Careful - Chapter Three
(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader
Chapter Three: Turn It Off
Before it gets any better - we're headed for a cliff.
Summary:
Spencer finally gets to see his son for the first time, and there is absolutely no denying - that is his son.
Caught up in a whirlwind of love for the boy and navigating the first small steps in co-parenting with you, he accidentally trips into a minefield from the past when discussing Sebastian's conception, and you both realize with baited breath that you might not be over each other.
(Especially not when that lust still burns so close to the surface.)
Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst, Fluff, and Smut.
Word Count: 13,400
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist
Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: basic warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder/killing; mentions of the reader being the target of a serial killer; angst/emotional tension between Spencer and the reader; (technically) Spencer being unprofessional by staying on the reader’s case; Sebastian is described to be a combination of the reader and Spencer’s looks, so this does not describe or exclude the reader’s looks/race; the bulk of this chapter is fluff because Spencer is bonding with Sebastian for the first time; most of the warnings for this chapter are because of the smut scene (which is a flashback to Sebastian’s (unintentional) conception) - so warning for smut; (kind of) phone sex; mentions of the reader masturbating; (Spencer calls the reader and she’s touching herself and he realizes it, but there’s not any real dirty talk in this section); the reader calls Spencer ‘baby’; Spencer calls the reader ‘darling’; mention of Spencer feeling emotionally worn down from looking at casefiles; unprotected penis in vagina sex (though Spencer is unsure if the reader is taking oral birth control consistently or not); there is a lack of communication about alternative birth control methods aside from condoms (like plan B and oral birth control) - but both partners enthusiastically consent to having unprotected sex in that moment, knowing the potential risks; creampie kink (not quite breeding kink?); mentions of Spencer eating out the reader after cumming inside of her; there is a scene with a lot of sexual tension between Spencer and the reader in the main timeline. Other than that - Morgan teasing Spencer? (and then having a serious moment with him). And I think that’s it.
A/N: This is by far the longest chapter - I don't know the official length of the final chapter yet, but this might be the longest chapter in the series. It was a bitch to edit, but I hope you guys enjoy it! Especially because I know a lot of people have been anticipating Spencer meeting Sebastian for the first time, and this is the big moment. I'm not gonna lie, when I was writing the first bits of this fic, I rushed to write the moment where Spencer meets Sebastian - and it gave me chills to write it. So I really hope that you guys enjoy it, and you enjoy the sweet moments in this fic, as well as the more saucy ones lmao.
...
Spencer churned with nerves as he walked back up to the house, two gift bags clutched in his shaking hand.
He had walked around the mall for a long time - partial aimless wandering, partial sweaty anxiety causing his feet to move along rapidly. He felt like everything he looked at was not the right gift to apologize to you with after so long. He felt like it needed to be perfect.
After about an hour of wandering, Hotch called him and tore him a new one. Apparently JJ had pulled him aside and explained the delicate nature of his situation privately. Hotch knew how dangerous it was to get so personal and emotional when it came to things like this, and he wanted Spencer back at the police station and far away from you. He said that if you needed protective custody, then he would put Morgan or Prentiss in charge of it.
Spencer didn’t care if it was unprofessional. He begged to stay on the case, to stay with you and watch over you. Apparently you were the only viable lead - with the flowers that had been sent to you, you were the only potential next victim.
After a while of back and forth, Hotch folded.
He sent an unmarked car to watch over your house, and told Spencer to hurry up and get back there. He needed to try and convince you to agree to around the clock protection. At the very least, if Spencer was in the house when the UnSub tried to break in, he could catch him in the act.
The rest of the team tried to farm other leads. They went through the other victims’ lives to see if anybody connected to them had any connection to the firm that handled the preschool applications, if any of their neighbors remembered anybody suspicious lurking around their homes in the days before the murders.
Spencer spent another hour rushing around the shopping center before he found the perfect gifts for you and your son - his son. (He really, really hoped that he was right about that.)
He picked up a couple of gift bags - one with a brightly colored pattern of teddy bears eating birthday cake and the other with a more mature pattern of soft roses. He put the gifts inside and rushed to get back to the house before Hotch called him again.
