplex isn’t very big. The part of the team that’ll be staying with you — Spencer, Gideon, Elle, and Morgan — have all settled in. They won’t come and go, their car is firmly parked in your garage, and they’ll keep a low profile to prevent the unsub from noticing their presence. You’re meant to come and go as normal to keep suspicion low in case he’s cased the entire neighborhood. But, with only two bedrooms, a baths, and a small office, you’re feeling slightly cramped. Whenever you turn, you feel like you’re coming toe-to-toe with someone. It’s awkward, considering you’re very used to living alone.

Still, you’re determined to be a good host, so you set to preparing lunch for everyone. They’d insisted that you didn’t need to, but you really don’t know what else to do. You’d been given the day to help them all settle in and provide assistance wherever possible, but there isn’t much to do other than wait.

You’re pulling out the things for sandwiches when Spencer walks in.

“Hey, do you have an extra ethernet cable? Garcia thinks that a direct line would be better,” he asks.

“Maybe, you’re free to check in the office if you want. If you need, you can always pull the one from my desktop,” you say, shutting the fridge and trying to balance everything in your arms in one trip.

“What’re you doing?” Spencer asks, reaching forward to grab the ham and mayo from the top of your stack.

“Making sandwiches!”

“You really don’t have to. We can have food ordered, it’s okay.”

“I wanna make myself useful, I feel weird just standing around watching you guys work,” you say, dumping the materials on the counter. “I hope you guys like ham or turkey, it’s all I have.”

“You are being useful, though. You’ve let us set up in your home, how much more useful can you be?”

“I could provide food as well,” you say, sending him a smile. “Ham or turkey?”

Spencer looks exasperated, setting the ham and mayo down and shaking his head. Nervously, he uses both of his hands to push his hair back. “Either. Either is fine, thank you.”

You start to prepare the sandwiches, Spencer watching and still looking like he wants to say something.

“Hey, Reid, I found one, we’re all set,” Morgan says, rounding the corner and waving the white chord in the air. “Oh, what’re you making?” He asks, stepping closer and leaning over your shoulder.

“Sandwiches. I was asking Spence if you guys like ham and turkey but he wasn’t being helpful.”

“Well, Spence can be like that,” Morgan says, throwing Spencer a smirk over his shoulder. “But we’d appreciate anything.” “I was trying to tell her,” Spencer interrupts, “that it’s entirely unnecessary for her to make us lunch. She’s already done enough for us letting us set up here. The effort is appreciated, of course, obviously, you just shouldn’t have to. Because we’re already intruding.” He trails off as Morgan sends him a look, raising his eyebrow.

“Well, I, for one, appreciate the offer,” Morgan says, leaning on the counter and smiling down at you. You laugh at him.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it! I do,” he says, turning to you and holding one of his hands up in a placating way, “I just don’t think, it’s very kind of course, I just –”

You cut him off, taking pity, “He’s fucking with you. Relax.”

||||

“I just can’t believe that you’re actually processing any of what you’re reading at that speed!” You say, throwing your arms up.

“I actually am. Speed reading, when done right, doesn’t take away from comprehension at all. Plus, with my eidetic memory, I can always think back and process later if I need to,” Spencer explains.

“Fine, you’re understanding what you’re reading in a general sense, but where’s the enjoyment in it? How can you possibly understand all the intricacies of the writing, what the author is doing, and appreciate the characters and their growth if you don’t take your time with it?” “I tend to focus my reading moreso on informational writing, so that’s not often a problem. And when I do read something fictional or with more nuance, I’m never lacking in any way when it comes to my understanding of the content, even when speed reading.”

“So you’re not actually taking the time to have fun reading is what I’m hearing.”

“Reading is inherently fun when you’re learning something, though,” he says, lips quirked in a slight smirk and a line forming between his eyebrows as he looks down at you. The look is so disarming that you find yourself deflating a little.

You’re in your living room, a few books scattered on the coffee table between you two, debating the merits of each one.

“I dunno,” you say, argument leaving you as you become distracted.

“Just say I’m right! You know I am,” Spencer says with a chuckle, shaking his head and leaning toward you slightly, hands spread.

You thought he was cute when he was shy, bumbling in your house yesterday, but after a few hours to warm up to each other, you can’t deny you really like him.

The only thing that completely blocks the disappointment that they’ll all soon be leaving is that their UnSub will be caught when they have to leave. Your community and neighborhood will be better off for it.

“No, I still think you’re wrong. Sure, you understand what you’re reading but I just don’t buy that you could possibly enjoy it in the same way that I am!” You’re trying your damndest to regain your confidence, shaking your head side-to-side with a wide smile to erase the vision of his own smirk, his hands, his rolled up sleeves from your mind. “I mean, nothing beats curling up with a book and taking your time with it.” “Well,” Spencer interrupts, lifting a finger, “how can you say if you’ve never tried my way?”

“Speed reading? I’ve done it, actually.” You shrug at his hesitating look, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of his eyes.

“Really? What method? What was your fastest time? What —” Morgan cuts off his questioning by walking in and calling for him.

“Gideon wants you to take a look at something.” “Ah. Breaks over.” Spencer stands from where he was sitting on your armchair, brushing his hands off on his pants. He points at you while he walks away, “We’re not finished, though!”

“Oh?” Morgan asks when he’s gone, raising his eyebrows at you. “Unfinished business?” You scoff, moving to pick up the books you pulled out to talk to Spencer about.

You like Morgan. He’s an easy one to like and he feels like the bigger brother you don’t have with his easy smiles. The chaos in your house hasn’t been easy, you appreciate his consistent presence to lighten the atmosphere.

You’ve actually come to like all of them. Elle with her stories, Gideon with his dry smiles, and Spencer. Really, you just like Spencer. You’re an adult, you’re not ashamed to admit it. Just, only to yourself, lest you mess something up and make him uncomfortable.

“You know, I can’t really say I haven’t seen him this excited before because the kid gets excited about everything but,” Morgan shrugs, pushing himself off of the wall he’s been leaning on and coming to sit next to you, “you do seem to get along well.”

“Oh, yeah, Spencer’s nice,” you say, standing to put the books away.

“Nice,” Morgan muses, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms.

“He is! You all are.” You laugh when Morgan raises his eyebrows again. “I’m being serious, I would kill to work on a team like yours. You all actually work together.”

“We have to.”

“It certainly works out better when you do.”

“Yeah, your boss is a real dick. He usually walk all over you like that?” You wrinkle your nose at him as you sit down, pulling your legs under you. “More or less I guess. My personal opinion is that he’d like more men on the team and … no women,” you joke, giving him a what can you do? look, smiling sadly.

“And you tried to transfer?”

“Stop profiling me,” you say, eyes narrowing. Morgan smiles, all teeth.

“Not profiling, just remembering him saying something like that when we talked at the station.”

“Oh,” you say, slouching back. “That’s considerably less impressive.” “Ouch.”

“Yeah, yeah, I wound you. But I did look into transferring a while back. I’ve been trying to move up for a while and keep getting blocked. But, no surprise, I got blocked again.” You raise an imaginary glass, cheers-ing with the air, “Go government!”

“That’s fucked,” Morgan says, letting out a low whistle. “So you don’t want to stay a victims liasion?”

“No, I do. But it’s not my only job right now. It’s a little complicated, but our office is too small to have a head liaison. So I really just run around filling gaps wherever I can until I’m needed to do my actual job. I’d love to do just liaison work, I really like working with the public. Feels like I’m actually helping people, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” “Hey,” you say suddenly, not wanting to keep the mood somber (or ignore the FBI agent in your house with your silly woes while a murder investigation is underway), “you want some tea? Coffee?”

“Sure doll, I’ll take some coffee,” Morgan says, a confused smile taking over his face, “if you’re offering.”

||||

“It’s actually pretty interesting,” Spencer is saying, flipping through files and leaning over to show Elle something.

“Oh, I bet. Nothing better than vicious murder,” you say, dry, rolling a pen between your fingers.

“I mean the process behind deciphering their reasoning,” Spencer says, shrugging.

“I just don’t know how you look past it to see anything other than the violence,” you say, shuddering.

He and Elle have taken the night shift and are giving you a rundown on profiling. You’ve worked with profilers before, but they’re small-town cops, more interested in closing cases than being scientific, or, at times, even correct.

“How do you look past a crying mother after her daughter has been murdered to get the information you need?” Elle asks. “I’ve worked with hundreds of victims, I think I’m pretty good at it, but your records show that you’re one of the best.”

You heat at the praise, shrugging your shoulders. “I wouldn’t say I look past them. I actually try to get into their shoes to figure out what I can say to get through to them.”

“Often the victims families know more than they think. Every bit of information they can give us or the police about the victim only lead us closer to the unsub. We often rely on your job to get important information out of victims and families that we wouldn’t otherwise have. It requires tact, empathy, and extreme emotional control,” Spencer explains, setting the file down and brushing his hair back.

“Well, thank you?”

“I think he’s trying to say what we do is similar,” Elle explains, “it’s just the opposite side of it.”

“I’m still not following — but I’m definitely not built to be a profiler, that’s for sure.”

“But you could be. You profile in your own way. We look at the bad guys, the killing patterns, stuff like that,” Spencer leans forward, enthusiastic. “You just profile less intense people. Gather information from them, figure out what they need. Get in their shoes, to use your words. You use their actions, small phrases, and what you can gather from their homes to approach them the best way, no?”

“Looking at their clothes and body language and stuff, sure.”

“We do exactly that with crime scenes. Recognize patterns. Just like you can’t imagine seeing past the violence, some of us can’t imaigne having to see past the emotion of someone dealing with fresh loss.” Elle smiles. “You’d probably make a really good profiler. You’re just a better victims advocate.”

