i love nerds

You wake up slowly. The kind of slow that comes after a large meal coupled with alcohol. Your head is resting on something solid and breathing. Spencer. One of his arms is draped loosely over your waist, the other tucked under the pillow. His glasses are on the nightstand. The room still smells faintly like him, mostly because he’s so close to you and you’re still wearing his sweater. Downstairs you can hear the distant clink of dishes, Your uncle is already awake, of course.

You shift a little. Spencer makes a quiet sound in his sleep and pulls you closer without opening his eyes. His hand slides under the back of your sweater, palm warm against your bare skin. You smile into his chest.

Then you remember last night.

The margaritas. The lap climbing. The very public list of things you like about him. The almost compliment that made the entire table lose it. Your face goes hot even though no one is looking.

You tip your head up and press a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Spence,” you whisper. “Are you awake?”

He hums, eyes still closed.

“I’m never drinking again,” you say.

That gets a low, sleepy laugh out of him. He opens his eyes slowly, the second he focuses on you the softest smile spreads across his face.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice rough. “How’s your head?”

“Surprisingly okay. How’s your dignity?”

He groans and drops his forehead against yours. “Morgan is never going to let me forget any of it.”

You grin, unrepentant, and stretch against him like a cat. Your leg slides over his hip. Your hand drifts down his chest, then lower, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers. 

“Y/N…” His breath catches.

“What?” you ask, wide-eyed and innocent even as your fingertips slip just beneath the elastic.  He catches your wrist gently, but he doesn’t pull it away.

“Your uncle is downstairs,” he says.

“So be quiet,” you whisper, and lean up to kiss him properly.

You roll him onto his back and straddle his hips, still wearing nothing but his sweater and the pair of underwear you kept on last night. Spencer’s hands settle on your thighs out of pure instinct, then slide higher under the hem of the sweater when you rock against him once, slowly and deliberately. He’s already half-hard. You can feel it.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” he breathes against your mouth, but he’s kissing you back like he can’t help it.

“Then you’d better make it worth it,” you say as you smile into his mouth.

Spencer looks up at you, clearly thrown by the tone. You’ve never talked to him like that before, not before sex, not during sex, not ever. 

You grind down again, slower this time, and watch his eyes flutter. Then you take one of his hands and guide it between your legs, pressing his fingers against the damp fabric of your underwear.

“Touch me first,” you whisper. 

Spencer’s breath stutters. For a second he just looks at you, eyes dark and a little overwhelmed, before he nods and slips his hand beneath the waistband. His fingers are warm and careful as he slides them over you, slow and exploratory, gathering the wetness already there. You rock against his hand with a soft, encouraging sound.

He circles your clit with one finger, then slides lower and presses inside, just one finger at first, gently. You sigh into his mouth and roll your hips to take it deeper. He adds a second finger, curling them the way he’s learned you like.

“That’s it,” you whisper, riding his hand in small, deliberate movements. “Just like that. Get me ready for you.”

Spencer makes a quiet, wrecked noise against your neck. His fingers work you slowly, thumb brushing your clit every few strokes until you’re properly wet and aching for more.

After his fingers slip free, you reach over and tug open the top drawer of your nightstand. The box of condoms is right where it’s been for months. You toss one onto his chest.

He sits up just enough to tear it open with slightly shaking hands, rolls it down his length with the same careful precision he uses for everything else, and then looks back at you like he’s waiting.

You sink down onto him in one slow, deliberate slide. Spencer’s head drops back against the pillow with a soft sound he only half manages to muffle. You both freeze for a second, adjusting, breathing, feeling how perfectly he fills you.

Then you start to move.

You set a pace that is intentionally slow, rolling your hips just enough to keep him deep, then lifting until he’s almost out before taking him again. Every time he tries to thrust up to meet you, you press a hand flat to his stomach and hold him still.

“Nuh uh,” you murmur, leaning down so your lips brush his ear. “I didn’t say you could move yet.”

Spencer makes a soft, wrecked noise that goes straight through you. His hands flex on your thighs hard enough to leave faint marks, like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or push you off before he loses his mind. His are dark and a little lustful, fixed on watching him slide in and out of you

“Where did this come from?” he whispers, finally looking up at you.

You smile down at him and roll your hips in a way that makes his breath hitch and his cock twitch hard inside you.

“Maybe I just want something,” you say. “And I’m used to getting what I want.”

Something clicks behind his eyes. You see it happen. The sudden, quiet understanding mixed with raw hunger. Rossi spoils you. He spoils you. Everyone does, a little. You’ve spent years getting your way. And now, apparently, that extends to the bedroom.

“Is that so?” He whispers, his voice lower and filthier than you’ve ever heard it. He slides his hands up your sides beneath the sweater until they’re framing your ribs.

You nod, still moving, still teasing, still using him exactly how you want.

In one smooth motion he sits up, wraps an arm around your waist, and flips you over so your back hits the mattress with a soft bounce. The sudden change in position knocks the breath out of you. Spencer is over you now, hair falling into his eyes, one of your legs hooked high over his hip while he settles between your thighs. He pushes back into you in a single deep, claiming thrust that makes your mouth fall open and a little bit too loud of a sound comes out.

One of his hands comes up and covers your mouth.

Not roughly or painfully. He cups your jaw softly, fingers splayed along your cheek, the heel of his palm sealing over your lips so that every sound you try to make is trapped against his skin. The pressure is firm enough that you couldn’t speak if you wanted to, but gentle enough that you can still breathe through your nose. His eyes stay locked on yours the entire time, watching every flicker of reaction.

He starts fucking you in deep, controlled strokes that rock the entire bed, the kind that force the air out of your lungs every time he bottoms out. The wet, filthy sound of his cock sliding in and out of you is muffled only by the soft creak of the bedframe and the distant clink of dishes downstairs. Your free leg curls around his waist, the other is still hooked high, thigh trembling against his side every time he thrusts inward.

“You’re going to be quiet,” he murmurs against your temple, voice rough and low and almost reverent in how filthy it’s become, “and take it like a good girl. Because your uncle is downstairs, and I know he doesn’t want to hear the way you sound when I’m this deep inside you..”

Your eyes go wide. The sound that tries to escape you is muffled by his palm. It’s wet, desperate, and vibrating against his skin. Spencer’s gaze stays locked on yours, equal parts soft and intense, as he keeps the pace deep and relentless. He adjusts the angle slightly, lifting your leg over his shoulder instead of his hip so he can sink even deeper. The new pressure makes another broken noise spill against his hand.

“That’s it,” he breathes, watching every expression of your face. “You like it when I call you good girl, don’t you?”

You nod against his hand, eyes already glassy, lashes wet. His free hand slides under your thigh, spreading you open wider, and the next thrust is so deep it pulls another muffled cry out of you that he feels against his palm. He doesn’t slow down. If anything the way you’re trembling and the way you keep clenching around him only make him fuck you harder, steady, thorough, the kind of pounding that makes your stomach flutter and your other hand fist desperately in the sheets.

“Good girl,” he whispers, forehead nearly touching yours, breath hot against your cheek. “You’re doing so good. Keep taking it.”

Your legs shake as he keeps relentlessly thrusting. Every movement forces another soft, desperate sound against his palm. Spencer keeps talking you through it in that low, wrecked, almost scholarly filthy voice, telling you how tight you feel, how well you’re taking him, how he wants to feel you cum around him while he holds you down and keeps every single sound trapped against his hand. The bed creaks softly under the force of his hips. You feel yourself about to lose it, but his hand is too firm on your face for you to tell him. You squeeze your eyes hard, making wet, muffled sounds against Spencer’s palm.

He feels the change immediately. The way you start pulsing around him, the way your thighs squeeze harder around his neck, the sudden increase in the desperate noises vibrating against his skin.

“Yeah?,” he breathes, eyes locked on your face. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? Are you gonna cum for me?”

You nod as his hand presses down harder over your mouth, sealing tighter as a louder, broken sound tries to escape. The extra pressure makes your jaw ache. You can feel the heat of your own muffled cries trapped against his pal. Every word that leaves his mouth seems to push you closer.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “Cum on my cock just like this. You’re such a good fucking girl for me.”

The combination of the deep, relentless thrusts, the firm hand over your mouth, and the filthy way he’s talking you through it pushes you over the edge harder than anything you’ve felt before. Your orgasm crashes through you in violent waves. Your clench around him in hard, pulses that make his hips stutter. The sounds that try to rip out of you are almost sobs, loud enough that they start to spill around the edges of his palm, so he presses down even firmer, muffling you completely while he keeps fucking you through it.

“Good girl. Fuck, just like that. Cum for me.” His voice is shaking now, wrecked and filthy and so close to your ear. “You’re so loud, do I really make you feel that good?”

He does. The orgasm slows, rolling through you in overwhelming waves while he holds you down and keeps talking, every nasty encouragement making your body clench tighter around him until you’re trembling and oversensitive and still pulsing helplessly around him.

Spencer finally lifts his hand from your mouth, but he doesn’t stop moving.

He keeps fucking you, deep, hard, relentless thrusts that drag every oversensitive nerve ending raw. The sudden freedom of your mouth only makes the sounds worse. Soft, broken whines spill out of you immediately, high and shaky, every thrust forcing another one free.

“I can’t! Spencer, I can’t!” you gasp, voice cracked and raw. Your legs are still trembling violently around him as the overstimulation borders on too much, the pleasure edged with a sharp, almost painful intensity.

Spencer doesn’t slow. He just looks down at you, eyes dark and glassy, hips still rolling in long, punishing strokes.

“You can’t?” he repeats, voice low and rough, almost curious. He drives in especially deep on the next thrust and watches the way your whole body jerks. Your legs start shaking harder again, another desperate whine tearing out of you.

He eases the pace, still deep, but not quite as brutal, and leans down so his mouth is close to your ear.

“You wanna stop?” he asks, quiet and serious even while he’s still buried inside you. “What do you want, Y/N?”

Then he actually stops. He goes completely still, cock throbbing deep inside you, and waits. The only sound is both of you breathing hard and the distant clink of dishes downstairs.

“It’s too much,” you manage, voice small and shaky.

Spencer’s hand comes up to brush hair out of your face, gentle even now. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head immediately, eyes wet. “I want you to cum.”

He softens for a second, thumb stroking your cheek. “It’s okay if you’re done, we’re done. I can–”

“No, Spencer, please!”

He searches your face carefully. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you whisper, almost frantic. “Just…c-cover my mouth again.”

The second the words leave you, you feel his cock twitch hard inside you, a heavy, involuntary pulse of pure need. Something dark and hungry flashes across his expression.

He doesn’t ask again.

His hand clamps back over your mouth, firmer this time, covering every sound as he starts fucking you exactly the way he needs. Hard, deep, almost desperate thrusts that rock the bed and force your oversensitive body to take every inch. He’s past the careful control now, He’s chasing his own orgasm with single minded intensity, using you while he holds you down and keeps you quiet. Soft, broken whimpers vibrate against his palm with every snap of his hips. His free hand grips your thigh hard enough to bruise, spreading you open so he can sink even deeper.

“Fuck, Y/N, just like that, take it, take it for me.” he pants against your temple, voice wrecked and filthy. “I’m so close, you’re being such a good girl for me, just a little more–”

He comes with a low groan he bites into the side of your neck, hips stuttering as he empties into the condom in long, heavy pulses. You feel every throb and the latex warms inside you. His whole body shakes with it. His hand stays locked over your mouth the entire time, muffling the soft, overwhelmed sounds you can’t help making while he grinds through the last of his orgasm.

Spencer stays buried inside you for a long moment, forehead pressed to your shoulder, both of you breathing hard. His hand is still resting loosely over your mouth even though the pressure is gone; when he finally notices he pulls it away like the contact burned him, fingers trembling.

“…Sorry,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to– the hand was–”

You catch his wrist before he can fully retreat and press a soft kiss to the center of his palm, the same place that had just held every sound you made. He shudders.

“Don’t apologize,” you murmur. “I asked for it.”

He nods once, still looking a little stunned, and carefully pulls himself out. The condom is heavy and full; he ties it off with slightly clumsy fingers and drops it into the small trash can beside your desk before collapsing onto his side next to you. For a few seconds the only sound is the two of you trying to catch your breath and the distant sound of Rossi moving around the kitchen downstairs.

Spencer reaches for you almost immediately, tugging you into his chest. One hand slides under the stolen sweater to rest against the bare skin of your back, the other threads gently into your hair. You can feel how hard his heart is still beating.

“…That was new,” he says quietly after a while.

You huff a soft, exhausted laugh against his collarbone. “Yeah.”

“The bratty part. And the— the mouth thing. And me talking like that.” He swallows. “I’ve never… I didn’t know I could sound like that. Or that I’d want to.”

You tip your head back so you can see his face. His ears are still pink, but his expression is open and a little awed, like he’s still processing the version of himself that just held you down and talked you through an orgasm while your uncle did dishes one floor below.

“Did you hate it?” you ask, even though you already know the answer from the way he came.

