#mgg

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. 

He was practically vibrating with nerves, his dick already hard against your core, his chest heaving against yours you could swear his heart was on the verge of bursting. 

“Spencer,” you whispered softly, your thumb brushing over his glistening, clenched jaw, feeling the erratic jump of his pulse beneath the delicate skin, “Breathe, Spence,” 

“Right—breathing.” he blurted out, the words tumbling in a breathless rush. 

His hazel eyes darted all over your face, wide and brimming with a mix of raw desire and sheer panic. “I’m breathing. It’s just—my heart rate is well over a hundred beats per minute. I mean given the elevated levels of oxytocin and dopamine in my system right now, it’s a completely normal reaction to—”

You cut off his rapid string of words with a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, then another to the corner of his mouth. He filled his lungs up in one go, breathing your air into his mouth, hands hovering uncertainly over your hips like he was terrified he’d mess things up if he touched you wrong. 

“You're overthinking again,” you murmured lightheartedly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. 

“I’m not—well, yes, I am,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a fragile, vulnerable tone, “You know I’ve never done this— any of it— before..” 

“That’s okay, Spence, there’s a first time for everything, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.” 

He looked down, his lashes casting long shadows against his cheeks, “I just.. I wanna be good at this. I have no experience to rely on, and I really, really don’t wanna disappoint you.” 

You couldn’t help the quiet giggle leaving your lips, reaching down to take his large, long-fingered hands in yours, guiding them to rest firmly on your waist. 

“Spencer, look at me,” you hooked your finger under his chin, “this isn’t a test. I want this to be fun for you. We can take our time and figure out what you like together as we go, okay?” 

“O—okay,” he breathed, the tension in his shoulders slowly starting to melt as his hands molded to the curve of your waist.

You bit the inside of your cheek, contemplating whether or not now was the time to tease him a little. 

“I think out of everyone in the entire world, you probably know the most about working a woman’s body.” you grinned, leaning into his space. 

“What? I mean I do know some things, but I—” he stammered, his eyes widening in confusion. 

“I saw your search history last night.” you blurt out, unable to hold back the confession. For the past 24 hours, you couldn’t think of anything other than Spencer’s search history—entirely about how to make a woman finish, and step-by-step guides on how to properly stimulate a woman. 

You even saw an open tab showing a web page titled ‘how to make love for beginners’. 

It was sweet, really. You knew Spencer wasn’t the most confident when it came to using his assets or developing his skills, but you had no idea that he was putting so much time and effort to be the absolute best he could be for you. 

Spencer looked utterly mortified as embarrassment made his soul momentarily leave his body, a deep beet-red rush spreading all the way up his neck, “You looked at my search history?!” 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” you shook your head, only partially sorry for invading his privacy, “it was all in front of me when I opened the computer to check my email. I didn’t really dig for anything.” 

He buried his face into your shoulder, looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole, letting out a long groan. 

A hopelessly smitten smile overtook your face as his hair pressed messily into the crook of your neck, his pure embarrassment and obvious need to satisfy you warming your heart and turning you on. 

“If you want a lab rat to test out your theories… I’m completely offering myself up for science.” you captured his bottom lip between yours, licking the soft lines of the plush flesh before sucking on it and drawing a broken moan from the back of Spencer’s throat. 

You tilted your hips, angling them to grind harder against his dick, feeling him twitch beneath you and squeeze your waist before his thumbs rubbed against the skin to soothe it. 

The combination of the friction between your clothed core and his growing erection and your mouth sucking his own was all too much for Spencer. But he knew he had to hold back. 

He couldn’t possibly be pathetic enough to unravel in under 5 minutes of dry humping. 

Although when you first started dating, Spencer would finish in under 3 minutes when you two made out and your hands would wander across his lean back. 

He’d shiver under your touch, and his spine would arch into you, pressing your ribs firmly against his, feeling his entire frame pound in arousal and anxiety every single time. 

“Show me what you know, Doctor Reid,” 

“Um.. could you sit on the cushions so I can see you better?” 

“Absolutely,” you eagerly nodded, shifting your weight off of his lap and onto the couch. 

Spencer reached over,  adjusting the small fluffy pillow behind your back, “is this okay? You comfy?” 

You’ve never experienced Spencer taking charge of your body. 

Not that you two have ever gone past making out and dry humping, but even when you simply kiss him, his body goes weak against yours, giving you the upper hand to control his every move. 

Sometimes he’d get so hungry and turn the kiss into a sloppy mess of clacking teeth and messy spit, and you loved to see that side of him, even if he chooses to suppress it to not overwhelm you with his desperation sometimes.  

“Mhm,” you hummed, parting your legs as he knelt down to sit on the carpeted floor before you. 

He flattened his palms on his thighs, overthinking where to start first. 

“Listen, Spence,” you reached down, cupping his cheeks in both hands, “let’s approach this differently.” 

