A spinning Spencer is a happy Spencer

The first morning waking up with him felt like a fairytale. Your eyes fluttered open and the first thing you felt was Spencer’s hand holding onto your hip, his fingernails nearly digging into your flesh with just how tightly he was holding onto you. His nose was against your head and you felt his breath down to your neck, even with it being nearly as warm as the morning sun you still felt goosebumps go down your spine. He was actually here, a sight you thought you’d only experience in your dreams.

Spencer was adamant about getting as much work done in The BAU as he could, but knowing that you were much more important he asked Hotch if he could have a week off to spend as much time with you as he could. Hotch would take notice of Spencer’s stance, his eyes big and nearly glassy and he swore if Spencer had a tail it would be between his legs, there was only one word he could describe him: smitten.

With nearly hugging the man over being so joyous of being said yes, Spencer was quick to get back to his desk to get the work done for the next week to make sure there weren’t any backlogs by the time he got back. He nearly tripped on his way there and the topic of boy genius meeting with his long distance lover was all the team talked about when he was gone.

A sniffle brought you back from your thoughts. Spencer’s arms were wound over your middle and his nose was buried into your shirt, the scent of your laundry detergent calming his senses. He made a mental note to buy it at the store next time to make sure that whenever he put on freshly washed clothes it would feel like he was getting a hug from you.

Your thumb brushed over his cheek as he cuddled closer to you, your eyes were burning with the tears you were holding back, trying your best to keep a calm composure because you knew you couldn’t hold Spencer back for any longer. You already felt bad for him having to ask time off in order to be here with you knowing how demanding his job could be. He should’ve been out chasing another serial killer and yet he was here in your arms, sleeping his days away. That wasn’t an exaggeration, as soon as you got back from spending time in your town, you’d both crash into bed and be asleep in less than an hour. It could be four o’clock and you’d be snoozing until nine in the evening.

“Maybe I can ask for an extension?”

“Spence, no, you’re not doing that.”

“You don’t want me to stay longer?”

“Of course I do, but your team needs you more and I keep you away from them.”

“They’ll be fine without me, besides,” Spencer sat up and brushed the hair from your face, now clearly being able to see how bloodshot your eyes were, “how often are we able to have moments like these?”

Biting your lip, you looked down and thought about the future of your relationship. You hadn’t talked about the potential of what the future could bring for you both, but you thought about it all the time. Imaging waking up with him and sharing a cup of coffee and going to the supermarket for groceries was something you thought about constantly. The place where it all took place wasn’t something you had considered though and you knew it wasn’t an easy decision. 

“Sometimes I wonder how long we’ll be able to keep this up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Spencer, do you honestly expect us to keep flying back and forth between states in order to make this work? To make us work? At some point one of us is going to get tired and will ask the other to move in with them or to break up.”

Spencer looked down as he took in your words. Things were already difficult between you two and it was only going to get more complicated over time. But he wanted this to work, more than anything, and he was willing to put in the work to make this last.

“I like to think that things will work out between us, that we can defy the odds, but the truth is that I can’t predict what the future holds. It is important to be considerate of future events, but we also forget to live in the moment sometimes, to enjoy what we have right now. So please, try to not scare yourself of what could happen because what we currently have at this moment doesn’t reflect your deepest fears at all.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and Spencer was quick to brush it away with his thumb, a light chuckle leaving your lips at how gentle he was being, not only with his actions but also with his words.

You were prone to overthinking the worst possible outcomes and you knew you had to work on it because you didn’t want to end up being the kind of person throughout your whole life who went into things thinking they’re going to inevitably fail, when in reality you aren’t able to predict the outcome at all.

“I really needed to hear that Spence, thanks.”

“Of course, angel.”

“I’m not going to lie, I’d love to have you here for a few more days.”

“Then let me reschedule my flight and tell Hotch you came down with a cold and that I didn’t want to leave you until you felt better.”

“You’d lie for me?”

“That’s the least I’d do for you.”

Punching him in the elbow lightly, both of you laughed as Spencer took a hold of you and pulled you into his embrace, sleep wanting to take over as soon as his body heat surrounded you.

“Let’s lie down for a little more and then I’ll call Hotch.”

"You feel so- fucking- good.." each word is punctuated with a thrust. You swear that by now your cervix is bruised and battered by Spencers tip. There's an occasional twitch, he'll stop, wait. But in another second he'll be pounding back into you mercilessly.

It's less than elegant, squelching, moaning, gasping. The amount of times you've orgasmed would be deemed impossible if he didn't prove you could go over and over again. Despite the constant touch, his thumb on your clit, the occasional slap of his soaked cock against it, you needed more. You tried, tried to get more than what was possible. Thrusting up into him only made you slip back into the slick, wet mess you'd created together.

Spencer has never had this much stamina, at least from what you remember. Now he's whimpering into your shoulder, holding back all the pent up come he swore he would wait to breed you with. Either you were numb or feeling everything, eyes closing, barely present. That was, until his thumb is back on the puffy sensitive bud between your plush thighs.