“No.” The word comes out immediate and honest. “I really, really didn’t hate it.” A beat. “I’m going to need to do some reading. Attachment styles. Power exchange. Why being told to be quiet made you–” He cuts himself off, flustered all over again. “There’s literature on this. A lot of it, actually.”

You smile, soft and fond and still a little wrecked. “Of course there’s literature.”

“There’s always literature,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then another to the tip of your nose. Then a slower one to your mouth, gentle and lingering, nothing like the filthy intensity from a few minutes ago. When he pulls back he’s looking at you like you’re precious and slightly dangerous at the same time.

“We’ll talk about it properly,” he promises. “When we’re both less… sticky. And when your uncle isn’t downstairs.”

As if on cue, Rossi’s voice floats up from the kitchen, casual and completely unaware. “You two want coffee or are you staying in bed until noon?”

Spencer’s entire face goes scarlet. You bury your laugh in his chest to muffle it. He holds you tighter, one hand still stroking slow circles on your back, and calls back in the steadiest voice he can manage,

“Coffee would be great, thank you.”

There’s a pause, then the sound of the coffee maker starting. Spencer drops his forehead against yours with a helpless little groan.

“I am never living any of this weekend down,” he whispers.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, still smiling.

“Good.”

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a/n: #freak mode for this blehhhhhh :3 i hope i delivered like anon 1 and anon 2 hoped. i for one very much like this part so lowkey thats all i care about.

also just warning you guys, i will be very busy for the next two weeks before i start classes so updates are going to slow down quite a bit. i promise i won't abandon you guys, i'll still be active i promise. i'll do my best to get as much as i can out during that time, but i won't promise anything more than two parts.

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Yet another dreary evening at the Waffle House off Warrenton, the creepy regular hasn’t been in for around two weeks, and you’re almost grateful. Who knew all you had to do was yell at the wimp, even though he quite literally came in his pants in front of you. It really was pitiful if not just disappointing. It’s not like you’ve been thinking about him or anything, well sure maybe once when you were touching yourself. But not like that! You weren’t necessarily thinking of him but more so the idea of having that kind of power over someone.

There was nobody really there that night, just a few truckers but they didn’t order too much. You’re lost in your thoughts while absentmindedly wiping down the bar for probably the millionth time, part of you registers the sound of the door opening but you weren’t paying attention until a gunshot rings out. It almost gives you a headache with how fast your head whips up, there’s a man in a black hoodie, jeans, and dark red baseball cap. A part of him looks scared but he’s mostly just terrifying, not just from his manic eyes but the obvious of him holding a gun.

He barks at everyone to get down on the ground; you can’t help yourself from shaking but you comply. There’s silence for a short time where you can just hear him pacing back and forth, heart hammering against your ribs when you hear him get closer. Because you’re lying down on your stomach it doesn’t occur to you how close he was until you feel him gripping your hair, everything around you sound dull and fuzzy while he’s dragging you to the front where everyone else is. It feels like hours have gone by before you hear the phone on the counter ring, you jolt a little and freeze up in fear that the shooter will get angry.

And boy, are you right. He yells for all of you to shut up despite the only sound in the diner being his heavy breathing and footsteps. The man is on the phone for roughly thirty minutes before the glass window breaks and a sturdy looking man tackles the shooter to the ground. Although the gun goes off it seems as if nobody gets shot, the next flurry of activities fly by. You’re wrapped in a navy-blue raincoat that draws your attention to the fat raindrops hammering down on you. Wait when did you go outside?

You’re just realizing that you’re being dragged outside by your wrist, and it registers that the jacket around you has bright yellow “FBI” across the front. The woman pulling you away from the diner, now turned crime scene, has long dark hair and blunt bangs. She sets you up by an ambulance with a paramedic.

“My name’s Emily, are you hurt?”

“Uh- no. Just a headache, m’fine.” Everything is still blurry, and you feel lightheaded, but you’d rather just go home right now.

Emily looks at you like she’s unsure if you’re lying or not. She begins saying something about compensating for any hospital bills, but you can’t focus on her, you’re busy staring slack jawed at someone behind her. Fuck. It’s the creepy little shit from two weeks ago, he disappears for a while and shows back up after this stunt? That bitch!

You get up despite the pounding in your head and weakness in your legs. Emily tries to stop you but you’re completely tunnel visioned on the man, barreling into him with a shove, which for whatever reason he fails to prevent.

“Fuckass stalker! Is that what it is? Did you have part in this?”

He’s muttering something that’s barely even audible, you’re only pulled off him once Emily comes over and basically has to use her body weight to separate you two.

“Reid, what the hell?”

Reid? THAT’S his name? What kind of goofy loser name is that? And she knows him?

“I’ll tell you what, ‘Reid’ or whoever he is has been fucking creeping on me for like, three months!”

There’s a short moment of silence between the three of you, then Reid starts sputtering some sort of excuse.

“I- look I just like the food here! Why would I even- Come on!” It’s a little cute how frustrated he gets, especially how pink his face turns. But that’s literally irrelevant.

“Look ma’am, Spencer is an agent of ours. He in no way intends to harm.”

Yeah right, Emily was clearly oblivious to the clearly slimy personality this guy has. But whatever, you let her take you back to the way too bright ambulance, but not before shooting “Spencer” a dirty look.

Again, this night is taking way longer than you’d like. Apparently, they needed to wrap your head in what you assume is a million layers of bandage, there’s no way all of that was needed. Regardless you’re stuck mindlessly answering the questions from a nice softer blonde woman, introduced to you as JJ. You’re actually warming up to her before she’s informed that it’s time to let you go.

“Alright, that’s all I have for now, but I’ll call you if I have more questions. For now, we’re asking Dr Reid to drive you home.”

Can this night actually get worse? Maybe it’d have been better to get shot inside. Whatever, you have your pepper spray on you, so worst case scenario you blind him. Begrudgingly you trudge to his little Volvo, being as paranoid as possible when you slide into the passenger seat. For whatever reason the little cumstain seems nervous to get in the car so close to you, honestly, he should though. After your last encounter, you’re ecstatic that he feels shame, it’s absolutely deserved.

For the first half of the car ride, the both of you are totally silent. The idea of avoiding acknowledging each other’s existence is really appealing right now. But you start to get bored, so you choose to watch him. Y’know, just in case, that’s all. There’s an air of anxiety around him, the tapping of his thumb on the wheel, furrowed brow, and bottom lip being chewed to pieces. It’s clear he notices you watching him, so you keep messing with him.

The first move is a sigh, stretching your arms and legs out, which just squishes your tits together and lets your yellow uniform skirt ride up on your thighs.  It’s fairly adorable how he actively tries to hide his glancing over or angling himself away to hide his lap from your sight of vison. The next move pretty much finishes the whole plan, when you relax from the stretch your legs are left lax, far apart enough to get to him. And you drop one arm across the center console and promptly on his upper thigh. That puts him into panic, trying to scoot himself away but you’re determined to keep your hand on him. To be fair you’ve had a shit night so far, may as well get something from this.

“Pull over.”

“Wha- I can’t!”

“Can’t”  your ass, this guy’s been drooling over you for how long? Exactly, it’s obvious his answer is bogus, it’s not like he can be a fantastic liar right now.

“Yes, you can, Reid”

“I jus- what are you doing?”

His voice gets high pitched at the last part when your hand slides to rest on his crotch, it’s so dumb how his eyes get all big and eyebrow pinch together.

“I’m touching you.”

“Yeah, no. I can see that, but why?” Reid’s starting to get whiney, you can feel how hard he is under your hand, and you find it so sweet.

“Come on Reid, you can say no.”

He goes completely red and mumbles something about public indecency before pulling over, fumbling to undo his belt with one hand, and pull the keys out of the fob. You’re quick to reach over and unzip his pants for him. Sure, you’re not into him, he’s gross and a complete perv, but you think that he’d be too mortified to show up to the diner after this.  So, he just lets you unzip his pants for him, hands up in the air as if he’s being held at gunpoint which is just as dorky as it is cute. Glancing up at him to check in, he looks a little terrified of you despite the rather large hard on he has.

“Are you alright?”

“Just- just do it please.”

That’s good enough for you to start tugging off his pants which he has to lift his hips up for, earning him a playful swat on the leg. When you get his pants down, his dick is definitely bigger than you expected for a loser like him, all flushed pink and leaky. However, your hand is on it immediately, swiping your thumb over the head to collect the precum. It’s decently hilarious to watch Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut, and hearing the little whines. Part of you wants to just stop and make him beg you to keep going, but also, you’d rather just get it over with.

“Hey, you have to watch me, okay?”

“Please, I just-”

His useless words are interrupted by you slapping the side of his ace, not hard but just enough to get him to pay attention to you. Spencer’s big wet eyes lock on yours, then glancing at your chest, then hand that’s starting to move slowly at the base of his dick.  Your other free hand lays flat in front of his mouth expectantly, but he apparently is as clueless like typical.

“C’mon, spit.”

Eyes wide, he gingerly lets out a small dribble from his mouth, which clearly wasn’t as much as you needed so you deliver a sharper slap. When you put your hand back by his mouth he gives you more, whilst using his sleeve to wipe the small amount of spit from his cheek. You use that to jerk him off faster, trying to push down the urge of grinning at his red slack jawed face. Spencer’s hips jerk up into your hand, bumping your elbow into the dashboard.

“Shit- sorry.” You can barely understand him through how breathy he sounds; eyes now focused completely on your hand.

Thankfully, his nasally voice shuts up so you can focus. Your hand holds his dick carefully, twisting your wrist as you pump him, and every know and then swiping your thumb over the tip. Even though he isn’t talking anymore Spencer is still whining and whispering to himself, it’s the equivalent to a mosquito in your ear but it just motivates you to go faster.

Finally, his breathing speeds up and he actually starts crying a little bit, and when he finishes it gets all over his jacket, luckily for him it’s a dark blue. You wrinkle your nose at the little spot on your hand, so you just wipe it on his pants. He really is a sight with his hair slicked on his forehead with sweat, pants crumpled around his knees and spent dick all red and resting on his thigh.

“There, is that what you’ve wanted this whole time?”

“Uhm- yeah. Yes please, thank you.” He’s still quite out of it, trying to catch his breath, and fumbling with his pants.

Once y’all are on the road again, his driving is a little faster than before, and the turns are looser. Refusing to make eye contact or even make conversation. He’s almost too eager to let you out at the entrance of your shitty apartment complex, and less than five seconds after you get out of the vehicle he’s already speeding off.

Safe to say, he never showed up at the Waffle House after that. Although you’ve been getting mysterious monthly payments.

Authors note: Sorry it took forever to release, and sorry for the early release with bad formatting. HOPEFULLY y'all like this 😭

The train ride up to New York is quieter than it normally seems.

Logan sits across from you with his headphones in, scrolling through something on his phone, but every so often he looks up to check on you the way he used to. Your uncle is in the seat by the window, reading glasses low on his nose, a folded newspaper in his lap that he hasn’t actually looked at in twenty minutes. Spencer is beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours every time the train sways. He hasn’t said much since you left the train station. He just keeps his hand loosely around yours, his thumb moving back and forth against the top of yours.

It’s your mom’s birthday.

You haven’t said the words out loud yet, but everyone on this train already knows. Logan came in from Oregon two days early for Christmas specifically for this. Rossi cleared not only his schedule, but asked Hotch for Spencer to be free as well. And Spencer…Spencer just quietly rearranged everything so he could be here too.

Three years.

It still doesn’t feel real sometimes. Three years since the house in New York went quiet. Three years since Dennis James was arrested at the scene and everyone told you it was over. Three years since Rossi brought you and Logan home with him and tried to build something steady out of the wreckage. You were 15. Logan was 22 and still in college. Neither of you really knew how to be without them yet.

The cemetery is on the edge of the city, the kind of place that feels older than the buildings around it. Your breath shows in fog clouds when you step out of the train. The air smells like cold earth, wet leaves, and the faint of snow that hasn’t quite decided to fall yet. 

Rossi leads the way without needing a map. He’s been here enough times that the path is familiar under his feet. Gravel crunches softly beneath your shoes. Logan falls into step on your other side, the sleeve of his jacket occasionally brushing yours. Spencer stays half a pace behind you at first, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, until you reach back and find his hand again. His fingers close around yours immediately.

The headstones are simple. Side by side under a bare oak tree that has dropped most of its leaves. A few stubborn brown ones still cling to the lower branches and rustle whenever the wind moves through. Your parents’ names are carved in clean, steady letters. The dates underneath still make your throat tighten the same way they did the first time you saw them when you were 15. The grass around the base is dormant and pale. A thin layer of frost still clings to the side of the stones.

Logan crouches first. He brushes a few stray leaves away from the base with careful fingers and sets down the small bouquet of white roses the two of you picked out that morning. The paper wrapping crinkles in the quiet. Rossi stands with his hands in his coat pockets for a long moment, giving the two of you space without ever actually leaving. Then he steps forward.

He rests one hand lightly on the top of your father’s headstone, the way he used to rest it on his brother’s shoulder.

“We got him,” Rossi says quietly, voice low and steady in the cold air. “Steven Woods. He’s gone.” A small, rough breath leaves him. “You can rest easier now. Both of you.”

