OMG I Loved Anything For Ellie, It Was So Cute!

me and eliza are about to eat this up fr 😭

erika, i love you and i trust you with this absolutely filthy thought. would you consider writing a threesome fic with spencer x reader x chip?

Yes and if you'd check ur discord YOU'D SEE I HAVE THE PLOT FIGURED OUT ALREADY!!!!

i wanna lick his stubble

perm era 🥰

matthew gray gubler in the life aquatic with steve zissou (2004)

that man and his rideable thighs 💁‍♀️

giving spencer a massage

genre smut (18+) cw leggings!reader (gymrat!reader) x perv!spencer, established situation-/relationship, thigh riding, some nipple play, handjob, 69 wc 2,8k a/n another fic in the leggings!reader universe! but you can read this (and the others) as standalones :)

“Spence, I’m home!”

Your voice echoes through the apartment, feeling like a 1950s housewife as you place the heavy bag of groceries down on the floor and kick off your shoes. With light effort, you lift the bag back up and place it on the kitchen counter. That’s for being a gym rat.

“Spence?” You repeat, voice slightly louder, as you wait for a response.

A muffled groan follows, seeming to come out of the bedroom. “I’m in here!”

A chuckle passes your lips, and curiously you make your way to the bedroom, following the sound. The door is slightly ajar, and peeking through it, you see Spencer lying on his back on top of the bedsheets. He’s wearing his gym wear: blue shorts that stop mid-thigh, and his red hoodie sits next to him on the covers, revealing his chest that glimmers in a light layer of sweat.

“This is a nice way to come home,” you teasingly grin, walking in and taking place on the edge of the mattress.

Spencer tries sitting up but quickly gives up, his hand reaching to the sting in his spleen and lying back down. “I did that routine you texted me,” he says, and the situation instantly gets clear.

“You hated it, huh?” You chuckle.

“You said it was ‘light’,” he whines, acting like you forced him into doing something torturous, while the workout was still on beginner’s level.

“It was light!” You say as you playfully squeeze his calf, making him flinch in pain. You pull your hand away. “It was a leg routine. We established that those are the easiest.”

“Sometimes statistics can lie.”

You fake a gasp, placing your hand on your heart. “Statistics? Lying? Good heavens, it can’t be possible.”

He laughs, the warm sound interrupted by a string of ouch’s.

“Not a peep when you get shot in the leg, but you draw the line at a thirty-minute workout,” you state with a raised eyebrow.

His puppy dog eyes hold your gaze, pink lips pouting up to you.

“Fine,” you sigh, standing up from your spot. “I have some massage oil. It might help.”

A sneaky smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, looking way too smug for someone who was sulking just a second ago. With a snort and shake of your head, you make your way to the bathroom. Opening the cabinet, you spot the transparent purple liquid, a sticker placed on it that reads Natural Lavender Massage Oil, meant to relax. 

“Tada!” You showcase the bottle of oil before playfully throwing it to him, Spencer having a habit of wanting to check the ingredients himself.

“Sounds good,” he concludes, throwing the bottle back to you after having read the tiny letters at record speed.

“What do I do?” He asks as you take your place on your knees next to his figure.

“Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

He hummed. “Okay.”

The bottle opens with a flick of your thumb, the pleasant aroma filling the room instantly. Carefully, you let the liquid drop onto your palm, closing the lid, and rubbing the oil between your hands.

“Can be a bit cold,” you warn before placing your hands on his thighs.

He makes a satisfied sound as your skin makes contact with his. “Cold is just what I need.”

You aren’t an expert at massages, but you know enough about muscles to know where to apply pressure and where to be more gentle. Spencer wasn’t lying; the flesh of his upper thighs feels tense as you gently dig the tips of your fingers in.

“Is this okay?”

“Mhm,” he answers in a soft breath.

Slowly, you’re starting to form a nice rhythm. Thumbs pressing circles into the plush skin, while your fingers squeeze around the rest of his thigh, then letting go, and repeating the same motion.

“You have pretty thick thighs,” you murmur in observation.

“Is that a good thing?”

You think about it for a moment and come to the conclusion that it is a good thing. Yes, a really good thing. 

Your tongue darts out, wetting your bottom lip before catching it in between your teeth. In a single second your previous thoughts have hazed up with ones of his thighs. You’re suddenly very aware of the proximity. Very aware of how he feels beneath your hands and how his shorts have ridden up, and how you could just place a leg over his and have his thigh right where you’re starting to ache for him.

“Is it?”

Your head whips toward him, blinking a few times until your brain finally translates his words.

“Uh, yeah. It’s great. Makes it seem like you’ve gymmed longer than you have.”

He seems satisfied with that answer, nodding and placing his head back onto the pillow.

“I get people’s fascination with thighs. I like yours.”

You swallow, voice pitching. “Yeah?”

He hums in acknowledgment. His lips part and he releases a small moan when you massage a particularly tight spot.

“Shit, right there.”

The room is growing warmer around you, almost forgetting that you’re in the middle of giving a massage as he flutters his eyes shut, a breathy sigh escaping his lips. You move your fingers in the same manner, igniting another moan. You’re starting to see the appeal of this now.

His hand reaches out to your hip, holding you for extra support. “That’s it. A little harder, baby.”

Your skin prickles in heat, his words sending sparks straight to your core. 

You let out a breathy laugh. “I know I can never send you to a real masseuse if you keep moaning like that.”

His brows furrow, the wheels in his mind turning until he puts one and two together. “You’re getting turned on by this?”

“Well, you know,” you shrug.

He raises his eyebrows.

“You know your voice turns me on,” you finish sheepishly.

He manages to lift himself up by his lower arms, looking at you. “Just my voice? Or does it also have to do with my thick thighs?”

You chuckle against your will, wishing you could wipe that cocky grin off of his face. “Maybe,” you mutter, keeping your focus on his legs, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing how worked up he’s getting you.

This dynamic is new to you. Him teasing you. And although it’s having a clear effect on you, you can’t give him the upper hand. You won’t let him. So why not play into his games?

“There are more ways for me to massage your legs without using my hands.”

This seems to intrigue him. “Is that so?”

You hum, finally turning toward him. “There are ways for me to apply some more pressure. More weight.”

It’s his turn to bite his lip now, catching on to your plans. “How are you planning on doing that?”

“I think you know,” you sensually purr. Then lift yourself up on your knees, holding onto his leg to not fall over. While keeping your eyes on Spencer, you slowly undo the button of your jeans. His grip on your hip tightens, and you have to call out his name for him to let go so you can pull the rest of the fabric down.

“Yeah, I really like your thighs,” he confirms, his eyes dreamily scanning the nude curves that are on full display.

You give him a feline smile and place your hands on his abdomen, feeling his skin burn underneath your touch. You hold yourself steady as you throw a leg over his, his thigh situated in between both of yours. 

His hands ghost to your ass, giving an experimental squeeze. “I like this plan.”

“I thought so,” you cheekily responded.

The plan was there, but now it’s time for the most important part, the execution. Taking your time, you lower yourself down until your pussy makes contact with his thigh. It feels pleasant. He’s just the right body temperature, and the hairs on his leg tickle you softly, but not in a way that’s bothering. Feeling the need for more, you spread your legs a little wider and sit down again. 