"So good for me, pretty girl." his voice is broken. He means it. Spencer Reid could never muster up a lie when deep inside you, your wet warmth melts his brain, every other thought nonexistent.

Your only response to his praise is a whine, its all you've been able to do for what feels like the past three hours. It's like his cock has broken you down to nothing.

The only reason you'd been worked enough for this? He saw your maternal nature toward your shared godchild. Mr "Oh, I'm not ready for kids." watching you nurture a child immediately made his heart melt.

Then Spencer imagined what you'd look like, swollen with his child, all bred up and pretty. How good it would look, how much care he would give you..

"Made for my cock- such a good girl.." Spencer whimpers into your skin, pressing soft kisses to your neck.

"Make- hah-!" there's no way you could finish that sentence. He slows, pulling almost all the way out, to the tip and then right back so you clench around the base.

"Try again baby, use your big girl words for me.." thumb stroking your cheek tenderly, each thrust rough in comparison.

"Make me a mommy- Fill me up, please- please" you plead, desperate, needy.

It's over for him. He immediately loses it. His warm release spurts out, you feel it hit the inside of your walls. The smallest whimper escapes you when he pulls out, his release dripping out of you and sliding down onto the sheets.

A grunt registers in your ears, Spencers fingers are back on you in an instant. Dragging his middle and ring finger through the mess now pooling under you, he scoops up the mixed release. Guiding it with gentle (but insistent) fingers, he manages to shove it all back inside of you. Leaning down, kissing your exposed stomach with the hunger of a madman, he speaks.

Was there ever going to be a time when he wasn’t busy? You knew that Spencer lived a hectic life and it was going to be hard to see him at times, but wanting to have your significant other in bed most of the week didn’t seem much to ask, at least it felt like it at the time. Now it was as if you had a higher chance at winning the lottery than spending a week with him without it being interrupted. That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but you were tired & frustrated and you weren’t one for pretending that everything was peachy when it was the complete opposite.

Quietly sighing to yourself, you made your way back to the hall to put your jacket away before taking the grocery bags and dragging them to the kitchen to be put away.

Turning around to open the fridge, the air was knocked out of your lungs when Spencer rushed behind you, spun you around and kissed your lips over again while mumbling "I'm sorry" with each new kiss.

Putting your hands on his chest, you pushed him away gently and looked him deep into his eyes, "What're you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry I haven't been here for you."

Your heart melted at his words. You couldn't bring yourself to be angry with him when you saw the look in his eyes, glassy and pleading for forgiveness from you. You knew he was trying his best with how hectic his work could be, but hearing him apologize for lacking to be part of your life as much as you wanted him to, as much as he wanted to, you couldn't stay mad, for now at least.

“It’s okay Spence. I know it’s hard.”

“It’s not okay,” Spencer’s hand rested on your cheek as his thumb caressed the skin. Your eyes were looking down at the floor as you were afraid of Spencer being able to profile the disappointment in your eyes with just a glance at them. He was bound to notice though, one day or another.

“Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“I know you’ve been up late at night, why haven’t you been able to sleep?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just used to being woken up in the middle of the night by your phone blaring and having you ripped out of my arms, it’s like when a kid has their teddy bear taken away suddenly. I wanted to make the most of my time with you.”

“You’re comparing me to a teddy bear?”

“Don’t laugh,” but he did, not in a mocking way, but in a way that said “that’s adorable” and your cheeks heated up by the words you used to describe the situation.

That’s what it felt like to you though. You were a clingy person and you were either in Spencer’s arms or sitting on his lap whenever he had a spare moment and he couldn’t deny you of it. He knew he wasn’t there for you as much as he wanted to and the guilt ate him up every day, he wouldn’t be surprised if he were to come home to an empty apartment with a note stuck to the fridge addressed to him saying that you were leaving.

He couldn’t have that though, so whenever he had a spare moment from his job, he did whatever he could to show you how much he cared about you. From sending you flowers while he was away to writing out love letters every couple of months, he did everything in his power to keep the spark alive, to keep you in his life.

“Come here,” Spencer pulled you into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you in a hug. Your head rested on his chest and buried your face in his neck as his hand rested on your head and gave it a kiss. It was so simple and yet it was something you were dying for.

“I have some news.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Spencer took your face into his hands and you noticed a smirk forming on his lips. You were not one to be teased so whatever he was hiding it better be good.

“Hotch told me that I hadn’t taken my annual leave and told me to take it immediately, so starting tomorrow I’m all yours for two weeks.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Dead serious.”

Spencer nearly fell to the ground by the force you threw yourself at him, your hands wrapping around him so tightly that for a moment he forgot how to breathe. He wasn’t about to tell you to let go, however, he knew he wasn’t able to give you good news like this very often so he let you live out your excitement, even if he was being crushed by you at this moment.