He stays there a second longer, then glances over his shoulder at Spencer, who is standing a respectful half step back with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, glasses slightly fogged from the cold.

“There’s someone else here today,” Rossi continues, still addressing the graves. “Someone from the team. Someone who’s been looking after Y/N better than I ever managed to on my own. I want you to meet him.”

He steps back, giving you the space. 

You were surprised to find out that Spencer was coming today. It’s not like you’re not glad he’s here, you are. But you just didn’t expect it. Your uncle arranged for it without telling you, and Spencer just didn’t mention it. You only found out when he showed up at your house this morning, and your uncle asked if he was ready for the trip.

You squeeze Spencer’s fingers and step closer to the graves, bringing him with you. The grass is stiff underfoot.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” you say softly. Your voice sounds smaller than usual out here, almost swallowed by the open air.  Spencer is very still beside you.

You look at him again, and the softest, most nervous version of his smile appears. He clears his throat, then he lets go of your hand only long enough to take his glasses off, wipe them carefully on the edge of his sweater, and put them back on straight, like he wants to be as put together as possible for this.

He steps a little closer to the headstones, hands now buried deep in his coat pockets again, and speaks in that quiet, careful voice he only ever uses when something matters too much to rush.

“Hello,” he says. “I’m Spencer. It’s… it’s really nice to meet you both. I’ve heard a lot about you.” A small, self-conscious breath leaves him in a white cloud. “D-Dave had me come today because he wanted me t-to meet…or talk, I’m not sure the correct term to use, you.”

Logan huffs a quiet laugh behind you. The sound is rough from the cold, but fond. Rossi smiles a small, amused smile..

Spencer keeps going, eyes on the names carved in stone.

“She’s remarkable. I know you already know that. But I need you to know that I know it too. You guys did a good job.” he looks over his shoulder at your uncle standing behind him before turning back. “And so did Dave.I love her. Very much.” 

His voice is a little shaky by the time he’s done. He reaches out beside him and takes your hand in his again before he swallows, and lowers his voice.

“Thank you for her,” he says quietly, making a warm tear fall down your cold, rosy cheeks. You sniffle, causing Spencer to immediately turn and worry to cover his face. You just shake your head and push your face into his armpit. He wraps his free arm around you, pulling you closer into him and kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah, well,” Logan says, stepping forward to the graves and pointing at you and Spencer. “I credit myself for this whole thing.”

“What?” you say, tipping your head back from Spencer’s warm side and looking at Logan.

Logan grins, rocking back on his heels the way he used to when he was about to admit something.

“I had to sit you down and spell it out, remember,” he smiles at you. “You kept telling me he didn’t like you in the same sentence as you telling me you guys held hands while watching Oceans 11.”

“You told him about that?” Spencer says to you. 

“She did,” Logan answers for you. “I had to tell her if the two of you didn’t figure it out for yourselves soon I was going to lock you in a room until one of you confessed.”

A small laugh escapes you as Spencer squeezes your hand. You lean your head back against him, grateful that despite how long it took, it all worked out.

“But yeah,” Logan says, returning his attention back to the graves. “Spencer is cool, you guys would love him. He’s a genius.”

“He is,” you mumble, smiling through tears.

The wind drifts quietly through the bare branches overhead. Somewhere farther into the cemetery a church bell rings the hour, the sound carrying softly through the cold December air. You continue crying into Spencer’s shoulder. Eventually he looks toward you.

“Do you want me to give you some space?”

You don't even have to think about it.

“No,” you answer quicker than he expected. “I don't...” You glance down at your parents' names again. “I don't really want to be alone today.”

“Okay,” he nods. 

No questions. No convincing. Just okay.

Logan clears his throat. “I'll give you two a minute anyway.”

He steps around the other side of the tree, stopping in front of your dad's headstone. He slips his hands into his pockets, staring down at it for a long moment before speaking so quietly you can barely make out the words.

You deliberately look away. Some conversations aren't meant to be overheard. Instead, you kneel in front of your mom's grave. Spencer stays standing, putting a gentle hand on your back. The stone is cold beneath your fingertips. A little frost has settled across the engraved letters. You brush it away carefully.

“I..” you start, voice cracking. “I never really know what to say when I come here.”

“Just say what you feel like she should know,” Spencer says softly, lowering himself beside you, his hand still on your back.

“I guess…” you stop to think. The first thing that crosses your mind is the car. The shed. The kidnapping. But you don’t want to ruin the mood, which sounds pretty ironic to think about considering you’re in a graveyard. “School's going well.”

Spencer starts moving his hand in small circles on your back. They almost feel encouraged.

“I’m almost halfway through college now,” you say. A small laugh comes past your lips. The thought feels strange. “Uncle Dave did Thanksgiving with his team this year. He made two turkeys.”

Spencer chuckles next to you. You look at him, almost as if you’re giving him permission to talk. He understands. Of course he does.

“The team loves her,” Spencer says to the stone. “Even before we all got to meet her, Rossi would talk about her. He used to tell us how many mugs she left in the sink.” He glances at you briefly, with an adoring smile. “I thought he was exaggerating…” he trails off in a giggle. “He wasn’t.”

You smile slightly. Only slightly. But it’s there.

“I still miss you,” you say, voice small. “...I wish you could’ve met Spencer.” You look over at him, his cheeks a soft red from the cold.  “You would’ve loved him.”

You smile through another tear and rest your head lightly against his shoulder. He brings a hand up to cup the side of your head gently. You look up at him, your chin digs slightly into his arm, but he doesn’t say anything.

“She would’ve loved you,” you say to him. 

He pulls your head into his side, you bury your nose into his armpit. You can faintly smell his deodorant through the thick layers of his coat and sweater.

“...I’m trying,” you hear softly from the other side of the tree. 

Logan.

“...I don’t know.”

There’s a long silence. 

“...I feel guilty.”

You should talk to cover him up. Listening feels wrong. But you don’t know what to say. 

“I was really worried about her when I first moved. She seems happy since she met Spenc–”

The wind picks up, covering the end of Logan’s sentence. But you heard enough to know it was about you. You knew he worried about you. He’s your older brother, that’s what he’s supposed to do. You just didn’t know he felt…guilty.

Guilty for what?

For your parents dying? That wasn’t his fault. For moving to Oregon? He got a job. It sucked, but it was a great opportunity.

You didn’t know what he could feel guilty about.

And you’ll never know unless you ask. Logan walks around from the tree, his eyes slightly pink around the edges. He doesn’t say anything, just stands beside you. Eventually, Rossi clears his throat. 

“Well,” he straightens his coat. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but you kids’ mother would be furious if she knew we skipped lunch.”

You smile, knowing he’s right. 

The wind stirred through the bare branches overhead, sending a handful of dry leaves across the frozen ground. You looked down at the two names carved into the stone one last time. You squeezed Spencer's hand once before finally letting go.

"Ready?" Rossi asked gently.

Logan nodded.

"Yeah," you said, taking one last look over your shoulder. "I think so."

The four of you started back toward the path together, your footsteps crunching softly over the frost. Spencer's shoulder found yours again without either of you thinking about it, Logan nudged you with his elbow over something only the two of you understood, and your uncle walked a few paces ahead, hands tucked into his coat pockets.

The cemetery slowly disappeared behind you.

Somehow, leaving this time didn’t feel like it normally did. It didn’t feel like leaving them behind, it felt like moving forward.

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a/n: that last sentence is so fucking cringe omgggg i wish i knew of a better way to end it but im #washed i hope this part does something for someone because i lowkey kind of hate it, as previously mentioned, i’m weird with death so i hope i wrote grief/mourning okay :P

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And there was the purple mark on his neck, next to his collarbone that he had to make a conscious effort hiding.

Spencer cleared his throat “Can we focus on the case?” he said, voice a bit higher-pitched than normal. 

“Sure,” JJ said with a knowing smile. 

He stared at his file the whole meeting. It wasn’t his fault. He was on a day-off and got a sudden call that he wasn’t prepared for. He was supposed to spend the morning with you like intended, to be able to keep kissing you and stay in bed with your body flushed against his– 

“Reid”

Spencer’s head snapped to see Hotch waiting for an answer… to a question he ignored…

“Uhm… sorry c-can you repeat?”

“I said… Do you remember the last time this MO was used?”

Spencer nodded “Yes, in 1986 in the same area we found four bodies killed in the same way, with the same puncture wounds to the chest. The unsub had never been found”

He felt Derek’s amused eyes on him. He just knew. What gave it away? The half fucked up tie? The way he walked in with his cheeks still flushed? The dilated pupils when he thought of you instead of working? 

Could they blame him? Last night he finally got to what he had wanted for weeks… you.

//

“Thank you for walking me home,” you smiled, still gripping his hands.

You and Spencer were standing on your doorstep. It had been your first ‘real’ date after weeks of talking : a nice dinner after seeing a play together. You hadn’t stopped smiling since the start of the night. 

“Of course,” he answered. Spencer’s eyes flee yours most of the time, but right now, they were looking straight into yours.

His big brown eyes. 

It truly was what you had noticed at first about him. And you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the moment. You bit your lower lip to stop yourself from grinning. “Do uhm… do you want to step inside?”

You both knew what that meant. One step in and the two of you will be one.

Spencer simply nodded. But you didn’t move, didn’t want to step away. With your hand reaching behind you to open the door, you stayed in front of him. He got closer and you felt your cheeks heating up.

You had the time to hear the ‘click’ of your door opening before his lips were on yours. You closed your eyes as you leaned into it. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders to try to pull him closer somehow, because you weren’t close enough for your liking. A breath left his lips and you answered with a small, muffled sound. He walked you inside, still kissing you.

Spencer closed the door behind him without leaving you. Your hand cradled his cheek, angling his head to kiss him deeper. His hand trailed from your hip to slide under your top. Your skin shivered at the contact of his cold fingers on you. 

“Spencer,” you whispered. Your other hand was gripping the hair on the back of his neck and you swore you heard him let out a sound at the slight tug. It only made the knot in your stomach tightened. 

Spencer broke the kiss, breathless. You took a second to take in his appearance: his red cheeks, the hair that had fallen in front of his forehead, the top button of his shirt that you had somehow opened in the process. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and his hand stayed there, on your cheek. 

“Hi,” you breathed out before letting out a giggle.

“Hi,” Spencer answered. He rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in. Your fingers found the hooks of his pants to pull his hips closer. He leaned in again to start a new kiss. 

You kicked off your shoes, your lips still attached to his. You only broke the kiss to whisper a quick “The bedroom’s on the right” and let him lead you there. 

With your back against the mattress and his body hovering over yours, the world blurred and all you saw was him.

//

Spencer’s eyes darted the jet, trying to avoid Derek’s questioning gaze. He knew how fucked he was, as soon as there was one break, the questions will start. If that jet ‘meeting’ to talk about the strategy could last the whole flight, he wasn’t going to complain. 

Unfortunately, the chat ended. He glanced at his file, pretending to already start the geographical profile.

“Reid”

Shit.

“Yes?” he looked up to see Morgan sitting next to him. 

Derek grinned. “So you’re not gonna tell me what happened this morning?”

“Nothing happened,” Spencer answered too quickly.

Derek let out a chuckle “Sure, kid. You came here looking like a mess and you were late.”

Spencer swallowed “You’re imagining things”

“No. I think you have someone you want to hide” Spencer’s face was so transparent and telling that he couldn’t even hide it. He tried though, but he failed miserably “Come on! Just tell me I’m right”

“Fine–”

Derek grinned from ear to ear “There we go. What’s the girl’s name?”

“I don’t want to talk about it–”

“Talk about what?” Emily asked as she sat across Spencer

“Reid’s got a girlfriend” Derel said way too loud. 

And that got the whole jet’s attention. Even Hotch turned his head with a raised eyebrow. “Do you?”

“I… well yes but it’s not the point,” he was stumbling over his words. He could die on the spot at the way all their eyes lighted up. “Can we focus on the case?”

The team went back to their files but Spencer noticed the way their gaze lingered. He wanted to keep it for himself. At least for a little while, so he has time to make sure things were serious between the two of you. He hadn’t meant to… but the call caught him off guard while he was supposed to spend time with you.

//

Spencer rolled around and let out a sigh. He felt something against him, he opened his eyes and remembered. He remembered last night, the thrill and pleasure, falling asleep next to you, your head resting against his naked chest, his hands on your hips–

“Spencer?” you whispered as you woke up. 

“Yes?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your middle. He wasn’t used to this, waking up next to somebody else. But it had been a nice surprise when he woke up, that was sure. His heart melted at the sleepy smile you offered him. 

You pressed your head to his neck and left a peck there “Slept well?”

“Definitely,” Spencer answered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “You?”

“Oh yeah,” you said with a grin “That was a good night.”

He laughed, his cheeks heating up. “Yeah… it was”

You lifted your head to see him so flustered. With his red cheeks and big eyes and his disheveled hair from last night. “Cute,” you whispered before pressing your lips to his. How were you supposed to keep your hands to yourself when he looked this cute. 

