Happy National Boyfriend Day To Spencer Reid

Anything For Ellie : Part Two

Spencer Reid x Single Mom!Reader

Synopsis: It’s your daughter, Ellie’s birthday and your ex has broken yet another promise to her. Spencer’s there to comfort you and perhaps, feelings come to light.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: mild angst, but mostly fluff! reader has issues with ellie’s biological father, crying, yelling, kissing- that should cover it.

Author’s Note: here is part two! anyone want a part three?

part one

It was Ellie’s birthday. And Spencer had gotten lucky with not getting called in for a case. (He’d been the first person to show up to help you decorate your apartment). Of course, he’d come to help you the night before, especially the decorations you wanted to put on the ceiling and seeing as he was tall enough to help with decorations, he was the man for the job.

There were a few hours left of the party, Ellie had been laughing and running around with her friends, having fun and playing games. And even Spencer had shown Ellie and her friends a couple of magic tricks, playing the part of the magician of the party and exciting them.

All of the moms that were there seemingly harbored a crush on Spencer, all jealous of the fact that this Spencer was your next door neighbor and even some of the moms had asked if you two were dating (and if they could get his number if he wasn’t). You’d felt a little territorial over him, laughing it off with the moms and brushing off their comments because at least they didn’t have the luxury of living next door to the sexiest man alive.

Even Penelope, Spencer’s friend — that later became your friend — made an appearance at the party. Ellie always loved the bubbly Miss Penelope Garcia and you’d met her when you’d run into him and Penelope at a coffee shop one time. Since then, Penelope had become a best friend of sorts and came to visit at the bakery all of the time since she met you.

It’d been a couple of minutes before you were going to cut the cake and have Ellie blow out her candles. You’d been waiting on her father to show, like he’d promised Ellie. And as you watched Spencer show another magic trick, you paced. You’d sent text message after text message to your ex and he’d yet to respond to you.

Finally, your phone began to buzz and your ex’s contact came through on the screen and you quickly excuse yourself from the party, going out into the hall since your apartment was noisy at the moment.

Spencer had noticed as you walked out into the hall and by the lack of appearance from Ellie’s father, he knew it was most likely him calling you. Quickly, he distracted the kids with his playing cards, telling them to try and practice the trick on each other and went to go and check on you.

When he opened the door, your back was turned to him and you were angry. “What am I supposed to tell Ellie, Mark? You promised her you’d be here!” Your ex said something on the other line and you’d yet to notice Spencer standing there by your door.

“Something always comes up, Mark. And it’s not fair to Ellie, especially on her birthday. If I knew any better, I’d say you didn’t care about her at all.” He cuts in , most likely to tell you you were wrong, but you interrupt him almost immediately. “No, you don’t care! Otherwise, you’d be here. I’ve tried giving you the benefit of the doubt for Ellie’s sake but I’m tired of bullshit excuse after bullshit excuse. And now, I have to tell Ellie how her bullshit father is not showing up to her birthday like he promised. And you know what? I’m going to the courts and requesting full custody because you cannot be bothered to be there for her like an actual father.” Another pause. “I can do that, Mark. You hardly ever see her. It will be a no-brainer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, one of us wants to be there for our daughter and since it’s definitely not you, I’m stepping up to the plate. Screw you, Mark.” And with that, you hang up and groan out of frustration.

It’s then that you see Spencer standing there and you’re flustered at the fact that he may have just witnessed that entire thing. You sigh and hold your phone up, “Ellie’s dad not coming.” You say. “Yeah, I gathered that.” Spencer stated.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks and you scoff at him, “Am I okay? Not really.” You look down and feel the tears brimming in your eyes and you feel arms wrap around you. Spencer was never really one for hugs, so the motion kind of shocked you. You felt small as you find yourself wrapping your own arms around his torso and you just cry. And he lets you.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Spencer assures but you shake your head, “I just wanted him to keep his promise to her, for once.” Spencer rubs your back in comfort, head resting on the top of your head. “I know.” He whispers to you.

“The least he could do is show up and be there for her, you know? And I try and try and try and he’s always just… it makes me feel shitty because he acts like I keep her away from him and I don’t. I encourage their relationship and he’s the one not putting any effort for his own kid!” You exclaim out of frustration and you pull away, looking at him as you wipe your tears. “Maybe he was right, I am a hot mess.”

“I know, but you know what? It’s his loss.” Spencer tells you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “He chose not to be here but that has nothing to do with you or with Ellie. And if he wants to remain in a state of unhappiness, then that’s on him.” You sniffle as Spencer speaks to you so kindly. “You’re amazing, Y/n. You’re kind, you’re smart and funny, Ellie is so lucky to have you as a mother. I see how you are with her. And you do everything in your power to keep her happy. Your hard work does not go unnoticed, Y/n. Don’t think otherwise.”

You sniffle as you nod at him. “Okay.” Spencer puts a hand over your shoulder. “You’re doing just fine without him around.” He assures and you nod again, “How is it that you always know exactly what to say?”

Spencer simply shrugs, but you stare in awe. You’d had no idea that he thought you were amazing. And he told you you were a great mother. And by no means did you look from validation from a man but Spencer… he was different. Hearing this praise from him made you feel confident. And confident enough to do what you were about to do next.

You’d both been standing close so you don’t know exactly who initiated it or what but one second, you were staring at his lips and then next, they were on yours. And by the look on Spencer’s face, which was mostly laced with shock and confusion — you were the one that leaned in.

You quickly back up, “Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry.”

“Wait, Y/n—”

“We can totally forget that just happened.” You quickly look at your watch. “I need to— It’s time for Ellie to blow out her candles.”

You attempt to head back in your apartment when you feel Spencer grab you by your hand and twirl you around as your lips meet his again and this time, you melt into his touch. His hands are holding your face as he kisses you, so passionately you nearly want to lift your leg up like they do in the movies.

You pull away when it becomes a chore to breathe and you look at Spencer as he asks, “Can I take you out on a date sometime soon?” He asks and you smile with wide eyes and a small nod, “Okay.”

“We should probably go back in, Ellie’s probably waiting for cake.” Spencer reminds you and you nod, “Oh, right!”

You walk back into your apartment, Spencer behind you as you walk over to the cake and light the candles. Ellie is sat at the table with her friends and you place the cake in front of her with a large smile as you encourage everyone to begin to sing ‘happy birthday’.

“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Ellie, happy birthday to you!” Ellie closes her eyes and makes a wish before she blows out her candles and you look up at Spencer with a large smile on your face.

“Alrighty, Ellie, cake or presents first?” You ask and Ellie cheers, “Presents! Presents!”

There was a whole table filled with presents just for your daughter. Penelope had begged for Ellie to open hers first and she’d received kinetic sand, a doodle pad and three squish-mallows. She was spoiled rotten, the girl. She’d received toys, more stuffed animals for her collection, pretty much everything she wanted. Spencer had been bringing the presents to her, putting them in front of her and watching them being demolished by Ellie. It was only a matter of time before one more present was left on the table.

“Oh, it looks like this one is from Spencer!” You exclaim, looking at the man with a guilty smile on his face and Ellie cheered as she began to unwrap her present and nearly shrieks when she sees what he got her.

“What is it, love?” You ask and Ellie smiles as she shows her friends. “Spencer got me a magic kit!” Spencer had indeed gotten her a magic kit. She’d had her very own cape, gloves, hat and trinkets. “Oh, and here!” Spencer reaches over, giving her his card deck. “But this is your card deck!”

“I know, but every great magician needs a good deck. And you have the greatest there is.” Spencer smiles and Ellie laughs, “Now, I can be just like you!” You look up at the man with a large smile and then back at Ellie, “What do you say, Ellie?”

“Thank you, Mr. Spencer!” Ellie says and Spencer nods, “Oh, of course, Ellie! Anything for you.” You look over at Spencer and he gives you a sly wink and you smirk his way and Ellie looks at you, “Mommy?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have some cake now?”

“Of course, princess.” You tell her and Spencer decides to help you with that as well.

Later, you’ll have to tell Ellie that her dad wasn’t able to make it but as far as you know, the whole thing with your ex is behind you. You occasionally steal glances from Spencer — who you’re going on a date with soon, you keep reminding yourself because it’s so weird to think — and smile to yourself in a way that makes you think how funny life is.

Spencer feels the same way, you think in your head. It’s so crazy to you that he does. And he kissed you. And he asked you on a date! Suddenly, the signs are clear like no other. He’s always liked you. He’s had to have. You look at him one more time and when you look up, he seems to already be staring at you and that just confirms it for you.

You are going on a date with Spencer Reid.

This should be interesting.

the people have spoken! smut it is 🙈

the way he sucks their bottom lips in his mouth is doing something to me

sentences sunday!

thanks for tagging me erika! @esote-rika

here’s a sneak peek at my WIP for part three to ‘anything for ellie’!

“What made you finally ask me out? I mean, you had to have thought about it before you asked me, right?” You’d asked and for a brief moment, he turns to you before keeping his eyes back on the road. He doesn’t want to, but of course, safety first, he guesses.

Spencer bites the inside of his cheek, he’d debated on telling you right then and there. But he didn’t know how you’d take him being framed for a crime he didn’t even commit and how the reason he was gone for a few months wasn’t because of his job but because he was at the Milburn Correctional Facility because he was wrongfully convicted of murdering Nadie Ramos in Mexico. He couldn’t tell you that. What if you didn’t trust him anymore? What if you wanted to call the whole thing off? What if you didn’t trust him around Ellie anymore? There were so many reasons why he didn’t — why he couldn’t — tell you. He couldn’t risk losing you when he just got you back.

no pressure tags! @darkmatilda @beenreidingaboutyou @gold-onthe-inside

sorry if any of y’all were already tagged!

Let Me Stay

Ex! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer have gone back to normal, somewhat. But it only takes one conversation to ruin that all again. All you wanna do is stay, but he won’t let you.