And now that he was standing on the porch, facing down your door again, he almost couldn’t work up the ability to knock.
But he knew that he had to face the inevitable.
He reached out and gave three firm knocks once again.
This time, what he heard surprised him.
A loud, squealing giggle, and a round of thunderous footsteps across the floor, slightly muffled by the door. Clearly - the sound of a young child.
Spencer’s blood rushed through his body like a tidal wave and he found himself dizzy as he stared at the white panels of your front door, anticipation thumping through him. After a tedious moment that felt like four long years, the doorknob slowly turned, and the door creaked open.
Peeking out of the crack - a big, curious eye, and half a chubby cheek poked out at him.
Your son had answered the door by himself.
Spencer swallowed down nerves as he prepared himself to meet Sebastian for the first time.
Upon instinct, Spencer crouched down lowly on the balls of his feet, getting down onto the child’s level.
“Hey, buddy.” He said, using a light voice, trying to be as non-intimidating as possible. “Where’s your Mommy?”
Mommy.
It felt so strange - using that word to refer to you. But yes, you were his mother.
You were a mother.
That fact truly hit Spencer like a truck in that moment.
Unexpectedly, Sebastian then flung the door open fully. It seemed that he had fully assessed Spencer, and deemed him as someone friendly, rather than some kind of threat.
A large knot formed in Spencer’s stomach then, as he saw his son for the first time. Because in that moment, there was no denying - this was his son.
He saw his own big eyes staring back at him, reflecting the same epic curiosity that he had at that age. He had your complexion, most definitely your same skin tone. The boy had your sweet smile, your cute nose. Spencer ached as he realized that Sebastian was quite literally the perfect combination of the two of you. His own wild, untamable tendrils (hair that clearly hadn’t been cut for a while) with tones of your natural color in it - your sweetness, your laughter.
Spencer used all of his self control in that moment to keep himself from fainting on the spot.
“Who are you?” Sebastian asked, tilting his head slightly, inspecting Spencer with a distinct up-and-down glance. “Are you the police? Mommy’s talking on the phone. She said the police are coming to our house. But she didn’t like that. Her face made a big frown - like when that man at the grocery store asked if she’s ‘free’ on Friday. And I said: you can’t buy Mommy, she doesn’t have a price. You can’t buy people. You buy bananas. That’s why we came to the grocery store, pal!”
Spencer frowned.
This was a lot of information to receive in such a short span, and Spencer quickly tried to sort it all out in his mind.
Technically, he was ‘the police’, but he didn’t want to introduce himself to Sebastian that way if it would bring a negative connotation. Clearly, this was a very observant child - he had picked up on the fact that you didn’t want police protective custody around. (Spencer just hoped that you hadn’t mentioned why you might need that kind of protection around the very clever ears of your son - someone who had interpreted a man asking you on a date as a barter for ownership of your person, apparently.)
Not wanting to upset Sebastian, he chose to introduce himself in another way, rather than saying he was with law enforcement - which is what he would have done with any other small child.
“I’m a friend of your Mommy’s.” He said. “My name is Spencer. Can you-”
Before he could finish talking, your voice entered the conversation.
“Sebastian! Seb!” You called out urgently, looking for him now that you had realized he was gone from your field of view.
You came around the corner in a panic and found your son standing there with the front door wide open. Your eyes naturally flickered toward Spencer, and surprisingly, a look of relief flooded your face at seeing him.
As much as you disliked Spencer for your own reasons - at least someone who wasn’t a predator was with your son. You hadn’t meant to leave the door unlocked. It was just easy to forget things when you were chasing after such an energetic kid.
“Sebastian, Mommy told you not to open the door unless I’m here with you.”
You scolded him, rushing to scoop him up in your arms - unconsciously protecting him from the outside world as you propped him up onto your hip, hugging an arm around his back to hold him there.