You consider that, weighing their words. “Sure, maybe,” you admit. “I still think it’s kinda like magic, though. Your knowledge, your intuition, your teamwork. It’s cool.”

“Thank you,” Elle says kindly.

Spencer jumps back into his explanation of the types of murder-kidnappers, musing with Elle again about their profile. Their ability to constantly return to the same evidence over and over without any hesitation is still amazing to you. Despite what Elle said, you’re sure you’d get bored.

You’re even more sure that it would stick to you in a way that working with the victims never did. You visit crime scenes, sure, but you never do everything in your power to commit every bit of them to memory.

As they talk, you move toward the window and move the curtains over slightly. It’s the middle of the night, the second the team has spent in your home, and you’re curious how much longer this unsub will take to be caught.

You’ve done your best to keep to your usual schedule and luckily it’s not unusual for you to be up late. The movement behind the curtains won’t be suspicious, so you stand and peek out curiously at the home across the street.

Penny sighs from her bed in the living room, snoring softly. She’s taken a liking to your guests who are always willing to give her attention and scraps of food.

The Furgison house bigger than yours, a family home with a large backyard. It’s a faded blue, lightened by the sun, with a white door. Theres a dim porch light that’s been left on, throwing yellow shaddows across the street.

You swear you see a curtain move in the window and your entire body freezes, breath stolen from your lungs.

“Hey guys?” You say, dead quiet, as you see the curtains flutter again. Small, nearly inperceptable movement. Greys and blacks angainst more greys and blacks.

“Yeah?” Elle asks, still reading over the file with Spencer.

“You’re sure that nobodys gone in tonight?”

“Certain,” Elle says, moving quickly to stand next to you. “Why?”

“Curtains moved,” you say, nodding toward the house.

“Maybe the AC was left on?” Elle suggests and you shake your head.

“No, we would’ve noticed it before now. They have no animals, the house should be empty.”

Your heart is racing as Spencer joins you at the window.

“You sure you saw it move?” He asks, moving to stand behind you, just out of sight at the window, a hand pressed to your back. Gentle pressure, just his fingertips, that makes you siffen even more. He moves his hand, whispering an apology.

You wish he hadn’t.

Your mind spins, distracted for a moment, shaking your head again.

“Yes, I’m certain.”

“Go get Morgan and Gideon,” Spencer tells you, sharing a look with Elle.

||||

You follow the team out, despite their insistence that you don’t have to, holding your own handgun out and following the light Morgan casts.

You live in a relatively sleepy neighborhood. Shared duplexes and little houses line the streets, most with little flowerbeds out front. The Furgison house is no exception: it’s a little blue house with rose bushes out front. It backs the small patch of wood that runs along the length of the highway.

Heart racing and head light from adrenaline, you stay out front to watch for any movement inside while Morgan and Hotch creep around one side of the house, Spencer and Elle take the other side.

“Back here,” you faintly hear Morgan say through your earpiece. “The cellar door is open. It was deadlocked last time.”

You sitffen, readjusting your grip on your gun.

“Wasn’t it cleared, though, when we were here last?” Elle asks.

“Yeah, but he could’ve snuck in through the woods — there’s no telling.”

“Didn’t we position police cars on the highway?” Elle again. You can imagine them all standing behind the house, guns drawn. It’s intersting to hear them communicate so efficiently, voices low.

“We’ll worry about it later. Morgan, you take the lead, I’ll take the rear, Elle stay out here.”

For a long few seconds, you hear Morgan, Spencer, and Hotch begin to clear the basement, until you’re jolted out of the repetitive “clear!”s by Hotch yelling, “FBI, put your hands up!”

The next few minutes turn into a whirlwind as police cars arrive and Morgan drags the UnSub out of the house by his handcuffed arms.

The Furgison boy comes out next, disheveled and passed to the paramedics in the back of an ambulance. Once you see Hotch, Spencer, and Elle are okay as well, you jump into action, going to sit with the boy and comfort him. Morgan is there, too, crouched down to talk to the kid.

“You’re all good now,” he’s saying, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. “And my friend here is going to make sure that you see your dad as soon as possible.” Morgan gestures to you and you nod at the little boy.

The sight of him makes your chest ache: he’s scrawny with wide brown eyes and a mop of curls on the top of his head.

“Agent Morgan is right, your dad is going to meet us at the hospital.”

The boy doesn’t say anything, shaking under his emergency blanket.

“I’ll ride with you in the ambulance, too, and that’ll be fun, right?” You ask, jumping up to sit next to him. Slowly and sluggish the boy rests his head on your shoulder, still shivering. You wrap an arm around him before mouthing ‘I’ve got him’ to Morgan. He gives you a small sile, waves at the boy, and goes to join his team.

After being checked over again by the paramedics, the boy falls asleep quickly in the hospital, holding his dads hand. You’re leaving the room, shutting the door with a soft click, when you see Spencer sitting in the hallway.

“How is he?” Spencer asks, standing up at the sight of you.

“He’s okay, some minor bruises and scrapes, dehydrated but on an IV. They’re just happy to be back together.”

“That’s good,” Spencer says, falling quiet and looking away.

“And, hey, you guys caught the bad guy — now you all get to go home!”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, turning to look at you again, chuckling slightly without any heart behind it.

“Are you not excited?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s always nice coming back home after a trip, even one as close to home as this one is. But it’s a little bittersweet.”

“How so?”

You practically see Spencer gathering his courage, straightening his shoulders and sending you a small but genuine smile.

“Well, we have some unfinished business, remember? And you never showed me your lexicon.”

“Well,” you say, smiling, “you’ll just have to keep in touch, then. Maybe we can get dinner?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course. Dinner.” Spencer is fully grinning now, eyes squinting with the force of it. You can’t help but mirror him, laughing a little. “Well, I do have a car to catch. I just wanted to check on him and say goodbye.”

“Well, goodbye for now Dr. Reid.”

“Goodbye,” he says, smiling at you for a second longer before turning to walk to the exit. He makes it to the doors before he hesitates, one hand on the handle. He stands there, still, for a moment before turning around and asking, “Dinner, like a date, right?”

Giddy, your smile only widens as you nod. “I would really like that, if you’re asking, yeah.”

“I’m asking.”

“Okay, then it’s a date.”

i wanted more to happen here but then i got this far and still had so much more i could write about these two aahhh

lmk if u want a pt 2 bc i kind of have ideas :) tysm for reading!!

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cerisereids · 3 days

Text

𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗼𝘀- 𝘀.𝗿. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟮]

pairing- spencer reid x fem!reader

w.c.- 8.5k (wtf)

summary- it's been months since you've seen spencer reid. you miss him more than anything, but your friend convinces you it's better if you move on. what happens when he bumps into your new fling at the library?

warnings- sfw but making out at the end, reader is referred to as a woman, emily meddles in spencer's love life lol, angst to fluff, happy ending, not rly proofread im sorry yall i tried my hardest, reader is a little bit messy but she doesn't mean it, last part of this series! part 1 found here

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You ready, Pretty Boy?” Derek claps a hand on Spencer’s back as he assembles his desk for the weekend.

Spencer shudders at the nickname, like there’s a bug crawling up his spine. He can tell just from Derek’s debonair tone what tonight is going to look like, and he wants no part of it.

“For what? To watch you get phone numbers from every girl you meet?” Spencer teases, doing his best to deflect as he reluctantly stands to leave his desk with Derek.

“Maybe,” Derek shoots him a smile and wraps an arm around his shoulders, “but it’s also time for a special someone to finally follow in my footsteps,” he pinches Spencer’s cheek and he playfully pushes him off.

“Ooh! Are you guys getting drinks?” Spencer turns to see Emily and Penelope coming up from behind him.

“Yeah,” Derek responds, “trying to see if Mr. Grumpy over here can lighten up a little bit,” he shakes Spencer’s shoulders, and he unsuccessfully fights an eyeroll.

“Haven’t been grumpy,” Spencer mumbles, completely proving their point.

“Yeah guys, he hasn’t been grumpy at all!” Emily starts, and Spencer can tell from the theatrics in her tone that the other shoe has not yet dropped, “we all spend our free time moping at our desk after work, looking through old case files that we’ve already solved.” And there it is.

“You know, you guys are this close to becoming a trio for the night,” Spencer holds his index finger and thumb mere millimeters apart, and his comment earns a chuckle from the group.

“Hey now,” Emily gives his shoulder a playful knock, “we tease you because we love you!”

“Well, regardless of Reid’s attitude, we are so in!” Penelope chirps, nudging herself in between Spencer and Derek so she can link arms with both men, and it does make Spencer smile.

Spencer uses their newfound company as an excuse to keep to himself, at least on the way there. He knows Derek won’t let it go when they get to the bar, but for now, he allows his mind to drift. Emily was right, to his everlasting dismay. It’s true that he’s been grumpier in the past few months than normal. He sequesters himself away in conference rooms of local police departments, and he spends hours upon hours going over case files and documents until his eyes go cross. He plays solitaire on the jet home, tucked into a corner, not to be disturbed. He mopes on nights like these, nights where Derek tries to inspire him out of his comfort zone.

It’s all because of one stupid day on the job. One singular day in Massachusetts has turned his life more upside down than seven years in Quantico. It’s torturous, the way you flood his mind, his senses at any waking moment. The way you looked at him, your eyes piercing straight through him, is forever seared into his brain. He doesn’t need an eidetic memory for that. It’s been years since he’s truly felt someone understand him for who he is, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for letting you go.

Spencer is rudely thrust back into reality by the ding of the bell above him and the incessant chatter of a crowded bar on a Friday night. They’ve made it, and now Spencer has to put on an Academy Award worthy performance so he doesn’t get lectured by his coworkers. Damn profilers.