Category: Angst

Warnings: not really a happy ending, established past relationship, maeve arc, mentions of death and suicide, takes place during 8x17 “The Gathering”, mentions of 8x17 events, spencer being a lil sad shit, crying, reader was in a past relationship before spencer, it’s just really sad, let me know if i missed anything! <3

Author’s Note: here is part two to “when you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light”! it’s short and sad 🤗 might make a part three???

part one

After helping Spencer, things were back to somewhat normal. You’d both bumped up from only talking on cases to the occasional small talk near the kitchenette or asking how each other’s days were going when you both were in the elevator on the way to the bullpen.

Everyone seemed to notice the change but hadn’t said anything to indicate that they knew. But then you’d heard Garcia gossiping about it in her office the other day to Morgan.

“Can you believe it? They’re finally talking again! Isn’t that great? Small talk can lead into something more! Maybe they’ll finally get together again and my ship will sail!” She’d fangirl and you shook your head with a small chuckle escaping your lips. (She was always so hell-bent that you two would eventually get back together).

Not that you didn’t agree with her, you always hoped you’d get somewhere with Spencer again. You just didn’t know when you could. He was still in mourning over Maeve and you knew he needed time to heal before dating again. You’d wait forever if you had to, unfortunately.

He still seemed quiet during most of the cases or would bury himself in his work to avoid feeling his feelings. And you couldn’t say you blamed him, because if it were you, you’d do the same thing. You have done the same thing. So, with understanding, you left him alone. And you were waiting for him to come to you.

And then you had that case in Minnesota. Your unsub was Peter Harper, he had stabbed women and pulled their tongues out pre-mortem. And you knew that him pulling the tongues out had some kind of significance to him. The disparate set of women victims was chosen at random until they discovered one connection between the women and it was that they all have a very strong on-line presence, their deaths telegraphed by stories in their own online blogs, messages or texts.

They’d finally found him at a public pool, ready to throw a woman in the pool and to wait for her to drown and when the team finally found him, he’d had a knife to his neck, ready to kill himself. You and JJ tried to talk him down off the ledge and told Peter he’d get help and that everything was gonna be okay. But then Reid had spoken up, telling him the truth and the total opposite from what you and JJ were saying.

Peter had killed himself shortly after that. And Reid walked off in frustration. You and JJ shared a look, wondering what the hell that was about.

You’d gone back to the office after filling out your paperwork. You were ready to go home, to relax and to wash the stench of this case off of you. And while you were packing up, you’d overheard Hotch and Reid’s conversation nearby. You knew Hotch was questioning his decision with telling Peter Harper the truth — that it wouldn’t get better, that it was gonna be hard to get help.

And when questioned about it, Reid’s answer was simple. “Well, Hotch, I thought the last time I was in a situation like this, I did exactly what I was supposed to. I told a perfect lie and that didn't work, so this time, in the hopes of saving someone's life, I tried something different.”

And then it was clear what this was about. Maeve. And you’d known that he still wasn’t over her. And of course, it really hadn’t been that long since she died, the wounds were still raw.

When you saw Reid abruptly leave the convo between him and Hotch and head towards the elevator, you knew to follow immediately. You’d worried a lot about him since what happened with Maeve. And you guessed that you just wanted him to be reassured that he had someone in his corner.

“Spencer,” You called in the parking garage and he’d turned around at the sound of your voice and could tell by his sigh that he was in no mood to talk with you but regardless he stopped.

“Look, I really don’t want to talk right now—” And you should’ve just left it at that. But you pushed, like you always do. Instead of walking away, you interrupted him. “I don’t care if you don’t wanna talk, but you know what you’re gonna do? You’re gonna listen.” Spencer crossed his arms, obviously in defense mode as you continued.

“Spencer, we have given you time. We have been there for you thick and thin and all we wanna do is help—” This time, he interrupts you. “Have you ever thought about the fact that maybe I don’t want your help? That maybe what I need is just a little bit of space?”

With that, he walked off.

And you’d officially had enough.

“Do you really think that you are the only person in the world who has lost someone?” You exclaimed and Spencer stopped in his tracks, his back still facing you. “Well, you are barking up the wrong tree because — newsflash, Spencer — you are not the only person who’s lost someone. When I lost—” You pause, not wanting to say his name. “I was… such a wreck.”

You gulp, deciding to continue, hoping your words were getting somewhere with him. “And you helped me, remember? I never would’ve gotten through that if you hadn’t of helped. And I pushed and pushed you away but you didn’t leave. You stayed. All I’m asking is to let me stay.” You walk over to Spencer and he looks down at the ground, avoiding your eyes as you choose to stand in front of him.

You bow your head, wanting to meet his eyes as you put a waiting hand on his soft cheek. You move his head to look at you. “So, let me stay.” He can see the tears forming in your eyes as you practically beg him. His eyes gaze over to your lips before quickly going back to your eyes.

“Please don’t shut me out when all I wanna do is help.” You tell him and instead of nodding and listening to you and asking you to stay, he walks away. Because if he stays any longer, he might kiss you. And you don’t deserve that. Not right now.

He walks away, leaving your heart in pieces and you in shambles. He chose his path, so you must take the same route and forget you’d ask him to let you stay.

i love love LOVE girl!dad spencer reid but i am a firm believer in boy!dad spencer reid because i think he’d be a lil worried at first because of his whole relationship with his dad and not wanting that to reflect on the relationship with his son but in the end, he’s the best dad you’d ever want 🥹🥹

I’M ALWAYS A SUCKER FOR POST PRISON SPENCER X SUNSHINE READER 😋

heyyyy

i love love love the sunshine!reader x post!prison spencer fics, they’re so so cute

If you could, could you write one with them where they’ve gotten together recently and they’re coming back from a case that hit reader particularly hard, and she kinda just shuts off which is so unusual for her. So spencer’s so concerned and confused and he wonders if he did anything wrong and when he asks her about it, she just completely breaks down and cries her entire life’s hurt out to him and he finally realizes why she tries to be the sunshine in everyone’s life (cuz she grew up without it) and he just wants to protect her from the world

(im so so sorry if this is so detailed and long) (also i really yearn for angst/ hurt comfort if you cant tell) (you can totally ignore this, i dont really mind <3)

thankyouuuu smm <3

unhappy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader crying , mention of a rough case , spencer making food for reader a/n: hiii !!! i hope you like this <3 ( also i love flangst too <3 )

Spencer stood beside you in the small kitchenette of the jet, watching as you absentmindedly stirred honey into your tea. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Do you want to solve a Sudoku?” 

Normally, it was the other way around—you were the one who pulled out your puzzle book with a bright smile, nudging him until he joined in. But tonight, you hadn’t even reached for it. Spencer had noticed how quiet you’d been since the case wrapped up.

You barely glanced at him before shaking your head. “No, I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice exhausted. Then, without another word, you picked up your cup and walked away. 

Spencer watched you retreat to your seat, concern settling deep in his chest. You were always the one who tried to lift his spirits after a hard case, the one who made sure he wasn’t drowning in his own thoughts. For you to be this withdrawn… it wasn’t like you. 

For the rest of the flight, he didn’t press you.

Instead, he simply sat beside you, letting his knee rest lightly against yours—a small offering of comfort. You didn’t react, but you didn’t move away either. He kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, wondering if he had done something wrong. Had he been too wrapped up in the case to notice you struggling? Had he missed something? The thoughts gnawed at him. 

When the jet finally landed and everyone gathered their things, Spencer, as always, carried your bag to your car. Normally, you’d roll your eyes playfully and tease him with a “What a gentleman.” But tonight, there was no teasing. No light chatter. Just silence. 

Spencer placed your bag down beside you, studying your face as you unlocked the car. 

“I came with Emily,” he said carefully. “Is it alright if I drive with you?” 

It wasn’t entirely true—he could have easily gotten a ride home another way—but that wasn’t the point. He just needed to be next to you, to make sure you were okay. Pretending to need a ride was just an excuse. 

You looked up at him, and the sadness in your eyes made his heart clench. He hated seeing you like this, so unlike yourself. 

“Yeah, sure,” you murmured, trying to force a smile, but it faltered before it could fully form. You gave up and just got into the car, and Spencer followed, settling into the passenger seat. 

The ride was quiet. Spencer made a few attempts at conversation—small observations about the case, about a book he’d read recently, about how Rossi had nearly fallen asleep with his head against the window—but you only responded with a few short words.

Eventually, he gave up and just stared out the window, worried. 

When you pulled up to his apartment building, Spencer hesitated before unbuckling his seatbelt. He turned to you, studying the way your fingers gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. 

“Do you want to come up?” he asked softly. 

You blinked, barely meeting his gaze. “I-uhm…” Your fingers tapped absently against the leather of the wheel, the hesitation clear in your posture. 

Spencer scrambled for another reason, another way to make it easier for you to say yes. “You can come get that book I told you about,” he added quickly, even though he didn’t really care about the book. He just wanted to get you inside, to keep you from going home alone to sit in silence with your thoughts. 

For a moment, he thought you might say no. But then, you let out a quiet sigh, too exhausted to argue. 

“Yeah… okay,” you whispered, turning off the engine. 

Relief washed over Spencer as he stepped out of the car, waiting for you to follow. 

The two of you walked quietly into his apartment. As soon as you stepped inside, you toed off your shoes, your movements sluggish with exhaustion. Spencer set your bag down near the door, watching you carefully. 

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked gently, already thinking of what he could make you. 

You shook your head without hesitation. “No, that’s fine,” you murmured, your voice quiet.

Spencer frowned slightly but didn’t push. Instead, he watched as you stepped toward his bookshelf, running your fingers lightly over the spines of his meticulously arranged collection. 

“Which one was it again?” you asked, tilting your head as you scanned the titles. 

“The one on the second shelf, third from the right,” Spencer supplied, stepping closer. “But you don’t actually have to give it back. That was just an excuse to get you up here.” 

Your fingers froze on the book spine, and for the first time that night, you turned to look at him fully. His honesty caught you off guard.

A small, tired smile ghosted over your lips. “Yeah, I figured.” 

Spencer’s gaze softened as he took a slow step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want to talk about it?” He watched you closely, his eyes filled with concern, as he waited for a response. 