That’s it, you think as you inhale a sharp breath. His words and looks always have a huge effect on you, and it now shows: your clit is swollen and your lips are puffy, feeling sensitive enough for his thigh to apply the perfect amount of pleasure.

“That feels good, Spence,” you moan.

“Yeah? Does it feel good, Angel?” 

He’s staring up at you with a look of pure lust and interest. It felt so intimate to see you get yourself off. And he wasn’t even a fly on the wall. He was here. With you. Being used as your personal toy, and he felt like there was no bigger honor.

You nod your head, gripping onto the softness of his stomach as you start to grind your hips. With each move, you rub your folds against him. The heat against your pussy accumulates, and every slide of your hips is getting easier as you spread your wetness around.

“You’re so good at this, baby. So wet already,” Spencer whispers in awe, moving his hands soothingly over your backside. 

It’s silly how he can turn a moment this naughty into something so sweet and romantic. The more time you spend together, the more moments you have like this. Growing comfortable around each other’s presence, taking it slow instead of the rushed, hormone-filled encounters you had before.

With every rock of your body, your rhythm grows steadier. Getting the hang of it. Little moans turn louder each time your swollen clit makes contact with him, shooting stars to your core and electrifying every part of your body.

Like Spencer noticed this, he props himself up onto the pillows and reaches out to cup your tits through your shirt. Grateful that your bra is made out of thin lace and not the thick polyester of your sports bras, you can feel his fingertips lock onto your nipples and pinch the hardening buds.

You tilt your head back with a groan, upping your speed and reveling in the wet sounds your pussy is making. 

Trying to find a new spot to hold onto, you tap your hands over his body, eyes still fluttering shut in pleasure, until your hand lands on the heavy bulge in Spencer’s shorts. You palm him through the fabric. His cock stands hard and ready, and you thumb the prominent vein that runs along his length. 

“Oh, fuck!” 

You don’t have it in you to be a tease. Not when the warmth in your stomach is building and all you want is to see the physical proof of how turned on your act got him. You curve your fingers into the elastic band and pull the shorts down, freeing his throbbing length.

“No underwear?” You ask breathlessly, not stopping the motions of your hips. “What wouldn’t the people in the gym think?”

A quiet groan escapes his lips. He feels flustered by the discovery you’ve made but can’t deny how the risk turned him on. 

He hisses when you wrap your palm around his shaft, flicking your wrist upward, matching the pace of your hips. 

“I get— Jesus—“

“You get Jesus?” You ask in a teasing faux confusion.

He squeezes your breasts, shutting you up, before he continues. “I get sweaty with underwear on.”

You hum. “Well, that’s the whole point of working out. Isn’t it?”

“I prefer a workout like this,” he moans, bucking his hips up.

“This is not a workout, Spence.” Not for you at least, you think, as it clearly is a workout for you. A pleasurable one at that. “You’re just lying there.”

His hands slide down your body, gripping your waist. “That’s because I thought you wanted to use me. Just say the word, and I’ll flip you over.”

There was a challenge in his voice, and who were you to deny? You circle the tip of his cock, and though it’s not really a word, it translates to him that you need him. Now.

In a swift motion, he lifts you from his lap. You let out a squeal when he indeed flips you around, then pulls you up by your thighs and drags you to him until your cunt is perfectly placed above his mouth. 

“So you do have arm muscles?”

He hums in agreement, and the warmth of his breath tingles your pussy that is oh so close. 

“Just keeping my strength for moments like these.”

There is no time to respond with a smart remark. He gently pulls your hips down, and in a heartbeat, his tongue has found your cunt. Lapping a firm stripe up your lips, drinking in the juices that you’ve just spilled.

You arch your back, elongating your body over his frame. You spot the glistening spot on his thigh, not being able to help yourself as you slide a finger through the slick. 

“We don’t even need massage oil next time.”

Spencer hums against your clit in response, the sound reverberating through your entire body. His tongue taps against the small pearl, and then he wraps his lips around it. Humming even harder, knowing its effect.

“God, Spence… Feels so good,” you gasp.

His cock rests against his happy trail, translucent precum dripping out of the tip. You grab him by his shaft, pulling his length back and licking a stripe down his stomach. Spencer shudders at the touch, pumping his hips and moaning against you as his cock slides perfectly through your fist. 

“Just like that, baby. Work for it. Move your hips for me.”

Spencer fucks himself into the sleeve you’ve created out of your hand. His tongue flicks hard against your clit, hot hands spreading you open to give you all he can.

In a reward, you scoot a bit forward, just enough so that you can wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

You bob your head, sucking on the tip and collecting his precum with your tongue. You don’t need to see his face to know that you’re doing a good job. Every squeeze of his fingers and every hitch of his breath indicate how much he’s enjoying this.

And so are you. 

He licks your labia, gently suckling on it, before his tongue moves on to your needy hole. The tip of his tongue circles the entrance to your cunt, and then he dives in. 

You gasp, automatically swallowing him deeper. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you scratch your nails against his thigh before you come back up for breath. 

You lay your head onto his thigh, jerking him off as you’re getting too distracted by the traces of his tongue against your inner walls.

Swiping your hand over the mess you’ve previously made on his thigh, you use the wetness as lube and go back to pumping his length. 

His tip flushes an angry red, signaling to you how much he needs you. Adrenaline courses in your veins, and with a newfound energy, you sit back up. 

Your hands cup his balls, gently using your massage techniques as you flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. Tasting him before taking him back in your mouth. 

Using a slower approach, you inhale through your nose and take him in inch by inch. 

“Stay like that,” Spencer instructs, and you loosen your jaw, letting Spencer take control as he pumps himself into your wet mouth. 

It gives you the opportunity to focus on the way his tongue feels on you. And you realize that you’re very close to reaching your high. 

His tongue moves relentlessly, flicking over the spot where your labia meet your clit, stimulating both areas that are most sensitive to you. You arch your back, forgetting all about pleasuring him as you sit up, grinding yourself onto his mouth. 

“Spencer.”

To let you know he understood, he adds more force. His tongue presses deeper against you, but never stopping the rhythm that he’s found.

“Spencer, Spencer! I’m—“

Your sentence ends in a sharp cry as your orgasm hits you. Waves of pleasure crash through your entire body, the feeling rushing through you from head to toe. 

Overwhelmed by your climax, his cock twitches and he finishes with a loud groan. Thick ropes of white release shoot up your upper body and coat his stomach.

Spencer kisses your clit, the action making you shake. He repeats some kisses to the rest of your pussy, then eagerly moves to your hole, ready to catch your dripping sweetness.

You do the same for him, giving his cock a few more tugs, getting every drop out of him. 

With trembling, fawn legs, you move from his face, collapsing onto the cushions next to him. Spencer wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in and placing a kiss to your head. 

“God, my legs hurt from shaking,” you say breathlessly. 

Spencer turns his head to look at you. 

“Need a massage?”

When You’re Lost in the Darkness, Look for the Light

Ex! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader

Synopsis: Your ex, Spencer Reid, has just lost his girlfriend due to her being murdered. When all else fails with the BAU team helping him get through this loss, the only person left to help is you.