“Oh my god we’re going to have so much fun. A new café opened up just a few blocks from here and we can stop by after going to that museum you’ve wanted to go to since it opened. And we can make dinner together,”

Spencer zoned out as he saw the sparkle in your eyes as you listed off all of the things you both could do on his time off, it was one of the favorite things he was able to bring out about you. He was the reason for it and it made his heart soar.

This was not one of those times though. Spencer was very heated since he came home from work and every reply that came out of his mouth, whenever you tried to talk to him, a bit of venom seemed to sip from every sentence. Every word felt like a punch to the gut and you tried your best to keep to yourself for the time being to make sure an argument wouldn’t ensue. But that was exactly what was taking place right in front of you and you couldn’t handle it.

Taking your pillow into your arms, you headed out of the bedroom without even taking a glance at Spencer and held back the tears as you heard him sigh as you walked out the door. This wasn’t like you two, whenever you were on the brink of a disagreement, Spencer was quick to take your hands into his and guide you both to take a few deep breaths in and look into each other’s eyes for a few seconds to calm down. Nine times out of ten it did the trick, but this time it seemed as though it was the instance it didn’t pan out.

You fluffed the pillow and pulled the blanket over your shoulders, a sigh leaving your mouth as you stared at the ceiling. Every time you tried to close your eyes you were back in the bedroom and the only thing you could see was the annoyance in Spencer’s eyes, had it always been there? Had he always disguised it so well and you just weren’t able to see it? Was this his breaking point? You couldn’t help but feel this was bound to happen sooner or later, your intellect wasn’t on par with your boyfriend’s and every now and then the pit in your stomach came all too noticeable again, this time it being unbearable.

At some point the anxious thoughts swarming through your head weren’t as strong as your need to sleep, so you caved in to slumber. You had been made so upset that your sleep was so deep that you couldn’t hear the soft steps down the stairs.

Spencer carefully made his way to the couch you were sleeping on, taking a moment to take in your sleeping figure. As a profiler he could even tell how you were feeling based on what position you were sleeping in, currently your back was facing him and your legs were up to your stomach, the fetal position, and that was not a good sign.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer whispered and made his attempt at taking you into his arms. He felt terrible for the way he made you feel and he wasn’t going to let his actions ruin the rest of the night.

Scooping you into his arms, he carefully made his way up the stairs and placed you onto the bed as lightly as he could to not wake you up. When he joined you under the covers and cuddled up to you, your eyes fluttered open when you felt Spencer nuzzle his face into your neck, his hand resting on your hip as his thumb caressed the skin.

“I’m sorry”, he mumbled again as his lips ghosted over the skin of your neck, placing light kisses in the area.

You were still upset with him, but you couldn’t deny that you weren’t able to have a good night’s rest being away from him, he was the peace you needed.

“We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Nodding at your response, Spencer brought you even closer if that was even physically possible. His hand went from your hip to your lower back, continuing to caress the area with his fingers, while your hand rested on the back of his head, playing with the strands of hair at the back of his neck until sleep finally took over the both of you.

Spencer sighed shakily as he felt your hands move towards his belt and fiddle with the lock. He hated denying you, but he didn’t feel himself be in the mood and the guests you were expecting could arrive at any minute and voyeurism wasn’t something he wished to partake in.

“Honey, I don’t want to say no, but…”

“Please? You don’t even have to use your dick.”

“Well what would I- oh.”

“What do you say?”

Spencer could only imagine how your eyes would look like in that moment, glassy and filled with so much adoration & lust that it was impossible to not do anything you asked for. 

This and paired with your voice that was as sweet as molasses, it didn’t even take Spencer a second before he turned around, grabbed your hand and dragged you to the bathroom, the only door in the house which you could lock.

With the door being shut tight, Spencer turned you around so that your backside was to his face and he positioned your hands on top of the washing machine. His hands went to the hem of your leggings and pulled them down gently and sighing at the presence of your pretty ass.

He took in the sight of the purple thong you had on and couldn’t help but think that you had planned this out since the start of the day. His thumb ghosted over the fabric as he recalled the morning.

You knew that it was one of his favorite pieces of lingerie and he took notice of the smirk you were trying to hide when getting dressed for the day. Usually Spencer was pretty good at controlling his urges, but to see you wearing fabric that barely covered your erogenous areas and have it bring out the beauty of the masterpiece that was your body, let’s just say that Spencer arrived to work a little later than usual, as you are one of those things he can’t help himself around.

“Spence, please.”

Your whines sounded like poetry to him as he saw how tightly you were gripping the washing machine and waiting for some sort of release. His fingers were quick to pull the underwear to the side as his finger dove right in your folds, not being surprised at all how wet you already were.

Gasps and light moans of pleasure escaped your mouth as Spencer moved his finger in and out of you, carefully picking up the pace. He wanted you to enjoy yourself as much as possible, but given the circumstances he had to be as quick with it as he could to not end up as a spectacle for Penelope & Emily to gossip about to the rest of the team.

The given circumstances weren’t easy for you either. You had one foot in heaven and one in reality as you tried not to get too caught up in the bliss of sharing such an intimate bond with another human, but the fear of getting caught was making it hard to fully give into the pleasures.