You pecked the button tip of his nose before standing up and stepping beside him, “There’s no such thing as messing up. If it helps you get out of your own head, just treat me like an open textbook--touch whatever you want and tell me all about it.” 

You stripped out of your clothes, leaving nothing on your body. 

Maybe the sight was too quick for Spencer, because the bulge between his legs strained harder through the stuff fabric of his sweatpants, and he tried to hide how hard he got when nothing even happened yet. 

“Okay.. yeah, that sounds doable,” he whispered, his fingers flexing nervously against his knees as you returned to your position on the couch. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, leaning closer to the level of your thighs as his trembling hands carefully positioned themselves between your open knees, “I don’t think anything I’ve ever seen before gave this view justice,” 

He stroked his thumbs along the plush skin of your legs, taking in the sensation before dipping his head to trail warm kisses from your knees to your inner thighs.

The heat of his mouth sent a shiver straight up your spine, pulling a breathy gasp from your lips as you sunk back into the couch. 

He looked up at you, “Are my hands too cold?” 

You shook your head, reaching down, your fingers carding through his soft curls, “No, they’re perfect. I’ll tell you if anything feels uncomfortable, don’t worry about me,” you reassured, your fingers softly scratching the stubble on his chin before he returned his focus from your face to your core. 

His long, slender fingers traced your folds, coating his fingertips in your natural slickness as his other hand gently gripped your thighs, his touch overly careful it almost felt clinical. 

A dark crimson rush crept up to his ears as he felt how warm and wet you already were, “The.. the bartholin’s glands,” he blurted out, his voice hitching as he stroked along your labia minora, “they produce fluid during arousal and.. It’s working. You’re so wet,” 

He carefully pressed his thumb to your clitoris while his other fingers feathered lightly over your folds, staying close to your opening. 

“The clitoris has an average of ten thousand-two-hundred and eighty nerve endings.. So this—” He began a firm, rhythmic circle with his thumb, “—should feel good,” 

And you confirmed it instantly, a breathless, needy hum escaping you. 

Hearing your moan sent a wave of heat straight to his lap, his cock straining heavily against his sweatpants that he had to shift his knees to ease the friction and not come undone 

“That feels so good, Spence,” you breathed out, lolling your head back as his index finger applied gentle, shallow pressure against your tight hole. 

Every pretty sound you made was met with a whimper from Spencer’s lips, making it sound like he was the one being touched. 

“Simultaneous stimulation of the external clitoris and the anterior vaginal tissue can trigger stronger orgasms,” he panted, his thumb keeping that steady rhythm over your clit while his middle finger finally slid smoothly into your slick entrance, “I’m— is it okay if I—” 

“God, yes, Spencer, it's okay. You can do anything you want.” you cut him off with a quiet gasp, tilting your hips upward to encourage him to sink his finger deeper into you. 

He carefully brought his index finger alongside his middle finger, sliding them into your sensitive clenching inner walls, his mouth widening as he watched you swallow his fingers to the knuckles, a shaky, desperate moan leaving his lips, “You’re taking me so easily.. God, you feel incredible,” 

He pumped his fingers into you, going deeper when your hips rolled against his hand, “The vaginal walls temporarily expand during arousal.. they’re accommodating to me. It’s so fascinating to experience in real-time,” his breath tickled the hypersensitive skin of your inner thighs. 

He choked on his own breath when your walls pulsed harder around him, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, “I— god, you’re perfect.. you’re so unbelievably perfect,” 

A soft, needy sigh traveled past your lips as you looked down at his flushed, beautiful face. “You’re doing so well, Spencer, you’re a natural,”  you panted, your pussy squeezing around his fingers again. 

His eyes blew wide at your compliment, his fingers working extra hard now. 

“Your g-spot should be around one to two inches up,” he thrusted his fingers and curled them upwards, his other hand pressed firmly on your lower stomach, fingers splaying out as if he’s trying to reach your insides and feel every change that happens as his fingers explore you. 

It took him two tries of angling his fingers and hooking them with precise force before he hit your sweet spot, drawing a whiney moan out of you, “there it is,” he whispered breathlessly with pride and pure amusement. 

As your hips bucked against his hand, seeking more friction and begging for a faster pace, Spencer let out a stifled groan as he shifted his rock-hard, aching cock against his leg. 

“I—I don’t know if I’m hallucinating or not, but I— I think I feel you swelling around me, it’s getting to my head—” he panted, his lips pressing absentmindedly pressing against your thigh, the wet warmth of his mouth cooling your feverish skin as all his focus was on nothing but your pussy. 

“My god, Spencer, are you gonna come before me and you’re not even being touched?” your lips twitched into a smirk, your own loud moan cutting you off when Spencer’s fingers increased their pace. 

“I know it’s weird, I’m sorry,” he shook his head, trying so hard to gather any bits of his lost composure. 

“Don’t be. It’s really fucking hot,” you breathily whispered, your voice barely audible as you struggled against the knot that was tightening by the second in the pit of your stomach. 