Category: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: established past relationship, maeve arc, takes place after 8x12 “Zugzwang”, mentions of death and suicide, technically an AU for 8x13 “Magnum Opus”, spencer is obviously still mourning maeve, mentions of lauren storyline, mentions of breakups, reader was in a past relationship before spencer, kinda sad, hopeful ending(?) let me know if i missed anything! <3

Author’s Note: i feel like this was a bit rushed, especially towards the end butttt i might make a part two to this- just let me know if i should :)

It’d been a few weeks since what happened. Spencer witnessing his girlfriend being murdered right in front of him by her stalker. You knew that he was taking it hard, of course, who wouldn’t after seeing something like that?

The team had been frequently visiting him. Garcia had stopped by with her ninth gift basket on his doorstep, since he never answered. JJ had offered to bring the boys over to cheer him up but Spencer would never answer. Even Hotch, and Morgan tried to get him to get a breather outside of his apartment but of course, Spencer never answered. Blake and Rossi knew that he needed his space, knowing that a loss like this wasn’t easy.

Everyone on the team had tried, everyone except you. And honestly, why would you? Your breakup with Reid was enough reason not to go and see him.

You two had broken up when he’d found out you’d known about Emily taking her death. (You weren’t even supposed to know about it, you had just stumbled across Hotch and JJ having the conversation after you’d found out that your best friend was dead.) After she’d come back when they had a lead on Ian Doyle’s son, Spencer had later confronted you and told you he couldn’t forgive you for knowing for ten months and not telling him about it.

You expressed just how much it pained you not to tell him but that she couldn’t risk telling him. He had to understand that. Frankly, he didn’t.

And it seemed that he still hadn’t forgiven you since then.

It’d been over a year since you last had a full conversation with him since then, only opting for small talk or only talking when it was relevant to whatever case they were on.

And then you found out about Maeve. There were whispers around the office, Spencer was smiling more in the office, he was secretive and not to mention the case with the payphone that you and Blake took him to after needing answers regarding a case. You and Blake badgered him, wanting answers as to why he was being so secretive.

And then his words confirmed it for you — “Because I don’t want them to know about her, okay?”

And so, he had a girlfriend. And you were perfectly okay with that. Of course, it hurt that he’d moved on but someone had to, eventually, right?

Since then, you had avoided him any chance you had. If you two were alone in the kitchenette, you were the one who left first. If there was a spot on the jet open next to Spencer, you’d offer it to someone else quietly. You figured pushing him away — even professionally — was the best thing you could do for your own mental health.

But then Spencer’s girlfriend had gone missing. And you weren’t exactly forced to work a case but it sure felt like it when Hotch said that you guys would be working on your free time. You had half the mind to walk out of the bullpen right then and there. But then you looked at Spencer. Spencer, who looked like a kicked puppy dog with his sad eyes, messy hair and anxious stance and pleading, begging the team to help find her. And you knew that he’d always be your weakness, no matter what. And you’d like to think that maybe he’d do the same for you if the roles were reversed.

It’d taken a few to discover that Maeve’s stalker was Diane Turner, a research assistant at Mendel University where Maeve used to work. Diane applied and was rejected for a PhD after submitting a doctoral thesis about spontaneous cellular death in suicide patients, due to said thesis being biased as it contained references to her own parents, who’d committed suicide. She targeted Maeve, believing she was the one responsible for rejecting her PhD.

You remembered the minute you heard gunshots in the building, heart dropping at the possibility that it may have been Spencer who was shot at, since he offered to trade himself for Maeve. And thought it was better if the team were to wait outside of the building.

You remembered trying to talk him off the ledge but he simply ignored you and went into the building anyway without a vest.

You remembered Spencer trying to talk Diane down as she held a gun to Maeve’s head and growing anxious at the fact that Diane was getting more and more angry.

You remembered what Maeve spoke to him — her last words — “Thomas Merton, he’s the one you can never take away from us.” The proof of how much she loved him.

You remembered Diane pulling the trigger on herself and Maeve and Spencer’s painful pleading as both Diane and Maeve landed on the ground in a puddle of their own blood.

And you hated it but you remembered Spencer falling to his knees, sobbing over Maeve’s body. You could hardly believe it, even when it happened right in front of you. You’d fallen beside him, hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him the best way possible. And he grabbed your hand. Granted, he probably didn’t know or didn’t care enough to know who it was in that moment, but he took your hand anyways.

And since then, not a word from Spencer. And it was starting to worry the rest of the team.

But when you arrived in the office a few weeks after, staring at Spencer’s empty desk, JJ had spoken up and said — “Everyone else has tried but you. And I think you’re the person he needs right now.”

You’d responded, telling her that you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now in his time of mourning. But JJ had encouraged you. You’d known him in ways the team didn’t. Hell, you dated him. And you also knew what it was like to lose someone you loved.

A few years before you dated Spencer, you had had a boyfriend. You were dating him for three years until he lost his life in a car accident. You were heartbroken from the lost and you didn’t go to work for over a month after. The only person that gotten you through that had been Spencer. He always had a way with words and you remembered him being there for you the entire time you dealt with it. A couple of years later, you and him finally began to date.

And now here you were, standing outside of his apartment, wondering how the hell you got yourself in this mess. You’d told Hotch that you needed to take care of something and that you wouldn’t be joining them on this upcoming case. It was true and it wasn’t like you to just call out of work unless it was an emergency. It technically wasn’t a lie, Spencer was your emergency. And you knew that Hotch would understand.

You’d hesitantly knocked, so quietly. “Spencer? It’s me,” You’d spoken up, your voice hoarse. “I, uh, I know I’m the last person you probably want to talk to right now… but… I’m here. If you need anything, I’m right here.” You assured.

To make your point, you moved two of the gift baskets away from the door so you can plop right down on the floor to sit against the door. “And I’m not going anywhere.” You rested the back of your head against the door. “And we don’t have to talk. We can wait however long you need to. I’ll be here.”

“But, please, give me something so I know that you’re alive in there.” You asked and quietly pleaded, “Please.”

You’d waited thirty seconds before you lost hope entirely and then three soft knocks came from the other side of the door and you smiled to yourself in relief that at least he was conscious.

And soon the minutes turned into hours, with you resting your head against that door and shifting a couple of times to get comfortable. Spencer still hadn’t budged since he’d knocked on the door. You’d taken the opportunity to help yourself to one of Garcia’s gift baskets since Reid hadn’t seemed to claim them. You’d opted for one of the fresher baskets since the others had probably been sitting for about a few weeks now. There was a basket with the mini chocolate chip muffins that you snacked on while sitting there.

And after hours and hours of still waiting there with no peep from Spencer, your eyes began to flutter closed at how sleepy you were getting. Sleeping outside of Spencer’s apartment wasn’t the best place for your back or your neck but you had slept in worse places.

You’d probably succumbed to sleep at least a few hours later until you had a rude awakening involving Spencer finally opening his door.

You hit your head right on the floor, which had woke you up. “Ow.” You muttered and looked up, seeing Spencer’s ghostly figure standing above you. You could’ve sworn you were dreaming. “Spencer?”

“You’re still here?” He asked, confusion in his voice. You finally stood up from the floor and nodded at him to answer as he began to walk away from the door and went back to the couch.