“Now, you kids have fun,” Derek says, the glint in his eyes suggesting he’s already spotted a lady across the bar, “I will be over there, working my magic,” he swiftly points to the direction of the bar, the girl perched on a stool with a friend, “unless you wanna come with, Pretty Boy,” he adds with a knowing smiley.

He claps Spencer on the back again as he shakes his head no, “here, have this to loosen yourself up a bit, then come find me in 20 minutes,” he hands him a beer and moves toward his target.

Spencer fiddles with the glass bottle, feeling the eyes of Emily and Penelope burning holes right through him. He raises his brows, eyes glancing up for the briefest moment, and he knows it was a mistake the second he catches their accusatory glares. There will be no getting out of this one, he’s afraid, especially with Morgan gone.

“So, do you wanna tell me what happened with Pretty Library Girl? Or do you want to continue to avoid the entire team every chance you get?” Spencer’s head snaps to Emily, his stomach dropping at the mere mention of her, eyes wide and wild.

“Pretty Library Girl?!” Penelope squeals, and Spencers takes a big swig of beer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputters, a tiny drop of beer spilling over his lip.

“Who is she and why haven’t you told me anything about her?” Penelope sounds offended, like he’s done her wrong by not engaging with her in every detail of his life. It is Penelope afterall, though, so maybe he has.

“It’s nothing, it’s not important! Emily’s just being mean,” he feels himself going red as he takes another sip. The cold of the glass bottle against his lips makes him long for three months prior, when he had you in his arms and his mouth pressed against your temple. The alcohol infiltrating his brain encourages further thought of how sweet your lips would taste, how warm and soft they’d be compared to the icy feeling of the glass rim.

“I am not being mean, you baby!” Emily teases, and he shoves an onion ring in his mouth, “remember that one case we worked on about a few months ago? With that one east coast diplomat who was kidnapped?” Penelope nods so Emily continues, and Spencer feels the warmth in his cheeks spread to his ears.

“Well, Spencer here really hit it off with the librarian who called in that he was missing. We were sent to spend the day at the library to keep her safe, he was nearly starstruck at the mere sight of her,” Penelope’s jaw hit the floor at this information, as did Spencer’s, but Emily kept going before either of them could react.

“To be honest, though,” Emily added, “I think she was starstruck at the sight of you, too, if her reaction to your handshake was anything to go off of.”

Penelope immediately burst into happy squeals and claps at this revelation, and Spencer put his face in his hands.

“So that’s why you’ve been such a sourpuss? A girl? Oh Spencer, this is so exciting!” Penelope squeals as she shakes his bicep back and forth, her nails lightly digging in the skin there.

“No, it’s not!” he finally exclaims, “I didn’t get her number. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in three months and I feel like I’m going crazy!”

A weight was lifted off his chest at the confession, but it only made more room for the longing piercing through his heart. He took another sip of beer.

“Ahhh…” Penelope drawls, “so that’s why we’re grumpy. You know, you could just tell me her name and I’ll find her for you in two seconds flat,” she punctuates her remark with the snap of a finger.

“No…no, I don’t want you to do that. I screwed up by not going for it. If I’m going to contact her, I should at least be honest about it,” he rests his forehead in his large palm, another sip.

“Well, it’s never too late, you know,” Emily remarks, “I thought she was good for you.”

“Yeah, me too,” he mutters, chin in his palm.

Spencer’s on his fifth beer when Derek comes back to the table, this time with a woman on each arm.

“Spencer…” he drags out, introducing him to the one on the left, closest to him, “meet Callie. I was chatting with her and her friend over at the bar and I think you’d really hit it off.”

His tone is light, but his eyes are saying if you fumble one more time, I’m gonna kill you. Looks like he’s a dead man, because he’s quick to tell the girl he’s not interested. He’s never disrespectful, always straightforward. He doesn’t have time for games, unless, apparently, it’s his own heart he’s interested in playing with.

“Excuse us just one second, ladies,” Derek escorts Spencer out the doors of the bar, out to where it’s more quiet.

“What the hell is goin’ on, man?” Derek nearly interrogates, “that’s the fifth girl in the past month I’ve introduced you to that you’ve rejected. Something has been up for a while and I want answers, kid. I’m just trying to help,” his eyes soften with that last bit, but Spencer is now too tipsy to respond similarly.

“That’s just it, Morgan. I don’t need your help, I’m fine. Nothing is going on, all these outings are pointless, and you should’ve just let me go home,” Spencer turns to leave, the alcohol flooding his senses, dizzying him as he whips around. He stops for a moment to regain his balance, and he hears Derek chuckle behind him, which only makes him even more annoyed with himself.

“Come on, what’s going on, man?” Derek asks gently as he turns Spencer around by his shoulders, steadying once he’s faced him again.

He sighs, accepting defeat. Every single emotion he’s held in over the past three months is released with that sigh, and he nearly crumbles when he croaks out, “I miss her.”

“Who, man?” confusion laces through Derek’s tone, and Spencer folds himself in half before he can answer.

“The-ugh! Pretty Library Girl!” he exclaims finally, words slurring together ever so slightly, “and she’s not just pretty, either. She’s the most beautifullest girl I’ve ever met, Derek,” his voice comes out in a whisper, and he felt the gravity of saying those words out loud, there was no going back now, “didn’t get her phone number, it was the biggest mistake of my life, Derek! I don’t care about any of these other girls you’ve introduced me to because none of them are her! And now I’ll never see her again!” he buries his face in his hands at the end of his rant.

He's only vaguely aware of how dramatic he is in his drunkenness, holding in emotions for so long will do that to you. He’s thanking his lucky stars that Penelope and Emily exit the building the moment he says it. They can fill Derek in on the blanks on the walk home. He won’t be able to without bursting into tears.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A wine glass balances delicately between your fingertips as you decide which clothes you want to take with you on the move, and which clothes you’ll be donating to your local GoodWill.

“So, Hot FBI Guy will be living close by, right?” the crackled voice of your best friend, Mary, echoes from your computer, and you take another sip of wine at the mere mention of him.

“All I know is that he works in Quantico. I have no idea where he lives,” you try and keep the conversation about Spencer as neutral as possible, the ache of his departure still stinging like it happened yesterday.

“Well, I’m just saying that if he works near D.C. then he’s local. Just. Saying.” she drags out, innocently holding her hands up like she’s being interrogated. Ironic.

“What does that have to even do with anything?” you know you’re being dense, but you haven’t yet been able to confront what you’ve lost quite yet. That connection, albeit in its infancy, was a million times more powerful than anything you’ve felt with your past relationships. You long so desperately to know what you and Spencer could have been, and it gnaws at your stomach like a parasite.

“You know what it has to do with! If he was as into you as you told me he was, then I can guarantee you he’d jump at the chance to reconnect,” you wish you feel as confident as your best friend sounds.

Still, excitement sparks in your belly at the thought of being so close to him. When Mary came to you a few weeks ago with a job opportunity at the National Museum of American History Library in D.C., you lept at the opportunity. Mr. Anderson had decided to retire shortly after the incident that brought Spencer to you. You can’t necessarily blame him, and you’re elated about the new prospect.

Whether your enthusiasm had to do with the job itself or the brunette agent that would be nearby is anybody’s guess. In the months since you’ve seen him, your memories with him have morphed into something dream-like, something you’ve disconnected from your reality. It’s the only way you’ve been able to continue without him. Reality is becoming harder to ignore, though, the more you put items in boxes and clothing in suitcases. You’re flying to D.C. in a few days to begin the move-in process, and that’s what this video call was supposed to be about. Key word: supposed.

“I don’t know,” you take another big gulp, the acidity tickling your throat, “what if this silence is an answer? If he wanted to, he would, y’know?”

“Ugh! Fine! I guess that’s fair, if you want to be stubborn,” your best friend groans, and you smile at her theatrics, “so, how about I set you up with someone when you get over here? There’s a really cute guy that works at the local university, his name is Brad. He comes and works with us every now and then. Maybe when you get here I can introduce you guys.”

“Ugh, Brad?” you spit out. The name tastes acrid on your tongue, like you can feel notes of the red flags already forming on your palette.

“Don’t be so quick to judge!” Mary sputters, “you are the one who refuses to find Hot FBI Guy, so as your best friend, I’ve appointed myself to solve this problem for you.”

“Y’know, I never asked you to do that,” you joke as you finish the last drop in your glass, a pleasant buzz overtaking your senses.

“I know, that’s why you love me!” she chirps, finishing her own wine, “I’ll text you his number, okay? I gotta get going, we both have a busy next few days. I’ll come get you from the airport when you land here, though, okay? Fly safe!”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Spencer’s long, deft fingers pad against the spines of books, some dating all the way back to the 1600s, some that must have been published within a year. He can tell by the condition of the spine itself. He hums to himself quietly, until the dull thud of books hitting against carpet takes him away from himself, his mind. He has to blink twice when he turns around, to make sure he’s not seeing things. It’s you. It’s you, and you’re flustered. You saw him first, he can tell by the way you scramble to pick up the books, avoiding eye contact while you shove them haphazardly back onto the metal cart you’re pushing. Melvil Dewey would turn over in his grave at the sight.

“Let me help you,” Spencer starts gently, so ask not to spook you even more. He kneels slightly, his large hands picking up twice as many books as you were able to. His chest puffs just slightly at the way your eyes linger on them, your gaze following the way the veins in his hands stretch to accommodate the thick text in his hands. He folds back into himself, though, when your eyes meet. Those eyes. Those eyes he’s dreamed about night after night for four months, now inches away from him, staring right into his soul.

“Hi,” is the only thing he can say. It comes out breathy, like a secret.

“Hi,” your voice is shaky, so is your breath as you stand to adjust the books, now lying disorganized across the top of the cart.

“Stop-” your hand shoots out to cover his, and you both make immediate eye contacts at the action. Yours are wide and big, brows furrowed in regret. It makes his stomach drop and he tears his eyes away from yours, stepping back from the cart.