He didn’t know what to say to your praise, but all he knows is that every word you uttered went straight to his dick and he silently took it, putting his frustration into curling into you in a fast, punishing motion. 

“Y’know the skene glands are what produce ejaculate. They—um, they sit along the front of the vagina on the lower end of the urethra. They overlap with your g-spot so I—I think I can try to target them.” he bit his bottom lip with intense concentration, almost breaking the delicate skin and drawing blood, “Did you know that the surrounding erectile tissue swells with blood when you’re this aroused?” a small breathless laugh left his lips, because he seemed much more confident and secure when he could translate his passion into science.

You were incredibly grateful that you suggested this method of approaching intimacy with Spencer—his words were making the coil in your gut pull impossibly tighter. 

“Spencer..” you kept repeating his name all because it was the only possible word your brain could come up with when you were drowning in the sensory overload of his touch. 

You didn’t finish right away, giving Spencer time to slightly adjust the angle of his relentless fingers, testing different paces and pressures, admiring your expressions and noises until he was a whiny mess at your feet. 

“Come on, Spence, I’m so close. Don’t hold back, baby, come on,” you moaned out, your fingers tangling in his hair, slightly tugging on it. 

Spencer pumped his fingers inside you frantically, losing his rhythm, but trying to match the desperate bucking of your hips. 

The knot in your gut finally snapped, a blinding wave of heat splashing through your entire lower half, making you cry out, your legs shaking on either side of Spencer’s head as you gushed all over his hand, soaking his fingers and palm and spraying across his cheeks and mouth. 

Your walls clamped down around his hand as he tried to keep up with your contractions 

The fluid dripping from his skin was the final straw that pushed him over the edge and made him drop his forehead between your legs, losing all control and brain power, “oh my god, ohmygod,” he sobbed with tightly shut eyes. 

Spencer was so far gone by this point, completely grinding against his own calf that was folded awkwardly beneath him as he spilled his entire load in his pants, the stickiness filling his boxers as the dampness bled through the fabric. 

You laid back as he reluctantly withdrew his fingers, instinctively bringing them to his wet lips as he licked them clean, examining them to collect every last drop of your juices. 

He stared up at you with puppy-dog eyes while heaving, unable to get any words past his glistening pink lips.

You grunted as you straightened your sore back, leaning down to him and cupping his face, “That was incredible, Spencer. I’m so, so proud of you.” you kissed him hungrily, the sight of him soaked in your fluid igniting something primal in your chest. 

“Th—thank you for that,” the words were muffled by your sloppy kiss, but he couldn’t wait to get the words out of his chest. 

As you pulled back from the kiss, Spencer’s eyes fluttered, following your gaze as you looked down at the dark stain on his grey sweatpants, “God, I’m so sorry— I didn’t mean to come so fast,”

Your thumbs caressed his burning cheeks as you peppered open-mouthed kisses along the damp skin, “You came from making me feel good, do you have any idea how hot that is? You have nothing to apologize for, Spencer,” 

A shaky exhale escaped his chest as he slightly twitched at the wet trail you were leaving as you tasted yourself on his face. 

Spencer Reid had always been different. His genius nature had ensured a childhood that was anything but normal. How could he, when he was applying for colleges before he had finished puberty? His high school experience was tumultuous at best, and he was also smart enough to know any girl who may have caught his eye was too many years his senior to consider as a partner. That’s how Spencer was about things– analytical. He crunched numbers, he ran probabilities and searched statistics in his ever expanding brain. Being different was something Spencer Reid was no stranger to. 

However, when you joined the BAU, Spencer Reid had come to the realization that something within him was now different in an entirely new way.

You had joined the BAU, not as another profiler, or a new liaison under JJ’s wing, but as Hotch’s assistant. The scope of Hotch’s job was infinite,  and he was often burdened by mountains of paperwork. Since Hailey’s untimely passing, the Bureau, which was normally incredibly unforgiving and less than charitable, decided it might be a good idea to pay someone to take things off Hotchner’s plate, if not for his own sake, then for Jack’s. Before Hailey’s passing, Hotch was expected to book hotels, check in, and communicate when the jet would be needed. He would have to mark all of the expenses made by the team and why the money was spent, filling out a ledger that oftentimes took over an hour to complete, over three if the team spent longer in one location than normal. Hotch took care of plenty of large tasks every day, but it was the million little tasks that kept him until the wee hours of the morning some weeks. With a young son, that was too much to ask.

So the Bureau hired you. You, whose task it was to pick up all of the little things before Hotch even thought of them. Fortunately for everybody, you were excellent at your job. You followed the rules your mother had taught you, who was a secretary years before you. You never left before Hotch did, even if that meant spending hours after hours, after long weeks of grueling work. You were constantly busy, but you never overburdened yourself, and you were always happy to help. You came to the bullpen every morning with a smile on your face and a shining gloss on your lips, and a chipper hello to share to all of your coworkers. You walked with a bounce in your step, and a seemingly never ending supply of pocket butterscotch to hand out to anyone who wanted one. Your task book, perfectly organized and personalized, was never far from your reach. You were regarded as the office sweetheart, and everyone but you knew it. You did your best every day, and were happy when you went home every night.