Resisting the urge to have another orgasm was proving way too hard to push down though, you thought that you had already ovulated for the month, but it seems like mother nature had other plans. You were already crossing your fingers enough that the activities partaken in the morning hadn’t resulted in any risks as Spencer got way too caught up in his lust to try and find a condom. He said he’d pull out, but lord knows that man can’t resist releasing inside you.

“Oh God, I’m…”

Sensing you were close, Spencer took the opportunity and moved his thumb over to your clit to massage it while his fingers were putting pressure on your g-spot. He didn’t have to see your face to know that your eyes were rolling back in your head in pleasure, the gasps coming from your mouth were all he needed as confirmation.

“I’m gonna-”

And it hit, the goosebumps raised all over your body and your legs shook as it became harder for you to stand on your feet. Spencer quickly removed his hand as he grabbed a hold of you to try and balance you, your back against his chest as he kissed your temple to soothe you.

“Are you okay?”

“Never been better.”

The window to the bathroom was cracked open and shuffling was heard on the other side, signaling the two of you that the guests had arrived and that you had to scram.

Spencer led you to sit down on the toilet, kissed your forehead and washed his hand before helping you put on your leggings and letting you have a moment in the bathroom by yourself before coming out to see your friends.

“Thanks baby.”

“No need to thank me.”

You chuckled as Spencer closed the door and listened to him greet Penelope & Emily and hearing what excuse he gave to them to let you have a minute. Spencer Reid was nothing short of a gentleman, but he had a side to him that could rip you apart if he wanted to, if you asked him well enough. Knowing you had him wrapped around your finger however, you could ask him to do a lot more, and this little act was just the tip of the iceberg.

“Hey,” you signaled Spencer to come over to you, your hand smoothing over his dress shirt and chuckling at the sight of all of the wrinkles on it. Usually Spencer was meticulous about making sure his clothing was ironed properly, but with him coming home from a week long case and you also having a long day of work, all you both wanted to do was lie in bed with each other and not have to think about the hundreds of things needed to do around the household, ironing being one of them

“Be careful, okay?”

“I’m always careful.”

“You know what I mean.”

Spencer sighed as you took a hold of the end of his tie and fidgeted with it nervously. Both of you had barely slept as Spencer had recounted the details of the case the team had been working on. What he had failed to mention to you when he made his nightly call to you was that he barely missed a bullet as they were hunting down the unsub. Had the bullet been shot an inch to the right it would’ve hit him right in the forehead and he would’ve died in an instant. It was a miracle he had made it out alive and he thanked his lucky stars he was able to come home to you. 

Hotch had told him to take some time off and recuperate for his mental health sake, but he wouldn’t budge. He knew if he were to take more than a couple of days off he would’ve started to dwell on it and that’s the last thing he needed right now.

“I promise I will.”

Standing from your seat, your lips met Spencer’s in a gentle kiss, his hand coming to rest on your cheek as he felt your hand, which was placed on his chest, slightly trembling with anxiety. You didn’t want him to go, not so soon. It had only been hours since you had learned that by some miracle Spencer was still here, in the safety of your bedsheets. You needed him here, at least one more day to help you feel more at ease, but Spencer was stubborn, and as much as you loved him, it was the one thing you hated about him. 

He promised to text you every hour on the hour about how he was doing, even if it was a few short sentences, it was enough to help calm down your nerves. He didn’t care if Hotch were to glare at him every time he took his phone out because you were his number one priority and that was that.

When you tried to pull away, Spencer’s hand was on your waist and he immediately pulled you back for a moment. Right before the kiss you had taken a swig of coffee and the taste of caffeine mixed with the taste of your lips was an extra addicting combination that Spencer had a hard time letting go of. Finally parting, his eyes fluttered open and a smile lined his lips as he felt himself be more awake from the kiss than getting a full night’s rest, the miracle of coffee had proven itself once again.

Swatting him away, you rubbed at your eyes quickly as his back was still turned to you to wipe away the forming tears so that Spencer wouldn’t see. As much as you were gritting your teeth in annoyance that he wasn’t listening to you to take an extra day off, you also didn’t want him to feel guilty, so you bit your tongue and let him leave for Quantico. He was going to be sitting at his desk for the whole day anyways and if something truly were to happen, he would text you the minute he found out. That’s what he said and you trusted him.

The adrenaline that kept him up at night soon dissipated as he set his sights on the mountain of paperwork perched on the side of his desk. The stack was so big that it was starting to look like the Tower of Pisa with the amount of files that had been laid on top of it. 

Hotch was aware of the state of Spencer’s health and one of the first things he acquired from Reid was how willing you were to let your husband get back to work, but Hotch already knew the answer. He knew that your blood pressure was double if not triple the amount  of Spencer’s due to the stress from the accident and he made it one of his goals for the day to make sure that Reid had the most mundane work day you can have in The BAU. 