“Spencer-” you start again, but he can take a hint.

“No-no, don’t bother,” he smiles sheepishly as he backs away, “I get it, I’m sorry if I overstepped. It’s good to see you again, you look good,” he can’t help but dote, even if it’s obvious you don’t want to see him.

He supposes he’s ruined things by not taking initiative the first time, has already accepted that life doesn’t hand out second chances. That’s why it’s not too difficult for him to start to walk away, even though his brain screeches at him to turn around with each step.

“Spencer-wait!” he hears you call after him, and he believes in a god for the briefest moment.

“I’m sorry,” you gush, “I just-I wasn’t expecting to see you, which I guess is silly considering that we’re both here now, an-and you surprised me and then I dropped all of this…” you trail off, gesturing down to the mess you both created, but before you could continue, Spencer registered your words.

“Wait-” his head snaps up, eyes locking with yours, brows furrowed in confusion, “what do you mean ‘that we’re both here now’? How long have you been here?”

Your face goes white, and his heart falls into his stomach.

“About a month,” you mutter quietly, and Spencer positively aches. One month of you being within 50 miles of him, and he didn’t even know. “I’m sorry, Spencer,” you nearly plead with him, and he wants to take your hands in his and kiss all over them so you know you don’t ever have to plead, not when it comes to him.

“I just didn’t know how to go about this, it’s not like we were really dating or anything…” you trail off, both of you seemingly struck by the verbal acknowledgement of a relationship, or whatever was going on between you two in Massachusetts. It hangs heavily between the two of you, absorbing all his brain power until an idyllic, domestic life with you is the only thought his big brain can create.

“Maybe we can start slow. Friendly,” he suggests. You’re reserved, not telling him something, so even though it physically aches to stay still, to not pull you in his arms and kiss every bit of skin he can find, he’d rather take this slow. He'd rather have you as only a friend than not at all. He did that already, and he never wants to again.

“Yeah,” your eyes sparkle, and he can see the rest of his life in them, “friends.” Your smile at this moment is worth any heartache he’d ever have to go through.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You know, that’s the fourth book you’ve checked out on American sewing patterns in the 1940s this week,” you smile when you hear your coworker’s voice float over from the checkout desk.

Spencer’s here.

“I got him,” you say once you’ve jogged into the front room, “don’t even worry about it,” you shoo your coworker who rolls her eyes, knowing full well you’re not alleviating her from a customer.

“Neither of you are slick, you know,” your coworker jokes in a quiet tone that only you can hear, and you blush furiously at her insinuation.

“Doing some light reading over the weekend, Doc?” you smirk as the scanner beeps, a red light flashing over the barcode of his book. He smiles and looks down, a slight pink tint dusting his cheeks at the title.

“Not really, actually. We’re working on a case with an unsub who’s very well versed in sewing patterns,” he chews around the words, a cinnamon sugar donut resting in his left hand.

“I see,” you respond, bagging his book, “and you’ve been assigned to do all the research on the symbolism of sewing patterns?” you raise your brows teasingly, and it earns you a million dollar Spencer Reid smile.

“You know it,” he chuckles a little as his cheeks redden, you’ll never get tired of seeing him blush.

“Well…maybe I can help you?” you offer shyly, “y’know, my mom was a professional seamstress back in the day. Taught me everything she knows. I’m no FBI profiler, but I might be able to help,” you shrug, and now it’s your turn for your cheeks to heat up. With the intensity with which he was looking at you, you were surprised you didn’t burst into flames on the spot.

“Realy? You never told me that,” Spencer whines accusatively.

“Well, we’ve only been friends again for three weeks. Sorry we haven’t yet gotten into our parents’ lore yet,” you joke, and you can just barely make out a shift in his eyes, like the acknowledgement of your current predicament pains him, “my shift’s done in about 15 minutes,” you soldier on, “let me finish up everything I need to do and I’ll meet you over there,” you nod towards one of the comfortable study couches in your library, complete with tables, cupholders, and outlets.

When you found him there a mere 20 minutes later, you could have melted. Glasses you’ve never seen before perch on his nose. Your heart swells, a symphony of angels could come down and sing at any moment at the mere sight of the wiry frames resting on his nose. There’s an extra pep in your step as you approach him, and his eyes light up once he sees you’ve arrived.

“Hey!” he chimes, happy as a clam, “you ready to study up on the importance of sewing during the second World War?” he punctuates his question with the slam of a thick textbook on the table, and you lean back slightly so as to avoid the dust emanating from it.

“Oof! Sorry!” he coughs, waving his hand in a weak attempt to dissipate the dust. It just makes you giggle, which in turn earns you yet another smile. You two stay like that for a moment, lost in time, lost in each other. Your head and ears become fuzzy, the pounding of your heart soon becoming the only thing you can hear. You rest your chin in your palm, and you won’t be surprised if cartoon hearts start beating out of your eyes while you listen to him spew out sewing information.

You pretend to listen as your eyes trail down his face, from his hairline, down to the slope of his nose, to his full, pink lips. There’s remnants of sugar dusting his lips from the donut he had earlier, and you allow yourself one brief moment to wonder what it’d taste like. If he’d let you run your tongue over his bottom lip and find out. The mere thought makes you shudder, and you adjust in your seat. You throw your right leg over your left in a way that allows the sundress you wore today to cling to every curve and dip of your body, something Spencer notices. You see him adjust, moving the arm closest to you to rest on the table. He feels it too. He wouldn’t be shielding himself if he didn’t.

“Sooo…” he trails off, cheeks reddening once more. You’ll never get tired of it. “How much do you know about sewing? Or was this all a ruse to spend some one on one time with me?” he raises his eyebrows accusatively at you, and it loosens the tension in your shoulders, a laugh bursting from your throat.

“There it is,” he mutters softly, seemingly to himself.

His chin is also resting in his palm now, and it’s brought you closer together. His nose is just inches from yours, your legs entangling with each other under the table. You see his eyes go down, down. You feel them scan over your body, studying the flowing linen of your floral print clad frame. You see his eyes linger on your chest for a brief moment, his own breath picking up at the slightest peek of your cleavage heaving up and down. The way it cinches your waist, the way it allows the rest of your curves to flow freely below it, he drinks it all in. It’s completely silent, save for your heavy breathing. All you can do is watch.

“There what is?” you ask, adjusting once more in your seat so you can face him directly.

You’re open to him, now. Chest fully open and facing him, one arm on the table and the other on the back of your chair. You’re showing him you’re open, you’re ready. You would push him onto this table and kiss him silly right now if you could, you’d give him a really good reason to love this sundress.

“Could tell something was keeping you tense. I wanted to make you laugh so you’d loosen up,” he smiles, “and because I love your laugh.”

You smile and inch impossibly closer, until you’re yanked out of your dream world and slammed onto the cold, hard ground in seconds.

“Hey, babe! You ready? We got reservations in like a half hour,” you feel a hand on your shoulder from behind and a kiss to your cheek. Your stomach plummets, eyes wide like you’re in a horror film and the killer is behind you.

You can see the instant disappointment creeping onto Spencer’s face. He doesn’t want to show it, but it’s there.

“Brad!” you chirp in the fakest possible voice you can muster.

You look up over your shoulder at the man Mary set you up with. He’s taking you on your third date tonight. You completely and totally forgot. A fire of guilt ignites in your lower belly, burning hot until you’re nearly sick with it. Your head snaps back to Spencer, where you see him collect his materials. Your heart sinks into your stomach, charring itself to bits with the rest of your guts down there.

“Spencer-” you reach an arm out to stop him, but he yanks it away. An internal skewer prods your fire, makes it hotter, bigger.

“I checked this out, actually. I’ll look it over at the station, it’ll probably take me not even 10 minutes to read it by myself anyway,” he rambles sheepishly, his face now turning red for the worst possible reason.

“Hey, man!” Brad chuckles obliviously, and you wish you could crawl into a hole right then and there, “you must be her genius FBI friend, yeah she talks about you,” he puts his hands on his hips as his head turns from him, back to you. Realization dawns on his face as Brad reaches out his hand, Spencer shakes it professionally and you want to die.

“Talks a lot about you, actually. It’s funny, I never really understood what a guy with such a high IQ would be doing in the FBI, but that’s just me,” he’s the only one that chuckles at his statement, his gaze now turned towards his phone, “plus, don’t you need to be more fit to be in the FBI? You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who chases down killers.”

“Yeah, well, my unit actually profiles the behavior of serial killers in order to catch them. That’s where my IQ of 187 comes in, as well as my three PhDs,” you can tell he's word vomiting, and he sends a fake smile at Brad, who gives not one signal that he listened to any of that at all. You can hear the shake in Spencer’s voice. He’s trying to make it through this conversation without blowing a gasket. You’re doing the same.

“Yeah, man, that’s sweet,” he flips his gum around in his mouth, chewing as he scrolls on his phone, “listen, can we go now, babe? I’m starving,” he tries slinking his arm over your shoulders, eyes still glued to his phone.

This isn’t unusual for him, he’s been guilty of this the past few dates he took you on. Whether it was when you were ordering the food, or walking home, a time would come on the date where his eyes wouldn’t leave his phone. It piqued your curiosity, but truthfully, you never liked him enough to care. This position allows you a quick glance at his screen, opened in the messages of someone named Emma, who he’s also calling ‘babe’.

Spencer takes this as his cue to leave, though. You know you don’t deserve it, but not getting a goodbye from him is like a kick to the shins.

“Yeah-yeah, I’ll be ready in just one second,” you say breathlessly, “gonna just go walk him out,” you give him a weak smile before breaking into a jog to catch up with him.

“Spencer!” you call as you jog out to the patio, where you saw him for the first time that March morning.