It was because of this absolute purity that Spencer knew there must be something very, very wrong with him. Because despite your innocence, your unwavering ability to bring joy to every room you entered, Spencer’s mind began to plunge into dark, dark places when you were around. Not that Spencer assumed you were some sort of celibate nun, nor that he assumed you didn’t have a sensual streak. You were a grown woman, and a beautiful one at that. He assumed that you had your pick of partners and chose them accordingly, and frequently.  But even then, there was a goodness within you that Spencer felt move in the air around you. It was in your voice, it was in your perfume.

Spencer wished he could say he used to be normal about you. That he wasn’t always this way– but he had always been enamored, even upon your first meeting.

-

It was in the briefing room where he met you. Hotch moved aside to introduce you and you flashed your ever-bright smile, and Spencer felt something inside his heart twist. His palms grew sweaty, and his mouth parted slightly. Your white button up was tucked neatly into a knee length pencil skirt. Sheer black tights with not a single tear covered your legs, and a pair of sensible black heels were on your feet. Your hair was tousled just so, like you’d styled it, but not like you had obsessed over it. Everything about you radiated effortless beauty, and Spencer swallowed hard. Something was different about you, something other than the divergent ways Spencer was rebuffed from his peers. Something special, something that had his heart racing. 

You met Spencer’s gaze in the room that day, saw the look on his face and felt the corner of your mouth twitch. You looked him up and down, and carefully took note of what you saw. A patterned tie tucked into a simple, cozy-looking cardigan. Fluffed, unstyled curls atop his head– and what must have been the cutest button nose you’d ever seen. His gaze was like a deer caught in headlights, and it made you want to giggle. You hadn’t seen a guy look at you like that since you TA’d a freshman class your senior year at university, and you had been dressed far less professional than today. You tossed him a wink and tilted your head just so.

Spencer finally seemed to register that you saw him staring, and as soon as you winked at him, something terrible happened to him. 

His cock twitched in his slacks.

Spencer’s eyes went wide and immediately tried to play it off, giving you an awkward, flat half-smile before tearing his eyes away. Looking away from you felt like getting out of a warm bed before work– leaving the most comforting place in the world to face reality. His dick throbbed, stirring in his pants, the visage of that wink burned in his eidetic memory. Somewhere in that same memory floated reminded of pupillometry, studies suggesting the reason why a wink is disarming in relation to staring. Staring is a nonverbal threat, and by closing one eye and effectively breaking the gaze, the threat is mitigated, not to mention the social connotations of a wink. Should he have winked back? Did you register his gaze as a threat? All of these thoughts bounced around in Spencer’s head as his length continued to grow in his pants. All of a sudden, the gravity of the situation collapsed onto his psyche and all but one thought left his head. 

He had a boner. For his new coworker, in a room full of his closest friends and his boss. His stomach dropped and he swallowed again. 

You, of course, in all of your kindness noticed only the change in his face to pure discomfort and began to worry. You didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable– what a terrible first impression to make! You couldn’t see his cock below the table, which was jumping as it was trying to make a run for it. Just before you were about to say something, Spencer sat up straight and said, “Excuse me,” in a strangled tone, turning around in his spinning chair and walking straight out of the conference room. Your heart sank and brow furrowed. He hated you, you were sure of it, and you worried about the implications this would have on your relationship with Spencer as members of the same team. Meanwhile, Hotch looked out the door, face stony as ever, but glossed with concern. 

“Is he okay?” You asked, unsure if this was typical behavior during a briefing. You hoped it was, feeling incredibly guilty. 

Emily, the woman who had just introduced herself to you moments before, waved a hand. “I’m sure he’s okay. Weird of him to just get up and leave like that though,” she said. You frowned, and Derek cut in.

“He probably just realized he washed his hands two times instead of three after pressing the elevator button,” He said teasingly. The man named Rossi smirked. The meeting was almost over anyways, and Hotch soon released you to attend to your matters before the next case arose.

-

“Excuse me,” Spencer said, his tie suddenly feeling far too tight before trying to turn as fast as possible, not wanting anyone to get the slightest clue of what had him leaving in such a hurry. He stood and walked out the door, tugging down his cardigan as far as possible, anxious. He was practically jogging by the time he reached the single-stall restroom and locked the door behind him. Frantic, he panted while his back pressed against the door. What in the world was wrong with him? The image of your smile, your body, replayed in his mind and he buckled as he throbbed again. He took a deep breath, trying to think of anything else but you. His heart filled with guilt, which helped curb the continuation of any growth below. Was he so pathetic, so lonely, that a perfectly normal interaction had him running off to make sure he wouldn’t look like a pervert in front of all of the people he held closest? His face burned, and he moved to the sink to wash his hands and splash his face. The shame that now lived had successfully ceased the blood flowing to his clearly neglected cock. He dried his face and brushed his hair from his eyes. 