Little did Spencer know, Hotch was also sending you updates about how your husband was doing, with the amount of times you had visited the bullpen and joined the team on their parties at Rossi’s and nights at O’Keefe’s, Hotch had started to form a paternal instinct towards you and did his best to make sure everything was running smoothly for both you and Spencer.

By the fourth hour at work, Spencer was as good as dead. He was practically asleep at his desk and was yearning to be back at home and sharing the covers with you, but he had made a commitment and he needed something to get through the day, so to the kitchen he went and put on the coffee pot. His mind went back to the morning and smiled at the memory. That kiss was the only thing getting him through the day as he knew when he finished work he would have more than enough coming his way.

Spencer was considered a genius and he knew what it was that made people yearn for kisses over and over again, but there was something about receiving a kiss from you that felt magical. It was as if the world around him stopped dead in its tracks and the only thing that existed in the moment was you and him. He knew none of that was true but that’s all he could think about in that moment, nothing else mattered to him other than you and if he could genuinely make the world stop spinning and stay in that moment forever, he would.

Those were the thoughts that kept him up at night, those were the thoughts he had when he was thousands of miles away from home from you, catching the boogieman of the day so he could make the world a little bit more safe, for everyone yes, but especially for you.

He was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, humming under his breath — just a man starting his day.

“Spence,” you called.

You didn’t say it like you were scared.

You said it like you were already broken.

He was there in seconds, toothbrush still foaming in his hand, mouth full of paste. He didn’t see it at first.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice light with sleep.

Then he followed your eyes.

He dropped the toothbrush.

“Okay,” he said, hands already out, already searching. “Okay. Okay. It’s going to be okay. We’re okay.”

But he was pale.

And his hands were shaking harder than yours.

—

They sat you beside a woman with a full belly and a knit blanket draped over her lap. She rubbed it absently while talking about her baby’s kicks. Her mother sat beside her, smiling.

You stared at the floor and dug your nails into your thigh until the pain replaced the nausea.

Spencer sat beside you with his hands folded like a prayer. His lips were moving — not audibly — but you knew he was listing symptoms. Risk percentages. Possible causes. Ways to spin it.

They called your name.

He stood too fast.

—

The exam room was cold.

You were still bleeding. You could feel it sticking to the back of your thighs as you lay on the paper-covered table.

The tech tried to smile. You didn’t try back.

The ultrasound machine flickered to life, screen filled with grey static and ghosts.

Spencer reached for your hand and whispered, “Remember, the fetal heartbeat isn’t always visible early on—” “Spencer,” you said. “Please don’t talk right now.”

The tech pressed the wand harder. Shifted.

You looked away before the screen could tell you anything.

Spencer didn’t.

He watched every frame like he was waiting for it to change.

It didn’t.

“I’ll be right back,” the tech said quietly, and left the room.

You knew what that meant.

You said, “She’s gone, isn’t she?” Spencer closed his eyes. “Don’t—” “Don’t what?” “She could just be—” “She’s not.”

The doctor came in five minutes later. You didn’t catch her name.

She sat beside you like a friend and said the words anyway.

No cardiac activity.

Non-viable pregnancy.

I’m so sorry.

You were still bleeding.

The screen was still on.

No one turned it off.

—

You don’t remember the drive home.

You remember Spencer’s hand on the gearshift, clenched too tight. You remember the way the seatbelt pressed across your stomach, too snug, too late.

You remember the way he kept whispering things under his breath — facts about uterine lining, statistics, blood volume, anything to stop the silence from becoming unbearable.

And then you were home.

He opened the door like the car might shatter if he touched it wrong. Helped you out like you were something holy and broken.

Blood was dried between your legs.

He said nothing about it. Just wrapped his arm around your waist and led you inside like it was the end of the world and he was afraid of stepping on the pieces.

—

In the bathroom, you tried to undress on your own.

You couldn’t.

Your fingers wouldn’t work. Your legs wouldn’t move.

You peeled your shirt over your head and sat on the toilet lid, half-naked and shaking, and whispered, “I can’t.”

That’s when he knelt in front of you.

Still dressed in his work clothes, hands trembling, face pale. He didn’t speak.

He just reached for your leggings, slow and careful, peeled them down your thighs like he was touching something sacred. Your underwear followed. Blood soaked. Heavy.

He folded them once and set them in the trash. Not out of sight — just away.

Then he lifted you — actually lifted you — and guided you into the shower.

You leaned on the tile as the water came down. Warm, then hot.

He stood behind you, fully clothed, shoes and all, arms curled around your waist.

You collapsed against him before you realized you were falling.

And then you cried.

Not pretty. Not quiet.

You howled.

You clutched his shirt and sobbed into his chest like you wanted to tear him open and crawl inside — and he let you. He held you tighter. Buried his face in your neck.

And cried with you.

Loud. Ragged. Ruined.

“Why?” you choked. “I don’t know,” he whispered, voice soaked. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

His tears ran down your collarbone. Yours soaked through his tie.

“I wanted her so much,” you said. “I know,” he breathed. “So did I. So did I. So did I.”