“When were you going to tell me you have a boyfriend?” he turns, not letting you get a word in edgewise.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” you exclaim, grasping at straws to save face, “he’s just someone that Mary set me up with. We’ve only gone out on a few dates, it’s not a serious thing!” the wind whips desperately between the two of you, an earthly manifestation of four months of swirling emotions, repressed and ready to bubble over the surface. It’s true that you’ve only been on a few dates with the guy, but you know what honesty means to Spencer. You know that lying by omission is still a lie. You were so desperate to pick up the pieces of your broken heart, you just wanted to let someone else do it for you. You never expected Spencer to come back, never expected a friendship like this to blossom, never expected to be in love with him while dating someone else. You didn’t know what to do. Clearly, ignoring it was not the best way to handle that.

“Serious enough to call you ‘babe’,” he mutters to the ground, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” you spit, now defensive, “you were the one who wanted to just be ‘friends’,” you throw up air quotes, “you don’t get to be mad now!”

“‘m not mad,” Spencer insists, grumbly. His gaze is kept on the ground, the toe of his Converse kicking a rock, “I get it. You’re beautiful, he’s beautiful. No wonder Mary thought you’d be a great couple. I see it, I really do. I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me, ‘s all,” his voice is high pitched and whiny, an aggravated tone that gives away his true feelings whether he means to or not.

You roll your eyes and fold your arms across your chest, “because, Spencer, I didn’t realize I had to run every single relationship choice by a man I’ve only really known for three weeks! A man who took off without leaving any way for me to contact him! So yeah, don’t be too surprised that I’ve moved on,” you huff, eyebrows drawn downwards in an angry pout.

“Moved on?” Spencer whines, turning to face you, “we spent one day together! I’m an FBI agent, I can’t just hand out my number to random strangers I meet on cases!” “You and I both know I wasn’t just a random stranger on a case!” you shout, and a heavy silence falls between you.

The rain splatters harshly against the ground, moving so fast you can barely see each individual raindrop. Your mind is a similar storm, clouded, dark, and so desperate for sun. The sun in your case is the man standing before you, chest heaving as he stares back at you.

“I don’t know, Spencer, I don’t know,” you chuckle, breaking the silence with a venomous huff, “we spent one day together, yes, but I felt a connection with you that I’ve never felt with anyone else. I know you felt it too. Do you go around telling everybody you meet on a case about how amazing your mentor was and how much you miss him?”

He flinches, and you know you got him.

“Leave him out of this,” is all he can mutter.

“You brought him into it in the first place,” you jab back. You know you’re being petty, you know you’re in the wrong, but you can’t accept it. Not with Spencer standing right in front of you, looking at you like he’s Caesar and you’re Brutus holding a bloodied knife in your hand. Maybe that’s exactly who you are, but the humiliation of your mistakes creeps into every bone in your body, sitting most prominently in your throat. It’s strangling you, holding you back from any logic, your emotions running rampant throughout this conversation.

“Have fun on your date, I have a killer to catch,” Spencer doesn’t spare you one last look before leaving you stranded in the rain.

You return to your desk completely soaked through, and Brad’s eyes widen in a condescending way that makes your skin crawl.

“Whew,” he whistles, nearly scared at the sight of you, “well, it seems like you two have some stuff you need to work out. You’re hot, but I’m not interested in being a part of some weird ass love triangle you have going on with that loser. See ya around,” he raps his knuckles on the desk and leaves without second thought.

Your skin crawls at his third grade insult, your eyes trained on his retreating figure. You’re frozen in place, unbelieving that this all just unfolded in front of you, because of you. Your pruney fingers come up to hide your soaked face. You can only imagine how much of a disaster you looked like right now, dripping and wilted, like the dewey trees hanging outside. You stare at one in front of the window by your desk, and can’t help but feel envious of the sopping bark and dripping leaves. Their storm is about growth, renewal, yours was brought on by your own selfishness and humiliation. Your head falls back into your hands. You need to make things right with Spencer. You’ve already lost him once, you know you won’t be able to go through it again.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Hey!” Spencer whines, snapped out of his stewing by a crumpled piece of paper flying from Emily’s direction hitting him square on the nose.

“What’d you do that for!?” he whines, nose scrunching as he throws the paper back at the perpetrator.

“You need to focus, Genius!” her voice rings sarcastically, “were you able to get any help from your girly friend at the library or no?”

Spencer’s insides twist at her teasing, the sheer mention of you makes him want to crawl in a hole and never come out. He feels like such an idiot. In what world would someone so beautiful actually like someone like him? The humiliation regresses his emotions to the sinking feeling in his gut he felt when he was 12, watching the jock ask the girl from his AP calculus class that he’d fantasized about for months to prom. He knew it was a pipe dream then, but he should’ve known now, too. As angry as he is at you, he’s almost more angry with himself for letting his guard down. Your beauty destines you to someone like Brad, with his sculpted jaw and perfect hair. It’s a tale as old as time, one where there are two beauties and one beast left behind to study sewing patterns from World War II.

“Oof, sore subject?” Emily asks after a moment of bitter silence, “I thought things were going well. I was thinking we could even have her come in to help us with some of this if you want,” she pats the multiple books they have to help with the case.

If it were any other circumstances, Spencer would feel grateful for his friend doing him a solid, even though they both know he could read everything on the conference room table in an hour. Now, though, the thought feels like a boiling pitchfork slicing through his gut.

“Well, she’s on a date with someone named Brad right now, if you were curious,” Spencer snapped before walking out to read his books in peace.

“What?” he hears a high pitched shout from behind him, and he fights an eye roll when he hears the clicking of Emily’s heels hot on his tail. “I thought things were going well? You were over there all the time, I mean you practically spent all of your free time there, everyone else thought you were just going into hermit mode, but I knew-” “Well, things change, Emily. I won’t be going there so much anymore,” Spencer cuts off her rambling dryly, trying to sound as neutral as possible about the situation. The shakiness in his voice tattletales on him, though. He knows he’s been figured out by the way Emily’s eyes narrow down at him, her tongue poking at her cheek. He accepts defeat, his forehead falling to the crook of his arms resting on his desk.

“Alright…” Emily sighs, moving to sit adjacent to her distressed coworker, “lay it on me, kid.”

Spencer can’t help himself. Everything, every thought that’s been keeping him up late at night, every feeling that’s eaten through his stomach til it’s raw comes spilling out. He tells her about the last three weeks, about how it’s allowed him to actually establish a connection with you, and how it was better than he ever thought it could be. He tells her about Brad, about the patronizing way the beefcake eyed him up and down.

“I just feel so stupid,” he vents, unable to make eye contact with Emily, “I really thought she could actually like me, but it makes so much sense that she’s with someone like him instead,” he shakes his head, gaze turning towards his lap, “she’s so pretty, Emily, I just blew it too many times.”

He’s ready to give up, ready to wallow in his sorrows with Derek, maybe finally take him up on all the offers to set him up. That’s what you did, anyway.

“Well,” Emily scoffs, kicking her feet up on his desk. He frowns at the sight. “Your first problem is that you’re comparing yourself to this Brad loser-”

“You didn’t see him, though,” Spencer jumps in, defensive, “he’s perfect for her-”

“On the outside, maybe,” Emily cut him off, regaining power of the conversation. Spencer slumps back in his chair as she eyes him, “and honestly Spencer, that means nothing. I know you know that,” she says, and Spencer retreats into himself as her pointed gaze pierces through that rawness in his stomach.

“Honestly, Spencer, I’m shocked you’re so intimidated by some meathead,” she sits back, more relaxed now, it allows Spencer to loosen up too. “You’re Doctor Spencer Reid. Three times over, actually!” she makes sure to enunciate his full name, title and all, and it makes his chest lightly puff up once more, “just because you may not be some adonis with a six pack doesn’t make you undesirable, Spencer. I wish you knew that,” she utters that last bit quietly, softer, it makes his heart churn with vulnerability.

“Sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to be like Derek,” Spencer remarks, “to not be scared to go out and find a connection, to be able to act on it once you find it. It’s one of the very few things I’m not an expert at,” he jokes lightly, and Emily smiles at him sadly.

“Nobody is, Spencer,” Emily sighs, “love is messy, and it’s complicated, but it’s worth fighting for. If you really think going cold turkey on your library visits is the best way for you to handle this, then so be it. But I don’t want you forgetting who you are, what you bring to the table, because if someone is lucky enough to capture the attention of the Spencer Reid, she better be able to keep up,” she smiles at him, standing to ruffle his hair like a big sister. It still makes his cheeks go red.

“Thanks Emily,” he mutters, “I’ll think about it.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your hands are visibly shaking as the elevator lifts you to the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They grip the visitor’s badge dangling from your neck in a desperate attempt to find something to do. You’re here on business, though you’re not sure Spencer knows that. You’re not in the mood to find out. After two weeks of staring at the door from your desk, waiting so desperately to see your favorite person walk through the doors, only to go home disappointed everyday, you have no clue how he will react to seeing you, let alone working with you.

Your eyes drop down to your phone, open to the email you received from Emily Prentiss earlier in the week, requesting a meeting with you for some advice on a case. Your eyes scan over one particular sentence, over, and over, and over again. ‘Spencer told me about how you helped him on cases, and I’d love to hear your expertise…’ You honestly stopped reading after ‘Spencer told me’. He talked about you. He told Emily about you, how you’d help him. It feels you with a mix of joy and fear at the same time. Did he tell her good things about you? Does she know the reason why he stopped coming by the library?

You don’t have much time to ponder, as the doors of the elevator slide open with a ding. You take one step off the elevator, and that’s all you can muster. Your eyes frantically scan the hustle and bustle of the bureau, and you can’t help but feel even more intimidated than you already were. Panic slithers its way from your stomach and wraps itself around your throat like a cobra. You wonder if this was all a big mistake, if you should have just ignored it and stayed out of Spencer’s way. He didn’t fight for you, so why are you fighting for him? You turn around, the only movement you’ve made since stepping off the elevator, and desperately press the button multiple times.