You bit your lip. Spencer could see you trying to hold it together, but he knew you weren’t fine—not by a long shot. Without another thought, he moved closer and gently pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

That was all it took.

The moment you felt his warmth, the dam you had built up inside cracked. Your tears came in a rush, soaking the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him tightly. Spencer’s heart tightened at the sight, but he held you even closer, one hand moving to the back of your head, threading through your hair in soft, steady motions. 

“It was so awful, Spencer,” you whispered between sobs, your voice shaky as you gripped his shirt.

Spencer pressed his cheek against the side of your head, his other hand moving in slow, soothing circles across your back. He didn’t need to say anything, not yet. He knew you just needed to be held, to let it out.

His voice was gentle when he spoke, full of understanding. “I know," he murmured. "I know. I know it was hard” 

You clung to him, your face pressed against his chest. You let out a shaky breath, your voice muffled. “Everything is,” you whispered. 

You couldn’t stop the tears. Spencer felt his heart tighten in his chest at the sound of your pain. His instinct was to hold you tighter, to shield you from the world’s cruelty, and he did just that, tightening his grip around you as though he could absorb some of your suffering. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for just a moment before he whispered, “I’ve got you.” 

The simple words were a promise, a vow. And he meant them with every fiber of his being. He didn’t let go of you—not for a second. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t try to offer solutions. He just held you. Let you cry. Let you feel. 

Time passed. Your sobs became softer, less desperate. His hands gently stroked your back.

Eventually, the tears began to slow, and you pulled back slightly, your face flushed with emotion. Spencer’s hands were immediately there, his fingertips brushing away the last of your tears, his touch tender and careful. 

You sniffed, trying to gather yourself. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice small, fragile, as you wiped at your eyes. 

Spencer’s eyes softened even more as he cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. He made sure you met his gaze, wanting you to see the sincerity in his eyes. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice soft. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

His voice grew even softer as he added, “I’m here for you, always.” 

A small, shaky breath escaped your lips. You stared up at him, still feeling vulnerable, but in a way that felt safe now.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but filled with the depth of gratitude that words alone couldn’t capture. 

Spencer’s gaze softened even more. He shifted slightly, his hands still resting gently on your face, and then he let out a soft chuckle.

“You know, crying is actually a biological response that releases endorphins, which are natural painkillers. So technically, you just gave yourself a free therapy session. Pretty efficient if you ask me. ” he said, giving you a sheepish grin. 

You couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle of your own, your lips curling into a smile.

Spencer looked down at you, his eyes warm and soft. “See? I can still get a smile out of you, even if it’s just a little one,” Spencer said, his voice teasing but gentle, his lips curving upward in a small, knowing grin. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out, the small smile not leaving your face. You kept your hands on his waist, absentmindedly toying with the fabric of his shirt.

Spencer’s fingers brushed a loose strand of your hair from your face, his touch soft and tender.

“Do you want something to eat now?” he asked, his voice gentle. His hand lingered on your cheek, thumb continuing to make slow, soothing circles along your skin. 

You paused for a moment, realizing you had been so caught up in everything that you hadn't even thought about food. As the thought crossed your mind, you realized you were hungry.

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled weakly, the exhaustion still in your voice, but it felt a little more like your usual self. “I think I could eat something.” 

Spencer’s smile softened, reaching for your hand, as he gently led you toward the kitchen. 

His kitchen was small, but organized, just like everything else in his apartment. He pulled out a chair for you at the tiny table , his hand lingering on the back of it as you sat down.

Spencer moved quietly, pulling open cabinets.

“I could make grilled cheese,” he offered, glancing over his shoulder. “Or, if you’re not in the mood for that, I have ingredients for pancakes. Though I should warn you, my flipping technique is… inconsistent.”

A small, breathy laugh escaped you, and Spencer’s chest tightened at the sound. There it was. That little spark of you—the one that had been missing all night.

“Grilled cheese is perfect,” you murmured, resting your chin in your hand. Your voice was still quieter than usual.

Spencer nodded, turning back to the stove to hide the way his lips twitched upward. He could feel your eyes on him, studying his movements.

“You’re staring,” he said lightly, not turning around.

“Am not,” you lied, but he heard the smile in your voice.

“You are. And statistically, people who deny staring are actually staring 87% of the time.”

You snorted. “You just made that up.”

“Maybe.” He peeked over his shoulder, grinning when he caught your amused expression. “But you can’t prove it.”

The playful banter was familiar. It was you—the real you, the one who always found a way to smile even on the hardest days. The one who had, more times than he could count, pulled him out of his own spirals with nothing but a joke or a gentle nudge.

Spencer flipped the sandwich with only minimal cheese casualties, then slid the plate toward you. You took it gratefully, your fingers brushing his for just a second.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a small bite.

He leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed, watching as you ate. He wanted to memorize this—the way your nose scrunched slightly when you chewed, the way your fingers tapped idly against the plate when you paused to think.

“You’re doing it now,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Doing what?”

“Staring.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he tilted his head, his voice softening. “I’m just… glad you’re feeling better.”

You looked down at your plate, but not before he caught the faint pink dusting your cheeks. “Me too,” you admitted. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to just… let it out.”

Spencer hummed in understanding. He knew better than anyone how easy it was to lock things away, to pretend you were fine until the weight of it all became unbearable.

And then, halfway through your plate, you spoke.

“I think I scared Emily today.”

Spencer paused, glancing up. “How so?”

You toyed with your fork, avoiding his gaze for a moment before sighing. “I just… didn’t say anything the entire day. And you know how she is—she kept trying to get me to talk, but I just… couldn’t.”

Spencer nodded, understanding. Emily wasn’t one to let things go easily.

“She’ll get it,” he said softly. “She knows how these cases can get under your skin.”

You hummed, pushing a piece of food around your plate absently. “Yeah. I just… I hate being like this.”

Spencer studied you for a moment before stepping closer, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. “You’re allowed to not be okay sometimes,” he murmured. “Even sunshine has to set.”

The words were quiet, but they made you look up at him, your eyes softening.

And then—

A real smile. Small, but real.

“Since when did you get so poetic, Spencer?”

Spencer felt his cheeks warm, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I read a lot.”

You laughed—actually laughed—and the sound was like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Spencer’s chest tightened. There she is.

You finished your food, then leaned back in your chair, finally looking more like yourself—your usual brightness seeping back in, bit by bit.

Spencer couldn’t help the small, private smile that tugged at his lips. 

You caught his expression and narrowed your eyes playfully. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” he said, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him. “Just… it’s good to see you smiling again.”

Your grin softened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “Well, I do have a pretty great grilled cheese chef.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “Flattery won’t get you a second sandwich.”

“Are you sure? Because I do have a very convincing puppy-dog stare.” You demonstrated, widening your eyes exaggeratedly.

He groaned, but he was already standing up to make another.

Because for you he’d do anything , if it meant that he got to see that light in your eyes again.

need me my own spencer reid NEOW

𝜗𝜚 Every Shade.

Boyfriend!Reid x Avoidant!reader

series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: Your perfect boyfriend says a fun fact about the standards of beauty, and suddenly his words hit you harder than they should.

Words: 6k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!bau!reader. mentions of insecurities, beauty canons, serial killers, death and the reader wearing makeup. established relationship. spencer being an inexperienced boyfriend. lack of communication but happy ending. hurt/comfort. angst?. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I can seriously think of my inexperienced boy being a foolish or careless boyfriend even without meaning to be, so enjoy this!

Spencer Reid never thought of himself as the careless type of boyfriend. In fact, before you, the very idea of being someone’s boyfriend had never seemed possible, let alone something he could do well. He had always been more comfortable with facts, numbers, and patterns. Relationships had always been a different kind of mystery to him, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to solve. But when you came into his life, something shifted. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt an overwhelming desire to be not just a partner, but a good one. A thoughtful one. A boyfriend who paid attention to the details.

He knew your favorite coffee order without you ever having to tell him. He knew the exact shade of blue that made your eyes sparkle in a way that made him catch his breath and the way you furrowed your brows in concentration when you were diving deep into thought. He noticed the little things, like the way your fingers gripped the edge of your sleeve when you were lost in a difficult problem or how you would laugh softly at jokes you didn’t find funny just to make others feel comfortable. Every habit, every subtle movement, every fleeting comment you made was something he absorbed like a sponge, collecting the pieces of you that made you you. And it made him feel closer to you, more connected than he ever thought was possible.

But it wasn’t just the light moments he noticed. Spencer also understood the weight of your darker days, the ones where the world seemed to shift into shades of gray, where the air held a bite that wasn’t harsh but still cut through you. He knew when the seasons teetered between autumn and winter and how those melancholic in-between days clung to your spirit. On those days, the ones where you wore your sadness like a cloak without ever saying a word, he was there. He noticed when your smile didn’t reach your eyes, when your usual energy seemed dimmed. So, without fail, he would show up with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, a soft blanket, and arms that enveloped you like a cocoon. He would be your shelter, your quiet refuge from the world, without needing any words to fill the silence.

He loved knowing you this well, loved that he could anticipate your needs before you even voiced them. It made him feel closer to you, like he had earned a place in the most hidden corners of your heart. And to Spencer, there was no better feeling in the world.

He knows you; he sees you. He does it.

That morning, in the quiet hum of your office, was one of those moments where your boyfriend’s watchful eyes made all the difference. The soft glow of your desk lamp illuminated your face, casting a warm, golden light that contrasted against the coolness of the winter air outside. Before you, your makeup bag lay open, a chaotic yet familiar spread of tools—brushes, tubes, powders—all of them scattered like tiny pieces of armor you would need for the day ahead. You were preparing for the press conference, the one where you would stand in for JJ during her maternity leave. The pressure felt immense. It wasn’t just any press conference; it was the moment you had to prove you could handle the spotlight, the cameras, and the ever-watchful public eye. The weight of one of your best friends’ trust sat heavy on your shoulders, but it was a weight you were willing to carry.