He didn’t understand what had just happened. Well, physiologically, of course he did. But psychologically, he had no clue why you had such an affect on him, and he sighed deeply. He needed to get laid. Or to kiss someone, or jerk off more or literally anything if a beautiful woman paying him half a second of attention caused him to spiral in this way. He straightened his clothes and turned to unlock the door, praying this experience was singular.

When Spencer returned to the bullpen, he knew he had to rectify the situation post-haste. He probably freaked you out, and the thought of killing whatever professional relationship you could’ve had immediately after greeting you made him genuinely sad. Despite the strange display his body decided to throw at him moments ago, Spencer was a thoughtful man. He wanted to get to know you, find out things about you, become friends. He just hoped he hadn’t ruined his only shot.

You were sitting at your desk, now moved in just across Spencer’s, scribbling something into a to-do list when he approached you. You felt a pang of anxiety flow through you, remembering how uncomfortable he had seemed at your gesture earlier. You turned to face him, and tried to read his body language. He was obviously still nervous. He picked at his cuticles and would only meet your gaze for a few seconds before looking away.

“Uhm, hi,” he said, his throat dry. “I’m, uh, sorry for my behavior earlier. It- I was… nauseous. I tried a new bagel place this morning, and I guess it’s just not for me… Food poisoning is often associated with vomiting, but it can actually manifest in a plethora of ways due to improper food storage for an extended period of time?” His statement came out more like a question, as if he was asking you for verification of the plausibility of his story in correlation with is infodumping. 

You gave him a confused smile and stood. “Okay… that’s good. Not good! I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, but I was really worried at first that I’d made a poor first impression. I have a habit of flirting, kinda. Not on purpose. And if I did make you uncomfortable, again, I apologize. It wasn’t my intention– I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Your kind confirmation made something in Spencer’s heart ache. For just a split second, his brow furrowed. He didn’t know why– he knew you were being polite. But Spencer’s feelings were hurt anyway. Not that he wanted you to mean something by it, but it might’ve been nice…

Spencer blinked and smiled back. “No! Not at all- it was just terrible timing. Digestion and all.” His awkward comment made you giggle to yourself and he felt his insecurity creep in once more. 

“Of course,” you replied. You decided now was a good time to try a reintroduction. You stuck out your hand and told him your name. Spencer’s arm twitched, like it was trying to stay by his side. Of course, that moment is when Emily decided to look over and saw your mistake before you did. 

“Oh! Sorry, but Spencer doesn-” Emily was cut off by the abrupt arrival of Spencer’s hand into yours, and he shook it firmly. Emily blinked as her mouth hung open. Spencer shot her a subtle look and she snapped it shut before turning back. “...Nevermind,” she mumbled. 

You were confused, but glad to see Spencer smiling back at you. His heart raced, both at the contact with you just moments after his incident, and at the thought of the germs. Thankfully, however, he didn’t notice any abnormal pulsing going towards unwanted places. He exhaled and smiled back. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, but you can just call me Spencer. Or Reid. It’s all the same to me.” 

You released his hand and Spencer felt the absence deeper than he should’ve. Your hand was soft, and warm, and even though he was sure his hands were clammy he wished you hadn’t let go. You gave him one more bright smile before sitting again. 

“I’m excited to work with you,” You said finally before turning back to your notebook. 

Spencer flushed a little. “I am, too,” he said, knowing all too well that some parts of him were far more excited than others.

–

That night when Spencer arrived at his apartment, he shouldered off his satchel and kicked off his shoes. He headed straight for his bedroom to lay down before remembering he still needed to shower. He huffed, and went to the bathroom to turn on the water. Once the water was hot enough, he stripped down and hopped inside. Spencer relished the feeling of the water– it almost burned him, it was so hot, but it was the only way he’d shower. He wasn’t the most built guy out there, and oftentimes, he found himself just barely too cold. The droplets quickly warmed him, and he tipped his head back to let it cascade down his curls. As the room filled with steam, he began recounting the day in his head. Despite its… unconventional start, the rest of his work went by smoothly. No cases that day, so he spent the time catching up on paperwork and organizing his desk. When he went for coffee at the break station, he ran into you again. You’d had a very pleasant conversation about his interests, how he got his start at the BAU, what he did in his free time. The whole time, even when he rambled on and on about statistics that most people would’ve ended up tuning out, he came to the realization that you hung on his every word. You asked follow up questions, met his passion with curiosity. He felt full of pride and appreciation after. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually listened to him for that long. He, of course, asked you questions in return. He found out you liked to shop and accessorize, and that your career choice was influenced by your mother. However, you did actually enjoy what you did, and didn’t feel overly pressured. You smiled as you recounted your university days, and how you preferred cats over dogs because of their self sufficiency. Spencer found himself entranced by you, eager to learn all he could. He wanted to know everything you had to tell him, and was in utter disbelief that you seemed to feel the same way. He hoped you’d become friends, and stay that way for a long time. 