“What are you doing here?” you freeze when you hear the unmistakable voice coming from behind you. The shake in his voice, the slight grievance in his tone makes you freeze again, and now you know you’ve made a mistake. Anything that has to do with Spencer paralyzes you, why would you think you could pull this off?

“Leaving,” you respond curtly, pressing the elevator button a few more times.

“That won’t work, just makes it move slower,” his tone is playful, but biting. He’s mad, you know he is, and bile rises in your throat at the thought. You fold your arms across your chest and do your best to ignore him, but you feel him. You always do, only this time, he’s closer to you than he’s been in weeks. It’s infiltrating your brain, your senses betraying all logic as the heat radiates from his chest, nearly pressed against your back, the smell of his woodsy aftershave floods your nostrils, the spice of his cologne lingering on his sweater a close runner up. You don’t spend much time thinking about your next actions, if you had you wouldn’t have grabbed the collar of Spencer’s shirt and dragged him into the elevator with you.

“I’m sorry, Spencer, okay? I’m so, so sorry. I made a huge mistake not telling you about Brad, it was a mistake to even go out with him to begin with,” you say that last part mostly to yourself as the doors shut. You and Spencer breathe heavily in the newfound silence, unsure where to go next.

“What does that mean?” Spencer asks.

“What?” you huff.

“You said it was a mistake to go out with him to begin with. What does that mean?” he presses, like he’s in an interrogation. You don’t expect the sternness from him, but you can’t deny the way it sets your stomach aflame, burning embers warming your heart.

“It means that I never wanted to just be friends with you, Spencer. I thought you were going to ask me for my number when we met for the first time in Massachusetts,” you brush fallen strands of hair out of your face, still out of breath from the intensity of the conversation, of having Spencer so vulnerable, so close to you. “You didn’t, though, and to be honest? I was crushed.”

His eyebrow quirks, “you were crushed?”

“You’re trying to tell me you didn’t feel a connection, even from our first meeting?” you challenge him, and when he ponders silently for a moment too long, you know you have him. “Me too,” you breathe, “I was so upset, my friend thought it would be a good idea to set me up with Brad, try and help me move on, y’know? It didn’t work, obviously, because now I’m here, at the first beck and call of anyone who’s anywhere close in proximity to you,” you chuckle condescendingly towards yourself, eyes filling with hot tears as humiliation seeps through your veins.

“I mean…Spencer,” you scoff, breathing heavier now as tears spill over your lash line, “my entire life changed the day I met you,” his big brown eyes nearly turn you to applesauce in that moment, the way they gaze lovingly at you, a light shine reflecting off the LED light of the elevator.

“Mine too,” he mutters, voice raspy and cracked with emotion. “I’m sorry, too. I was just so hurt by that run-in with Brad that I didn’t think I could face you, was too humiliated,” his gaze falls towards the floor.

“I’m so sorry for doing that to you, Spencer, I should have told you,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion as tears slowly keep spilling.

“Yeah, well, I should have asked for your number that day in March,” he smiles sheepishly at you, and you want nothing more than to just put him in your pocket and take him home with you.

Your conversation is cut short by the ding of the elevator. You wipe at your cheeks before instinctively reaching for his hand, pulling him with you out into the parking structure.

“Hey-” he lightly protests, although he goes along with you anyway, “you know I have to work still, right?”

“Well, you can tell Emily to take the fall for you,” you quip, “because she was the one who told me I needed to meet with her,” you turn to face Spencer, whose eyebrow quirks in the cutest way, “mmhm, told me it was a big case and everything.”

“We’re in between cases right now, what does she-” Spencer stops himself, the lightbulb flicking on over his head, “...oh.”

“You just now figured that out, Spence?” you gently tease, “you didn’t see her and Derek spying on us by the elevator?” you stop by your car, and the tension from the elevator follows the two of you, settling like dust.

“No,” he chuckles bashfully, his arms lifting to lay lightly at your waist, testing the waters, “no, I didn’t. You ever considered a future in profiling?”

You can’t help but laugh further into his hold, you feel so naturally safe there that you can’t help but just step closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. This time, tears of relief, tears of overwhelming joy flood your eyes again. You know things aren’t perfect between you and Spencer, but the fact that there is finally a relationship to build floods your body with relief like a dam breaking. Your bones no longer ache for his touch, your heart slowly stitching itself back together, just from the healing powers of his magical arms. You feel his warm, calloused hand come to rest against your cheek, brushing a tear out of the way.

“Y’know,” he mutters, “the reason I stopped coming by after meeting Brad was because I felt stupid,” he continues when you quirk your brow, eyes full of confusion, “I felt stupid thinking you would like someone like me over someone like that,” he pumps his muscle in a weak attempt to mock Brad, but it earns him a chuckle from you, so his eyes shine.

“Oh, Spencer,” you dote, your eyes shining into his with the brightest confession of love, “he could never hold a candle to you, I mean it,” you punctuate when he avoids eye contact, “not only are you the smartest, kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever met, you’re also incredibly sexy. Your hair works wonders you’ve never even heard of.” He looks at you like you’re crazy, “sexy?!” he exclaims, nearly forgetting he’s in the parking lot at his work, “I don’t think anyone’s ever actually called me sexy, and meant it,” he adds, quieter this time, and you have no choice.

You place both your palms against his scruffy cheeks, clenching your thighs together at the thought of him not shaving for a few days, and press your lips to his. It’s not a picture perfect first kiss, either. It’s messy, it’s desperate, it conveys everything the two of you have been too scared to say over the past four months. You nearly swoon when he places a hand at the small of your back, tugging you closer and deepening the kiss. His scruff moves against your supple skin and reddens your chin in a way you’ll have to explain to your coworker later, but you don’t care. Right now, all you can care about is the feeling of his lips on yours, moving to your cheek, down your neck, nibbling at your collarbone. “Spencer,” you gasp, regretfully lifting his head up, “you’re at work.” His eyes close, like he’s trying to retain some composure. He rests his forehead against yours, and your eyes fall closed, too. Your hand grips his wrist as both of his hands rest against your cheeks, your breathing syncs, you lock eyes. You know from the second his blown out irises catch yours, there’s no way he’s going back in that office. He places the softest kiss to your lips, adding one more before he moves to bury his face in your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he presses your back to your car.

“We can blame it on Emily, like you said,” he presses a kiss to your neck, “I’ve been thinking about the way your body would feel in my arms for four months, baby,” he rasps, and you want to hear him call you baby until the day you die. “I’m not giving it up now, if it’s an emergency, Hotch will call me,” he provides some reassurance before giving you one last kiss and heading around to the passenger side of your car.

“For now, though?” he poses, “we’re finishing this at your place.”

Your heart skips a beat as you hop in the driver’s seat.

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lis-likes-fics · 3 days

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Perfection

Pairings: Spencer Reid x bau!adhd!Reader Word Count: 2.6k words Warnings: Mentions of rape, mentions of murder, dead body, crime scene, descriptions of gore, typical Criminals Minds stuff, character with ADHD, mentions of medication... A/N: This is a little more self-indulgent than I meant for it to be, but I do want to point out that this is some of my experience with ADHD, so I'm not just writing random stuff. It is slightly exaggerated, but I also say that about everything I do and it is pointed out that this is based off an off day.

The long alleyway makes for a nice crime scene, specifically because, despite the busy streets of this city, it's secluded and easy to overlook. It's not too small that the police team cannot fit, but it's small enough that you couldn't cram a really small building into the space. You don’t know how that’s relevant, but somehow it is.

The scene is relatively fresh, the latest of three that brought the BAU to the case. The police handling the scene had it cleared off for you, Spencer, and Derek to examine, via Hotch’s orders.

Spencer's watching you because he loves watching you, and because you're a little off today. There's something about the way you shuffle on your feet or the way you chew on the dead skin of your lip that he finds peculiar. To be fair, you're like this a lot, but today your symptoms are more obvious than usual.

Your eyes scan over the scene with a million different thoughts rushing through your head, less than fifty percent of them actually coherent and fit for conversation.

The three of you spitball ideas back and forth as you look at the man laying cold on the concrete. He's white, lean with light hair and a relatively thin frame. He's nothing like the other two victims, who's physical profiles were all over the place. The only thing they have in common with one another is a single occupation—male prostitution. While this and the first worked on the streets, the second’s job actually took place within a gay strip club a few blocks away from here.

He's got a starting blow to the back of the head, like the other two, and a number of bad bruising and heavy brutality to the rest with overkill to the chest, hands, and genitals. The message feels clear, but there's something a little off.

“Judging by the position of the body,” you speak, your hands restless, “and the way the weapon is discarded, I think our unsub snuck up on our victim in a blitz attack, hit him with the lead pipe, and ran that way.”

You don't point in any particular direction. Spencer glances up from his spot crouched next to the body. Your eyes are stuck on the bloody pipe several feet away from the body toward the secluded area around the back of the building that leads to more secluded walkways through more alleyways.

There is a long pause where they wait for you to explain, but you never do. Spencer thinks you look far off as he examines your face. Derek looks at you, his brow furrowed as he glances around. “Which way?”

“What?” you hum, looking up at him.

Derek elaborates, “Which way did the unsub go?”

It’s your turn to furrow your brow, turning the thin ring on your middle finger. “Did I say something about the unsub?”

Spencer stands, moving over to your side without spending too much time looking at your face. He doesn't want you to feel dumb or awkward, because he loves you and you're just a little forgetful sometimes.

“Yes,” he says in no particular way. “You said the unsub blitzed the victim and ran. Which way did he run?”