Spencer’s insides fluttered at how natural you looked with him in your arms. It was a picture perfect sight: you with his son in your arms. It was something he had been dreaming of for years. And now, for so many reasons, it left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Spencer is my friend!” Sebastian proudly proclaimed, motioning toward his very new ‘friend’. “You said it’s okay to answer the door for friends.”
You clenched your jaw, clearly resisting the urge to make a foul comment about this in front of your son. You wanted to correct him and say that Spencer was not a ‘friend’ - that he was far from it. But you held that back, knowing that Sebastian was too young and innocent to be stung by your anger. (Especially anger from a fight that was older than he was.)
Before you could speak further or insist that Spencer had to leave, Sebastian spoke up again.
“What’s in that bag?” He asked, extending his little arm and pointing a pudgy little finger toward the gift bags that Spencer had in his hand - items that Spencer himself had nearly forgotten about, swept up in pure awe at meeting his son for the first time.
“Oh, it’s a gift for you.” Spencer smiled at him, holding one of the bags up toward the boy. “Because I missed your birthday.”
Sebastian took the bag excitedly, but didn’t get a chance to examine the items yet, still awkwardly trapped in his mother’s arms.
You glared at Spencer over Sebastian’s head. You thought it was a cheap attempt at buying his affection. Spencer avoided your eye. (If you were a lesser woman, you would have banned Sebastian from having the gift. But you weren’t going to take away his joy based on your own rotting emotions.)
“What do you say, bud?” You prompted, wanting him to thank Spencer for the gift - even if you thought it was ill-intended.
“I’m four now!” He excitedly announced, believing this was what you meant. “I just turned four. I had a big boy birthday. So I go to the toilet all by myself - as long as I don’t wee on the floor. And I had a princess at my birthday party, but apparently she doesn’t bring the letters to Santa Claus, the mail does that. Did you know that the U.S. Postal Service was founded in 1775, and Benjamin Franklin was the first postmaster-”
“Seb, that’s not what I meant.” You said quietly, gently cutting off his unrelated string of ranting.
Spencer was grinning widely from ear to ear - he found himself so utterly charmed by Sebastian’s bright, enthusiastic personality.
“Sebastian, you have to say ‘thank you’ to Spencer for the present.” You reminded him, getting his mind back on track.
“Thank you!” He parroted back.
“You’re very welcome.” Spencer replied, his cheeks hurting from how hard he was smiling.
You then put him down, and he ran back into the house, excited to open his gift and see what was inside it.
A tense silence fell over you and Spencer. You continued to glare at him with fury tightening in your jaw. Any joy he previously felt over seeing Sebastian for the first time was completely zapped from him.
He now felt like a groveling idiot, desperate to get back into your good graces. He felt like the picture perfect life with a perfect family was right there, and he was missing out on it because he had messed up all those years ago.
“That was a nice try. With the gift.” You huffed out. “I don’t even wanna know what’s in that one.” You said, motioning to the other bag.
“Y/N-” He said your name, ripe with desperation, and you cut him off again.
“When did you know?” You asked.
The question utterly confused Spencer, and when you saw this flash through his features, you took pity on him for once, and decided to clarify.
“When did you know that he was yours?” You said this lowly, edging on a whisper, not wanting your son to hear it - even though he likely wouldn’t understand what the words meant if he did. (But he was an observant, smart kid. You couldn’t risk him hearing either way.)
“I did the math.” Spencer told you, matching your whisper. “I knew for certain when I saw him.”
You let out a rugged sigh. With your tense body language, your tight jaw - Spencer feared that even now, you might ask him to leave.
For him, that simply wasn’t an option.
“Look, you can’t keep me from my son-” Spencer said, speaking normally now - he knew that eventually, the two of you would have to tell Sebastian that he was his father.
He wanted a relationship with his child no matter what.
“Keep your voice down!” You hissed, looking over your shoulder as if the small child was some boogeyman who would sneak up on you specifically to eavesdrop on the conversation.
From the distant sounds of giggling and some playful voices - it sounded like he was far too busy playing with his toys to care about what was going on between you and Spencer.
“This changes nothing.” You added on bitterly. “You still have no right to be around me after what happened, and-”
“You’re seriously telling me that this changes nothing?” Spencer barked back, intensely offended by that assessment.