As you smoothed foundation over your skin with careful, practiced strokes, you felt the weight of Spencer’s gaze on you. It wasn’t intrusive, never demanding, just there, steady and grounding, as if his attention alone could keep you tethered. He had a way of watching you that made you feel both seen and safe, as though he was quietly committing every little detail of you to memory.

Still, you glanced up, unable to resist.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those deep, knowing eyes—told you everything. He was looking at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world, his quiet reverence sending a warm, familiar hum through your chest. It made your pulse stutter, your breath catch just slightly.

Because, oh God, how much you loved feeling his eyes on you.

You swallowed, dragging your focus back to the mirror. Focus. Get it together. You’ve got this. JJ had entrusted you with this press conference, and you weren’t about to let doubt creep in, not now.

But from the corner of your eye, you caught movement.

Derek Morgan, leaning casually against his desk, arms crossed, wearing that signature smirk of his. It wasn’t just amusement playing at the edges of his mouth; it was something more entertained, more knowing. His gaze flicked between you and Spencer, and you could practically hear the teasing remark forming before he even opened his mouth.

You sighed. Here we go.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow as you reached for your concealer. “Never seen someone put on makeup before?”

His grin only deepened. “Nah, I’ve seen plenty,” he said, raising an eyebrow as if he were admiring a work of art. “I’ve just never seen someone prepare for a press conference like they’re getting ready for a red carpet event.”

You rolled your eyes. “Some of us like to be prepared. Looking good is part of that.” You injected confidence into the words, though if you were being honest, they felt a little hollow. Today, it wasn’t just about looking good, it was about feeling in control.

And right now, with nerves curling tight in your stomach, you weren’t sure you did.

Morgan’s smirk didn’t waver. He nudged your boyfriend with his elbow, dragging him into the conversation. “Come on, kid. Tell her she doesn’t need all that makeup.”

You looked up, expecting his usual reassuring smile, that soft look he reserved for moments when he knew you were nervous or self-conscious. You could always count on him to calm your racing thoughts, to tell you that you were perfect just the way you were. The kind of reassurance that made everything feel lighter.

Instead, Spencer glanced at you with that thoughtful frown he always wore when his mind was spinning through facts. “You know…” His voice was calm, detached even, like he was about to drop some piece of knowledge that he thought might help. “It’s weird, but studies show that people tend to take you more seriously when you fit the ‘beauty standards.’ You know, like…if you’re wearing makeup or have certain features that are seen as desirable, people will listen to you more in meetings.”

The mascara brush froze mid-air.

Oh.

The words landed harder than they should have, knocking the breath from your lungs in a way that felt almost embarrassing. Because this was Spencer, your Spencer, the one who had seen you at your worst, who had kissed you sleepy and messy in the morning, who had traced your bare skin in the dim light of your bedroom.

And yet, here he was, stating facts about beauty standards like they were nothing more than statistics. Like they didn’t mean anything.

You forced out a weak laugh, trying to brush it off, trying to tell yourself that he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. But the sting was already there, curling under your skin, settling deep in your chest. Was that how he really saw things? That your worth—your professional worth—was tied to how well you conformed to something so shallow?

That you weren’t enough without it?

You searched his face, hoping to find something, some flicker of understanding, some sign that he realized how his words had sliced right through you. But he wasn’t looking at you like a man who had just shaken your foundation. He was looking at you like a scientist reciting an interesting fact.

Like it wasn’t personal.

But God, it felt personal.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty, boy,” Derek said, messing with Reid’s hair, trying to break the tension, but the words didn’t quite hit the mark.

You tried to focus again, returning your attention to your makeup, but the weight of Spencer’s comment lingered in the air. Your hands felt unsteady as you finished applying the mascara, the brush shaking slightly with each stroke. Your voice felt tight as you responded, trying to keep it light, but your words tasted flat, like you were trying to cover up a bruise that wasn’t yet healed.

“That’s…interesting,” you said, your tone carefully neutral, though the insecurity that was now flooding through you was anything but calm.

“Yeah,” he said, still looking at you, his voice slightly absent. “And if you’re a woman, studies show that you’re more likely to be taken seriously in a professional setting if you wear makeup or—” His gaze seemed to soften, but it didn’t feel comforting. It just made you feel like there was something more he wasn’t saying. “Not that you need it, of course.”

You could feel your heart rate pick up as you tried to smile, but it didn’t feel natural. His words had drilled into you, chipping away at the small pieces of confidence you’d carefully built up this morning. The idea that your worth, in part, was tied to your appearance, to how well you matched up to some standard that was beyond your control, weighed on you like a heavy cloak. You thought about the days you’d come to work with little makeup, or none at all, when your boyfriend had seen you without the polished facade, the times when he had seen you just woken up or coming out of the shower. Did he see you as less then? Did he notice the imperfections when you were stripped of all that? Did he like you less when he saw you naked, unpolished, and unguarded? Were you enough for him in those moments? Did he still see you the same way? Or was there a shift, a moment when he realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t quite as perfect as the women he read about in his studies, the ones with their perfectly symmetrical faces, their natural makeup, their flawless skin?

“And, you know,” He added, still looking at you and Morgan like he couldn’t stop talking, “there’s this whole thing about how people with higher cheekbones are considered more attractive, and—”

You felt your breath catch. The fun facts about beauty standards kept coming, one after the other, each one a reminder of the ways you didn’t measure up. How the curve of your jaw wasn’t quite sharp enough, how your cheekbones weren’t as high as the models in the magazines, how you didn’t quite fit the mold your own boyfriend was talking about.

He wasn’t intentionally trying to make you feel insecure; he wasn’t even really paying attention to how you were really reacting, but somehow, his words echoed in your mind, like a chorus of doubts rising to the surface. Maybe you had been too focused on doing your makeup to feel like yourself today. Maybe you had gotten too used to hiding behind this mask to feel comfortable with who you really were underneath. Maybe you were pretty, but not pretty enough. Never enough. Never like a model.

You forced a laugh, trying to shake off the unease. “Yeah, I guess I’m just trying to keep up with all the standards, huh?” You said, your voice tight, and then quickly added, “But I’ll be fine. It’s just a conference, right?”

Something inside you was mentally begging him—pleading with him—to say something else. Something real. Something that had nothing to do with studies or statistics or the way the world decided who mattered more. Tell me I’m beautiful. Tell me none of that matters. Tell me I don’t have to measure up to a standard I’ll never fully reach.

But all he gave you was a weak smile, the kind he always gave when he thought everything was fine. He said, “You’ll do great. You always do,” as if that was enough.

But it wasn’t. Not this time.

Not when your heart was filled with doubts and insecurity, and all you really wanted was to feel seen. To feel like you were more than just the sum of your appearance.

“Thanks,” you said, the word small and insignificant, slipping from your lips like it didn’t matter at all.

Spencer didn’t notice the shift. He turned his attention back to his notes, his mind already back on its analytical track. He was already gone, lost in his thoughts, unaware of the storm that had stirred inside you.

And as you sat there, in front of the mirror, your perfectly applied makeup reflecting back at you, the weight of the silence between you grew. You had done everything right. You had made yourself look the way you were supposed to. But somehow, sitting next to the person who should have made you feel the most seen, you felt more invisible than ever.

The mask was still in place, but it didn’t feel like protection anymore. It felt like a cage.

The women’s bathroom buzzed with quiet energy, the soft murmur of conversation from the stalls, the clatter of makeup brushes on porcelain, and the steady trickle of a faucet someone had forgotten to turn off. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered faintly, casting everything in an unforgiving, almost surgical glare. Too bright. Too harsh. Every pore, every smudge, every slightly overfilled section of your eyebrow…ugh, why did it look so weird today?

You squinted at your reflection, lips pressed into a tight line, as if sheer force of will could stop the growing wave of insecurity curling around your ribs. Your hair was shining after so many new products, your foundation was patchy in places, and your eyeliner was untouched. You should have been focused and methodical, getting ready like you always did. Instead, your hands were unsteady, your thoughts tangled in something that had absolutely no right to be taking up this much space in your brain.

But it was.

Because Spencer Reid and his dumb fun facts had lodged themselves deep into your psyche, turning what should have been a normal morning into an existential crisis. The same babbling you used to love to hear now sounded like a nightmare. The same guy you had fallen in love with and loved to be with all day was now the one you had been avoiding looking in the face for more than three seconds.

On the counter was one of the magazines you had bought the other day, with a model looking back at you with her impossibly perfect cat eyes and flawless skin. Today you tried the same look. It hadn't worked. It looked good on her, perfect. On you? You looked like a raccoon trying to do a winged eyeliner tutorial while riding a roller coaster.

Suddenly, Emily’s voice sliced through the fog of your spiraling thoughts.

“Okay,” she said, her tone edged with concern and authority, “what the hell is going on?”

You startled slightly, mascara wand freezing midair. When you looked up, she was leaning casually against the counter, but her eyes—dark and sharp as ever—were anything but casual. She scanned you like a crime scene: the half-done eye makeup, the tense set of your shoulders, the way your lips were pressed into a thin, nervous line. You must’ve looked like you were trying to solve an advanced math problem, not get ready for a briefing.

You cleared your throat, forcing out the lie you hoped would be enough. “Nothing.”

Emily blinked slowly, unimpressed. “Right. Because people always look like they’re about to throw up when nothing is wrong.”

Damn profilers.

From across the room, Penelope was perched dramatically on the edge of the sink, legs swinging, a swirl of floral perfume and bubblegum. She blew a perfect pink bubble, let it pop, then gave you a long, knowing look as she chewed.

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, cocking her head. “That’s the ‘I’m having a silent breakdown but don’t want to talk about it face.”

You tried to scoff, but it came out weak. “I don’t have a face for that.”

Penelope arched an eyebrow. “Oh, honey. You absolutely do.”

“She’s right,” Emily deadpanned, crossing her arms. “It’s your second most common expression. Right after, I’m internally screaming but pretending everything’s fine.”

You let out a breath—sharp and tired—and pressed two fingers to your temple like that would somehow press the thoughts out of your head. But they didn’t go. They never really did.