Spencer melted into the kiss, his hand cupped your cheek to pull you closer. With your hips now pressing against his, he couldn’t resist you. He turned you around, now hovering over you. He kissed you again, harder. 

You hooked your leg over his hip and heard him let out a sound against your mouth. Your arms snuck around his shoulders while his hand started to trail down. You closed your eyes when his lips locked with your neck. That was so good. 

Spencer muttered your name and that only made you want more. You were ready and let out a whimper when his hand found you– 

A phone rang. Spencer froze. He glanced at the nightstand to see his cell ringing. “Sorry–”

He detached himself from you to answer the call. “Hotch? I… Y-yes. Yeah I’ll be there”

You chuckled, amused at how unsatisfied he looked. “Don’t laugh,” he said, trying to hide his small smile “It sucks”

“It does,” you said, pecking his lips “But you have people who need you”

“And what if I need you?” he answered which made it harder to keep your hands off of him. 

“Then you’ll have me when you’re back,” you whispered against his mouth. Spencer smiled and offered you a quick kiss

“I really need to go”

“You don’t seem to be moving”

Spencer let out a small sigh and got up and you weren’t going to stop yourself from staring. “You’re just making this harder,” he whined as he had to quickly get dressed. 

“I see that” you chuckled.

He shook his head, swallowing at the sight of you still sitting on your bed. “I uhm… Well since I’m here I don’t have my car… can you drive me to work?”

“Oh- yeah sure”

The ride was silent, Spencer focusing on trying to look normal and absolutely not unsatisfied. You left him a block away as he told you he didn’t want to deal with his colleagues’ teasing. He definitely had a good reason to worry about it

//

Spencer had finally managed to focus on the case. He had indeed been right and the unsub from 1986 was the same as now so the stakes were high. After two intense days of chasing after the man, they caught him. Spencer sat in their assigned room at the police station. He hadn’t taken the time to breathe properly. He looked at his phone to see a text from you 

‘Hi :) Tell me when the case’s over, maybe I can give you a ride home since you don’t have your car’

Spencer smiled without even meaning to

‘Hi, I would love that. Caught the guy so I should be back at the BAU by 8pm’

You instantly answered with ‘You’ll have a private driver waiting for you :P’

“Now, Reid. You can’t tell me it’s not her you’re texting”

Spencer turned around to see Derek “I wasn’t going to lie about it”

“So why didn’t you tell us on the jet?”

“I just… you were all staring and I hadn’t planned on talking about her”

“The hickey on your neck was talking for you” Derek said, loving messing with him. Spencer was so flustered, his cheeks redder than ever “Anyway… how’s it going?”

Spencer smiled “It’s going great. Except for the impromptu phone call,” he chuckled. “But uhm… yeah it’s doing great, we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks”

“And you didn't tell us?” Derek joked, faking offense

“Well it wasn’t anything at first, the other day it was our first date. Well; no but like our first date that we stated out loud was a date. Does that make sense?” 

“Sure,” Derek answered with a chuckle “Well I’m happy for you, kid,” he said as he got up before patting his back and leaving. 

Spencer was left alone and he stared down at his lap, smiling from ear to ear. He just wanted to get back to you. 

After the long wait on the jet and the last bit of work he had to do in office, he was finally free. He saw you, standing next to your car in the parking lot. You grinned when you saw him. His arms wrapped around you and smiled into your hair “I missed you”

You stepped away from him so you could kiss him. His lips against yours and his hands on your hips. It wasn’t even a heated kiss, just one that said you had missed each other. But it was enough for his team to cheer. 

You frowned as you turned your head to see… all his colleagues standing there, smiling. Even one of them gave Spencer a thumbs up. “What’s going on?”

“Uh… I might have not been very ‘put together’ when I arrived from your house”

You chuckled “No way”

“Can we just go?” he asked, a bit embarrassed.

You got into the car “They look nice, I should meet them someday,” you said as you saw a woman– wearing the most extravagant clothing you had seen in a while– looking ecstatic. 

Elle Greenaway is the first to notice the way your jaw drops the moment you see Spencer Reid wearing glasses.

She rolls her desk chair over to you, a knowing smile spreads across her face,“Hey, just so you know, I think you might have left your jaw on the floor.”

You turn to look at her, your cheeks immediately flushing.

"Huh?"

You do your best to play dumb, but your eyes betray you and follow Reid as he makes his way toward his desk.

“I mean, you’re undressing Reid with your eyes,” she gestures in his direction.

“No, I am not!” you whisper a little too loudly, drawing JJ’s attention from across the room.

“What are you not doing?”

“Nothing. I was doing nothing!” you say quickly, lowering your voice this time. You learned your lesson after last time.

Elle leans closer to JJ, putting on an exaggeratedly serious expression. “Our rookie here…” She pauses for dramatic effect, raising a hand to her mouth as though sharing a secret. “Was checking out Reid.”

JJ’s eyebrows shoot up, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Really?”

She leans closer to Elle, and the two of them begin stage-whispering between themselves, occasionally glancing back at you with matching smiles just to watch you squirm.

“She totally was,” Elle whispers.

“But I thought rookie called Spencer dorky.” JJ dramatically covers her mouth, feigning shock.

“Yes, but she never said he wasn’t an attractive dork.” Elle throws you a teasing glance.

“Okay, you guys, stop teasing.” You wave your hands defensively. “I was just surprised by his new glasses. It's not like they make him look like less of a dork," you steal another glance at Reid. He's wearing a green sweater, and it looks like his hair hasn't been brushed in a few days. How could anyone possibly find him attractive?

"I think his glasses manage to make him look even more dorky.”

You try to sound convincing, but JJ and Elle simply roll their eyes.

The rest of the month is like psychological warfare. Every time Reid walks in the door, one of your coworkers shoots you a glance. You thought that FBI agents would be mature and professional, yeah right.

You know it's wrong to hope for a case. Cases usually mean some poor town or city is being terrorized by some crazed killer. But hearing Hotch say "Wheels up in six" would really get your mind off other things.

Fortunately for the safety of civilians, no cases come across JJ's desk, but unfortunately for you, it means you're stuck with your boring desk duties. Just you, your thoughts, and your incident report.

You try to focus on writing, but it's impossible. People think you like Reid? I mean, how could you be attracted to him? I mean, it was Reid, the same dork who on your first day refused to shake your hand, citing germs. It was slightly offensive; the guy acted like you'd never washed your hands in your whole life.

But he’s also the same guy who occasionally brings you your favourite coffee shop order, Horchata with whipped cream on top, even though he teases you that dairy isn’t nutritionally necessary. Like he’s one to talk. His coffee is like 70% sugar, 20% International Delight French Vanilla Creamer, and 10% coffee. Not that you pay close attention to his drinking habits!

You just can’t help but stare at Reid sometimes. He’s like a specimen that belongs in a museum. The irregular cadence of his voice, his expressive face, and the way his long, lithe fingers never quite stay still. And oh my God, his hands. Are hands supposed to be this attractive? You have to admit, you're starting to understand why other people might find him attractive.

Curse you, Elle and JJ for planting the idea in your head! It was only natural—at least, that was what you told yourself. You were just a victim of the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. That Thing that happens when something you just learned, or that someone pointed out to you, suddenly seems to pop up everywhere. That's the only reason why images of Reid float through your head and seem to multiply like weeds.

You nibble on the tip of your pen; your report has been shoved to the back of your very crowded mind. God, you need time to think. Maybe you should take an early lunch and go for a walk. Fresh air and sunshine would do wonders for your befuddled mind.

You try to silently sneak through the bullpen, but a familiar voice calls out to you.

"Hey, are you going for a walk?" Reid buttons his grey cardigan; it's 83 degrees outside. Does this man ever get hot?

"What if I was?" You feign nonchalance, casually walking towards the exit. You're praying he doesn't follow you. Being in close proximity to Spencer Reid is not what the doctor ordered.

Spencer cocks his head, and his glasses ever so slightly slide down the crook of his nose.

He gives you a lopsided smile, "Mind some company?"

You really want to say no, tell him that you're actually meeting someone, but you stare into his honey colored eyes, and suddenly your mouth goes dry. His glasses definitely have some mystical supernatural powers or something, because you've never been the type to get so weak in the knees before.

"Fine, but we're getting ice cream."

Obviously the walk does nothing to clear your head. Even the satisfying clack of your heels beneath the concrete doesn't alleviate your overloaded mind. What are you supposed to do when the person who has infiltrated your mind has also infiltrated your walk?

He's walking so close to you. Way too close to you. So close your hands are almost touching, so close you can smell him. God, he smells so good. Has he always smelled this good? He smells like curling up on the couch and reading on a warm summer day.

It doesn't take much convincing to get Reid to buy ice cream cones for the two of you. It’s so hot your ice cream melts almost instantly. You’re tantalized by the way his ice cream drips down his hand and onto his wrist. Then you watch the way he licks it off his hand. His tongue is so pink, and you wonder what else it could do.

You’re too busy blushing that you don’t realize Reid has started talking.

“Did you know that originally vanilla ice cream wa—”

“Reid, if you’re about to talk about how we used to eat ice cream flavoured by beaver ass, I want you to can it!” You shoot him a quick glare. Because of his facts, he’s already ruined pre-ground coffee beans, red lipstick, and perfume for you—you’ll be damned if he ruins ice cream too.

"Okay, I guess I’ll just be quiet then,” he murmurs. And you almost feel bad—almost.

As Reid is walking to the garbage can, a disgruntled office worker bumps into him, and his glasses fall off his face, landing on the ground with a hard thwack. The employee murmurs a half-assed apology and continues on his way. You resist the urge to smack him for his rude behaviour—is it still police brutality if you’re technically an FBI agent?

"Shit," Reid says, blindly groping at the ground. You're honestly afraid he's going to step on them.

"Wait, Reid , hold on!" You get on your hands and knees to help. "I see them." You scoop up his glasses and quickly do a cursory glance. Nothing looks broken or scratched, which is good. What if he had to stop wearing them?

"You're pretty blind, aren't you?" You place Reid's frames into his outstretched hands. Even though your physical contact is momentary, it makes your cheeks heat up. Damn you Elle and JJ for infiltrating your mind and filling it with pro-Reid propaganda.

"I have fairly extreme myopia." He says, answering your question.

"Pardon?"

"Myopia, more commonly known as nearsightedness."

"Ah, so like that's the one that snipers shouldn't have, right?"

"Yes, I would make an extremely poor sniper."

"Because you're nearsighted, or because you failed your firearms test?"

"Did Morgan tell you that?"

You giggle and make a shushing gesture toward your lips. "I was told by an anonymous source."

He rolls his eyes and wipes the lenses of his black and gold frames.

"So like, are glasses a new thing for you?"

"No, but my contacts manufacturer shut down, and the replacements are on back order. I should hopefully get my new ones soon."

That's unfortunate. You know that glasses are an inconvenience, especially in a job as physically demanding as this, but you will admit— those glasses make him look kind of like a sexy accountant. You know, if you find numbers and spreadsheets hot.

You get back to the bullpen, Reid never leaving your mind once. God, what is wrong with you?

Derek Morgan is a dead man.

It didn't take your other co-workers long to discover your attraction to Reid. Working with profilers sucks. They think they know everything and then they get so smug when they think they've uncovered a secret.

Of course you vehemently denied it any chance you could.

Garcia was helping you set up your new work computer. After a minor incident (you smashing your monitor after your PC deleted your incident report), you needed a new one.

"So you didn't like Reid until the glasses?"

She presses the power button and your monitor flashes back to life.

You scoff, "I don't even like Reid with the glasses."

Garcia nods, while typing something on your keyboard,"Mhmm, sure, keep lying to yourself. But I have to admit junior G-man looks good in the specs. Even I was like 'oh boy, mama likes' when I saw him in those frames."

You're about to tell her that this is becoming borderline inappropriate for work, but then Morgan butts in,"Rookie, be honest here, everyone thinks you're sweet on pretty boy."

Your eyes widen, "Morgan, with all due respect, shut the fuck up!" You hiss between clenched teeth. You really don't want to be discussing this, especially since Reid's desk is so close to yours. But Morgan digs in, "Okay, maybe you don't like him, but you must at least find him attractive. Maybe it's just a glasses fetish?"

If looks could kill, Derek Morgan would be six feet under. You're not sure where he found the audacity to say such a thing. You're allowed to be attracted to certain things without it becoming a fetish. Morgan acts like he doesn't have a thing for every big-busted woman he sees.

"Technically, Morgan," you say condescendingly, "A fetish is something someone needs to get their rocks off. And FYI, I've had a very fulfilling sex life with people who have 20/20 vision. So what I have… not a fetish." You raise your brows, shooting him a nasty scowl.

Morgan chuckles, "Okay, but you're admitting to having something for glasses." You glare at Morgan, grabbing a pencil and snapping it in half with a satisfying crunch, just to send a message. He just laughs harder.

"Fine, okay, I'm allowed to find things attractive without one, liking that person, two, without having a fetish!"

"Sure, whatever you say, fetish girl."

"Hey, maybe this is going too far." Garcia tries to intervene, but it's too late.