He achieves his goal, because you seem to make an “Oh, duh!” face before pointing in the direction of the street. “That way.”

He follows your finger, his brows knitting together. “That way toward the street?” He looks at the pipe, sitting in the exact opposite direction, like they ran and dropped it. “The pipe looks like he'd run the other way to avoid the street. Why do you think he ran toward?” It's a genuine question.

“To throw us off,” you shrug. “It's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.”

He hums. You add on, speaking as quickly as Spencer usually does, “It also means he looks normal enough that he blends in with the crowd. Someone would see a strange figure coming out of a dark alley, no one would really notice a passerby turning a corner. And if this is a popular spot, it's too loud to hear anything going on all the way back here anyway, or no one thinks much of grunting noises when they do hear it.”

You trail off at the end, tight brows staring at the corpse. Derek shrugs, “But what was our victim doing all the way over here in the first pla–”

“There's something in his mouth,” you interrupt accidentally.

“What?”

You kneel down, taking the offered gloves from Spencer and putting them on. You open his mouth just a slight, spotting the white sticking out from under his tongue. Upon seeing it, both of the boys furrow their brows and tilt their heads. Spencer hands you some tweezers he'd borrowed from forensics for this reason.

Carefully, without disturbing the body as much as possible, you remove the strange object from under the tongue. It's a tiny slip of paper, folded up very small and still a little damp from saliva and any other bodily fluids it may have come in contact with. You unfold it.

“‘Unclean’,” Spencer reads from over your shoulder.

“That makes sense for the victimology mixed with the profile. He's a male prostitute,” Derek points out.

“Which explains the locale,” you say, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“What?”

“The locale,” you look up. “You asked why he was here. He must have been working, lured down here by the unsub, who waited for him to turn his back before he struck.”

Spencer agrees, taking a picture of the slip to send to Hotch. “He was killed at night. The streets are crowded, easy to slip into and not be seen. It's more risky to stray by yourself. What you said makes sense.”

You look up at him, standing to your full height again. “What did I say?” There you go again.

Morgan speaks up, “What you said about him runnin’ toward the street.”

Confusion passes your mind momentarily. “He ran toward the street.” You don't say it like a question, you say it like you're trying to back yourself up on it.

“That's what you said,” he insists.

You remember thinking that, but you don't remember saying that out loud.

Spencer swoops in like your hero, brushing his knuckles against the side of your arm. “Remember? You said,” he licks his lips, “ ‘it's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.’ ”

You nod, remembering his word-by-word recitation as you watch him. “Yeah. I did say that.” You flag down one of the forensics workers to bag the evidence. She does so, taking your contaminated gloves with her as she leaves. You squirt a hefty amount of hand sanitizer on your hands from its place on your belt loop. “This is the first victim who's been left behind with a note, right?”

“Yes, autopsy results found nothing like this on the other victims.”

“If the victim was working when he was attacked, it’s possible that, paired with the brutality of the assault and the note left behind, our unsub may be experiencing some kind of internalized homophobia.” You trail off at the end.

Derek shrugs, looking down at the body. “There’s no evidence of sexual assault. Not on the other victims, at least.”

“How old do you think this building is?”

Spencer looks at you, your eyes scanning the wall of one of the buildings you’re between. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth, picking at the dead skin again. He thinks you’re cute.

“Focus, honeybun,” Derek reminds you, pulling your attention again.

“Sorry.”

“Judging by the faded color and uneven edges of the brick, and the decay in the mortar,” Spencer says, “I’d say this building is at least 50 years old. Well kept at one point and then let go not long after its production.”

You nod along slowly, taking in the information with a hum. “That’s cool…” Now that that’s out of your mind, you think for a moment. What were you saying again? Spencer watches your eyes light up. “Oh!” You turn to Derek. “He’s obviously confrontational, but he may still be very insecure in his ability and, thus, have to make up for his pent up energy with an excess of violence. Homophobia would explain the obliteration of the chest, hands, and especially the genitalia.”

Derek raises a brow. “What?”

“You asked about sexual assault,” you shrug. “If he continues to escalate above the note, we may see these words carved into the skin as a substitute for sexual violence, or even just blatant rape activity.”

Derek thinks about that, considering your analysis with a nodding head. He sighs and hums, “Alright, I’ll talk to Hotch.” He begins to turn away, grabbing his phone.

Spencer thinks you may have gotten distracted again because you ask, “Did I do something wrong?”

Derek looks back at you, shaking his head and flashing you one of his charming smiles. “No, honeybun, you’re perfect.”

“Oh.”

He leaves to take that call. You start to walk after him and Spencer gently takes your hand. You turn to face him, confused at first but giving him a sweet smile only a second later. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, his voice soft.

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

Spencer shrugs, taking your other hand just to rub his thumbs over your knuckles. “You’re hyper today, a little more distracted.”

As if proving his point, you begin shifting back and forth on your feet, shrugging and then shaking your head at the same time. “I’m okay,” you assure him, squeezing his hands gently. “I haven’t taken my medication in a couple days.”

He furrows his brow, suddenly a little worried. “Why not?”

“Didn’t feel like it. Also, I forgot it.” That makes sense. Spencer makes a mental note to remind you to take them as soon as you get back home. “But I’m okay, prommy.”

He smiles. “Prommy?”

“Promise,” you clarify, letting both your hands down so you can swing his from side to side. He lets you.

“I know what you mean,” he says. Though he knows he should probably be more professional because you’re both in public and leaving a crime scene (and Hotch might reprimand the both of you for it if he saw) he raises a hand to cradle your cheek because he doesn’t care. He just wants you to feel safe and loved. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod definitely. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” The way he says it is soft, as soft as a kiss to your forehead or a brush of his knuckles on your skin. “You know, I love you, right?”

You nod, smiling at him like he’s the world—because he is. “Yeah. I love you, too, honey.” You kiss his cheek quickly and pat it. You probably shouldn’t have done it right then, but you did, and you don’t regret it for even a moment.

Spencer’s just happy you know he loves you. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go before Morgan leaves us.” He takes your hand as you both begin walking. He swings your joined hands, just as he knows you like it.

“He wouldn’t leave me,” you shake your head. “He likes me too much.”

Spencer chuckles. “Everyone likes you.”

“Not everyone.”

He looks at you, furrowing his brow. “Who doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. And then immediately after, “Why does the sun look yellow? Isn’t it supposed to be white or something? I heard that somewhere.”

Spencer is happy to answer your questions as he opens the car door for you. Derek is already sitting in the front, his hands on the wheel. The passenger’s seat is empty, but Spencer sits in the back with you. You both speak gently so you’re not disturbing Derek. “The Earth’s atmosphere scatters blue light more efficiently than red light, so the slight deficit in blue light means the eye perceives the color of the sun as yellow. But, yes, the sun is actually white.”

“That’s cool,” you mumble. “I think sharks would look cool as hell with piercings. Do you?”

“I do,” Spencer chuckles. In the front seat, Derek shakes his head and smiles to himself, amused by your conversation.

“Did you know that sharks don’t have bones, so when they die, the saltwater dissolves their bodies so the only thing that’s left is their teeth?” You begin ranting, absent-mindedly picking at dirty under your nails. “And also, their bodies are primarily made of cartilage and connective tissue. It’s lighter than bone and keeps them flamboyant. Also, their skin has a similar feel to sandpaper.”

When you ramble, you sound like Spencer. You spend so much time with him and endorse his info dumps so much that you take on his speech style when you go on info dumps of your own. Spencer loves this because he knows that people tend to mimic the people they love as a sign of affection, and you mimic him a lot more than you think.

He also knew about all your shark facts, but he’s happy to listen. He smiles, “Is that what you were doing up late last night?”

You smile a little, turning away from him. “I got distracted.”

“What’s your thought process behind getting from the sun to sharks?” he wonders. “I’m curious.”

You shrug. “Well, you said your thing and I said it was cool. And then I remembered a post I saw that sharks would be cool with piercings. Then I remembered my shark things.” You glance down at your fingers, bringing them to your lips as you notice a tiny part at the very edge of the nail where it would probably tear off. “I just think sharks are cool,” you mumble around your finger.

“They are cool,” he says. He doesn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself so he adds on, “Will you hold my hand? It’s a little cold.”

You look down at them, “Yeah.” With a nod, you take his hand between both of yours and let them warm his back up. They’re a bit chilly but they don’t feel that cold to you. You hold them anyway, because you love holding his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his and then cover what’s left.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says. He thinks for a moment. “Did you eat today?”

You nod, still watching his hand as you turn it to look at his palm. You gently trace the lines of it, forgetting for the moment that he’d wanted you to warm his hand up for him. But, as usual, he doesn’t mind. “I had a cereal bar this morning. One of those Coco Puff ones. They’re like Rice Krispy Treats.” He doesn’t think that’s sustainable. “And, before you ask, I did have water.”

He smiles. “I know. I told you to drink some before we left. You hungry?”

You shake your head, “Not really.”

“You want a snack?” he compromises, hoping—and knowing—you’ll say yes.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay,” he hums. “We’ll grab one on the way back.” Derek nods gently, remembering to do just that. It will only take a moment.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Spencer says, his voice lowering to a whisper. He knows Derek can still hear him, but he always just wants to whisper to you.

You look up at him, “For what?”

“Being so perfect.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately smiling at the warmth in your chest. “You’re so cheesy, Spencer Reid.”

He’ll gladly be cheesy for you.

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rynwritesreid · 13 hours

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Take a bite| Spencer Reid

Summary: After unknowingly teasing Spencer, he needs your help so he can finish paperwork.

Content: Fem!reader. Established relationship. Dom/sub dynamic. Dom!Spencer. Sub!reader. Praise kink. Oral (both receiving). Overstimulation. Bondage (handcuffs). Semi-public sex. Use of nicknames (good girl, baby and sir). Vaginal penetration. No mentions of contraception. Choking/breath play.