It was then that you got a look at his apartment. There were books on the floor everywhere. If you knew better, you’d say Spencer may have thrown them out of anger, pain. Old takeout boxes on the kitchen counter and living room table. It smelt like death — (but it actually might’ve been Spencer). You had to squint to look around since it’d been so dark. “Oh, Spencer…” You mumbled and turned to him on the couch. He was in a fetal position on the cushions, his hair falling in front of his face with an evident frown engraved on his face. He looked like a fragile child and it ached your heart to see him like that.

You found yourself kneeling in front of him and brushed the hair away from his face — like it was second nature to you. Like you’ve done it before. And you have.

You looked around, wondering what you should do, what you can do. And you finally find something small to start with. “When was the last time you slept in your own bed?” You asked and Spencer didn’t answer. You expected that.

You stood up from kneeling in front of Spencer and walked to his room, grabbing a few clothes — a plain t-shirt, a pair of underwear, plaid pajama pants and a pair of mismatched socks. You then went into the hall closet to pull out a towel and a washcloth for him and walked towards the bathroom to start running the water. He always liked it not too hot or not too cold but just warm enough.

You walked into the living room and found Spencer sitting up on the couch. “Why don’t you hop in the shower? I’ve got it running the way you like it.” It took a few seconds but Spencer nodded at you and began to trudge to the bathroom. He’d left the door a crack and you wondered why he did. But then it occurred to you that maybe he didn’t want to feel quite alone for a minute and you were right there if he needed anything. And he knew you had a guilty conscience, knowing that if he had closed the door and he’d done something to himself, you’d never forgive yourself. And you wouldn’t want him trapping himself in the bathroom either.

As Spencer went into the shower, you’d taken care of the rest of the apartment. You started with opening the blinds to bring some sort of light in and then with the kitchen counter, clearing out all of the old takeout boxes and washing dishes and wiping down the table and putting the books back on the shelves. All except for one. The Narrative of John Smith, it’d been the one book that he was clutching onto the entire time she’d been here until you told him to get into the shower. You knew he needed to put that one away on his own terms.

You fixed the couch up, laying the throw blanket neatly over the couch and then walked to his room, setting up his own bed. Wanting for him to be as comfortable as possible.

When he finally exited the bathroom, you didn’t hear him. You hadn’t heard his footsteps as he looked around the living room, seeing how you tidied up the place while he was in the shower. He almost thought you left, until he heard your humming from the other room. You were singing to yourself, a habit you picked up often doing casual things like laundry or spring cleaning. He missed the nonchalance of your presence and as he walked towards the door and found you making his bed, he missed it even more. Missed you even more.

You finally noticed that you weren’t alone, looking up to see him in the doorway and you smiled towards him. “Oh, hi.” You said and he walked into the room, looking down at his newly made bed. “Are you feeling better?”

He didn’t answer verbally, just shrugged.

You didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, you look down at his perfectly made bed and say, “Why don’t you get some rest?”

Spencer nods at you weakly and gets under the covers. You almost want to tuck him in, like he’s a child, but you refrain from doing so. You look down at him and felt like you’ve done everything you could for him. Made sure he showered, tidied his apartment. Surely he’s sick of you being here now.

You ease the awkward tension, sucking in a breath and patting your knees. “Well… I’m just… gonna… see myself out. Get all of the rest you can, Spencer. No rush to come back, just take your time.” You assure finally and silently plead him to ask you to stay longer. Because you don’t exactly feel accomplished at the fact that you haven’t done anything except ask him to take a shower and clean his apartment. It didn’t really feel like a win. Instead, you felt more heartbroken for Spencer.

And somehow, by some miracle, you felt him grab your hand and you turned to face him and his gleaming eyes. “Can you…” The words trailed off from his lips as he stares into your eyes. “Can you stay?” You look at him, with wide eyes. It was like he read your mind. “Please?”

You look at him and try to maintain your composure as much as you can. Because this is the first time he’s asked you to stay the night since you two were together. “Yeah, of course, Spencer.”

He moves towards the other side of the bed to make room for you and you’re shocked by the gesture. You hadn’t shared a bed with him since you were together, either. You sit up against the headboard and he gravitates towards your thigh, resting his head on it and closes his eyes and your hand finds his hair, running a hand through it and trying to maintain his curls at the back of his neck.

Then, you remember. You look towards the drawer next to the bed on your side and wonder. You open the drawer and sure enough, there it was. The brown comb you left behind. You often used it to brush his hair, especially when it was shaggy down his shoulders and he’d often rest his head on your thigh like he was doing now and you’d run your hand through his locks until you’d finally bought a comb. It surprised you that he still kept it. You would’ve thought it ended up in his ‘Y/n box’ like how everything of his ended up in your ‘Spencer box’.

And like second nature, you began to brush his damp locks with the comb, trying your best to angle your arm to not interrupt his rest. You softly smiled at the scene, his eyes closed and nose scrunching every few minutes or so.

You’d suspected that maybe he’d fallen asleep to you combing his hair because his breathing evened and he was quiet with his eyes still remaining closed. But you still found yourself still combing through his hair despite getting the tangles all out.

“I miss her,” He admitted and for a moment, you stopped your movements, not only because his words shocked you but also because you thought he was asleep. “I miss Maeve.” He added and you notice as his lip quivers at his own mention of his dead girlfriend and you do everything in your power to keep your lip from doing the same.

“I know.” You say, your voice so soft and nurturing as you continued to comb through his hair.

Spencer doesn’t say anything else but you were glad he’d spoken out just what he was feeling in that moment. You lean against the headboard, wishing to say more but what Spencer really needed right now was someone in his corner, not someone who wanted to give their own opinion about the situation or relate to him — just someone to listen to him.

You continue brushing until you finally decide that his hair is silky smooth and place the comb on the table next to you and look down at his resting face and instead of the frown you’d seen earlier, you finally see some sort of look of peace. Of course, the sadness is still etched on him from a mile away. But you glad to grant him some form of peace in a time where he’s most desperate of it.

You begin to run your hand through his hair, massaging his scalp like you often used to do when you were together. And for a moment, it’s like you two are dating again and it’s like it’s casual, like you’ve done this before — which you have. But it’s been so long, you never thought you’d be in this position again.

Eventually, he falls asleep on your thigh and his soft breathing is more even than it was before and his mouth is slightly parted as he sleeps. And you don’t care about the crick you’re going to get in your neck from this headboard, you don’t care that your leg is dead and that your pant leg is slightly damp from his wet hair. What matters more than anything right now is him getting the rest he deserves.

And what mattered more than anything and your goal was that Spencer was going to fight through this gaping hole of darkness and find his light eventually. And somewhere deep down inside of you, though you’d never admit it out loud — you hoped that that light was you.

Back To You

Ex! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader

Synopsis: Spencer finally realizes that he wants you to stay and that he loves you and he proves to you just how much he does.

Category: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Warnings: 18+ MDNI established past relationship between spencer and reader, spencer being a lil shit, reader being depressed, cursing, mentions of Lauren arc, maeve arc, Grey’s Anatomy spoilers 4x17 “Freedom” and 11x21 “How to Save A Life”, heartfelt talks, love confessions, kissing, smut warnings: soft!dom spencer, cunnilingus, spencer is packing, praise, he whimpers (idc WHAT y’all say), unprotected sex, creampie (find a better word for this pls), a lil bit of aftercare and that should be it(?)