"Hey, Reid," Derek hollers across the office. "What's a person with a glasses fetish called?"

"That would be a spectaphile," Reid replied, his eyes don't leave the book he's reading.

Morgan leans in. "Well, you heard the man. Maybe we should call you spectaphile instead of rookie."

This earns Morgan a growl as you grab the nearest thing you can find—your computer mouse—and hurl it at Morgan, completely ignoring Garcia's cries to leave the innocent mouse alone. She acts like it's a real, live mouse.

Morgan dodges it with ease and bolts down the hall. You're almost certain you hear him cackling as he disappears around the corner.

You hesitantly glance over at Reid's desk. His face is flush, and he avoids eye contact with you. And you have the urge to kill Morgan all over again. Great, now Reid probably thinks you're hot and horny for his spectacles.

You stare at the now broken mouse in your hands and look at Garcia. "Hey, sorry about the mouse. But at least it wasn't the computer this time?" You offer her a guilty smile, and she storms off, murmuring something about how she can't deal with all this computer gore.

You add three tasks to your mental checklist:

Kill Morgan when he comes back

Make it up to Garcia in any way possible

Convince Reid you don't have a glasses fetish

You have a problem.

And no, it’s not just the fact that your former coworker, Elle, is suspected of murdering a prior unsub in cold blood. Honestly, in your opinion, the guy got what he deserved. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

Your team is full of lawful goods if you’ve ever seen them. They have this annoying habit of prioritizing legally right over morally right. Ugh.

No, your real problem is Emily Prentiss.

You don’t want to call her Elle’s replacement, but… she kind of is.

Unlike Elle, Prentiss has no problem asking uncomfortable questions. She doesn’t dance around a subject or wait for you to bring it up. She simply looks you dead in the eye and asks,

“So… what’s going on with you and Reid?”

Just like that.

You blink at her.

For a moment, your brain goes completely blank.

God, you miss Elle Greenaway.

She would’ve teased you mercilessly, sure, but she never cornered you like this. She never made you stop and actually stare your feelings straight in the face.

"Umm, nothing?"

She raises her perfectly groomed brow. "I've seen schoolgirl crushes less obvious than this. Rookie, you've gotta get a better poker face."

What kind of Jedi Mind tricks did they teach Prentiss at her last job? Accuse you, then berate you with a nickname to throw you off your game. You'd been on the team for a year now, and you still couldn't shed your former nickname.

"Stop calling me rookie. If anything, you're the rookie!"

She chuckles, "Yeah, but I've been part of the force for longer than you've been an adult."

Was that true? How old is she? Never mind, you need to clear something up.

"Listen, I don't know what you've heard, but there is nothing going on between me and Reid."

Emily nods along, and you’re grateful that she’s actually listening, unlike some people who just want to throw accusations at you (Derek Morgan).

“I don’t even like Reid. I think he’s an annoying little geek. And I don’t even find his fun facts that fun.”

Okay, that last part was a lie. You can always appreciate Spencer Reid’s fun facts (unless he’s ruining ice cream, coffee, or red lipstick). And maybe he’s not that annoying, at least not until you and he are actively bickering about a case.

But you have to show Prentiss that you're serious.

"That's unfortunate, because I think he likes you." She gives you a sad smile.

"Really?" You try to hide your curiosity, but like most profilers, you're nosy. It's kind of like an unspoken prerequisite for being a profiler.

"Yes, completely."

You have to sit back and think for a moment. What does this mean for you? Maybe pursuing Reid wouldn't be the worst Idea. Wait, what are you thinking? Oh my God, she's trying to use interrogation techniques on you. She's trying to trip you up. Well, you may be the newest Agent, but you're no spring chick.

"Prentiss, I see what you're doing, and I'm going to stop you there. I do not, nor will I ever, like Spencer Reid."

She just gives you a knowing smile.

You think you're in love with Spencer Reid.

Maybe it's the power of the placebo effect, but now he's all you can think about.

Somehow everything reminds you of Reid. You stroll past glasses displays and wonder what Reid would look like in them. You find yourself wandering through bookstores, running your hands up and down the spines and wonder how many of these books he's already read. Probably at least half the store's inventory.

Even at work, you're becoming hyper aware of him. Every time he enters the room, you're drawn to him. You find reasons to be closer to him, to talk to him. Lord knows you've sat and listened to him explain the game of chess just to be in his presence. Did any of the rules stick? Nope!

It's hell because you're still trying to keep your crush on the down low. You know that everyone on the team, sans Reid himself (thankfully), knows how you feel — even Hotch shoots you a knowing smile. But as long as you don't admit it to your crush, you won't have to hear the dreaded words "I told you so"

Right?

You'd rather be dead than have someone say that.

It takes all your willpower not to cry when Reid's contacts finally arrive. His glasses, his beautiful glasses, are left at home. They're probably so sad and confused.

It's not that he's now downright hideous without glasses; it's just that he's so, so delicious with those black and gold frames.

You think you're doing an excellent job of hiding your disappointment; you are a profiler after all. You have to have a face made of stone.

Derek had asked you if you still found Reid attractive without his spectacles; you just told him that you were going to report him to Strauss for harassment— that sure changed his tune.

As you're walking out of the bullpen’s door, you hear a familiar set of footprints behind you. Turning around, you find Reid following you.

"What's up?"

"Would you like to get coffee with me?"

"Umm, sure. But isn't it a little too late for caffeine?"

"I just thought that maybe we could do something?"

Oh God, Reid totally knows you like him. He's asking you out to reject you politely because, of course he is. Reid is a gentleman. A weird, socially awkward gentleman, but a gentleman nonetheless.

You know what you need to do: you need to reject his offer, go home, resign, maybe move countries. Canada seems nice enough—Colorful money, lots of geese.

"Sure, Reid, that would be nice." You smile at him.

Shit, what are you doing?

The coffee shop is like heaven on Earth. The sound of water steeping in kettles, beans being freshly ground, and the warm, comforting smell of coffee surround your senses and take away your inhibitions.

Reid both remembers your order and pays for it. You assume It's his last kind gesture before he flays you open, tears out your heart, and rips it to pieces. You need to solidify your defences.

"So I came here to ask you something," he smiles his awkward, crooked smile. if he weren't about to shatter your heart, you'd be tempted to trace your fingers over his soft, pink lips.

"Listen, I don't know what you've heard, but I don't like you." you blurt out— shit, did you just say that?

Spencer's face twists in confusion, and you realize you've just said something incredibly stupid.

"I mean I do. I find you extremely attractive." Words pour out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, "But it's not just because of your glasses."

Reid goes to speak, but you cut him off. "I'm not a sceptile or whatever it's called," You can't even bear to look at Reid's face. It feels like you bought a shovel just to dig your own grave"I don't have a glasses fetish!"

"What?"

"I'm not sexually attracted to you just because of your glasses. Morgan is a liar. I just think you're cute with them. It's not sexual!"

What are you saying, abort, abort mission!

"Umm, I gotta go, I think I left my oven on!"

You don't give Reid a chance to respond before you're out the cafe door. Your horchata is left behind along with any sense of self-respect you may have had.

You almost call in sick. If not for the insane amount of backlogged reports you have, you may have even faked your death. It took all your willpower not to start the immigration paperwork to move to Canada; you were thinking Toronto, close enough to home that you wouldn't get homesick, far enough from Reid so that you would never run into him. It was also outside of FBI jurisdiction, which meant you'd never have to see your former coworkers.

You trudge your way into the bullpen; an hour before work starts so you don't have to do your walk of shame by Reid (who comes in half an hour early). Has the bullpen always felt this oppressive and brutalist? Why are the walls that sad hospital shade of green? Leave it to the feds to somehow make a colour sad and boring.

You carefully shuffle towards your computer. If you look busy enough, hopefully people won't bother you.

You don't think Reid would tell anyone about your café catastrophe, but you're sure that a room filled with profilers could smell scandal or at least self-doubt a mile away.

Maybe if you type on your keyboard loudly enough, the clicks and clacks will drown out that little voice in your head telling you that your career and personal life probably won't recover from a fuck up this bad.

You try your best not to notice when Reid arrives at 8:00 on the dot, but after months of treating his arrival like the second coming, your head reflexively perks up.

God, he’s so cute. You want to run your fingers through his hair. He’s wearing a dorky little sweater vest and tie. His glasses are getting a little fogged up from the steam of his coffee cup.

Wait, glasses?

You try to subtly scan back up to his face. Perched on top of his nose is a familiar pair of gold-framed glasses.

What is happening?

Was he trying to fuck with you? Was this some kind of psychological warfare Reid was waging on you? Other than your freak out yesterday, what could you have done to warrant this?

Your eyes meet, and you want to die. He gives you a nervous smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You wonder if that smile is out of pity. You can’t tell if it would be a good or bad thing if he thought you’d lost your mind.

On one hand, you could plead insanity. Yesterday’s altercation happened while you weren’t in your right state of mind. But on the other hand, you’d probably lose your job if a coworker feared you weren’t mentally competent. Hmmm, lose your dignity or lose your job? Which one seems better? Maybe your old manager at McDonald's would hire you back?

You muster up your best half-convincing smile. Somehow being in an interrogation room with an unsub is a less daunting task.

You instantly regret it as he starts making his way towards you. Why is he coming so close?

You bolt up and out of your chair as quickly as possible, startling poor Reid, but maybe at this point, he's used to you acting strangely.

For the rest of the day, Reid keeps trying to talk with you. Trying to ask for your help with reports, which you both know is a lie. The only person more thorough than him with their reports is Hotch— and that's like half of his job. If Reid weren't a profiler, he'd make a kick-ass secretary.

For a genius, he's surprisingly inept. Doesn't he realize that you really don't want to talk?

After you're finished typing all of your reports, you take refuge in Garcia's den, the one place Spencer Reid never willingly enters. He says Garcia's potpourri makes his eyes itch and nose tickle. Maybe you should start carrying it around like a vampire hunter carries garlic.

One more hour before you can leave. It's the home stretch! Hopefully, over the weekend, Reid's eidetic memory will somehow be wiped. Maybe you can hire a hypnotherapist to break into his home and make him forget.

Why is he so hellbent on talking with you today? There's nothing to say, other than that you're very sorry and please don't report you to HR.

"Hey, can we talk?" A familiar voice asks.

Fuck it's Reid!

"Umm, I'm kind of very busy." You say, quickening your pace through the corridor. God, like one more hour and then you can go home.

"Busy with what? I've seen you make paper airplanes and fly them at Morgan for the past hour."

"Umm, I have to get more paper then?"

"From the supply closet?"

You purse your lips and nod, heading towards the room.

"Well, what a coincidence. That's where I'm headed as well." He says without missing a beat.

Shit!

"Umm, I can get whatever you need and bring it back for you?" You offer him a shaky smile.

"No, I'm looking for something specific. I guess we'll just have to go together." His grin almost looks like a smirk.

Well, you've done your best job to deny the inevitable, but short of faking your own death, this conversation was going to happen eventually.

You slog your way towards the supply closet. The metal handle feels cold on your skin . You turn the knob and mentally prepare yourself for whatever he's going to say.

The door creaks open, and you walk inside; your feet feel like lead. Spencer Reid has gotta be some kind of sadist; you wonder if he gets a kick out of watching you squirm.

You step into the room and feel Reid following behind you. The door clicks closed, and you take a deep breath. You see Spencer push in the lock.

"So we won't be interrupted." He explains; you just nod your head. God, just get this over with.

"You've been avoiding me all day," he huffs and crosses his arms. He looks more like a pouty child than a genius profiler.

"No, I haven't," you feebly deny his accusation.

"Yes, you have," he pouts again, "And after I went through the trouble of wearing my glasses for you."

“Reid, are you mocking me?”

“Is it not obvious what I’m doing?”

You scrunch your face. “No, not at all! Is it supposed to be?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I like you.”

“Wait, what?”

You’re sure you’re hearing things.

“You told me you didn’t like me, but then Morgan said you had a thing for my glasses, and you seemed disappointed when I wore my contacts, so I wore my glasses to express my interest in you.” He gives you an incredulous look.

“Okay? No one but you would think that way!” you try to explain.

“Okay, but now I’m asking you if you feel the same way.” He stares into your eyes but then quickly looks away. “But you’ve been ignoring me today, so I think I know the answer.” He hangs his head dejectedly. He looks like a kicked puppy, and you have such a soft spot for dogs.

You gently grab his hands, and he looks up at you with those intelligent honey coloured eyes. God, he looks so incredibly divine in those frames (not a fetish, you swear).

You place an experimental, chaste kiss on his lips. You feel him smiling as you pull back. You try to ignore the way it makes your stomach flip, and your legs clench.

"So do you reciprocate?" He asks shakily, slowly tracing circles on the back of your hand with his palm.

"Yeah," you whisper in his ear, delighting in the way his face turns a bright rosy pink.

Spencer goes to speak, but you cut him off with another kiss. This one is more confident. You take in his warmth and his scent. He feels both familiar and foreign at the same time.

You feel a moan vibrate from the depths of your mouth, and it sends a tightening sensation down between your legs. Your lips part, and the only thing left is a trail of saliva connecting the two of you.

