“you- you didn’t fake… anything?” his voice went up a pitch. it cracked your heart to think spencer wasn’t practiced in bed, well technically he wasn’t, said you were his first girlfriend and first everything.

you pushed off your side and shuffled to spencer so you could throw you legs over his waist, straddling him naked with only his burgundy sheets keeping a barrier. you toyed with his arms so his palms could mold to the shape of your waist, his long fingers spreading a warmth into you.

“spencer reid, i would never fake anything with you. i’d only pull that trick if i wasn’t feeling into it after a few minutes and wanted it to be over.” his thumbs rubbed at the side of your stomach, “but i wanted to enjoy every second with you. i wanted you to feel good just as much while you made me feel good.”

you let your hands slide over his chest, fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone or letting your pointer drag over his sensitive nipples causing him to shudder a breath. you leaned into him, your breast resting on his skin as you let your lips trail a line of kisses over his jawline. “i could enjoy you all day if possible. i just want to be skin to skin with you, feel every inch.”

spencer’s hold tightened and it caused a surprised moan to slip from your lips, his legs shifting and you can feel something else growing. “we- we could test that out. if- if you’re-“

2 She’s only been working at the BAU for a few weeks when Spencer scrambles into the bullpen 45 minutes late. He’s never late. He was awake until the early hours of the morning, too wrapped up in a new book to notice the time. When his alarm sounded at sunrise, he turned it off and accidentally fell back to sleep. 

His hair is ruffled and his tie is crooked and his dress shirt isn’t all the way tucked in. Even his messenger bag is half open and on the brink of spilling papers everywhere. He feels so discombobulated, and he just knows that this is going to ruin his entire day. 

She’s the first to see him. Great. She’s so beautiful, and she’s seeing him as a sloppy mess. 

“Hey, Spencer! You okay? We were worried about you.” He knows that she said we, and that means it wasn’t just her who was worried, but his heart feels warm at the thought of her missing him. 

He nods and tells her, “Yeah, I overslept.” He’s embarrassed and shakes his head before ducking it down. He takes in his messy appearance and wishes he could start the whole day over. 

She reaches out to him and carefully tightens and straightens his tie. She then reaches up to his collar and gently folds it over. He can feel himself blushing at the feeling of her fingertips brushing against his chest and then his neck. 

She almost reaches down to the hem of his shirt before she whispers, “I’ll let you take care of that part,” while shyly giggling.

“Right, yes- Um… Thank you.”

“No problem, Spence.”

“Uh… does my hair look okay?” He dares to ask her, pointing up at his head. 

She’s about to reach up to smooth some pieces down when Emily calls her over to speak to her. 

“You look good, Spencer. You always do, don’t worry,” She smiles before she leaves him. 

He’s left gazing after her as she treads towards Emily’s desk. He’s cursing Emily in his head for pulling her away from their moment together. He smooths his shirt down and tucks it in properly as he walks to his desk. 

As he traverses through the bullpen, he just barely catches his name in the conversation she’s having with Emily. 

“...Spencer doesn’t really like being touched. Something about the germs bothers him.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” Her brows furrow, “Thank you for telling me,” and she sadly smiles.

He really wants to curse at Emily, now. 

3 Weeks go by before she touches him again. Spencer is sorely missing the day that she fixed his tie. He’s starting to consider coming into work with it crooked again to see if that can tempt her to fix it for him, again. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to do that or anything more extreme. 

They’re inspecting a scene together, and he’s crouched down over some papers scattered all over the floor. A piece of his hair keeps falling in his eyes as he reads them, but he’s wearing gloves, so he can’t push it back properly. He keeps trying to use his air to blow it out of his eyeline, but it keeps falling back down. 

She comes over and crouches next to him, “Need any help?” 

He looks over at her and sees that she hasn’t put both of her gloves on yet – she has one on and is about to put on the other. 

“Actually, could you help me with this?” He blows air at the piece of hair again and gestures toward it. He’s so proud of himself for asking her. 

“Oh, are you sure?” She says as she reaches toward him with her bare hand, freezing mid-air. 

I hate you, Emily, he thinks. 

He nods with a shy smile, so she completes her movement and tucks the piece of hair back for him. 

They have twin blushes on their cheeks as they look away from each other and focus back on the documents in front of them. 

4 They’re packed into the backseat of an SUV, Spencer, her, and JJ, in that order. 

She climbed into the backseat after him and before JJ, and pressed her entire side against him – their arms and legs completely fused together. 