Author’s Note: here it is, the long awaited part three! sorry y’all i lowkey struggled to write this lmao, i hope y’all like this end to the 3-parter hehe 🤭 hope it was worth the wait! <3

part one part two

Spencer Reid was utterly bewildered when he headed into work that following week and saw that you didn’t show. That wasn’t like you. You were always at work, no matter what. Sure, you had a few sick days here and there and after your guys’ breakup, you’d taken a couple of days off but you were into work about a day or so later.

He chalked it up to your guys’ previous conversation. The one where he pushed you away. And he knew you needed time to deal with that. So, he went straight to work and didn’t think anything more of it.

But then a day turned into a few. And before he could march to Garcia’s lair and ask to track your phone down because he was concerned — and it didn’t help that his mind first went to you lying in a ditch somewhere — he instead went to Hotch and asked if maybe you were taking vacation time.

Thankfully, Hotch had told him that you indeed were taking vacation time but that you hadn’t gone into why you needed to.

But Spencer knew why.

He’d felt horrible about how things ended in the parking garage. He knew it was his fault. And he wanted to go make it right… with you, he just didn’t know how. And Spencer also worried that going to see you would just make things worse.

All he could think back to was when you guys dated. Things seemed so easy being with you. You understood the workload, since you’d had the same job, you let him ramble and listened to him — even when you weren’t dating anymore. And you were just such a good person and a good friend, no matter the cost. (The cost being his relationship with you when you hid the fact that you knew about Emily’s fake death). He didn’t think he’d ever forgive you for that. But now, since Maeve, since everything, since you were there for him, he was willing to finally push all of that aside and beg for you to come back to him.

He knew you were a hard person to convince. You held grudges like he did, which was why you two were in this mess now. But Spencer knew, eventually, you had to come back to work. But then he thought about it.

The chances of you transferring to a different unit, to a different city, maybe even to a different state because you could stand to see him any longer were high. Like previously stated, he knew you. And he knew from when you two were together that once your mind was made up, there was no changing it.

But he didn’t want you to. He hated that now he was realizing this, but now, he had to march down to your apartment and tell you how you truly felt. That he really didn’t want you to go.

And damn it, he was gonna do something about it right now.

You wondered if you’d ever recover from the hard blow Spencer Reid hit you with. It was like a punch in the gut, the fact that he wouldn’t let you in. It was to be expected, that he needed time to recover himself. But it hurt that he pushed you away, even though you knew that would happen.

Since what happened with Spencer in the parking garage, you had called in sick from work for a week or two. It wasn’t until Hotch literally texted you and asked if you were okay and if you wanted to formally request the month off to do so.

You hadn’t gone anywhere, you weren’t on any vacation and you weren’t seemingly blowing off work. You just needed time and right now, seeing Spencer in the office wouldn’t make it any better. This is what you would do, you’d wallow for a short amount of time and then move on.

Although you wouldn’t really move on. You’d pine silently and wait for the day you stop having feelings. It’s what happened with Spencer before and it’d likely happen again.

So, you sat in your living room, re-watching Grey’s Anatomy for about the third time. The men absolutely sucked in this show. You were wearing your sweatpants and a white tank top with your hair looking like a rat’s nest. You showered last night but unfortunately didn’t have the energy to blow dry your hair so it dried over your pillow covers and you woke up the next morning with your hair looking absolutely atrocious. You slumped on the couch, stuffing your face with chocolate ice cream and frowning at the screen as Meredith shows Derek she’s ready to commit to their relationship by designing a floor plan for their home. What’s the point when he’s just gonna die anyways? Someone always dies and someone always gets hurt.

You only planned in sulking on your couch for another day but you certainly didn’t plan on someone knocking outside your door rapidly.

“No one’s home.” You grumbled as you took another scoop of your ice cream from your spoon into your mouth. The knocking continued once more. “Go away!” You demanded. But the knocking wouldn’t let.

So, you groaned, pausing the TV and getting out of your blanket, putting your ice cream to the side and walking towards the door. You look through the peephole and scoff when you see who’s at the door.

“No fucking way.” You say loudly for him to hear. “Y/n, will you just open the door, please?” Spencer pleads with you. “Why should I let you in when you’ve never bothered to let me in?”

Spencer closes his eyes as he curses to himself. He supposed he deserved that. He says your name again as he rests his palm on the wood of the door. “Please, just open the door. Can we talk?”

“What is there to talk about, Spencer?” You question, crossing your arms and you choose to stand your ground, deciding not to open the door. “Open the door, please. I’d rather your neighbors not hear.”

You roll your eyes and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. You unlock the door and open it. “You have two minutes. Two.” You lean to the side so Spencer can walk in to your apartment.

You quickly check your watch. “You’ve got,” You click your tongue. “A minute and fifty-four seconds remaining. Make it count.”

“I should’ve asked you to stay.” Spencer started. “I should’ve asked you to stay a long time ago. But Maeve… the whole thing with her… it broke me. And maybe I’m beyond repair and maybe I will never be over her, but you should not have to suffer because of it. I’ve… been… an ass.” You knew it was serious when he cursed. He rarely ever did.

“Strong beginning.” You comment, your arms carefully crossed over your chest in defense. Spencer noted to this being something you did every time you two fought.

“I wanted you to stay. Trust me, I did. And still do. But I can’t burden you with this. With my… pain. You’ve done so much for me already. Taking care of me, making sure that I was okay, being there for me when I was heinous to you after our breakup. We barely spoke a word to one another before then and you knew that but you were still there. I guess I just… don’t know how to do this. I… I was given another chance and I… couldn’t save Maeve. I’m scared that if I let you in… it could…” Wind up the same way. He doesn’t finish but you figure that’s what is about to come out of his mouth.

It made sense now. Why he pushed you away. He didn’t owe you an explanation, because you knew why he did. At least, later you did. But your heart couldn’t cope with the heartbreak and you asked for the time off anyways. You needed it. At least, your heart did. You owed her that much.

Spencer looked defeated as he stood in front of you. Like he couldn’t lose the one thing that seemed to fit in the puzzle piece of the void. He knew he didn’t deserve you. And he would be okay with the fact if you had just kicked him out this second.

Instead, you stood in front of him and your shoulders sank out of defense mode and into a shy tone. You thought to yourself for a moment before you turned back to him.

“Spencer,” You start hoarsely and walk towards him slowly and carefully like he was ready to break like glass. “How come you let me into your apartment after what happened to Maeve? You could’ve let JJ in or Garcia.” The burning question lingered for so long, you had taken the opportunity to ask here and now.

His answer was simple. “Because you’ve seen me in that state before. It’s so easy to mask my emotions in front of JJ or Garcia or Morgan. With you, I knew I could feel anything and not have you look at me out of pity. Because you’ve been there before.”

You swallow at that answer as you walk over to him, face to face with him. (Of course, you’re a tad shorter than him so you have to look up at him a bit).

You extend a hand and caress his face with your palm and he nuzzles into it like a cat to a scratch post and closes his eyes tightly as he grabs your wrist, as if he’s wanting to keep your hand there. Your eyes lilt down from his eyelids to his plump lips and you shake your head.