You watch Reid's eyes go blank; you think he's rebooting. And then suddenly it's like a switch is flipped and Reid lets out a low growl as he pins you to the nearest wall.

"Reid?" You're taken aback; talk about a 180.

"Don't call me that," you feel his hot breath on your neck, "It's weird to hear you moan my last name."

Your mind short circuits. What else would you call him?

"Spencer?" The name feels foreign and strange on your tongue. All professional and personal boundaries are about to be crossed.

"Good girl," he nibbles on your earlobe, and you quiver in excitement.

Who knew shy, awkward Spencer Reid had a dominant side? Where did he learn this? Who did he learn this from? The idea of Spencer fucking anyone, especially anyone who wasn't you, filled your stomach with a sick sense of jealousy.

He slips his hand under your skirt and starts to rub circles over your fully clothed clit. You wonder if your arousal has soaked through your panties yet. Can Spencer feel how turned on you are?

"Are you still okay with this?" He asks, a blush on his face.

"Mmmh, yeah," you say breathlessly, "Is the door still locked?"

Spencer nods.

You have to admit, even though they're hot, Spencer's glasses are a hindrance to foreplay.

His whole head is submerged under your skirt. His tongue is lapping up ever inch of your wet, aroused pussy. But every so often you feel the warm touch of his metal glasses frame scraping against your sensitive areas.

Your hand grips the wall, and you find yourself focusing on the texture— it'scold and rough. If you didn't ground yourself, you're sure you would lose your mind to all this pleasure.

You hear him mutter and murmur praises; the vibration of his husky whispers sends shivers of pleasure through your spine. Spencer eats you out like it's the last meal he'll ever have.

"You're such a good girl," He chuckles and dips his strong fingers back into your warm entrance while his tongue continues to lick your ever-sensitive g-spot.

You're about to climax when Spencer jerks away, making you give a small, disapproving whine.

He emerges from your skirt, and his glasses are fogged up and covered in your arousal. He pulls out a glasses cloth and wipes off his lenses. Leave it to Spencer Reid to clean his glasses in the middle of foreplay. He wipes his fingers clean with the inner part of his sweater vest, and you secretly hope it leaves a stain— just so he'll remember this moment.

You swear that you've died and gone straight to heaven. Your legs are shaking, and to think, you haven't even reached the main event yet.

You're desperate to get fucked, but when you go to unzip his brown, corduroy pants, he gently swats your hand away.

"Did you ask me for permission?" His brows are raised, and his voice is stern.

"Permission," you scoff, "Who made you the boss?" you say belligerently. It's not exactly in your nature to beg and plead.

"Well, I just decided I should take charge," he says matter-of-factly.

You frown.,"I think we should have had a vote." You pout and cross your arms.

Spencer gives you a crooked smile, "But there's only two of us. Obviously the votes would be split down the middle."

"Oh no, whatever would we do?" You say in mock horror.

"Well, I have seniority over you."

"Oh, I see. So my superior at work is taking advantage of me." You send him a smirk.

"Is that what's happening? Well, I wouldn't want to take advantage," he dramatically starts to walk towards the door.

Great, he's called your bluff.

"No wait, please don't go!" You try not to sound desperate, but God, you need him badly.

He shoots you an unconvinced glance.

"Please Spencer," you say in your sweetest voice, "Please just let me suck your cock, I'll be good. I promise!" You're not exactly lying, but you're not exactly telling the truth. You have very big plans for Spencer and not all of them involve being a good girl— it's just not your style.

Spencer turns towards you with a small, satisfied smirk that both arouses you and fills your belly with a competitive fire. He wants to play dirty, make you beg? Two can play that game.

You kiss him with a fervour you didn't know you had in you, and he whimpers. It's almost laughable. Even when he's trying to be dominant, his docile nature still pokes through.

You rub against the tent in his pants and try not to laugh at how flushed his face is getting just from a little bit of physical contact.

"Awww," you coo. "What happened? All it takes is a pretty girl grinding on your cock, and you lose all your composure?" You languidly stroke his hard cock through his pants, not bothering to hide the smirk. "Thought you were my superior?"

You watch Spencer's face oscillate between bliss and irritation.

"Who said I'm losing my composure?" he huffs.

"I think you are, though? If I'm remembering right, I remember you sounding

like..." You pitch your voice into a high-pitched whine, mimicking him. "Like this."

His face turns red, and then he scowls, "That is not what I sound like!"

"Mmm, sure, sure…" You giggle, relishing in the reaction you get out of him. It gives you a head rush that you're not sure could be topped by anything else— maybe an orgasm?

You take your sweet time unzipping his pants and rubbing his clothed erection. Everytime he makes a noise you pull your hand back. This push and pull lasts for a few minutes before he growls and shoves your hand away, freeing his hard cock from his pants— you stifle a surprised squeak when you see it. It's gorgeous, and never in a million years have you seen something so mind blowing.

It's so ungodly attractive. It's the perfect amount of length and girth. With a pretty, pink tip and a prominent vein running down it. You're soaked at the thought of what it would feel like in your mouth.

"You're taking too long." He says, stroking his hard cock. You watch as his long fingers wrap around his thick shaft as he pumps his hand up and down. It's hypnotizing.

You tear your eyes away from his dick. "Weren't you the one who told me I should be more patient?" You pout.

"That was about work; this is purely about pleasure." He huffs, "Now be a good girl, get on your knees and suck."

You scowl at him, and he stares right back. It's hard to take him seriously. It's Spencer after all. He seems like the type to cover his eyes when people kiss on TV. It's especially hard to take him seriously because despite his best efforts to clean them, his glasses lenses are still smudged from your arousal.

You wait for a moment, testing him, teasing him.

"I said," he grits out "get on your knees and suck." for a split second you can see a look of worry on his face. You know that he thinks he's gone too far.

"Or else what?" You ask, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

With that, he gently grabs your hair and makes you submit. Your knees hit the cool, hard tile and you hope they don't bruise from the force.

You look up through your lashes at Spencer, and you can tell he's anticipating the feeling of your mouth on his cock.

You pause for a second. You're torn between teasing Spencer or pleasing him, so you decide to do both.

You tenderly grab his cock. It's warm and velvety in your hands. You circle around the head, smudging the bead of precum with your thumb. Then you slowly move your hand down the length of his member until you reach the base. You find yourself tugging gently on his pubic hair with one hand and fondling his balls with the other.

You look up and meet Spencer's gaze. A faint glare catches on his glasses, obscuring his eyes just enough that it's hard to tell where he's looking. Behind the lenses, though, you can make out the way his pupils are blown out, and his normally hazel irises turned a warm amber beneath the cool LED lights.

You know it's mean to tease Spencer, especially after he basically worshiped your clit with his mouth, but you'd argue that he's the one who started it.

You savour the shudders and moans you coax out of his mouth. You're almost getting high off the power your slow, languid touch has on him.

"You're a tease, you know that?" He huffs.

You just give him a devilish smirk. Cautiously hovering your mouth over his hard cock. You give its head a cautionary lick, drinking down Spencer's delicious whines.

You explore every inch of his cock with your tongue, delighting in the way his body shakes when you run up and down his prominent vein.

The most lewd suckling sounds come from your mouth as you suck on his tip. The taste of salty pre-cum coats your tongue. Spit dribbles out of the corner of your mouth. You see your reflection in his glasses, and you look absolutely debauched.

"Please, please, please let me fuck you—" he begs; any semblance of his bossiness has been wiped away by the heat of your tongue.

"Mmm, maybe. You've kind of been bad though." You tilt your head up to look at him. His face is so impossibly red you think he may combust.

"But I was good!" He whines, "Didn't I make you feel good?"

You pucker your lips. "Yeah, but then you tried to make me beg for you. I'm not a dog."

Spencer looks like he might cry; you try to ignore that guilty feeling in your gut. If he can dish it out, he can take it.

You stand up, dropping his cock with your hand, using it instead to wipe the saliva off the corner of your mouth. He whimpers, and you smirk. You have the perfect plan.

"Hey, give those back!" Spencer says as you snatch his glasses from off his face.

"You don't need them to fuck me, do you?" You say with a grin, "Make me cum and I'll give them back."

"But where?" he whines

"Aren't you the genius? Figure something out."

"Umm, okay…" he says shakily, "put your back towards me and put your hands against the wall."

You oblige, carefully hooking his glasses' arms against the top of your shirt before leaning forward against the wall.

You feel him hitch up your skirt, making sure you're at the proper angle for him to fuck you. Then you hear him spit; you turn your head and watch him rub his cock. The look on his face makes you want to cum on the spot.

He lets out such breathy moans you think you might go limp and pass out.

"Are you gonna fuck me or not?" You ask impatiently. Feels like Spencer is focusing more on jerking off than on you.

"I'm just trying to prepare," he murmurs.

"Mentally or physically," you tease.

"Umm, both?" He says shakily.

"What happened to the confident guy from a few minutes ago?"

"You…" he pauses, "You happened. I can't think straight with you. Every time I think I'm ahead, you pull in front." He pouts.

You just laugh.

The feeling of your body stretching for his cock makes you euphoric. You let out the most indecent moan, and Spencer has to remind you that you two are currently fucking in the supply closet. You tell him it's not a very busy hallway and to just keep fucking you.

It's a shame that he's doing you from behind. There's nothing you want more than to watch the way his slick cock enters and exits your pussy.

His hands explore every inch of your body, especially taking their time to fondle your breasts. Spencer snakes his hand up your shirt, and his fingers ghost your erect nipple. You bite back a moan, and he gives an experimental pinch. You let out a breathy cry.

After he's satisfied with playing with your breasts, his one hand rests on the wall, stabilizing himself for every thrust he takes. The other hand ends up wrapped up in your hair. He squeezes his hand slowly, and you cry out.

It's almost embarrassing to let him see you so vulnerable. But something about Spencer Reid makes you drop your guard.

He continues to fuck you against the wall, and you wonder if the people in the next room can hear the slamming of his cock into your sopping wet pussy. You hope not. That would be an awkward conversation with HR.

His hand has made its way from your hair and back onto your clit. Drawing feather-light circles onto the tender mound of flesh. You're so lightheaded you want to cry.

Finally, Spencer's thrusts get more and more sloppy. You can tell he's about to reach his climax.

"You're doing so—" you go to catch your breath. "So well Spence—" you praise him.

Suddenly, with a moan, he jerks out of your pussy.

"Shit," he hisses, but it's too late. Your skirt is covered in ropes of Spencer's thick, white cum.

"I am so sorry," he says, removing his knit vest and beginning to hastily dab your skirt clean.

You groan, first he doesn't make you cum, then he makes a mess of your outfit. He's very lucky you have a soft spot for him.

"Whatever, it's fine." You huff, "Just make me cum, and we'll call it even."

Spencer swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"Umm... could I get my glasses back?" he asks. "I'd kind of like to see."

"I told you you'd get them back after you make me cum."

"Please,"he gives you a small smile. "I just want to see your face while I do it. It's so pretty."

You hesitate for a moment before relenting. Spencer has been so good. Maybe he deserves to watch you cum.

It doesn't take his dexterous fingers very long to make you finish. It feels like shockwaves ripple through your body, making your already weak legs buckle under the euphoria.

You want nothing more than to snuggle up beside him and draw patterns on his chest, but unfortunately for you, you still have half an hour of work left. You settle for running your fingers through his curls and telling him that he did such a good job. You'll write him an IOU for aftercare.

You tie your sweater around your waist, hoping that it’s inconspicuous enough to hide the stain. You swear, if Spencer ruined your skirt…

“Well, it’s protein-based, so you’ll need an enzyme-based detergent to remove it. I have one that I can bring over tonight.”

You think his offer may have been a ploy to see you after work, not that you’re complaining.

You casually stroll out of the supply room; Spencer and you agreeded that it would be easier to put two and two together if you arrive at the same time.

You try not to do the walk of shame back to the bullpen, but you’re pretty sure your dishevelled appearance and thirty-minute absence tell people all they need to know.

And when Spencer slinks back to his desk, equally dishevelled, you're sure people can understand what took place.

If any of your coworkers notice your appearance or the imprints of the tiles on your knees, they’re professional enough not to mention it.

That is, until you hear Morgan whisper to Prentiss, “I told you that they weren’t just doing a supply run.”

“Still think you don’t have a glasses fetish, Rookie?” Morgan whispers to you.

You glance at Spencer and give a smile; his face is still. Spencer glances back and then shyly looks away. You think you feel your heart flutter.

You sigh. “Maybe it was never about the glasses.”

Morgan smirks.

“Are you sure?”

You roll your eyes.

“Maybe they just helped me to see more clearly that I liked the dork wearing them.”

Your bedroom was always too cold. 