“I just…” You trailed off, mascara wand still clutched in your fingers. Your eyes dropped to the cluttered counter: a foundation bottle left uncapped, brushes scattered, and a smudge of lipstick on a tissue like a failed experiment. “Do I look good?”

The silence that followed was brief but pointed. You could feel both women scan you with clinical precision: your rumpled hair, eyeliner started on one eye but not the other, and foundation patchy where you’d tried to blend too quickly. But it wasn’t just about that. They knew it. You knew it.

Emily gave a dismissive wave. “Why are you even asking? You know you look good.”

But the question still hung heavy in the air.

You set the mascara down with a quiet, deliberate click. A tiny sound, but final. “Spencer said something,” you murmured, your voice thinner than you wanted it to be. “A couple of days ago.”

Both women immediately stilled.

“About beauty standards,” you continued, eyes fixed on the magazine lying facedown on the counter, a model’s perfect eyes staring back in judgment. “He was talking about how people take you more seriously if you look a certain way. If you’re conventionally attractive. He was just rattling off facts—like he always does—but…it stuck.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed as she popped her gum again. “Ugh, that boy and his fun facts.”

You tried to laugh, but your stomach was turning like someone had twisted it into a tight knot and pulled. The memory clung to you: his voice so casual, so neutral, dropping that stupid statistic like it meant nothing. But it hadn’t felt like nothing. Not to you.

Emily straightened. She wasn’t amused. Not even a little. “He said that to you?”

You nodded slowly. “Not to me. He was just…talking. He probably didn’t even realize what he said. But now I’m in here, halfway through my makeup, spiraling over whether my eyeliner’s straight enough to be ‘taken seriously’ by the world.”

You gestured helplessly at the mirror, at your own reflection: smeared foundation, uncertain brows, the ghost of winged eyeliner clinging to your lid. “And I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Like…if I don’t pull it together, if I don’t look perfect, it’s not just that I’ll feel bad. It’s that no one will listen to me.”

Emily’s jaw tightened. “That’s bullshit,” she said flatly.

Penelope raised one hand and placed it dramatically over her chest like she’d been mortally offended. “The biggest load of bullshit.”

You let out a huff of air, something like a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, well. My brain didn’t get the memo.”

Penelope stood up then, with unusual seriousness softening her expression. “Sweetheart, let me tell you something. You could walk into that room with mascara running down your cheeks, wearing nothing but a coffee-stained hoodie, and people would still shut up and listen when you talk. Not because of how you look. But because you’re brilliant. And terrifying. In the best possible way.”

You swallowed, feeling something tighten in your throat. “No, but—”

“No buts,” Emily cut in. “Spencer Reid might be a genius, but sometimes he forgets how real people work. Especially the ones he cares about.” Her voice softened, just slightly. “But don’t let one stupid comment rewrite everything you already know about yourself.”

That startled a real laugh out of you.

Penelope nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! I adore that lanky little weirdo, but he says a lot of things without thinking about how they land. That doesn’t mean he sees you any differently. It just means he’s a socially awkward nerd who needs to learn when not to share his random knowledge with his girlfriend.”

You allowed yourself a deep exhale, some of the weight on your chest easing, if only a fraction. It felt like the first time all day you could breathe without feeling like you were suffocating under the pressure of everything you couldn’t say.

Emily’s voice, soft and steady, broke through the stillness. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “Not to Spencer. Not to the world. And definitely not to some arbitrary beauty standard that doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”

The calm conviction in her words settled over you like a warm blanket, soft and grounding, and Penelope added her own brand of comforting chaos. “But if finishing your makeup makes you feel good, babe, then go ahead and slay.” She flashed a wink, her smile wide and dazzling. “We’ll be right here, hyping you up, always.

You looked between them, their unwavering confidence in you, the way they stood on either side like a protective barrier between you and your own insecurities. The knots in your stomach loosened, just a little.

You finished your makeup with steadying breaths and Penelope’s steady stream of compliments in your ear like a lifeline. The eyeliner wasn’t perfect. The foundation still sat weird in that one spot near your chin. But it didn’t matter as much now. Or at least, you were trying really hard to make it not matter.

By the time you stepped out of the bathroom, the usual BAU morning chaos was in full swing, agents weaving in and out of the bullpen, papers rustling, and the echo of hurried footsteps down the hall. You fell into step behind Garcia, letting her take the lead as you clutched the folder to your chest with slightly sweaty palms.

And then you felt it. The subtle shift in the air that told you he was there before you saw him. Spencer.

He was already seated at the table, elbows propped up, flipping through the preliminary case file, his usual air of quiet concentration surrounding him. He lookedd so much like himself: cardigan slightly too big, curls falling just messy enough to look endearing, the corner of his mouth tucked between his teeth as he scanned the papers. So familiar. So impossibly distant.

You didn’t let your eyes linger.

Instead, you angled yourself toward the projector, using the task of setting up the slideshow like it required your full, undivided attention. Which it absolutely did not, but the alternative was accidentally making eye contact and seeing something in his expression you couldn’t handle. Confusion, guilt, or worse: nothing at all.

“Morning,” he said quietly. It was the tone he used when he wasn’t sure if he had permission to exist in the same space as you.

You responded too fast, your voice too sharp, too clipped. “Morning.”

There was a brief silence. You could feel his eyes on you, like a gentle tap on the shoulder you were determined to ignore.

And then, mercifully, Hotch walked in, his presence slicing through the tension. “Let’s get started,” he said, already flipping through the case file as he moved to the head of the table.

The team fell into their usual rhythm, a buzz of motion, chairs scraping back as people shifted into place. You slid into your seat at the front of the room, clicking the remote to bring up the first slide, and forced your voice into something steady, something professional.

“We’ve got three victims, all found in rural areas surrounding Baltimore. All women, ages 25 to 30, all brunette, similar build. There are signs of overkill, stab wounds well beyond what would be necessary to cause death.”

You moved through the slides with practiced precision, your voice even, your focus razor-sharp. You didn’t stumble, didn’t hesitate, and didn’t once let your gaze flicker to Spencer’s side of the table. You spoke to Hotch. To Rossi. To Emily. To Penelope and Derek. Even to the wall. Anywhere but him.

Only once did your composure crack, a tiny hiccup in your breath when you mentioned the geographic profile. It was something Spencer had taught you when you were still new, something he’d spent hours drilling into you, showing you how to see patterns in the chaos. And there it was, his head lifting ever so slightly, his mouth parting like he wanted to remind you of something. Maybe a fact you’d forgotten. Or just to remind you that he was still there, somewhere, waiting to bridge the gap between you.

You forced yourself to keep going.

When you finished, Hotch gave a brief nod. “Good work. Let’s move out in twenty.”

The team’s energy shifted, moving from the quiet tension of the briefing room to the familiar post-briefing buzz. Chairs scraped back, papers shuffled, and voices rose as people began to file out. But you stayed behind, pretending to organize the files in front of you, keeping your hands busy, keeping yourself from fleeing. The paper felt like the only thing in the room that didn’t carry the weight of unspoken words.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Spencer pause in the doorway, his silhouette outlined in the harsh fluorescent light. He lingered, hesitant, unsure.

“Hey,” he said, his voice almost tentative, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to speak to you in this moment. “Can we—”

“I have to double-check something with Garcia,” you cut in before he could finish, your words not unkind but firm, like a wall going up between you.

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. But it was enough.

You moved past him without waiting for a reply, your heels clicking sharply against the tile, the sound too loud in the stillness of the room. Your heart hammered in your chest, the echo of his voice a distant thing you weren’t ready to face. Not yet.

Maybe never.

You didn’t see him at first. You didn’t want to. The hallway of the precinct was quiet, almost too quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights above and the distant murmur of voices in the bullpen nothing but a dull backdrop to your pulse, racing in your ears. You had taken the longer route on purpose, weaving through empty hallways, hoping to lose yourself in the disarray of the building. You could feel the thick weight of the morning press down on your chest: the meeting, the case, the pressure to be perfect. You just needed a moment of stillness, a second of quiet.

But fate had a funny way of ruining plans.

The moment you turned the corner, you saw him. Spencer. Standing there, just a few feet away, shoulders slightly hunched as if he were bracing himself. His posture was that familiar mix of awkwardness and intent focus, like he was trying to decide whether to speak or stay silent, but there was something different about him today. His hair was messier than usual, curls sticking out in odd directions, and his fingers were twitching by his side, nervous. Almost like he was unsure of himself.

Your stomach dropped.

You tried to keep walking, tried to push past him, but the sound of your shoes clicking against the linoleum slowed as you drew near, the silence hanging heavy.

“Hey,” he said, soft and tentative, like he was trying not to scare a wounded animal.

Your body tensed. You didn’t respond right away, hoping maybe if you didn’t acknowledge it, he’d take the hint and let you slip away again, untouched. Unspoken to. Unseen.

No such luck.

“I was hoping we could talk,” he tried again, more gently. “Just for a second.”

Your grip on the folder tightened until the edge of the paper cut into your palm. “I’m kind of busy,” you muttered, finally, still not looking at him.

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, half a breath, half defeat. “Maybe because I am,” you murmured, eyes flicking down to the paperwork you clutched like a shield. “The profile’s not ready, the press is waiting, and if I don’t finish the summary, Hotch is going to breathe down my neck in fifteen minutes.” The words came out sharp and mechanical, like a rehearsed excuse. But your heart wasn’t in it. Not even close.

Spencer was quiet for a moment. You could feel the weight of his stare, not sharp, not demanding. Just there. Lingering. Like gravity.

“I did something,” he said finally, his voice thin and breaking at the edges. “Didn’t I? Something that hurt you.”

Your shoulders stiffened. The chill rolled in again, slow and insidious, sinking down through the fabric of your clothes and into your bones. You wanted to say no. Wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, that you weren’t affected. But your body betrayed you. Your jaw clenched. Your breath hitched.

“It’s nothing,” you said, but it cracked on the way out, barely held together by habit.

He took a careful step closer. You felt it. The shift in the air, the static tension that danced between the inches that separated your bodies. “No, it’s not nothing,” he said softly. “Tell me what I said. What I did.”