“Where did we go wrong?” You ask in a whisper. And you’re almost afraid for his answer. You’re entirely aware of where you went wrong. It was your fault, after all. And suddenly, you don’t want to hear his answer as he parts his mouth and looks into your eyes. “Never mind,” You say. “I remember.” Your tone is somber.

And Spencer knows why. Sure, he was upset and honestly, he had the right to be after you kept the fact that their close friend had faked her death and you knew about it but didn’t tell him. But he was willing to put that all behind him just to have you back in his life again.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” He said and you looked up at him with wide eyes at this. “It was a long time ago. And I can’t stand not having you in my life any longer.”

“Spencer…”

“I love you.”

The words fall out of his mouth so easily. “I love you, so much. I know we didn’t get it right last time but I want to, this time. I have always loved you.”

“But Maeve?” You ask.

“She was my past and I’ll always be grateful for the time that I had with her, even if it was short.” He admits but he takes your face into his hands, so tenderly as he looks you in the eyes. “But you… I’ll be damned if you’re not my future, Y/n. I’m sorry for how I’ve been. I’m sorry for how I’ve acted. You’re stuck in my head and I just… can’t seem to get you out of it, not that I’ve ever wanted to, anyways. But, Y/n, I’d go back to you. In a heartbeat. And my head is the most clearest it’s ever been so don’t you dare accuse me of just saying this on a whim. Because it’s not a whim.”

Spencer Reid knew you too damn well. He’d broken your heart in two, sure, but when it healed, it continued to still beat for him. You’ve always loved him and you never stopped. He held the darkest parts of you but he never once tried to fix them, he embraced them.

“I love you.” He said, out of breath. “Will you let me love you again?”

You stare up at him and instead of answering, you lean impossibly closer and your lips graze his and you don’t know who leans closer — you or him — (you later confirm that it was definitely him) and your lips connect.

The coffee taste is familiar in his mouth as his lavender scent fills your nostrils and he holds your face closely as he swallows you whole. Eventually, breathing becomes a chore and Spencer takes this opportunity to set you on the kitchen counter as his lips connect with your neck and you close your eyes as you feel all of him all at once.

Your hands explore his back, trying to shake his cardigan off of him — no matter how sexy it looks on him — and you are successful as it comes off of him and lands on the floor, revealing one of his dress shirts underneath.

You’re too busy admiring his body when he takes a moment, looking at you and taking in your features. He’s been here before. You’ve been here before. He’s home.

Realizing what he’s done, he knows you deserve better than being mauled on your marble counter and looks at you for permission before hoisting you to his waist and finds your bedroom, letting you get down and lay on your bed as you look at him, only in love and admiration.

He begins to unbutton his dress shirt and tear off his slacks and you take this opportunity to shake out of your sweatpants and your hair out of your elastic hair band. He’s left in his boxers and you’re left in your top and underwear.

He stares down at you, eyes full of lust and love and he smirks down at you and God, that should not have been so hot.

Spencer leaned down to kiss your lips and then kissed your neck and your collarbone. He shakes you out of your top and kisses each your breasts and then your bare stomach and then gets to his destination and with nimble fingers, pulls at the waistband of your underwear and pulls them off, flinging them across the room and looks at you as your rest yourself on your elbows so you can see the show.

You feel as his hot breath sigh into your pussy and you tilt your head back, dizzy by the sight in front of you. You had to have been dreaming. Surely, this is God’s cruel way of hurting you even more by making you have a vivid sex dream about your ex-boyfriend. (Or was he your boyfriend again?)

But when his tongue licks a stripe over your entrance, it’s confirmed. You’re definitely not dreaming, but definitely on Cloud 9.

He licks at your hole a couple of times before putting his mouth on your clit and making figure-8s with his tongue and your dig your hands into his messy locks and pull him impossibly closer.

And with his hands, he takes them out of his hair and holds them, interlocking his fingers with yours and Jesus, you might cum too soon from the sight alone.

The one thing you always liked about Spencer in bed was his expertise on sex despite not being very experienced himself. After your first time together, you were surprised to find out he’d only done it one other time because of just how damn good he was at it.

You wanted to hold out for him, but the way he looked at you and then moaned into your pussy, “That’s it,” He said. “Cum on my tongue.” It made you cum. Hard. You gasped out his name as he lapped up everything you gave him.

Eventually, he let go of your hands and let you take breather as he climbed over you and stroked your face with his hand. “Are you okay? We can stop here.” Ever the gentleman, even after giving you an orgasm that made you think you’d gone to heaven.

“You are crazy if you think I’m going another day without having your dick inside of me.” You joked and he lightly chuckled as he removed his boxers and you eyed what you were working with.

Also, another reason you were surprised he wasn’t lucky with the ladies in the past before you. He was well endowed despite being lanky and skinny.

“Wait,” You stop before he can press his cock towards your pussy and he divides his attention right onto you, willing to end this right here and now because you stopped him. “Are you okay? Because if you want to stop, we can.”

His heart swells for you even more. He understands why you’re asking him. But he was true to his word. His head was the clearest it’d ever been.

“I’m the greatest I could ever be right now,” Spencer admits. “I’d only ever want to stop if you wanted me to.”

Your eyes bore into him as you smile at him, caressing his face with your index finger, touching his plump bottom lip with it and you see the essence of you on his face, something that reminded yourself that he belonged to you. And only you. “Ready?” He asks, breaking your focus from his lips and you nod as you gasp, “Yes.”

Spencer breaks his focus away from you for a moment as he slides himself towards your entrance. You gasp out as you feel him sheath himself into you and his fingers interlock with yours beside your head as he bottoms out into you. Your body welcomes him and it’s as if your body remembers his.

“God, you’re tight,” He told as he shut his eyes and tilted his own head back because of how good it felt. How good you felt. “You feel so good.”

“So do you.” You manage to get out and his head is tucked into your neck as you hear his whimpers as he rocks into you, his only wish to make you feel as good as you’re making him feel.

He mumbles into your collarbone, trying to take you to the edge with him with his words.

“You take me so well.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I love how you tighten around me.”

The praise had made you rock your own hips back into him as you plead, “Harder, Spencer, please.” You beg and he commands at your wish as he fucks you into the bed even harder now. Your whines are more high-pitched as your nails dig into his back as he rails you and your bed begins to creak loudly.

“Let’s—Let’s cum together,” Spencer tells. “Where do you want it?” You gasp, “Inside, inside, please.”

You beg him, wrapping your legs around his torso and he plows into you even harder and then you feel him shudder and that’s send you over the edge as you feel his hot seed paint your insides.

You stare up at the ceiling as he collapses over your body, his hand still tightly perched into yours and his hot breath panting over your collarbone. Your hand rakes over his now sweaty chocolate locks and you hold him close to your body, not ready to let him go. It’s so peaceful as you both sit there in the silence.

But eventually, all good things come to an end and you whimper as he pulls out of you due to how sensitive you are. You close your eyes in slumber as he leaves the room, muttering something to you before he leaves and the next time you open your eyes, he’s back with a bottle of water and a warm rag to clean you up.

He takes a moment to gawk at your pussy and his cum leaking out of you before cleaning you up. You flinch at the contact at first, but he assures to you that it’s mandatory to clean you up after sex.