Once Spencer had finished scrubbing his scalp, he realized that at some point during his shower, his length began to grow again. The memories of you must have triggered something subconscious to revisit from this morning, and he groaned slightly. He was all at once disgusted with himself and hazy with lustful thoughts of the other things he had noticed about you. The way your clothes clung tightly to your figure, how your heels caused your hips to sway when you walked. Spencer took the base of his cock in a firm grasp and let out a low moan. He dragged his hand along his length. He knew it was unethical to be jerking off to his new coworker when they'd only met that day, but he convinced himself it was because he hadn’t been jerking off that he was so riled up. It had nothing to do with the way your perfume had etched itself into his nose, or how you were able to make professional attire as alluring as lingerie. Beads of precum dribbled from his tip as he stroked himself faster. He whimpered and brushed a thumb over his sensitive tip, the heat from the shower making the air feel thick. He pumped his dick over and over, taking on a punishing pace. He braced himself with his other hand against the shower wall when his knees began to buckle in the pleasure.

His moans began to break, whines that sounded strangely like your name. “Please…” he croaked out, before feeling his orgasm take over. He blinked rapidly as he painted his shower floor with thick ropes of cum. He typically wasn’t the masturbation type, as it was few and far apart when he found things worth fantasizing over. 

Spencer panted as he rode out his high, his mind flooding with dreams of you being in the shower beside him. When he opened his eyes, he felt a pang of guilt and turned to scrub his body, trying to wash away the guilt he felt for his actions alongside it. 

-

Thankfully for Spencer, in the weeks that followed, things were normal at work. Well, as normal as they could be. After your first real conversation by the coffee pot, there was some sort of silent agreement formed to meet there every day to talk. You liked Spencer– he was kind. He was a great listener, if a little ramble-y. Not that you minded, in fact, you’d told him once before you thought it was sweet. Spencer had gone red at that, and it made you smile. He was a cutie, and you weren’t fool enough to ignore the feelings you felt building for him. 

Spencer would hold the elevator for you, as how work was going, listen as you groaned. You’d always worn your heart on your sleeve, and were acutely aware of how Spencer made your heart flutter. However, you also were smart enough to know that the BAU wasn’t necessarily the place to form a relationship. You didn’t want to wreck the team dynamic when you had only just joined, and decided to just let your crush comfort you in the quiet moments in that break area, content to keep it to yourself.

Well, content may not have been the right word. The first time you heard about the times Spencer had won women’s hearts during cases when you stuck behind at the police station made your heart ache. Apparently, when he was younger, he’d even made out with a witness under his protection after only 48 hours of knowing her. Lucky bitch, you found yourself thinking. You blinked. You weren’t usually so venomous about these things, and you could practically hear your mother’s voice chiding you in your ear.

“Green is not your color sweetie, don’t let it become your signature look.” She’d say. You frowned, and tried to push away the thought. For her information, you actually looked fantastic in green. But you knew the sentiment was right. It wasn’t like you to be so.. bitter. Spencer was changing you in ways you didn’t know how to handle. 

Spencer, too, was going through his own kind of metamorphosis. He found himself yearning for things that he’d had no interest in previously. When he’d shook your hand upon your reintroduction, it caused him to picture what it’d be like to just hold it— walk in stride, comforted by each other’s contact. He wanted to know what it’d feel like to have your hands on his body, how your touch would roam over his chest, his shoulders… lower, too.

He wished he knew how to turn off the switch you’d so easily flipped in his brain. That he could get himself to think about anything else when you were around besides your smile made of sunshine. Wanted to redact the uncontrollable desire he had for you that was slowly encroaching in his life. 

You wished you could read him easier. That you could see, clear as day, where the line was drawn in the sand. Sometimes, when you made small remarks that resembled flirting, Spencer was able to smile along and reply, bantering like you’d known each other for years. Other times, you’d make yourself less discreet, and his face would heat and he’d begin to ramble barely related statistics, like he was trying to distract you. A push, a pull. A growing tension that neither of you wanted to ignore. 

A growing desire to see just how far you could go before the line was washed away by the tide.

You prayed for a tsunami.

────•⋅⊰༻♥༺⊱⋅•────

taglist: @mistiemoon @lolaffection @halparkebitch @amobigode @sabbiabbydabbywabbie @veoaidez

Title: The Deadline

The agreement had been written on the back of a takeout menu seven years ago, somewhere between the second bottle of wine and Spencer’s attempt to explain why your latest date had failed using probability theory.

“He talked about cryptocurrency for forty-five minutes,” you had said, dropping your forehead onto the kitchen table. “Then he asked whether I’d ever considered fixing my nose.”

Spencer’s expression had gone perfectly still. “What’s wrong with your nose?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why would he—”

“Because he was an ass, Spencer.”