After JJ climbs in, he looks over to see if she’s also touching JJ like this, and they must have at least 6 inches of space between them. 

He’s absolutely basking in the feeling of her body pressed against his. He can barely contain his smile. 

She softly nudges her leg against his at a red light, so he’s absolutely sure that it wasn’t an accident or a result of the car jostling. He gets the confidence to nudge her leg back, and she looks over at him with a smile. He blushes and ducks his head down. 

5 He gets a call in the middle of the workday about his mom's health declining. The center needs his consent for a new medication. 

He’s sitting and crying in a random hallway with his knees to his chest. He never sees anyone near here, so he thinks he’s safe to do so, just for a little bit. 

“Spence! There you are, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

He looks up at her with red-rimmed eyes and tears streaming down his cheeks. 

She crouches down in front of him and places her hands on his knees, rubbing soft circles against him. 

“Spence, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” A few more of his tears fall at the endearment.

He frantically wipes his tears away. He doesn’t want her to see him like this. “I’m okay, it’s just my mom… she’s sick.”

She wordlessly moves to sit next to him, and he feels guilty that she’s settling onto the cold, hard, dirty floor. 

That is, until she wraps an arm behind him and starts rubbing his back. Her hand rubbing up and down his spine is the most comforting thing he’s ever felt. 

He whispers, “She has schizophrenia and lives in a treatment facility.”

She shifts her arm to wrap across his shoulder, then pulls him in closer to her. She places a hand on his head and guides it to rest on her shoulder, soothingly rubbing circles with her thumb. 

♡♥♡  He finds her outside of a local precinct, sitting on a bench. As he approaches, he sees her shoulders shaking. Without even thinking, he starts unraveling his scarf to put it around her neck. He’s not sure why she’s out here at 9 pm, but he surely doesn’t want her to be cold. 

He stands in front of her with the scarf draped over his hands, ready to place it around her neck, when she looks up at him, and he sees tears streaming down her cheeks. 

He’s immediately reminded of how caring she was to him when she found him in a similar position, and hopes he can take care of her half as well as she took care of him. 

As he drapes the knit around her neck, she whispers, “I don’t really want to talk about it. Is that okay?”

“No-yes, I mean, of course.” He’s disappointed that she doesn’t want to confide in him, but he would never push her to talk when she doesn’t want to, so he accepts that her wearing his scarf is enough of a win. 

He turns on his heel to walk back inside when she stops him, “Wait, um, would you mind just sitting with me?”

“Of course,” He immediately replies. 

He lowers himself on the bench next to her and thinks about when they sat side-by-side in the SUV. He wonders if he should press his leg against hers or if it isn’t the right time. That was more of a silly thing that they did, and he doesn’t want her to think that he’s not taking her feelings seriously. 

“Thank you, I’m sorry, this is kind of embarrassing.” She feebly says.

“No, no, you’re fine, don’t worry,” He really hopes that he’s being reassuring enough for her. He knows how to calm down unsubs and victims and his mother, but this feels like entirely new territory. 

As they sit in silence, he looks down and sees her wringing her hands in her lap. His own fingers twitch as he debates what to do. Normally, he’d fill the silence with questions or facts or statistics.

He tentatively reaches over and places his hand over both of hers. 

They don’t talk much, as she requested, and normally that would make Spencer uncomfortable. Typically, he tries to avoid silence and fills it with his rants and ramblings. He even avoids silence in his own head by constantly having a book or headphones in his bag available.

This is different, though. Just her presence makes him feel calm and comfortable. 

Eventually, she pulls one of her hands out from under his to wipe away her tears with her sleeve. His heart sinks at the thought that their moment is over. 

That is, until she turns her remaining palm over and he realizes she’s trying to hold his hand properly. 

She scoots closer to him and points up at the shining stars in the night sky. 

“Are there any constellations we can see?” She asks. 

He smiles at the opportunity to share his knowledge with her; this is something he knows that he’s good at. 

He points out the various constellations above them and tells her about the ones that are present at other times of the year. He doesn’t notice that she’s shifted even closer to him on the bench until their hips touch and she’s lowering her head onto his shoulder. 

“Is this okay?” she whispers 

“Definitely,” He replies, and he bends his neck to place his head on top of hers, gently squeezing her hand as he does. 

pretty pls comment and reblog if u liked! i love talking to u guys and seeing ur cute rambles in the reblog tags <3

(tagging those who asked for this part!)

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