When he’s done, he expels the rag into your hamper and tucks you in under the covers, shortly joining you after he does so.

You turn on your side, facing him and going to hold by his torso and Spencer smiles to himself as he wraps his arms around you and quickly leans over to grab the water bottle and you open your eyes as he opens up the cap and puts the bottle to your mouth, wanting you to at least take a sip. You do so and he smiles as he puts the cap back on and then puts the bottle on the desk next to the bed.

Spencer looks down at you, playing with a strand of your hair and shortly rubbing your back soothingly, drawing out mathematical equations on your back and gazing lovingly down at you. When you woke up tomorrow, he’d be right here, right next to you and he wouldn’t leave until you were begging him to.

He meant every word he said to you. He loved you and he wanted to make it work with you again. The past was what it was — the past. And you were his future. He let you go once, over something that you had no choice but to keep from him and he let his pain get in the way of your relationship. No way was he about to make the same mistake again.

Over a few months ago, you two were barely speaking, only talking to each other when your jobs depended on it. And now, he couldn’t go another minute without speaking to you.

He got you back and this time, he had no intentions of letting you go.

i can fix him (no really guys… i can)

i can fix him - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader makes it her entire life's purpose to restore the spark she's sure spencer reid used to have before prison turned him gray but it doesn't quite work out...

genre: angst with some smut wc: 1.3k warnings: post prison but no spoilers, grumpy x sunshine, sunshine!reader, age gap (reader is 25), lowkey enemies to lovers, spence chokes an unsub, sex used as manipulation, unprotected sex, teasing a/n: anon request!!! based on i can fix him (no really i can)

“He hasn’t been the same since he got out.”

The words rang delicately in the back of your busy brain like a constant dial tone. A conversation with Penelope brought forth a realization in you.

When you joined the BAU, replacing the youngest member with your fresh face and a childish desire to make the world a better place, you thought of Spencer Reid as untouchable. He was rational, scientific, gathering all of his beliefs from the articles he cherished. He was right, always. Every last syllable that left his chapped but plush lips was guaranteed to be the uttermost truth. Cited, sourced, and verified.

At first, it was irritating and unbearable. You couldn’t say one word without an infuriating, “actually,” following.

The fact that he practically ignored your existence didn’t help.

It wasn’t until an enlightening comment that your view changed.

“A day in a prison, how fun,” you had said.

Garcia, ever the one to gossip, had replied with, “yeah, poor Reid, I wonder if he’s going today.”

“Well, why wouldn’t he be?”

“You don’t know. Oh, you don’t know!”

Her eyebrows raised as her mouth gaped. But then she looked away, as if telling herself to keep quiet. “He should really be the one to tell you. Or Emily! Even–uh–okay, okay, I'll tell you!”

And so you sat, wide-eyed and shocked at the things she described so easily. All of it was bad. She had mentioned his mom and drugs which honestly left you confused.

Every time you looked at him, you saw the shadow of a man he has every right to be. You saw a heart that could grow three sizes if given reason.

You knew he wasn’t always this way. You could see it every time his eyes lit up when he was about to lay some new information on the team. Right before he was shut down.

Because nobody really cared about the guy who only has seventy-two items to his name (including his underwear).

You saw the way he looked at you.

With a longing–a pondering that you found yourself wanting to know its meaning.

The rest of the team communicated their impression with how wise you were despite your amount of acquired wax candles.

He never blinked.

You figured it had to do with his already large amount of knowledge. But it felt like more. Every time you contributed to a case with a smile that proved your pride, he stared at your profile almost like he could picture the day you would dwindle. And he never once allowed an UnSub to come near you.

It was like he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to protect your innocence or ruin it altogether.

Something that used to infuriate you now seemed so… insignificant.

It was wrong, you knew, to be feeling so sad for a grown man, but it came on its own. His random facts now intrigued you.

You were sure he picked up on the change in your demeanor. Because he changed too.

When you laughed at an unfunny joke, his lips would curl into this nervous but confused half-frown-half-smile that you were now determined to make last.

And so, with the knowledge that your very own laughter cracked his tough armor, you decided to take it further. You wanted him to be who he was before all the hurt. You knew you could bring back his spark if you tried hard enough.

An optimist at heart you were.

It started how it was destined to–with a convincing kiss.

Strategically, you asked for help with organizing your bookshelf. A few lingering glances and he was right where you wanted him.

Your lips met and you knew your plan would work.

Spencer was touch starved. The second you straddled him, he was yours.

All of him crumbled the first night he spent in your bed.

And then he never left your side.

Like a puppy, he followed you around and did everything you said.

It started with small things. You asked him to smile more, say “good morning” to Anderson, and remember that bad people will still be bad even if he stays the night at the BAU.

It worked too.

He was happier. He made jokes, he laughed, he did physics magic.

You trained him almost like a dog, praising him after every time he did something nice for someone else. Because–according to Garcia–he came to work and went home unlike how he used to be.

Since you, a younger, outgoing adult, forced yourself on him, he came out a bit.

O’Keefe’s was now familiar with him. Thanks to you, that is.

And, of course, an older man, you didn’t mind. Spencer was older, experienced. He made you feel grown. And you could fix him. You turned a cold, antisocial man into a silly, awkward man again.

But there were still setbacks.

For one, he allowed his anger to come through when he thought you were in danger.

There was a day where an UnSub was taking young girls who reminded him of his ex. You just so happened to resemble that ex perfectly.

When you cleared the bathroom, you forgot to check behind the shower curtain. A mistake you were sure had been made before quickly put you in the way of Spencer. His hand had wrapped around the guy’s throat so hard you thought he might actually kill him. Apprehending him against the hard tile wall, his eyes met yours in a silent scolding.

The EMT’s fingers brushed the wound on your forehead as she bandaged the cut. Spencer’s converse came into view but you didn’t look up.

Not until he spoke.

“Are you… okay?”

Two pairs of glass eyes met and you watched as his struggled not to dwell on the bandaid. “I’m fine,” you said.

But you resented how he couldn’t be the version of himself the world deserved.

For months, he’d been perfect, how come he couldn’t stay that way?

Your twenty-five-year-old brain wasn’t enough to fix the much older man in front of you. You thought that if he smelled enough strawberry lip gloss he’d change and become a boyfriend. Yet that change never happened. He didn’t seem as grumpy or isolated, sure, but it wasn’t enough for you.

You strived to fix him.

You remembered the first time you slept together.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, rolling his eyes.

You simply hummed, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “I was thinking… maybe… we could have some alone time? Just the two of us. Before O’Keefe’s?”

“I already told you I’m not going to the bar.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind? Be nice to a few people? I’ll make it worth your while…”

Another sloppy kiss to his neck.

“How about that?” you inquired softly.

No answer came, only a harsh kiss. His tongue parted your lips and his hands slid under your skirt. In a second, your panties were pushed over. His belt went to the floor.

You wasted absolutely no time in running yourself over him and sinking down immediately onto his length.

Spencer’s mouth dropped as he grabbed your ass. It burned every time he slammed into your cervix but you took it, because the look on his face was everything. Groans left him every time your hips met.

A quick, frenzied pace was set. It was pathetic how fast he unravelled.

Furrowed brows and a scrunched nose gave away how long he was going to last.

“Already close?” you teased.