“Oh.” He had looked offended on your behalf, which had made you feel marginally better. “Yes. Statistically, insulting someone during a first date does significantly reduce the likelihood of a second.”

“Thank you, Doctor Romance.”

He had taken the insult with a sip of wine.

His own evening had gone poorly, though it had taken nearly twenty minutes of careful questioning to get him to admit it. The woman had spent most of dinner checking her phone and had eventually told him that talking to him felt like attending a lecture she had forgotten to study for.

You had hated her immediately.

“We’re doomed,” you had decided.

Spencer had frowned. “That seems unnecessarily pessimistic.”

“You’re right. I’m doomed. You’ll meet some brilliant professor who collects first-edition Russian novels, and I’ll be found dead in my apartment after my cat eats half my face.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

“I’ll get one once I’ve accepted my fate.”

That was when you had made the pact. If neither of you was married by thirty-five, you would marry each other.

Spencer had insisted the agreement needed clearly defined terms. You had found a pen while he listed possible complications, including relocation, preexisting engagements, major changes in personal compatibility and, for reasons you still did not understand, tax implications.

You wrote it on the back of the menu.

At thirty-five, if we’re both single, we get married. No backing out.

You had signed beneath it with an exaggerated flourish.

Spencer had studied the words for several seconds before adding his name beside yours in neat, narrow handwriting.

Then you had folded the menu, tucked it into the junk drawer and forgotten about it.

At least, you thought you had.

••••••••••

“Thirty-five,” Garcia announced, dropping a pink bakery box onto the table in the bullpen. “A distinguished age. An elegant age. An age at which a woman knows her worth and will no longer tolerate men who own mattresses without fitted sheets.”

Your birthday was still two weeks away, but Garcia had apparently decided that celebrations were most effective when stretched across several business days.

“I’m not thirty-five yet,” you reminded her.

“Which is why this is a pre-birthday cupcake.”

“There are twelve cupcakes.”

“The passage of time is emotionally demanding.”

Morgan reached into the box before Garcia had finished arranging the napkins.

She slapped his hand away.

“Those are for the birthday girl.”

“The birthday girl isn’t even having a birthday today.” He retorted.

“That sounds like someone who doesn’t deserve frosting.”

You smiled as they argued, reaching for your coffee. Across the bullpen, Spencer had stopped halfway through removing a file from his bag.

His eyes were fixed on the bakery box.

More specifically, on the silver number thirty-five Garcia had stuck into the center cupcake.

You raised your eyebrows at him.

He looked away so quickly that he nearly dropped the file.

It happened again during lunch when JJ asked whether you had any plans for your birthday.

And again when Emily mentioned setting you up with a friend from Interpol.

Spencer became intensely interested in whatever he happened to be holding each time the subject arose. A book. A case file. An empty coffee cup he studied as though the meaning of life might be printed at the bottom.

By the end of the day, you had had enough. You found him in the kitchenette pouring an alarming amount of sugar into his coffee.

“Did I do something?”

His hand paused above the cup. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t.”

“You took the stairs when you saw me waiting for the elevator.”

“Taking the stairs can improve cardiovascular health and reduce the risk of—”

“You work on the sixth floor.”

He set down the sugar packet. For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze moved toward the doorway, checking whether anyone was nearby. Then he asked, “Do you remember the agreement?”

You stared at him. “What agreement?”

His mouth tightened slightly. The hurt crossed his face so quickly you almost missed it. “Never mind.”

He reached for his coffee, but you caught his wrist before he could leave.

“Spencer.”

“It was years ago. You were upset, and we’d both had wine. It was obviously a joke.”

The memory surfaced slowly.

Takeout containers. Cheap wine. Spencer sitting at your kitchen table with his tie loosened, explaining that he would need access to at least half of the bookshelves if you ever lived together.

Your grip on his wrist loosened.

“Oh my God.”

He gave a small, uncomfortable laugh. “Exactly.”

“The marriage pact.”

A crash sounded from the hallway.

You both turned.

Morgan stood outside the kitchenette with a broken plastic coffee cup at his feet. “The what?”

Spencer closed his eyes.

Within eight minutes, the entire team knew.

You suspected Morgan had broken several laws of physics to spread the information so quickly.

“A marriage pact?” Emily repeated, leaning against your desk. “With Reid?”

“It was a joke.”

“Was it?” JJ asked, glancing toward Spencer.

He was seated at his desk with a book open in front of him. He had not turned a page in five minutes.

Garcia pressed both hands to her chest. “This is the most romantic thing that has ever happened within these deeply beige walls.”

“It isn’t romantic,” you said. “We were drunk and miserable.”

“Historically,” Rossi said from behind his office door, “that’s how plenty of marriages start.”

Hotch emerged from his office carrying a file.

Every head turned toward him.

He looked from you to Spencer, then at the gathering around your desk.

“We have a case.”

The room scattered.

As Hotch passed, he placed the file in your hands. “Congratulations,” he said quietly.