You could hear the ache in his voice, that rare, tender vulnerability he only let you see. It scraped at you, raw and irritating, because he sounded like he cared. Because he did. And that made it worse. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t try to reason his way in with statistics or logic. He just stood there, steady and open, letting you feel every inch of his presence.

“I know something’s wrong.” Spencer said. “You didn’t sit with me on the jet. You didn’t even look at me.”

The words made you flinch, just slightly. You hadn’t expected him to notice. Or maybe you had. Maybe you wanted him to.

“I know we don’t show affection at work. That’s always been our rule,” he continued, quieter now, more broken. “But you always touch my hand. Or bump your knee into mine. You always steal a sip of my coffee, even when it’s gross. But this morning…you didn’t even look at the muffin I brought you.”

You closed your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the guilt clawing at your chest. He’d noticed. Every small absence. Every little shift.

Finally, you turned. Slowly. Your gaze fell to the floor in front of his shoes, worn at the edges and slightly scuffed. Just like him. And then you looked up. Just barely. Just enough to catch the way he was standing. Shoulders slightly hunched, hands limp by his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. Like he didn’t know how to reach you.

And he didn’t.

Because part of you didn’t want to be reached.

Not yet.

“It’s just…” You swallowed. “It’s what you said the other day. When Morgan made that joke about my makeup.”

Spencer blinked, clearly trying to remember. “What did I exactly say?”

“You said people get more attention when they see someone pretty,” you said, each word carefully even, like if you didn’t control your voice, it would crack.

His brows furrowed. “I said that people tend to respond more favorably to those who fall within conventional beauty standards and that it has an unconscious effect on—”

“I know what you said,” you snapped, sharper than you meant to. The echo of your own voice in the empty hallway made your stomach twist. “You don’t have to repeat it like a textbook.”

That made him flinch, just barely, but enough.

“I didn’t mean it about you,” he said quickly. “I was just talking. I always talk too much, you know it.”

You gave a humorless laugh, turning your back to him, your arms crossed tight over your chest.

“That’s the thing, Spencer. You didn’t mean it. And you didn’t even realize how it sounded. You just threw it out there, like a fact. Like I wasn’t sitting right next to you, like I’m not already trying to compete in a world that picks apart every inch of me the second I walk into a room.”

“I didn’t think—”

“No. You didn’t.”

Your voice cracked this time, and you hated it. Hated the sting in your eyes, the tightness in your throat. You weren’t supposed to feel like this, not over something so small. But it wasn’t small. Not to you. Not when it was coming from him.

He stepped closer again, like he couldn’t help himself, and you stepped back just as fast.

“Please don’t,” you said quietly.

He froze.

“I know I’m not the only girl in the world,” you said, not looking at him. “And I’m not asking to be. But when you say things like that, even casually, it feels like I’ve already lost a race I didn’t know I was running. Like I’m not even in the frame.”

There was a long pause. Your boyfriend’s voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

“You’ve never been out of frame. Not for me.”

You shook your head, blinking hard, trying to will away the heat behind your eyes. “I’ve spent the last two days wondering if I’d be worth more to you if I looked different.”

That hit him like a blow. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t know. I didn’t think. But please believe me when I tell you…I see you. All the time. You’re someone I—” He stopped himself, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “You’re the only person I can’t stop seeing.”

Something in your chest pulled tight, twisted cruelly.

You stared at a fixed spot on the floor. The tiles blurred a little around the edges. You didn’t know what to say to that, not when your chest felt too tight, not when your emotions were running just beneath your skin, raw and humming.

“I don’t always think before I talk,” he continued, carefully. “Sometimes I share things like facts and research like they’re harmless, like they’re neutral. But I forget that facts aren’t neutral when they land on people I care about.”

That made you glance up at him. Just for a second.

He looked like he meant it: brows drawn, hands loosely curled at his sides, eyes locked on yours with that intense kind of focus he reserved for unsolvable puzzles and people he couldn’t let go of.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said, and there was no rush in it. No grand gesture. Just a quiet truth. “Not when you’re all put together. Not just when you wear makeup. Not just when you smile.”

You blinked. The air in the hallway seemed to still.

“I think you’re beautiful when you’re tired. When you’re pissed off. When you’re sitting at your desk covered in crime scene dust and snapping at Morgan because you haven’t eaten in twelve hours.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I think you’re beautiful even when you’re covered in blood, cursing at your vest because it rubbed your ribs raw…even if that sounds weird.”

A quiet laugh broke out of you, not a full one, but a cracked, genuine thing that caught you off guard. You shook your head, eyes misty despite yourself.

“Spencer…”

He stepped forward slowly, careful not to close the distance unless you let him. “You never needed to change anything. Not for me. Not for the world, either. But if you ever forget how amazing you are, I’ll remind you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your throat was too tight. But your hand reached out, just barely brushing against his. Not quite holding. Just…touching.

It was enough.

His fingers closed around yours, warm and hesitant.

“Okay,” you whispered.

And for the first time in days, the storm inside you quieted, not gone, but calm. Manageable. Because he didn’t just see you. He saw through everything you tried to hide…and stayed.

Friendly reminder ❤︎ : you are beautiful and "standards" are bullshit that don't matter, even if we sometimes feel like they do.

Take care and be kind to yourself, xoxo.

“can i be the little spoon” all day EVERYDAY SIR 🫡

Baptized In Fear

Summary: Spencer struggles to fight the demons that haunt him through withdrawal. You're there to remind him he doesn't have to fight alone.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Mentions of previous drug addiction/withdrawal. Mentions of sleep paralysis. Some religious verbiage in a non-religious setting. Fingering (f!receiving), unprotected P in V sex (birth control mentioned), dry humping (my beloved), some praise, creampie (fingers burning as I type that). Best friends to lovers/two idiots in love (giggling and kicking my feet)!! A little angsty (I'm SORRY).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This song-fic is based on Baptized In Fear by The Weeknd, so I strongly recommend listening to it while you read, but it's not mandatory :) God I've missed writing LMAO I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!! :') <3 and if you DO enjoy it, please feel free to like, reblog, drop a comment, whatever your heart desires because I truly do appreciate any feedback I get on my works :) Friendly reminder that my requests are open btw okay I love you all MWAH!!

I fell asleep in the tub, I was met with paralysis

My foot hit the faucet, water started flowing in

Spencer woke with a sharp gasp, his gaze darting toward the frigid water now pouring over his skin. His fingers twitched at his sides, submerged and pruny. His eyes fluttered as he fought to keep them open. When had he dozed off? 

Couldn't scream for help, I just slowly felt the pressure hit

Moving one toe was the only form of motion left

Can't breathe for air, can't breathe

It was almost as though cement flowed through his veins instead of blood, keeping him anchored to the bottom of the porcelain tub. His pulse skyrocketed at the sound of the doorknob twisting followed by a sharp bang against the solid wood, but he couldn’t move. Logically, he knew that auditory hallucinations were normal for sleep paralysis. That didn’t stop them from being horrifying each time they happened. 

Spencer’s heart pounded in his throat, threatening to leap from the seam of his lips and dive for the drain if he were to open his mouth even a fraction. He was dizzy. Debilitatingly dizzy. The bright fluorescent light stung his eyes and made his head throb. 

He had to get out of this tub. 

Spencer focused all of the energy he could muster on wiggling his toes. He knew that once he got his toes to move, the rest of his body would follow behind shortly after. The sound of footsteps outside of the bathroom sent another pang of icy panic shooting up his spine, tightening the band-like sensation currently squeezing the air from his lungs and causing his ribs to ache. It felt like a rock was lodged in his throat, blocking his airway as he struggled to just wiggle his damn toes. 

Trying to remember everything that my preacher said

Tryna right my wrongs, my rеgrets filling up my head

All the timеs I dodged death, this can't be the way it ends, no

Spencer’s eyes slipped shut, exhaustion weighing them down. He was clammy despite the freezing water steadily rising, filling the tub beyond its normal limits. The gurgling sound of the overflow draining was muted by the incessant pounding at his bathroom door, the knocks sounding urgent and threatening. 

A tear dripped down his cheek as he recalled what his recovery coach had preached to him about withdrawal. Testaments about how excruciating it would be, how it would test his sanity… but it was a necessary evil. His only choice was to fight the craving for the sweet relief of the needle or lose the career he worked so hard to excel in. Lose the family he’d made from said career. Lose you. 

The water was now tickling Spencer’s chin, having slumped down into the tub presumably before he’d drifted off. His body was shivering violently, yet he still couldn’t lift a finger. Memories flashed behind his eyelids as he recounted every near death experience he’d had since joining the BAU. As he recounted literally dying and coming back to life at the hands of Tobias. In a way, he found it sardonic that he’d survived everything that he had just to die in a bathtub. All because he was too weak from withdrawal to fight the crippling grip of sleep paralysis. 

Figure in the corner I can't quite see 

I just know the shadow's staring at me

It gets closer, it gets closer, it gets closer now

Spencer’s eyes fluttered, opening in silent protest and staring unblinking up at the popcorn ceiling above. If this was to be the only movement his body would allow, then so be it. At least now he had something to focus on besides the barrage of memories blurring together in his mind or the overwhelming guilt consuming his entire being. 

His heart nearly stopped on its own accord when he caught sight of a dark, shadowy figure in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t move his eyes to bring his gaze to it directly, something he was both grateful for and terrified about. It felt as though whatever it was was staring directly at him, pleased by his unfortunate predicament. 

A tear dropped down into the water as the figure began to glide forward. Then another. And another. No matter how many times he repeated to himself that this was just a hallucination conjured up during the worst episode of sleep paralysis he’d ever experienced, the figure persisted, inching closer and closer. 

Figure in the corner laughing at me 

Water fill my lungs, vision blurry

Heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower

A low, rumbling chuckle filled the air as the water rose past Spencer’s lips now. The figure stopped at the edge of the tub now, its presence sinister. It was as though it was taunting him, gloating about its existence outside of the godforsaken bathtub he was about to drown in. 