He repeated it like prayer. Like apology.

You both stayed there — soaked in grief and steam — until the water turned cold and your legs stopped holding you.

—

He helped you out.

Toweled you off like he’d never touched anything more fragile. Helped you into clean clothes — loose shorts, an old shirt. Carried you to bed when your knees buckled again.

Then he changed the sheets.

Threw away the towel you bled through.

Sat on the edge of the tub and scrubbed the grout with bleach and shaking hands.

And that night, when he climbed into bed beside you, you didn’t face the wall.

You faced him.

And you cried again.

But this time, you cried together.

—

You hadn’t told anyone.

Not your family. Not the team. Not even your best friend.

You were waiting—just a little longer. Past the risky weeks. Past the doubt.

Just until it felt safe.

But safe never came.

Only blood. Only silence.

You and Spencer made a choice, without ever saying it aloud: To keep it between you. To carry the grief alone.

Because if you spoke it, if you said “We were going to be parents,” someone would ask what she looked like.

And you’d have to say you never got to find out.

So when Penelope texted to say she missed you, you replied with a smiley. And when JJ said gently, “You’d be such a good mom,” you just nodded, smiled, and fought the scream in your throat.

No one knew.

So no one asked why you lost weight.

Why your laughter got quieter.

Why Spencer flinched when someone said the word miracle like it meant anything.

—

He went back to work four days later.

You told him he didn’t have to, but he kissed your temple and said he’d fall apart if he stayed home one more day with the empty crib space and the folder of prenatal emails.

He came home that night and told you about the case in Nebraska. Then cooked your favourite pasta. Folded your clothes.

He didn’t cry.

But every time he passed the hallway closet — the one with the bag of baby things you’d started to collect quietly, shyly, stupidly — he looked like he wanted to open it, then thought better of it.

He touched the handle once. Just once.

You saw it from the kitchen.

And you didn’t say anything.

—

You bled for nine days.

Longer than they said you would.

And when the bleeding stopped, you thought you’d feel… clean. But all it did was leave a terrible emptiness.

You sat on the toilet that tenth morning, looked down at nothing, and cried until your ribs hurt.

Because she was gone.

Not just dying.

Not just maybe.

Gone.

And now your body had caught up to what your heart already knew.

—

You coped by pretending.

By making lists.

By brushing your teeth exactly two minutes.

By hiding the sonogram in a box you couldn’t touch but couldn’t throw away.

Spencer coped by watching you closely. Too closely.

He hovered without hovering. Refilled your water glass. Made your side of the bed.

Put vitamins on your nightstand like the ones you’d stopped taking never mattered.

And you both hid.

From your families. From your friends. From each other, sometimes.

Because naming her would make her real. And real meant gone.

—

It was over something stupid.

Tea, again. Always tea.

He brought you a mug. Your favourite.

You looked at it and said, “I said I wasn’t hungry.” “It’s not food.” “I don’t want anything.”

He set it down too hard. Not enough to shatter the ceramic. Just enough to make your bones flinch.

“You don’t get to do this alone,” he said, voice low. “You don’t get to be the only one grieving.” You stared at him, stunned. “Excuse me?” “I’m sad too,” he snapped. “I’m angry. I’m exhausted. And I’m walking on eggshells like you’re the only one who lost her.” “I was the one carrying her.” “We both were!” he shouted. “Just in different ways.”

You froze.

He looked stunned at his own voice. Like he didn’t mean to say it that loud.

You whispered, “She died inside me.” His chest rose and fell, wild and miserable. “I know,” he said. “I know that. But please… don’t lock me out like I don’t miss her too.” You stepped back. “I didn’t know I was doing that.” He deflated instantly. “I didn’t know I’d yell.”

You were both quiet.

Then you crossed the kitchen and wrapped your arms around him like you were drowning.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “So am I,” he breathed into your shoulder. “I just… I don’t want to pretend I’m okay.” “You don’t have to.” “Then let’s not pretend anymore.”

And for the first time since it happened, you sat on the floor together, legs tangled, heads pressed together — not talking, not fixing — just breaking.

—

It happened on a Tuesday.

You were putting away the box.

The one with the socks. The stuffed elephant. The tiny little dress you couldn’t resist when it went on sale.

You folded each item slowly, like they were fragile, like they could still bruise. You whispered to each one as you set it into the storage bin.

“I’m sorry.” “I love you.” “Thank you.”

When you placed the pregnancy test — double-lined, smudged with tape — on top, you sealed the box shut and pushed it under the bed.

You didn’t cry.

Not that day.

Not until you opened the drawer in the hallway desk, looking for packing tape.

And found the notebook.

Black. Softcover. Moleskine.

You recognized his handwriting immediately.

You knew what it was before you even touched it.

You carried it to the kitchen. Sat on the floor. Crossed your legs.

Opened to the first page.

Star — You don’t exist yet. But I think you might. Your mom looks different this week. She moves different. Her hands hover near her belly like she knows something. I think she does.