Your mouth fell open. Morgan laughed so hard he had to brace himself against a desk.

The case should have ended the conversation.

Instead, thirty-five followed you to Iowa.

It appeared when you and Spencer were assigned adjoining hotel rooms. When a local detective mistook you for a couple. When Morgan referred to the vending-machine crackers Spencer brought you as “early spousal support.”

You laughed each time because it was easier than examining why Spencer never did.

He smiled occasionally, but it never reached his eyes.

On the flight home, you found him awake while everyone else slept.

The cabin lights were dimmed. Spencer sat across from you, one knee drawn slightly toward his chest, an unopened book resting in his lap.

“You really remembered?” you whispered.

His fingers tightened around the book. “I have an eidetic memory.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

He looked toward the dark window. The reflection showed the strain around his eyes. “Yes,” he said.

“For seven years?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

His answer took so long that you started to wonder whether he would give one.

“Because I didn’t think it was a joke.”

Something shifted painfully beneath your ribs. “Spencer…”

“I knew you probably didn’t mean it.” His voice stayed low, careful not to wake the others. “At least, not in the same way I did. But you asked, and I thought…” He swallowed. “I thought that if we reached thirty-five and you still wanted me, I would be the luckiest person alive.”

You could hear the steady hum of the jet beneath the silence.

He gave a short laugh that sounded embarrassed. “It was irrational. There was no reason to believe our circumstances would remain unchanged for seven years. The likelihood of either of us entering a long-term relationship was—”

“Spencer.”

He stopped.

“You could have told me.”

“I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

“So you planned to wait until my birthday and what? Show up with the menu?”

His eyes flickered toward his satchel.

You stared at it.

“No.”

His cheeks turned pink.

“Spencer.”

He lowered his gaze.

Slowly, you reached across the aisle and pulled the satchel toward you.

He did not try to stop you.

The folded paper was tucked inside the inner pocket, protected between two clear plastic sheets.

The restaurant had closed years ago. The ink had faded slightly, and there was a stain near your signature from the wine you had spilled.

But the promise remained.

At thirty-five, if we’re both single, we get married. No backing out.

You ran your thumb across his name.

“You kept it.”

“I went back for it the next morning.”

“You stole my takeout menu?”

“You had thrown it in a drawer with expired coupons and batteries.”

“That was my filing system.”

“It was a fire hazard.”

You laughed softly, though your eyes had begun to burn.

Spencer watched you with the cautious expression he wore when approaching something wounded.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed it meant anything to you.”

You looked at him over the paper.

“The reason I forgot wasn’t because you meant nothing to me.”

He stayed perfectly still.

“I forgot because somewhere along the way, I stopped imagining a future where you wouldn’t be there.” You folded the menu carefully. “You’re already the person I call when something goes wrong. You’re the first person I want to tell when something goes right. Half your books are in my apartment, and you have your own mug in my kitchen.”

“The blue one.”

“The blue one,” you agreed. “You know how I take my coffee. I know you pretend not to be cold because you hate asking for an extra blanket in hotels.”

“I don’t hate asking.”

“You’re using your coat as a blanket right now.”

He glanced down at the jacket draped across his lap.

“That’s circumstantial.”

You smiled then you placed the menu on the empty seat beside you and held out your hand.

Spencer looked at it. His fingers slipped into yours slowly, as if he was afraid you might change your mind halfway through.

“You don’t have to wait until my birthday,” you said.

His brows drew together. “For what?”

“For an answer.”

The hope on his face was almost unbearable.

You tightened your hand around his. “Yes.”

His lips parted.

“Yes to the pact,” you clarified. “Eventually. I’d prefer a real first date before we start discussing tax implications.”

“You remember that?”

“Bits and pieces.”

“I was right about the tax implications.”

“I’m sure you were.”

His thumb moved over your knuckles. “So this would be a date with the intention of determining long-term romantic compatibility?”

“It means you’re taking me to dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“We land after midnight.”

“Tomorrow?”

You pretended to consider it. Spencer waited, visibly tense. “Tomorrow,” you agreed.

His smile appeared slowly, softening his entire face.

You had seen Spencer happy before. You had seen him excited, relieved, amused and triumphant.

You had never seen anyone look at you as though a seven-year wait had been worth every second.

He lifted your joined hands and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles.

Behind him, Morgan opened one eye. “I better be the best man.”

Spencer nearly dropped your hand.

JJ’s muffled laughter came from two rows back.

Garcia sat upright beneath her eye mask. “I’m planning the wedding.”

“There is no wedding,” you whispered fiercely.

“Yet,” Rossi corrected without opening his eyes.

Hotch remained facing the front of the plane. “Everyone go back to sleep.” A beat of silence passed. Then he added, “And congratulations.”

Spencer looked at you, his face bright red.

You leaned across the aisle and kissed his cheek. “Tomorrow,” you reminded him.

His fingers found yours again beneath the armrest.