His shallow breaths rippled the water as it began to rise underneath his nose, then above it, smothering any last shred of hope he had of breaking free of his paralysis and escaping what was about to become his ceramic grave. His body instinctively began to choke, fighting with strength he didn’t have to try to rid itself of the intrusion, but it was in vain. 

The popcorn ceiling blurred as muted sobs bubbled beneath the surface, his lungs burning with each failed breath. Spencer felt his pulse slow, the once frantic rhythm of his heart diminishing to a haunting lento. His eyes drifted shut as the water caressed his eyelashes, the final image his mind could summon being the first time he made you laugh, your head thrown back and your hand clutching his arm for support—the moment he’d fallen in love with you. 

Voices will tell me that I should carry on

Voices will tell me that I should carry on

“Spencer!” 

Spencer woke with a gasp, an intense wave of Deja-vu crashing into him as he jolted up. The freezing water that had surrounded him was gone, replaced by the comforting pressure of your hands on his shoulders and the blanket pooling in his lap. He blinked hard, trying to clear the haze from his vision as he took in his surroundings. The bathroom walls were no longer there. Instead, he found himself facing the plain, impersonal walls of the hotel room where they were staying while on the case. Spencer met your concerned gaze, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized not only had he woken you, but he had also worried you with his nightmare. 

Hotch had paired you together to double up, since the available rooms were limited. He figured that, as best friends, neither of you would mind. And you hadn’t—if anything, it gave you a chance to watch over Spencer, knowing he wasn’t doing as well as he’d claimed. You knew him too well to believe that. 

After Spencer was rescued, you started noticing the signs of addiction almost immediately. The shift in his personality was expected, given everything he’d been through. It was painful to accept, but you knew he would never be the same person he was before Tobias—and that was okay. You’d adjust to whatever version of him emerged. You were just happy that he was alive. But when the fidgeting grew constant, when his eyes seemed to drift into nothingness, when the bruises on his arm appeared, hidden under layers of long sleeves and cardigans… that’s when you knew it was time to step in. 

You’d confronted him about it, promising to not say a word to Gideon or Hotch as long as he swore to get help. And he did. The following day, he joined The Beltway Clean Cops, and to celebrate, you treated yourselves to takeout from your favorite spot and spent the day binge-watching movies together, enjoying the rare day off. For the first time since facing the needle that fateful night, Spencer felt hopeful. He felt seen. He felt loved. 

“Spence?” 

Your hushed voice snapped him out of his thoughts, his hazel eyes re-focusing as they traced your face. Your hair was tousled from sleep, your t-shirt wrinkled and pajama shorts askew, and your eyebrows were pinched together as you studied him in the dim light. But even so, he thought you looked like an angel. His angel. 

“Are you okay?” You whispered, moving your hand from his shoulder to press it to his forehead with a small frown. “You were crying in your sleep.” 

Spencer nodded, sucking in a shaky breath as he felt his pulse slowing. “I-I’m sorry for waking you. I just–” He swallowed, savoring the feeling of your hand now carding through his hair to soothe him. “I’ve been having these awful nightmares, and when it’s not nightmares then it’s episodes of sleep paralysis. A-and I know that’s to be expected with withdrawal… they’re just getting worse and more frequent and it’s making me want to avoid sleeping if it means I can avoid them.” His voice cracks on the last word, a tear slipping down his cheek as his eyes flicker down to his lap. 

Your frown deepened, your heart tightening at his words, until a thought crossed your mind. The room had two full-sized beds with a small nightstand between them, but that was easily movable. “What if…” you started, rising from where you sat beside him on the edge of the bed. “What if we push the beds together? I could hold you, and if you have a nightmare, I can wake you up. Would that help you get some rest?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the right words. He wasn’t sure if it would help him rest or keep him awake, given how he'd stayed up all night just to make sure he wouldn’t pop an erection from being so close to you. From the moment he’d met you, he’d been smitten, but he quickly accepted that you probably wouldn’t feel the same. So, he’d kept his feelings to himself, never crossing the line into anything more than friendship. “U-um… yeah. Sure. We—we can do that.” Spencer cleared his throat, nodding before awkwardly scrambling to his feet.

After arguing over where to put the nightstand and a few lighthearted jabs at Spencer’s strength (the beds were heavier than they looked), the beds were pushed together and the both of you were settled underneath the covers. Spencer was as stiff as a board, staring straight up at the ceiling while you set the alarm to wake you both in the morning. Turning the lamp off and rolling over onto your side, you stifle a chuckle at how rigid Spencer is. 

“Spence? Are you cold?” 

Spencer shook his head, his taut face barely visible in the moonlight streaming through the cheap, thin curtains. “No, no I’m not cold at all. I just—” he cut himself off with a huff. “I-I’m not used to sharing a bed with someone. That’s all.” 

You hummed in acknowledgment, propping yourself up on your elbow. There was almost a foot of space between you, leaving Spencer dangerously close to the edge. “C’mere, doc. I won’t bite.” Your voice was teasing yet gentle as you reached out, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “I can’t hold you if you’re about to fall off the bed.”

Spencer sucked in a breath, his eyes closing momentarily as he tries to cling to his composure before he shuffles closer to you, almost resembling an inchworm with the jerkiness of his movements. Once he’s laying a few inches away, you grin softly. You close the gap between you, resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arm around his waist. 

“Is this okay? Or, if you’re comfortable with it, you can be the little spoon,” you whisper, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart underneath your ear. His hands lay stiffly at his sides, picking at the sheets nervously. After a beat, he finally relaxes, sinking into the mattress with a shuddered breath before he answers. 

“Can I be the little spoon?” 

His voice is meek and trembling, like he’s on the verge of crying. But you don’t question it. Instead, you nod, moving so he can roll over onto his side. When he’s settled, you curl into him from behind, snuggling into his back and wrapping your arm around his waist once more. 

The warmth of his body pressed against yours is more comforting than you expected, and with a soft sigh you surrender to the lull of sleep. 

I've been baptized in fear, my dear

I've been the chief of sin

Washing my soul within

Spencer lied awake, the minutes ticking by agonizingly slowly while he stared at the bleak wall and counted every one of your soft breaths puffing against his neck. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep. Quite the contrary, actually. He was desperate for even just a few hours before you both would have to wake up and meet the others at the precinct. But he had a problem. 

Somehow, in your sleep, you’d managed to shift so that your face was only centimeters from the back of his head, rather than pressed against his back. Your arm, once draped around his waist, now hugged his chest, while your thigh rested across his hip and your calf dangled in front of him. You were practically curled around him like a koala.  

Normally, he wouldn’t have any qualms with that. He’d longed for the chance to be this close to you for ages. But your calf was pressing against his crotch in an infuriatingly enticing way, and he was stuck in the dilemma of moving your leg and risking waking you or letting your leg stay where it was and use all of his will-power to stay awake so he wouldn’t drift off and subconsciously hump against your leg like a frantic animal from the wet dream he was bound to have. 

He finally opted on moving your leg once the feeling of your face pressing into his neck and your lips skimming across his skin caused all of his blood to rush south. Slowly–oh so slowly–he brought his hand up to gently grab your calf. Your bare skin was silky and warm in his hand, making his eyes flutter shut as he fought the urge to groan. 

A murmur slipped from your lips at the feeling of his touch, causing him to pause out of fear that he’d woken you. After counting the seconds between your breaths to ensure you were in fact still sleeping, he eased your leg up, ready to move it off of him when you stirred. Your grip on him tightened, pulling him impossibly closer as your leg pressed down into him even harder than before. 

The friction from your leg pressing against his now aching cock made his breath hitch, a whimper slipping free into the night air before he could stop it. He was convinced now that, for whatever reason, the universe was pulling a cruel prank on him. Punishing him with the feeling of your body pressed against his but not allowing him to actually touch you. Not in the way he craved to at least. 

The sound was enough to rouse you from sleep, a result of becoming a light sleeper since joining the BAU. Spencer stiffened, his body going rigid as he felt you lift your head, gathering your bearings. Then he felt your leg press into him again, this time intentionally. 

“Spence?” 

Your whisper in his ear sent chills down his spine. He swallowed hard, praying to whatever could hear him that you weren’t disgusted or upset at him because of his erection digging into your calf. After a beat, he finally whispered back. 

“Yes?” 

Shifting again, your hand trailed down his chest to rest on his tummy. Spencer was convinced his heart did an actual somersault in his chest. 

“Do you want help with that?” 

If words could stop a heart, then those surely did the trick. Spencer blinked hard before pinching himself, ensuring himself that he wasn’t dreaming again. When he winced from the pinch, he did it one more time for good measure. Nope. He was awake. 

When he didn’t answer, your hand slipped even lower to tease the waistband of the pajama pants he wore. His cock twitched at the sensation of your nails slightly dragging back and forth along the sliver of exposed skin there, and his lips parted in shock as you whispered into his ear again. 

“The hormones released during sex help promote sleep…” Your voice was raspy still, adding a sultry edge to your already sinful offer. “...which you really need.” 

Spencer swallowed, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally managed to speak. “Y-you don’t have to offer something you don’t want to do just because you f-feel bad for me.” His voice cracked with a mix of defeat and embarrassment. 

That cleared any remaining sleep from your veins as you moved to sit up. A frown pulled at your lips as you rested a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to turn over. “Hey,” you murmured, sadness lacing your tone. “Spence, look at me.” When he finally turned over, your heart broke into fragments. Tear streaks glistened on his cheeks in the dim moonlight, his face forlorn and downright pitiful as his lower lip trembled. 

“You know me better than to assume I’d ever offer something I didn’t want to do.” 

Spencer knew you were right, but his mind couldn’t bring itself to accept it. To him, it had always seemed utterly illogical that you could ever feel even a fraction of what he felt for you—let alone be drawn to him enough to offer that. And yet, here you were, looking at him with a fondness that made his heart stutter. 

“Are you…” He swallowed hard, reaching up to wipe his tears away. “Are you sure?” 