Star — She told me today. It felt like being handed the whole universe. I kissed her stomach even though you’re smaller than a raspberry. I don’t care. I’m already in love with you.

Star — We haven’t told anyone. I think I like it that way. You’re our secret. Ours and ours only. You get to belong to us first.

Star — Today she bled. I didn’t know what to do. I held her up in the shower while she sobbed and I whispered science into her skin. Not because it would fix it. Just because I didn’t know what else I had.

The entries kept going. Each one worse than the last.

Then one page — near the end — was just torn at the corner. Half a sentence.

I should’ve known.

The final page was dated one week ago.

It read:

If I forget her, forgive me.If I forget myself, remind me who I was.If I forget you—Please, don’t let me.

You didn’t realize you were sobbing until the ink began to blur where your thumb had pressed too hard.

You held the notebook to your chest like a lifeline.

That’s how Spencer found you.

On the floor. Shaking.

He dropped his bag and dropped to his knees beside you.

“I—” you tried to speak, but no sound came out.

He gathered you into his arms without asking.

“I wanted to remember,” he whispered, voice shredded. “In case it happens to me.” You pulled back, eyes burning. “What?” “My mom,” he said. “You know how it started. You know what it could mean for me. I was scared I’d… lose her all over again, in my head. Lose you. Lose this.” You cupped his face in your hands. “You won’t.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, fingers curling around your wrists.

“I already am,” he whispered. “That’s why I wrote it. To make her real. To make us stay real.”

You kissed him like it was the only language left.

And that night, for the first time, you both whispered her name aloud and didn’t flinch.

—

It happened back when you were still glowing. Before the blood. Before the silence.

You were lying on the couch, curled under his cardigan, a half-empty bowl of grapes on your chest. You had a hand on your stomach already, and he was watching it like it was the most fragile thing he’d ever been trusted with.

You said, “She’s going to need a name.”

He looked up from the book resting on your knees.

You added, “I mean, obviously not yet. But I want to give her something that belongs to us. Just us.”

He hesitated. Tucked a bookmark in and closed the cover slowly.

Then said, “Can I tell you something stupid?” You smiled. “Always.” “When I was a kid,” he started, “I used to sneak these oversized astronomy books under the covers. I'd read them until my eyes burned.” You tilted your head. “Of course you did.” “I didn’t read them for science,” he said. “Not really. I read them because… I thought the stars remembered things.” You blinked. “Like what?” “Everything,” he said. “I thought they recorded the days no one else did. I figured if I could see them, maybe they were watching me too. Keeping track. So if I ever forgot something… or if something ever happened to me…”

He trailed off.

You reached over and touched his hand.

“I thought,” he said quietly, “that maybe the stars would remember the things I couldn’t.”

You didn’t speak. Just felt your throat pull tight.

He looked down at your belly. “That’s why. That’s why I keep calling her Star.”

You felt it then — that slow, quiet naming.

Not in ink. Not on paper.

But real.

Because if she couldn’t live, she could still be remembered.

Your glare lingered as the transport van rolled through the near-empty streets of Quantico, the dim cabin lights casting a glow on Spencer’s annoyingly perfect face. He was still smirking, arms crossed, legs spread just wide enough to be suggestive without technically doing anything wrong.

You shifted again, heat pooling lower in your belly. He knew what he was doing to you. Bastard.

“You keep squirming like that,” he murmured, voice low and conspiratorial, “I’m going to start thinking you want me to do something about it.”

“I do want you to do something about it,” you hissed under your breath. “But you’re too busy quoting Sweden and pretending you’re not hard right now.”

Spencer didn’t even blink. “Statistically speaking, I could be hard just from the friction of my jeans alone. But sure—blame your thighs.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you’re insatiable,” he countered easily, glancing at the driver before leaning close enough that his breath tickled your ear. “You know what turns me on more than that little act you put on back there?”

You swallowed hard. “What?”

“That right now, I could tell you not to touch yourself when you get home. And you’d listen. You’d hate it—whine about it—but you'd do it. Because the idea of me telling you when and how you get to come turns you on more than anything else.”

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily.

He smirked, satisfied. “You didn’t deny it.”

You wanted to rip his shirt off with your teeth. But instead, you clenched your jaw and stared out the window, muttering, “Fucking hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You swallowed hard. It wasn’t fair when he did that—when he flipped the switch from awkward genius to calculated menace. It was like watching Dr. Jekyll smirk knowingly as he turned into Hyde.

The worst part? He was right. You’d been half-crazed all week. The case had been long, your hotel room had been cold and lonely, and Spencer had spent every day teasing you.

You barely made it through the front door of your apartment before Spencer had you pinned against it, go-bag forgotten on the floor. His hands gripped your waist like he couldn’t stand the idea of not touching you, his mouth hot and searching against yours, tongue sliding over yours with a groan that vibrated straight through your chest.