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To Spencer, there was no one more beautiful than you. Every inch of your body was perfection in his eyes. So, when you had previously asked Spencer what his favourite body part of you was, he said he couldn’t decide as he loved every part of you. But if he was being honest, it was your thighs.

He loved the way your thighs felt around him. He loved how they would tremble when he was overstimulating you, or they would hug his head when he buried his face between them. He loved to kiss the soft skin of your thighs, feeling the goosebumps rise under his touch.

So, unknowingly to you, when you had decided to wear a skirt to work, you were being a tease to Spencer. As you walked into the office that morning in your skirt, Spencer couldn’t stop stealing glances at your thighs. He was practically eye-fucking you all day.

Because of you, Spencer hadn’t been able to fill out any reports. “Spencer, can I speak to you?” Emily’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He quickly snapped back to reality, trying to compose himself before facing Emily. She raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing his distracted demeanour.

"Is everything alright, Spencer? You seem a bit... off today," Emily inquired, her gaze piercing through him.

Spencer cleared his throat, mustering up a professional facade. "I’m fine just had a lot on my mind. What did you need to talk about?" he replied, avoiding direct eye contact with Emily.

She handed him a folder with a concerned expression. "I need these reports completed by the end of the day. Is that going to be a problem?" Emily asked, her tone firm but not unkind.

Spencer nodded, taking the folder from her. "No problem at all, I'll have them on your desk before you know it," he assured her with a forced smile.

As Emily walked away, Spencer let out a sigh of relief mixed with frustration. His eyes wondered back to you. You were engrossed in a conversation with a colleague across the room, unaware of Spencer's intense gaze on you.

He stood up, and walked directly towards you, he didn’t care that you were in the middle of a conversation. “Hey, can I talk to you?” Spencer didn't care about the puzzled look on your face as he grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the prying ears of Luke and Tara.

"Spencer, what's going on?" you questioned, slightly taken aback by his urgency and the way he was looking at you.

“You.” he paused for a second, his voice was horse, “you’re such a fucking tease. You know that right?” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You didn’t know what to say, but you did know your cheeks had gone a bright shade of red.

“Because of you, I haven’t been able to do any work today. So, you’re going to be a good girl, and follow me into that storage closet, okay?” Spencer's voice was laced with desire and a touch of command that made your heart race. Without a word, you found yourself nodding, your body reacting to his proximity and the sudden rush of adrenaline.

He didn't wait for a response, tugging you gently by the hand as he led you towards the storage closet at the far end of the office floor.

Once inside the dimly lit closet, Spencer wasted no time in pressing you against the shelves, his lips finding yours in a hungry kiss.

“Get on your knees.” Spencer commanded, his voice low and authoritative. You didn't need to be told twice; it was clear that Spencer had been holding back all day.

You sank to your knees, your heart pounding in your chest, your breaths coming out in shallow pants. You looked up at him, your eyes searching for reassurance, but all you saw was raw desire.

His hand gripped the back of your head, guiding you to where you needed to be. With one swift motion, your eyes widened as you felt the thickness of his erection, pressing against your lips. Trembling, you parted them, welcoming him inside.

Spencer's breath hitched as you took him in, the wet sounds of your mouth enveloping him filling the small space. He thrust gently, his hips rocking in rhythm with your movements. You kept your eyes locked with his, the heat of his gaze intensifying with every stroke.

As the sounds of your mouth moving on him filled the closet, Spencer's control began to slip. His fingers tightened in your hair, and he started to thrust harder, his hips bucking against your face.

Spencer's breath became ragged, his voice a husky whisper as he urged you on. "That's it, baby, take it all. I can't hold back anymore."

The slap of your lips around him, the wet sounds of your throat accommodating him, the intensity of it all was overwhelming, and yet, you craved more.

Spencer groaned, his hips thrusting more violently, his release imminent. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum, baby..." he warned, his voice strained and filled with urgency.

You felt his cock twitch against your lips, and you knew it was only a matter of time. He continued to thrust, his pace becoming erratic as he approached his climax.

Spencer's body tensed as he reached the edge, his hips stuttering against your face. Then, with one final thrust, he let out a guttural moan, releasing himself in your eager mouth.

You swallowed, your throat adjusting to the new sensation as he continued to fill you. It was only when he was spent that he slowly pulled away, his breath still coming in ragged gasps.

“Clean yourself up, I’ve got to go write my reports before I get scolded by Emily again.” Spencer mumbled, still trying to catch his breath. You stood up, your knees wobbly, and grabbed a handful of tissues from the carton on the shelf. You wiped your mouth, feeling your cheeks flush.

Spencer watched you, his gaze lingering on your lips, the tissues still clutched in your hand. "You're such a good girl," he whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Spencer wasn’t done with you yet, but the rest would have to wait till you had both finished work and where back in the safety of your shared apartment.

“When I home tonight, I expect to see you naked waiting for me.” Spencer warned.

With a final kiss to your lips, Spencer straightened his shirt, adjusting his tie. "Let's get back to work," he said, his voice back to normal, as he led you out of the closet. "I still have those reports to write."

You sat down at your desk, trying to focus on your work, but all you could think about was the next time you'd see Spencer. The corners of your mouth curled up into a smile, knowing that later tonight, you would be waiting for him with nothing but your body to offer. You wanted him to take you again, to feel his hands on your skin, to hear his voice telling you how much he wanted you.

When your workday finally came to an end, you hurried to your shared apartment, excited for what was to come.

Upon entering your apartment, he found you exactly as he'd ordered, standing at the entrance, your body bathed in the soft light of the hallway. The sight of you left him breathless, and his eyes devoured every inch of your naked body.

He approached you slowly, taking in the sight of your breasts, full and inviting, your nipples hard and erect. He reached out, running his fingers gently over them, eliciting a low groan from you.

"You're such a good girl," he whispered, his voice full of desire.

“I always try to be, for you sir.” You whispered back, your eyes never leaving his.

Spencer couldn't help but smile at your response, he loved the way you addressed him, even in these private moments.

“Now, go lie on the bed with your legs spread for me.” Spencer commanded, his voice a mix of desire and authority.

You quickly complied, lying down on the bed with your legs apart, your heart racing as you awaited his touch.

Spencer's eyes devoured your body as he approached the bed. He looked up at you, a smirk on his lips. "You're such a good girl," he said, his voice deep and filled with desire. He crawled onto the bed, his eyes never leaving your body as he made his way between your legs.

With one hand on your thigh, he gently spread your legs wider, exposing yourself to him completely. His other hand reached down, his fingers brushing against your folds, coating them with your arousal.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he growled, his eyes locked on yours.

“I want you to eat me out, sir.” You pleaded, your breath hitching as anticipation seized your body.

Spencer grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes. "With pleasure," he said, his voice a low growl.

He lowered his head and began to kiss and lick your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to your most sensitive spot. Your breathing became shallow and ragged, and you could feel yourself becoming wetter with each passing second.

As his tongue finally made contact with your throbbing clit, Spencer's eyes met yours, and you could see the hunger in them. He began to lick and suck on your sensitive area, his tongue darting in and out with precise movements.

Your moans filled the room, and you could feel your body starting to tremble as the pleasure built within you. You reached down, running your hands through his hair, pulling him closer to you.

Spencer continued to work his magic, his tongue flicking and probing your clit. Your body arched off the bed, your breath coming in short pants as you felt yourself headed towards the edge.

“Oh god, sir, I'm so close,” you gasped, your hips bucking up towards his mouth.

Spencer grinned around your clit, his tongue not missing a beat. He knew just how to push you over the edge, and he was determined to do so tonight.

When you finally screamed out his name, your body convulsing in a powerful orgasm, Spencer slowed his movements, savouring the taste of your release. He pulled away, his lips glistening with your juices.

With a satisfied grin, he looked up at you, his eyes hungry. "I'm not done with you yet," he promised, his voice filled with lust.

Spencer stood up for the bed and walked towards the bedside cabinet. As you tried to see what he was looking for, you saw him grab a pair of handcuffs.

Your heart raced as you watched him approach the bed; his eyes locked on yours. “Spencer, what are you going to do?” you whispered, your voice shaking with anticipation.

Spencer smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Just relax, baby," he said, his voice deep and filled with desire. He climbed onto the bed, his body hovering over you, his hands securing the handcuffs around your wrists.

“While I know you didn’t mean to tease me today, I still believe you need to be punished.” Spencer's voice was firm, and there was no denying the strength of his authority.

"But... but I didn't mean to..." you stammered, your heart racing as you looked up into his eyes.

"I know you didn't, baby. But there are consequences for our actions, and you know that very well." His voice was soft, but the threat was clear. You knew you had to accept the punishment because you knew the rewards that would follow.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt the cool metal of the cuffs on your wrists, securing your arms to the headboard. You looked up at Spencer, fear and desire mingling in your eyes, as he crawled between your spread legs.

With one smooth motion, he entered you, filling you completely in one powerful thrust.

"You're such a good girl," he whispered, his voice filled with satisfaction.

You let out a small, pained moan as your body adjusted to his size. A mixture of pain and pleasure coursed through you, making your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

Spencer’s hand seemed to find its way to your throat as he began to thrust into you, his rhythm deep and hard. Your body responded to his every move, your breathing becoming ragged as the pleasure and pain mingled within you.

"Are you enjoying yourself, baby?" he growled, his eyes locked on yours.

You nodded, too caught up in the sensation to speak. Your body was on fire, every inch of you alive with desire.

"That's good. Because I'm not going to stop until you beg for me to," Spencer promised, his voice filled with lust.

He continued to thrust into you, his body slamming against yours, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. Your body responded to his every move, your hips bucking up to meet his each time he thrust into you.

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