You’d dropped seventy dollars on a french duvet– feather downs covered your bed and your closet was chock-full of cozy pajama sets. And yet, every night, you found yourself holding tightly to the stuffed animal you’d had as long as you could remember, and tried to tuck yourself in as closely as possible so you’d heat yourself. There was something terribly empty about your bed. Like all of the unused space was there just to remind you of who you wanted to join you there. There was one way to warm yourself up. Your fingers tried desperately to coax your orgasm from your body, a release becoming increasingly more imminent. Images flashed in your mind– Spencer’s jawline, his plush looking lips. His insanely slutty waist that you’d tried (and failed) to ignore whenever he was around. He was so statuesque, perfectly sculpted. You imagined his heat, enveloping you as he brought you to the brink of orgasm. Your body shuddered and you called out his name as your climax crested over you. You lay twitching for a moment before feeling yourself finally drift off, dreaming of Spencer beside you still, keeping you close. 

-

Ever since becoming your friend, Spencer had decided that he needed to find a way to release the stress you were causing him. He loved being in your company, but every time you flirted with him, even habitually, had his body flushing panic in his veins, the memory of his humiliating first impression never allowing him to rest. He tried to avoid the chance of something so embarrassing ever happening again, and despite how many times he fisted his cock to the thought of you in the night, he knew it wasn’t going to be enough. 

Spencer Reid had to get laid.

The problem? He didn’t have eyes for anyone but you.

You and Emily had grown extremely close in the months you had joined their team, and would frequently go on nights out, dancing and singing till the sun came up. Spencer knew this, and was always invited by the small group you were forming, but almost always turned the offer down. He didn’t drink very much, knowing the odds of replacing one addiction in the phases of early recovery was anywhere from 20-50%, and while he wasn’t in early recovery anymore, he tried to keep it light just in case. Besides, alcohol tasted like shit most of the time anyways, and since he mostly only drank at bars, it was incredibly expensive. It was the end of a long case week, and the hotel managers you had to convene with had been so rude. They normally didn’t give you any issue, on account of your team being from the FBI, and your preparedness not giving them any reason to be. But this time, for seemingly no reason, they were just so bitchy.  It had caused you a lot of grief, and the case wasn’t easy on the team either. Everyone was in a pretty terrible mood, and no one wanted to remain in the rut the case had caused. Upon arrival back at Quantico sometime around noon, Emily had turned to the group and offered up a night out.

“What do you guys say that after a long nap and some food, we all have some fun tonight? Head out, grab some drinks?” She smiled and you returned her gesture.

“Absolutely,” you said. “That case was such a pain in my ass. I’d love to get out.” 

Derek seconded your reply and called Penelope to ask her. Hotch declined, wanting to get home to his son, and Rossi also turned the offer down. JJ said she’d come out, but that she might turn in earlier than normal. In the small commotion of the planning, you turned to Spencer with your very best doe eyes. 

Please? You mouthed to him, jutting out your bottom lip for extra assistance in persuasion. Spencer gave a soft laugh and looked at the ground. You were irresistible, and it cost him a lot of money on vending machine candy so far. Besides, he desperately needed to get tangled with a stranger, preferably one who was magnetizing enough to make him forget how badly he needed you. 

He had a sneaking suspicion there was no such person.

“Okay, fine.” He said, still smiling, bashful at giving in so easily. Your eyes went wide and you ran and grabbed his arm, jostling him in excitement. 

“Really?!” You squealed, and the rest of the team looked over. They saw you clinging to his arm, looking at him like he’d hung the moon. 

“No way– pretty boy, coming out to the bar?” Derek said, and gave Spencer a devious grin. “I wonder what convinced him.” Your back was turned, but Spencer saw the very obvious look he tossed your way, and Spencer blushed. Emily noticed too, and turned to JJ for a silent conversation that involved a LOT of eyebrow movement.

Spencer felt instinct clawing at him to push you away, but he didn’t want you to let go. He swallowed his pride and let himself distracted by the feeling of you holding onto him. You stayed clung to him as you walked, not wanting this moment to end. When everyone came to their desks in the bullpen, you stopped, still not letting go. You finally released him when you had to gather your things, ready to head home. Everyone else left, and yet, Spencer was waiting up for you, not wanting you to feel alone. You noticed, and your heart did a little squeeze. You turned to face him, tilting your head. 

“You don’t have to wait for me. I’m a big girl now, I can walk to my car allll by myself.” You flashed him your dazzling smile, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile back. 

“I know that. But we’re friends, and everyone else left together. You shouldn’t have to go alone just because you have more paperwork to carry. Besides, uh… I had a question?” He became ever so slightly more flushed as he spoke, and you felt your stomach fill with butterflies. Was he going to ask you out? Your hands were in your hair, giving it a gentle comb before he spoke. Now you froze, completely struck by the possibility of Spencer asking you on a date.

“Yes?” You said, wetting your lips as you searched his eyes. The way your gaze saw straight to his soul had him looking away. Your eyes were breathtaking, and he already had enough problems being nervous around you as is. Every beat of his silence had your heart pounding in your ears. Your face was hot, and you twirled your hair in your hand to fidget some of the suspension away.

“W… what should I wear tonight?” He asked, and you felt your heart sink. If Spencer didn’t know better, he would’ve said you looked disappointed at his question. That didn’t make any sense, though. What did you think he was going to ask? 

Just as quickly as your face fell, you blinked your sadness away and looked around, a habit of yours when you were thinking– like you were imagining the options surrounding you, like you could see them in the air. You looked back at him and smiled, an idea forming in your head. 

“I don’t really have a full grasp of what you have in your closet… maybe I could come over and take a look?” you asked, playing coy. Spencer suddenly felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room, he was out of breath. His eyes went wide for just a moment as mouth opened, looking for words. “Yeah… yeah, you can come over.” You lit up and grabbed your purse, and his face became the color of strawberries. He was so flustered, and so confused about how he found himself in this position. Once you had all of your items, you casually snaked your arm around his once more, and walked toward the elevator. Spencer’s whole body felt like it was on fire. When he made it inside his car, he sped home as fast as possible to make sure everything was spotless.

-

This was not a date. You told yourself, over and over, that it was not a date. That there was no reason to be freaking out over the way your hair looked, or to decide whether or not red was your color. You were going as a group, Spence didn’t get out much, so he needs help with his outfit. But for who was he dressing up for? You felt the familiar feeling of jealousy settle in your gut, like a snake curling around your intestines. Your room was a mess, clothes askew and accessories littering every surface. You’d settled on a little black number you’d worn out a million times– but that wouldn’t matter tonight, because there was one person who hadn’t seen it. You had set a time to head to Spencer’s, at first suggesting an hour before you’d head to the bar, and Spencer was surprised. You then remembered the lack of effort men had to put into their appearances, and compromised to a 30 minute rendezvous.

Spencer was in his living room, pacing, unable to sit still. He’d cleaned top to bottom, although there wasn’t much to clean. He was a fairly well kept man by nature, but he’d wiped the counter tops, made his bed, and cleaned the bathroom. He glanced at his watch repeatedly, hoping somehow the minutes would move faster. He shot up with a jolt at the sound of his door, a knock startling him out of his trance. 

He moved to the door and looked through the peep hole, surprised to see you standing, looking down the hall. He opened the door and checked his watch one more time before speaking. “You’re fifteen minutes early,” He said, and you gave him a flat expression before replying.

“Hello to you too, Spence. Why, I’d love to come inside! Thank you Spencer.” You said, sarcastically mocking his impolite greeting. He flushed slightly. “I figured if I came early you’d be ready.”

“But we agreed–”

“Are you gonna let me in, or did you want me to pick out your outfit from the hallway?” You raised an eyebrow, and Spencer let out a defeated sigh. At this, you smiled and walked yourself inside. When he shut the door, you stood in the doorway, pausing a moment. 

“Shoes off?” You asked, and Spencer nodded. 

“Please, thanks. It avoids bringing in hundreds of thousands of bacteria further indoors– e.coli, staphylococcus aureus… you get it.” You gave him a sweet smile and nodded, happy to oblige. Once your shoes were off, you stepped inside and gestured forward.

“Lead the way!” You said, and it seemed like Spencer remembered there was a reason you were here, and he began walking you to his bedroom. You scanned his place as you went, admiring the homely qualities it held. He’d truly made it his safe space– clean and absolutely drowning in books. It was like he lived in a library. When you made it to the bedroom, he flicked on the light inside a small walk in closet. Inside was a decent sized dresser and more patterned shirts than you thought there were in the tri-state area. You stepped past him inside to explore.

“Wow. It’s… colorful.” You were in shock, and Spencer felt his face heating. You must’ve thought him such a dunce, his fashion sense abhorrent. That was until you turned around with a huge grin on your face, lips glossy from your choice of the evening. Spencer’s mind wandered somewhere that involved finding out the flavor, before you interrupted his train of thought. “I love it!” 

He looked at the ground and wet his lips, hands in his pockets. “You don’t have to lie.”

You pouted and furrowed your brow. 

“I don’t take kindly to accusations of perjury.” You stated, and flicked your hair over your shoulder as his head shot back up to give you an incredulous look, just a hint of a smile on his face. He threw up his hands in defeat and decided that this wasn’t a battle he was strong enough to fight. 

“So, what do I… what do I wear? I don’t get out much. A-and every time I do, they always say I’m too dressed up.” You hadn’t yet experienced Spencer Reid’s casual lifestyle, and were unaware of the grandpa-like nature of his clubbing outfits. 

“Well, what do you normally wear to the bar?” You asked, and he gestured down at his body– trousers, button up, a sweater vest, and a tie. Your eyes went wide and you smiled, letting out a soft giggle.

“Seriously?” His insecurity crept in once more and he shyly defended himself.

“I don’t… know what else I’d wear. I like these clothes, I like the way I dress.” Your heart sank a little at his apparent sadness and instantly you felt guilty. You walked towards him and brushed an invisible hair from his shoulders. 

“I do too.” You said matter-of-factly, for the second time. “But it’s a little too put together for a bar. People are getting hammered and the floors are sticky… a tie and vest just seem kind of tightly wound,” you said.

“I am tightly wound!” You giggled at his joke and tilted your head. You didn’t want to strip him of his identity, nor what made him feel comfortable, and thought about the ways you could elevate his look. Finally, an idea came to you, and your face portrayed your excitement.

“I know what to do,” you said, before turning to rummage in his drawers. “You don’t have anything naughty in one of these drawers you want me to avoid, do you?” You joked, and his face went bright red. He coughed before shyly shaking his head no. You giggled- he was cute when he was nervous.

“Relax, pretty boy. I’m messing with you.” You pointed around you, gesturing to the button ups that surrounded.

“Do you know which one of these fits you tightest?” You asked.

“Tightest?” A sliver of insecurity wavered in his voice.

“Fine, fits you best. However you want to put it.” Spencer swallowed thickly and went to find the black button up he only wore for special occasions, and held it up. You smiled and nodded. “Perfect.” From his drawers you pulled a pair of black slacks, and slid one of his belts off of the rack above the drawers. You glanced at the organized shoes on the shelves above your head, and picked out a pair of well-worn red converse. You handed your findings to Spencer and walked past him, so he could change in the closet. He eyed your choices in his hand. It seemed so… bland.

“That’s… that’s it?” He asked, glancing at his watch. You shrugged with a prideful smile.

“What can I say? I should’ve been a fashion designer.” Spencer pursed his lips before smiling back. He shut the door, and you took a step further into his bedroom to sit on his bed. It was then you became acutely aware that you were just a door away from a mostly naked Spencer, sitting on his bed. You were alone. You took a deep breath in your nose and found his distinct smell is what filled your senses. It was intoxicating. It was clean, and comforting. It made you… so, so horny.

You were gnawing on your bottom lip when Spencer opened the door. He had tucked the shirt in and buttoned it all the way to the top, as if he was preparing for a tie to join the ensemble. You looked him up and down. He hadn’t put on the shoes, and he was wearing his classic mismatched socks. It made you smile. You stood up, and grabbed his shoulders. 

“You look good,” you said, and Spencer felt like he was on top of the world. “But if we do this…” You trailed off, gently pinching whatever fabric wasn’t clinging to his skin and pulled, untucking the shirt. Spencer felt his body heat up. You smoothed the sides back down once the shirt was free, but you would never be free from the sight of the happy trail you glimpsed. Determined to not make things weird, both you and Spencer tried to act normal despite the obvious tension building. It was only made worse when you moved to unbutton the top three buttons of his shirt, and you glanced up at him through those gorgeous lashes of yours. Spencer thought he might pass out. You thought you might just keep going, see how many buttons you could undo before he took you on the bed, then and there. You gave him an awkward smile and Spencer burned the image of you unbuttoning his shirt as deep into his brain as possible. He knew if he didn’t act fast, he’d end up with a dick imprint practically pressing into your leg due to the proximity. After what seemed like forever, you backed up just a step, ruffling his hair before having him look in the mirror. 

“...If we do this, you look even better.”

If there was anything that could turn Spencer off the fastest, it was the sight of himself. He scrunched his face at the sight of himself, and turned to face you again. 

You were looking at him like you might pounce on him, blinking back into reality once he spoke. 

“I look like I’m going to a funeral where the dress code was disrespectful.” His comment rocked you so badly you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. You threw your head back, and he found himself smiling too. 