You gasped into his mouth, hands tangled in his curls before you could even think. Spencer—your Spencer—wasn’t like this at work. There, he was all long-winded explanations and nervous fidgeting, avoiding eye contact if you so much as leaned too close during a briefing. But here, in the privacy of your apartment, the door slamming shut behind you with the force of his need, he was starving.

You whimper as he curses under his breath. His hands traveled to your waistband, slipping inside with a groan as he felt how wet you already were.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he muttered against your neck, voice ragged and full of something darker than usual. “From what? A few words in a van?”

“From you,” you breathed, nails dragging down his back. “Fuck, Spencer—”

He huffed a laugh, pulling back just far enough to look at you—eyes wild, curls falling in his face, glasses fogging a little from the heat between you. “God, you’re shameless.”

You rolled your eyes. “And you like it.”

His fingers slipped between your folds and you moaned—high, helpless, already unraveling. He pressed his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he whispered, “I fucking love it.”

He pushed his fingers into you in one slow, deliberate motion. You cried out, grabbing at his shirt like it could anchor you. He hissed through his teeth as he felt how tight you were around him, hips bucking slightly like the feel of you did something to his control.

His mouth met you with a groan, tongue laving through your folds like he was reading you in a language only he understood. You braced yourself against the wall, knees trembling, fingers tangled in his curls as he moaned like your pleasure belonged to him.

“God—fuck, please—”

“Already?” he teased, pulling back with a slick smirk. “That was fast. Almost like you’re really horny or something.”

You didn’t get to snark back before two fingers pressed into you and his mouth returned with vengeance. Every flick of his tongue, every curl of his fingers was deliberate, like he was cataloging every sound you made, every twitch of your body. You were unraveling, spiraling—and he knew it.

“You gonna come already, sweetheart?” he murmured between strokes. “Can’t even last five minutes when I’ve got my mouth on you?”

You wanted to hate him. Instead, you came with a cry, thighs clenching around his head, your whole body shaking against the door. He held you through it, still licking, still tasting like he couldn’t help himself.

When he finally stood, his lips were wet, his eyes blown wide with lust and mischief.

“You know what’s cute?” he asked, guiding you toward the bedroom, already unbuttoning his shirt.

“You?”

He grinned. “You thinking this was enough.”

He carried you to the bedroom, one hand splayed wide across your ass while the other fumbled with your shirt, tugging it over your head the second your back hit the mattress. He followed, mouth already on your chest, sucking a bruise into the soft skin above your bra before pulling it down to flick his tongue over your nipple.

“Jesus, Spence—”

He hummed. “Statistically speaking, women with high sex drives have a stronger response to nipple stimulation—”

You slapped his shoulder. “If you start quoting studies while your mouth is on my tits I swear to god—”

“You’ll come anyway,” he interrupted smugly, already sliding down your body, fingers catching in the waistband of your pants.

“You gonna be good for me now?” he asked, voice thick and low, you nodded, still breathless. “Please. Please, just fuck me.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, dragging it out, letting you feel how hard he was against your stomach. You reached for his belt, fumbling with urgency, but he caught your wrist.

“I said,” he growled against your mouth, “be good.”

You whimpered, nodding frantically. “I will. I’ll be good, I promise.”

He knelt between your legs, dragging the head of his cock through your folds with a hiss of restraint. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So needy. So wet. And all because I didn’t touch you for three days.”

You clawed at the sheets. “You tormented me for three days.”

He grinned, smug and breathless, as he rocked his hips forward just enough to tease your entrance without pushing in. “Correction,” he whispered, licking into your open mouth like he was savoring every whimper, “I watched you torment yourself. That’s different.”

You let out a shaky moan, bucking your hips up, desperate for friction. “Spencer—”

Your back arched, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you, thick and aching and slow—deliberately slow. His forehead pressed against yours, curls falling into your face as he began to move, hips drawing tight, torturous circles that made you cry out.

“Shh,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You’re doing so good for me now. Look at you.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he slows, brushing them away with his thumbs. “That good, huh?”

You choke on a laugh. “Fuck you.”

“Already am.” He grins and grinds into you, hard.

He reached around to rub your clit, the combination of pressure and fullness tipping you over the edge with a scream. Your whole body clenched, trembling around him, and he groaned your name as he came inside you, hips twitching as he emptied himself with a groan.

For a long moment, all you could hear was the frantic rhythm of your heartbeats, his weight heavy and grounding over you. Then he shifted, brushing damp hair from your face, kissing your temple with a softness that made your chest ache.

He pulled out slowly, making you whine, then settled beside you, gathering you against his chest.

“You okay?” he murmured, all sweetness again, his thumb softly caressing your cheek.

You nodded, dazed and glowing. “Better than okay.”

He smiled—that smile—and kissed you gently. “Good. Because you’re going to be late to work tomorrow.”

You blinked at him. “Why?”

His eyes gleamed.

“Because I’m going to fuck you again the second I get hard.”

You laughed, breathless, already aching in the best way.

“God, you’re such a nerd.”

“And you,” he said, flipping you back beneath him, “are so horny.”

a/n: im going to hell lmao