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Of course I am, Spence. I–” Sucking in a breath, you averted your gaze to the bed before continuing despite the heat rushing to your cheeks. “I know it probably wasn’t my best idea to make a move the way I did, but I’ve… um. I’ve had feelings for you for a really long time and I just figured since you were hard that that was as good of a time as any to finally say something about them.” Your fingers picked at the fabric of the sheets, your nerves running rampant now that you’d finally put your feelings out into the open instead of keeping them tucked away. 

Spencer stared at you in silence for a moment, slack-jawed and doe-eyed. When you finally brought your gaze back up to his, the sight made you chuckle. That snapped him out of it, his face flushing as he cleared his throat and sat up. 

“I-I feel the same way,” he said less than elegantly. Fumbling for words, he continued. “You are… everything. You’re everything to me. You always have been. I knew you would be the moment I met you.” 

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes at his words, and a small, disbelieving laugh left your lips at his admission. Instead of replying with words (which were failing you at the moment anyways), your hands cupped his cheeks, pulling him into a kiss. 

I've been baptized in fear, my dear

Like Paul, I'm the chief of sin

Washing my soul within 

Spencer gasped in surprise against your lips, stiffening for half a second before melting into your touch. His lips sought yours out tentatively, his head tilting just enough to find the perfect angle. His hands found your waist as your mouths worked together, resting hesitantly there as though he were afraid that if he touched you too hard you’d disintegrate into thin air and he’d wake up alone and aching like he had so many times before. 

But this was real. 

Your hands slid from his cheeks into his hair, tugging gently as you pulled him closer. A soft groan slipped from his lips as your tongue brushed his lower lip, silently begging for entrance. He eagerly granted it, whimpering slightly at the molten sensation of all of his blood rushing south once more. 

Spencer, in a surprisingly brazen move, pulled you into his lap, propping up against the headboard. His hands slid from your waist up to rest on your ribs, his thumbs tracing the space below your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. He reveled in the shiver that coursed through your body, taking it as a sign that you were enjoying his touch and letting his hands trail higher until he was gingerly cupping you, thumbing over your pebbled nipples. 

“Spence,” you breathed, breaking the kiss. Your chests heaved, the both of you panting and wild-eyed as your gaze met. “You can take it off. I want you to… Please?”

That one simple word was almost his undoing. Please. You’d said it so sweetly. So needy. He’d gladly give you everything your heart desired and more if that’s how you asked for it—though he knew he’d give it to you regardless, no begging necessary.

Spencer nodded, letting out a shaky breath as his fingers found the hem of your shirt. He tugged up, lifting it over your head and tossing it to the ground without a second thought.

He might as well have tossed his brain with the fabric, considering that it was now rendered completely useless at the sight of your bare breasts right in front of his face. His eyes widened in awe, making you duck your head into the crook of his neck to shy away from the intensity of his gaze.

“Like what you see?” You murmured teasingly, nipping at his skin gently before placing an open mouthed kiss on his jaw.

“There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe how much I like what I’m seeing right now.”

Spencer’s answer sent the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy, fluttering wildly as you pulled back to grin at him. Your hands found his chest, steadying yourself as you shifted in his lap. A breathy groan filled the air as the movement pressed your hips together, the hint of friction feeling almost electric as pleasure zipped through the both of you.

You repeated the motion, grinding against him with a soft sigh. His hands fell to your hips, squeezing as he guided your movements. His head tilted back, smacking the headboard with a quiet thud.

“Ow!” He huffed out indignantly, but he was grinning, savoring the giggles bubbling from your lips as you laughed at him.

“Guess you could say I’m a real knock out, huh?” You teased, squealing as he pinched your side and rolled his eyes at your lame joke.

Your giggles devolved into muted moans as he leaned forward to mouth at your nipple, pinching the other between his fingers as you rocked against him. Your eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation, the desire pooling in your lower stomach growing hotter by the second. Your hands drifted up his chest to rest on his shoulders, using the leverage to rock against him even harder.

The ache between your legs was dizzying. A whine slipped free from your lips when you felt his muffled moan on your skin, his tongue laving across your nipple before he switched sides. The cold air against your warm, spit-slicked skin sent chills down your spine.

“Need you,” you mumbled, letting your fingers slide down to the bottom of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

Spencer nodded, releasing your nipple with a soft pop as he sat back just enough to pull it off and toss it to the floor to join yours. Your eyes greedily drank in the sight of the newly exposed skin, taking note of every single freckle and scar you saw before you leaned in to kiss him again.

This time, it felt desperate. Messy. Primal. Gone was the hesitation, the exploration of something new, instead replaced with a hunger only each other could satiate.

Hands roamed across skin, silently pledging your devotion to one another as your hips continued their frantic movements. Spencer’s fingers dug into your hips as he broke the kiss, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

“I-“ he swallowed hard, fighting to hold back a moan as you rubbed against him just right. “C-can I please fuck you? Please?”

It was your turn to fight back a moan as you gazed down at him, the dim moonlight illuminating his features in the most hauntingly beautiful way possible.

“God yes.”

At your answer, Spencer found the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your thighs with a newfound urgency. You rolled off of him, ignoring his whine as you shimmied out of them.

“Well? Aren’t you going to take your pants off?” You arched a brow, motioning to his still-clothed lower body with a sly grin.

Spencer was frozen, his kiss-swollen lips parted as he stared at your now completely naked body. You hadn’t been wearing any panties under your shorts, a revelation that had him almost cumming on the spot. Blinking, his mouth opens and closes a few times before his brain finally catches up.

He hurriedly shoved the plaid fabric of his pajamas pants down, kicking them off the end of the bed along with his boxers. “There,” he whispered, moving to hover above you. Before you could respond, his lips were on yours once more.

A shocked gasp caught in your throat as his fingers found your core, running up and down your slit to collect your wetness before dipping into your folds. A groan rumbled against your lips as he pressed a finger inside of you, pumping it in and out slowly as the heel of his hand pressed against your clit.

“You like that?”

His question wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t arrogant. It was genuine curiosity, wonderment threaded through his hushed words as he pulled back to take in the sight of you underneath him. When you nodded, he grinned, kissing your forehead before whispering again.

“Can I add another?”

“Please do.”

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He added the second digit, thrusting his fingers and curling them to try to find that small patch of nerves tucked away inside you. A smirk graced his lips when your back arched, the small cry leaving your lips letting him know he’d found it.

Your body writhed under his as he pounded his fingers into that spot, unrelenting in his mission to make you fall apart beneath him. He could feel your walls tightening, your wetness coating his hand as you neared the edge.

“I-I’m—Spence!”

Your legs thrashed, your eyes squeezing shut and hands gripping the sheets as you came hard. Spencer watched, his gaze reverent as he slowly pumped his fingers, coaxing you through your orgasm.

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your open mouth. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Trembling, you let out a breathy laugh as you finally opened your eyes. “Fuck, Spence. C’mere.” You pulled him down, threading your fingers through his hair with a dopey smile.

He settled between your spread legs, his breath hitching as his hard cock pressed against your thigh. “I… um…” His eyes fluttered shut as you angled your hips, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. “I didn’t bring any protection—“

“I’m on birth control, sweetheart. And I’m clean. Does that work for you?”

Spencer groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck and nodding against your warm skin. The idea of fucking you already had his knees weak. But fucking you raw? He felt like the most blessed man alive, favored by whatever entity existed.

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to immediately cum as he sank into you, inch by devastating inch. The feeling was pleasure in its purest form. Redemption. Salvation.

A guttural groan ripped its way from his throat as he bottomed out, panting into the crook of your neck as your fingers carded through his hair. Everything about you felt perfect. Too perfect.

“I won’t last long. I’m so sorry,” Spencer murmured sheepishly, lifting his head to look at you. His cock twitched at the sight of you, all flushed and spread out beneath him. He gave a tentative thrust, moaning at how your body seemed to grip him, pulling him back in as if he belonged there. He’d spend forever inside of you if he could.

You shushed him, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “That’s okay, baby. Don’t apologize,” you reassured him, dragging your nails gently down his back.

He shivered, swallowing hard before nodding. His hips began to move, slowly at first before his control dissolved completely. His hips began rutting into yours, the lewd sound of skin against skin filling the air between pants and moans.

Within minutes, Spencer was trembling in your arms, his pace faltering. You brushed his hair back from his face, a satisfied smile lingering on your face as you looked up at him through hooded lids.

“That’s it, Spence. You’re doing so good. Made me feel so good, sweetheart. Cum for me.”

Spencer’s hips jerked at your words, his mouth falling open around a moan as he filled you with everything he had. He swore his vision gave out for a second, replaced instead with explosions of color behind his eyelids. His chest heaved as he gulped down air, rolling off of you with a quiet groan before flopping onto the bed beside you.

Once he’d caught his breath, Spencer leaned over to press a kiss to your temple before urging you to get up and go pee. You whined, shoving him away playfully and grumbling the entire ten steps it took for you to reach the bathroom (and flipping him off when he cackled at your awkward waddle to try to prevent his cum from dripping down your legs and onto the floor).

Figure in the corner I can't quite see 

I just know the shadow's staring at me

It gets closer, it gets closer, it gets closer now

When you returned, Spencer opened his arms, pulling you into them and whispering about how thankful he was for you and how, now that he had you, he’d never let you go. He peppered soft kisses along your jawline, then across your cheeks, murmuring about how beautiful you were as you dozed off against his chest.

For once, he finally didn’t feel the gnawing craving that usually chipped at him throughout the day. He finally felt like he could breathe.

Figure in the corner laughing at me 

Water fill my lungs, vision blurry

Heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower

Lying there with you, holding you in his arms and cradling your body against his, he finally felt at peace. So much so that when he started to drift off, he didn’t panic like he usually would. No.

Instead, he simply pulled you closer, finally allowing sleep to take him. Because he knew if his demons came back to haunt him at any point during the night, you’d be right there beside him, fighting them with him.

Voices will tell me that I should carry on

Continued A/N’s: I’m a dumbass and accidentally fell asleep without setting an alarm so I’m posting this just a little later than I want to but here it is!! :’) Again, I hope you guys enjoyed 🫶🏼 -K

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

max : *breathes*

mike : yOu'Re NoT iN oUr PaRtY.