“You look great. But you’re right, something’s missing…” You paused, before throwing your hands up in realization. “Oh! Of course!” You walked over to him again, taking his arms from his sides and unbuttoning the cuffs on his wrists. You folded them over and slid them up his arms, exposing his forearms. The sight of him dressed this way was beginning to make you sweat. 

“There,” you said. “Now you look like the dress code was disrespectful and sexy.” 

His shock turned into a high pitched, choked laugh. He was blushing like crazy, but some sense of normalcy returned as you both reigned in the beasts raging inside of you. You said you were done, and he checked his watch again.

“...We still have 30 minutes before we have to leave.” He said. You cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

“Well, Doctor, aren’t you going to offer me the grand tour?”

-

The tour only took about ten minutes total, even with all of your questions that were surely meant to stall him, in order for you to properly profile his place. Habitually, you profiled nearly everyone you met, but you took specific details in and stored them away for later. It was darker than you’d imagined, the deep green walls making the space feel smaller than it was. The blinds were open now, but you imagined that if they were closed, it’d be completely necessary to have every small lamp he had on just to see. It was extremely stylish all things considered, and every piece of decor he had seemed well thought out in order to fit the space. 

“You’ve done a really lovely job on the aesthetics of this place, Spence.” You said, and Spencer beamed. He took a lot of pride in his space, as he often spent a lot of time alone, so he wanted his space to be somewhere he enjoyed being. 

“Thank you!” He said earnestly, and it made you smile. You still had 20 minutes before you had to go, and the end of the tour had brought you back to the front room. He glanced, again, at his wrist, but you grabbed it and covered the watch before he could.

“Just can’t wait to get away from me, huh, genius?” Spencer’s face was full of surprise, and he stuttered.

“W-what? No! No- quite… quite the opposite actually. I’m not eager to head out. I like hanging out with you,” he admitted, and you felt a blush grow across your cheeks, not expecting such honesty. You gave another pout at his kindness, and went to hug him.

“Aw, Spence!” You embraced him and looked up at him. He wondered if his face would ever return to its natural shade. He nervously let his arms wrap around you and thought about how physical you’d been with him lately. He liked it.

“I like hanging out with you, too. Do you want to go get food before we go? There’s this small food truck on the way, and their food is to die for.”

Spencer agreed, and gestured to the door. 

“Lead the way,” he bade you, and internally mourned the loss of you from his arms. -

Once you’d stopped for food, it was finally time to head to the bar. You stood in the short line outside, preparing your ID’s, where you ran into Penelope and Derek. 

“Hello my beloveds!” Penelope chirped, and you grinned widely. She was wearing a purple polka dot ensemble, and you cherished the sight of it. Penelope had this innate ability to make life seem like it was worth taking advantage of, and you’d grown quite fond of her in the months you’d worked with her. Derek was in a v-neck tee and dark wash jeans. Penelope suddenly gasped, and you looked around to see what had piqued her attention.

“Oh my goodness, you’re matching! That’s so cute!” Your eyes went wide and your head whipped to Spencer. In picking out what would easily make Spencer look incredible, your mind had slipped the fact that you were also wearing black, your jewelry the same tone metal as Spencer’s belt buckle. His red shoes matched your red lips, and your jaw dropped. 

“Looking good, my man,” Derek smiled, and clapped Spencer on the shoulder. Spencer’s face was one of confusion, but he didn’t look embarrassed. You turned to Spence, ready to apologize, but he spoke before you could.

“Yeah, I guess we are matching. She picked out my outfit because you’re always saying I’m… what was it? Hopelessly fashion illiterate, I believe it was?” Penelope laughed, and despite the statement being teasing, Spencer’s face was light. He really loved his friends, and you swooned a little at his ability to let the comment bounce off of him, both about your matching and his lack of style. 

“I did say that, didn’t I? But you look good now!” Penelope said, and you smiled. - You were inside the bar, music loud and the place crowded. You met up with Emily and JJ inside, who had come early to snag seats before all of the booths were taken. You thanked them, and tried not to notice the look they gave each other as they saw you and Spencer approaching. Emily and JJ sat next to each other in the middle of the corner booth, Penelope and Derek to JJ’s left, and you and Spencer to Emily’s. You kissed Emily’s cheek, and she grinned at the mark it left. JJ and Penelope then both proclaimed they were jealous, and so you kissed their faces as well. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” Derek asked, and you rolled your eyes. You moved across the table to kiss his cheek as well, and soon, Spencer was the only one without a mark. 

“C’mon, Spence, don’t you want to match?” JJ teased, and he went red. 

“Oh, that’s okay, she doesn’t have to–” He was cut off by you grabbing his face, planting a red mark square on his cheekbone. He laughed, and so did the group. You were proud of your work, and dug inside your purse for your digital camera. 

“Everyone, turn your heads so the kiss is in the frame!” You said, and the group leaned in, eager to get in the photo. You all jeered when the photo was taken, as it turned out absolutely adorable. Your heart was filled with joy at being around your friends, and soon, shots were being ordered. 

Spencer felt his heart going a million miles a minute, eager for the shots to come to the table. The “liquid courage” his coworkers seemed to be huge fans of now seemed more appealing than ever. You were by his side, arm to arm in the crowded booth, and your touch was dizzying him. He was having a good time, all things considered, and he contributed it all to the fact that you were here with him. About two shots, Spencer decided he’d probably had enough, and you and the girls were getting up to hit the dance floor. You tugged on his sleeve, already feeling slightly tipsy and begged him to dance with you.

“Pleeaaaseeeeee,” you moaned, and he laughed at your pleading. 

“No! I don’t dance. Not in public like this, anyways.” You frowned at him and huffed past him.

“Fine. Then you have to watch my purse.” You dropped it in his lap, and left with the girls and Derek to go dance. He felt a small swell of pride that you’d trust him with your things, and he went up to the bar to ask for a ginger ale, carrying your bag in his other hand. 

While waiting for his drink, he felt a hand drag along his shoulder to his right side. He assumed it was you, and turned with a smile on his face to speak with you. Only, it wasn’t your face he was met with. A woman he didn’t know, but who clearly wanted to know him sat in the barstool next to him. She was dressed scantily, her cleavage practically pouring out of her top. Spencer startled as his smile dropped, and he jerked his shoulder away from the woman.

“Relax, handsome. I just want to get to know you,” She purred, and Spencer shifted in his seat uncomfortably. This was what he wanted, right? Someone to take his mind off you, to get laid? But right now, the last thing he wanted was to get any closer to this woman. She wore so much perfume it gave him a headache. His ginger ale was placed in front of him, and he thanked the bartender before looking back at her.

“I, uh… I’m.. thank you? F-for calling me handsome. But I… sorry, I don’t think I’m interested.” The lady’s face twisted into an amused smile, and walked her fingers across the table towards him, trying to come into contact with the hand that held his glass.

“C’mon sexy, will a little conversation hurt?” Spencer squirmed in his seat. Maybe it was immature, but he felt incredibly uncomfortable and was itching to get away. He didn’t know how to get himself out of this situation– he didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn't have wanted her less. She began to reach her hand up to brush an errant curl out of his eye when her hand was suddenly swatted out of the air. 

“Yes, it will. He said he’s not interested.” You appeared beside him, face dark and eyes filled with rage. You’d been watching from afar, your body language expertise allowing you to understand every word said even though you were out of earshot. The stranger’s face turned sour as she glared at you.

“Buzz off honey, I think he can speak for himself.” She replied.

“He can. And he did. And he said no. You can go now,” you bit back, a sarcastic saccharine smile plastered across your face. Spencer watched in awe as you defended him, feeling eternally grateful.

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” She asked, and you glowered.

“I’m the girl who gave him this,” you said, your hand suddenly grasping his chin to turn his head so the lipstick that remained on his face, which was previously facing away from her view. Spencer looked up at you as you manhandled his face.

“His girlfriend. So fuck off,” you raised your voice slightly on your last word. You grabbed your purse from his hands, slinging it over your shoulder before lacing his hand through yours and pulling him behind you back to the booth. 

The rest of the team had reconvened at the booth as well, and they watched the entire altercation go down. JJ’s jaw was open and Derek took specific note of your hand in his. Emily and Pen just grinned. 

“Fucking bitch,” you muttered when you sat down. Spencer still hadn’t said a word, and upon climbing into the seat next to you, he still hadn’t released your hand.

“...Thank you.” He said finally, ears hot pink and warm. You looked at him with a sweet smile. “Don’t mention it! You’d do the same for me.” Your grin made him reciprocate, but all he could think about was the fact that he wished your statement had been anywhere close to real.

-

That night, after making sure you reached your car safely, Spencer made it back to his apartment and threw his wallet and keys in the bowl near his front door. He beelined straight for his bedroom, not caring about germs anymore. The second you got into your car and drove away, Spencer felt all of the night’s tensions begin to throb in his pants. He rushed into the elevator, practically breaking down his own door. He kicked his shoes off with expert speed and was now in his room, throwing his clothes on the floor, grabbing his aching cock and fisting it with the same hand you’d held in the bar. Some ten minutes away, you, too, were naked in bed. You grabbed a vibrator from your bedside drawer and clicked it on, pressing it to your clit, desperate for relief. You thought about grabbing Spencer’s face, the way he looked up at you with those big doe eyes. Despite yourself in the moment, you thought about what his eyes would look like filled with tears. How he’d sound if he was brought to the brink, over and over while you asked him whose dick was in your hand. You bucked your hips into the air and whined, needier than ever. Spencer’s tip was weeping, salty precum beading at the top as he relentlessly jerked his length to the thought of you. When you had his face in your hand, your thumb was so close to his mouth. It took every ounce of self restraint in his body to not wrap his lips around it, take it into his mouth and see how you’d taste. He felt himself close already, and he whimpered as he pumped his hand faster.

You were bordering your orgasm now, babbling dirty nothings into the night. You remembered untucking Spencer’s shirt earlier, the happy trail you saw. And to your absolute shame, that was what undid you. 

Spencer’s mind flashed images of you in the dress you’d worn. How you’d dressed him to match him. He was sure it was an accident, but what wasn’t an accident was when you called him sexy in front of the mirror, just feet away from where he was now. He came with a shuddering groan, hips twitching as his climax covered his stomach. 

-

The next day, you and the girls were in Penelope’s lair when Emily decided she had to know.

“So…” she said, and your eyes flicked to her over your coffee cup. “You and Spencer, huh?” 

You choked on your coffee, and Spencer, who had been on his way to deliver paperwork Hotch had asked him to give Garcia, paused outside the doorway.

He shouldn’t eavesdrop. It was bad manners. It was rude. He remembered how he had cried your name as he came on himself the night before.

Maybe he was past manners now.

You brushed the sprayed coffee from your face with your sleeve and blinked.

“Sorry, what?” 

JJ rolled her eyes and cocked her head. “Oh, come on. You were matching at the bar, not to mention that move you pulled with the kiss mark on his face when you were talking to that lady. More than that, you grabbed his hand.” 

You were perplexed. “What’s weird about me grabbing his hand?” Emily pursed her lips and gave a sly grin.

“Spencer doesn’t shake or hold hands with anyone. Anyone… except you. That first day, when you shook his hand? I haven’t seen him do that with anyone in a long time. It’s his germaphobia, he says it's statistically safer to kiss.”

You were silent for many moments and Spencer wished he could see your face. Were you angry he hadn’t told him? Finally, you spoke, and Spencer suddenly wished he’d left when he had the chance.

“She called him sexy. The only person I need calling him sexy is me.” The girls squealed and laughed, and you felt a blush creep onto your face, though you felt anything but coy. 

“He doesn’t know it yet, but that man is mine.” You said, and Spencer bit his lip to stifle the whimper that almost escaped him at the possessiveness in your voice. Then, a fate he thought he’d escaped since meeting you finally caught up to him. His cock began to stiffen, and again, his blood froze. Well, it froze everywhere but where he needed to cease its flow. He was hot, and he began to sweat. He needed to give Penelope the paperwork, but his dick was growing at an alarming rate as he replayed your words over and over in his mind. To his saving grace, Derek was passing in the hall at that exact moment, and his… situation wasn’t yet visible. Once Derek was past the doorway, Spencer thrust the papers into his arms and pointed at Penelope’s door before darting away. Derek looked around puzzled before stepping into the doorway, holding up the papers. 

“I… think these are for you?” 

-

Spencer made it to the bathroom once more, shutting the door and feeling an intoxicating mix of lust and humiliation fill his head. Did you want him to ask you out? Did you only want him sexually? Did you want him sexually at all? Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get you out of his head this time, too high on the feeling of knowing you felt something about him, he unzipped his trousers and pulled them down just so his cock could spring free. It was twitching uncontrollably, and he whimpered when he ran his thumb over the head. There, in the family bathroom of the BAU at FBI headquarters, Spencer fucked his hand to the thought of you. He was bucking his hips at the sentiment of being totally consumed by you, being yours, and he ran his hand along his length until he was spurting hot ropes of cum into a gathered handful of toilet paper, biting his lip until it bled to stop himself from calling out for you right there. 

He was so fucked.

....::::**•°✾°•**::::....

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