“God–”

And he was coming inside you, messing your skirt effectively. But you couldn’t resist.

You felt him throb as your hips rose and fell slower. “Stop it,” he croaked.

Graciously, you nodded, pressing a sticky kiss to his lips. Your head found a resting place on his shoulder.

“O’Keefe’s?” you suggested after a few beats.

Of course, he agreed.

Because who was he to disagree with you?

MICHAELA ATE !!! 🙌🙌🙌

because i liked a boy - spencer reid x fem!reader

somehow a reporter finds out about reader's relationship with none other than her coworker, dr spencer reid and shames her for it during a press conference

genre: flangst wc: 1355 warnings: medialiaison!reader established relationship, slut-shaming, feminism talk, upset spencer, morgan mention, mentioned case involving children

"This is a rough composite sketch of the UnSub. If anyone sees him, please call us using the number on the screen. Any questions?" you speak clearly, eyebrows raised and back straight.

It's a tough case this time, not that any are easy. The ones involving children–like this one–are the worst. You know that. It’s yet to hit you this hard, though. You're used to being in front of a camera all fake smiles and airbrushed to look porcelain but you're struggling to hold it together today. It’s never been easy to see grieving parents begging for their kid’s life on national television.

It also doesn't help that you haven't seen Spencer much these past two days. Ever since HR found out about you two, he’s been trying to keep his distance for professionalism’s sake. You appreciate it, of course, but you wish everything could be normal again. You miss working alongside him, sneaking tiny waist pinches every little while. Maybe you’re codependent.

One of the male reporters holding a microphone asks plainly, like it isn’t rude, “how do you expect this case to go to trial with your ongoing relationship within your team? Isn’t that some sort of conflict of interest?”

Now, how did they find out about that?

Luckily, Hotch steps in before you need to form a response. You’re left flushed and out of sorts, needing some water or something. It’s not like you’ve never had a bad press experience but nothing that came after you specifically. Why do they even care in the first place? Are you really that interesting? Is your love life really that interesting? His mustn’t be.

To Hotch, he spits, “it’s a valid question, Agent, you can’t expect no one to comment on one of your unit’s members sleeping her way to the top or… sleeping her way to getting a case dismissed.”

You want to stay, fight, cry, maybe even guilt him into apologizing, but, to your dismay, you’re pulled away by Morgan who looks just as upset as you do. If there weren’t a room full of people stopping him, you’re sure he would’ve hurt the guy. You don’t want to be dragged away by the action figure that is Derek Morgan so you try to pour your feelings into words. “The conference– the case–!”

Morgan stares at you in a way that very clearly says are you done? And, yes, you guess you are. You sigh, nodding reluctantly.

“Hotch will figure it out,” he assures softly but firmly.

You’re escorted to the break room where you watch the television only to see that very same reporter, spewing his nonsense again. Low and behold, he’s still stuck on the topic of you.

“An anonymous source discloses the identities of two FBI agents with the Behavioural Analysis Unit that are in a relationship of hidden rendezvous.”

The pitter-patter of your heart is louder than usual as he reads out your names along with the loving message, “I guess this proves that women really can’t be trained. What a shame, she’s certainly got–”

With that, you shut off the disgusting noises coming from someone claiming to be a man. You’ve never been good at taking insults but this was something else entirely. Your chest burns. You’re being perceived as a person you’re not. Everything you’ve tried so hard to build could all come crashing down at this very moment if you let it.

All because you liked a boy?

It feels ridiculous, like a step in the wrong direction for all womankind. That’s dramatic, you’re sure, but this is so twenty years ago. What happened to feminism, for fuck’s sakes? You wouldn’t give Spencer up for anything less than solving world hunger, but you wish this whole ordeal could’ve never happened. What if you lose your job? What if you lose this case because you’re too sensitive to male attention for your own good? Unfortunate circumstances led here and you wish it could be simple. It’s a tall order, but you wish UnSubs and all the people who enjoy pinning others down would simply cease to exist. You wish Spencer was here.

As if reading you all the way from canvassing the neighborhood, he’s suddenly visible, walking towards the doorway with quick Converse-sounding steps, Morgan’s hand on his shoulder. He looks worried. What worries you, though, is that he looks guilty. That hurts.

Familiar arms wrap around you as he kneels on the floor in front of the couch. “Hey, I heard what happened. Are you okay?” Spencer whispers, lips pressed into the fabric covering your shoulder.

You ponder the question for a moment before nodding. You’re not quite sure how you feel, if you’re being completely truthful. Criticism was never something you’ve taken well. Not ever. Maybe you deserve it, though. After all, you are sleeping with a coworker. You’re an agent, it’s not appropriate of you in the least. You should’ve kept to yourself, been the good girl the world wanted you to be. Female agents in the big bad FBI are already seen a certain way. You just happened to worsen it with wide-eyed affection.

How he always does, he mutters an explanation, “people like that don’t have anything going for them, you know. They report on others because their own life is insignificant.”

It’s wildly the wrong time to laugh but you do, flushed cheeks plumping from a happy smile. He pulls away and your hands find his face like they always seem to do. “I know.”

He nods. He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

He’s so unbelievably pretty that it almost makes you want to cry. Those same somber eyes that you’re sure mirror yours stare deep.

“It just sucks… you know?” you say so very quietly.

Nodding, he chews on his lip. “I know.”

“It’s like… I thought slut-shaming was over,” you laugh bitterly.

You can tell he feels bad. It’s not like this is his fault. You know he believes it is, anyways.

“It should be. It’s ridiculous. This isn’t your fault. That useless guy should be spending the night in a cell for harassing an agent not on the ten o’clock news airing out our personal matters.”

It’s really not often you see him like this, upset and wielding pain-filled threats. It never fails to amuse you. You’re not sure why. Something about the juxtaposition of his usual sweet demeanor and this annoyed ranting one, you suppose.

“It’s kind of funny.”

“Funny?”

You smile and nod, your thumb tracing his lower lip. “A little. We’re the most enthralling news in all of small-town-Colorado.”

While Spencer doesn’t find it quite as giggle-inducing, he mimics the pull of your mouth’s corners and shows his reluctant agreement with a bob of his head. “That is… silly, I guess.”

“We’re basically stars,” you shrug.

In honest disbelief and certainly awe for your ability to brush off the event with humour, he shakes his head, curls falling out of place. Your fingers rush to correct it. The golden eyes you love stay stubbornly put on your own. Breaths mix together in the close proximity despite you not recalling how you got so close. It’s proven difficult to care when his plush lips find yours. Carefully and with love, he kisses you. With no intent, no desire other than to make you feel better. It breaks stickily, the shimmer that once was on your lips now ghosting around his mouth. You grin.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Spencer tenderly mutters.

Gently, you answer, “I’m sure. I mean, we didn’t do anything wrong.”

You believe yourself. You’d never doubt your relationship with Spencer. It just sucks that they had to poke holes in your safe place. That safe place being Spencer. Your home. You know because of your profiler-by-association background that he was right about the reporter being not fulfilled enough in his own life that he had to insert himself into yours. That didn’t make it drastically better, anyway. Perhaps your personal life should be kept away from work.

But it’s not your fault that work happens to include Dr. Spencer Reid.

I Lived x Dead Fictional Characters