You refused to look Spencer in the eye, and he barreled forward, believing that he could convince his way in the door with his stubbornness alone.
“He is my son.” He spit back sharply, so much passion in the words that it gave you chills. “He is a part of me as much as he is a part of you. Even if - even if you hate me,” Spencer said, unsure if that was the right term, and feeling a rock in his stomach when you didn’t protest. “Even if you hate me now and always will, I still have a right to be in his life.”
Guilt flashed across your features. You had always regretted not contacting Spencer in order to let him meet Sebastian. And now all of those late night ‘what ifs’ were coming back to haunt you. With a vengeance.
“And I know you might not view it that way, but it’s been a long time. And I have changed.” He continued on, trying his best to convince you, knowing that these words were hollow.
Spencer didn’t even think about the potential consequences of his next words before he spoke them, but he went on anyway.
“And I would really, really like a second chance with you. I understand if you and I are over. If everything we had is completely… gone.”
Your eyes flickered toward him at this, a dreadful ghost lingering in the back of your pupils. This was the last thing you had expected to hear from him, and you had a difficult time processing it.
His tone was incredibly mournful when speaking these words. He still had so much love for you in his heart, and he could not imagine being around you and interacting with you to co-parent a child and not being with you. Not sharing your bed. Not having more children with you.
“But you and I at least need to be civil, for his sake. Tell me that he really would be better off without both parents in his life.”
Spencer resisted the urge to cite statistics about single parent households and the likelihood of forming antisocial personality disorders - mostly because he didn’t want to think of his son like that, and because you being a single parent household was the entire reason he was here.
He didn’t want to bring up the UnSub again, and the potential danger you might be in - because he didn’t want you to brush him off or get even more angry.
You looked intensely thoughtful, then, clearly mulling over his words in your mind.
He thought that something else might sway your opinion in his favor.
“Plus, if you don’t let me inside, that means I got you this gift for nothing.” He said, giving you his absolute best puppy eyes as he held up the bag in your direction.
You rolled your eyes with a huff, but you took it from him anyway.
“Don’t think you can bribe your way back into my good graces, Spencer.” You said, accepting the bag, and then:
You stepped aside and let him in.
Spencer didn’t waste a moment, gratefully accepting this. He took off his messenger bag and set it beside the door as you closed it behind him. You made a point of locking it this time, putting the deadbolt on so that Sebastian wouldn’t be able to get the door open by himself.
“You used to be very easy to bribe back in the day, if I can remember.” Spencer told you, throwing a grin over his shoulder at you.
That grin, the light in his eyes. Him bringing up memories of ‘the old days’ - for a moment, it was all too much. It was too easy. It reminded you of simpler times - a time when you would have just leaned over and kissed him in order to shut him up.
“Enjoying and accepting gifts is a lot different than being bribed.” You muttered under your breath, leaving the gift bag on the table beside the door as you walked back into the living room where Sebastian was playing.
Spencer left it there for now - but he would have you open the gift before the day was over. That much he was determined of.
“Mommy, look!”
Sebastian ran toward you excitedly when he saw you walk back into the living room - he was waving something in his hand to show you. You quickly recognized it as a character from his favorite show - it was a rather large plush toy of Rubble from Paw Patrol. It still had a tag hanging off its ear, so it must have been what Spencer had brought him in that gift bag.
Your stomach tightened. You knew that it was likely something to do with profiling - the fact that when he had been here before, he had only been in your home for fifteen minutes, but he had likely been able to observe so much about your life (and about your son) just from the simple things you had sitting around. You hated it. You hated that he had so many skills and tools at his disposal that meant you could hardly keep any secrets from him.
“Oh wow, that’s so nice, baby.” You grinned widely, putting on your happiest voice for your son even though you didn’t like that Spencer had so easily bought his affection.
“And look, look at this!”
He nearly tripped over his own small feet, racing back over to the gift bag to fish out something else. He ran back over to you and handed it to you. It was a children’s picture book called ‘Dino ABC’ - it appeared to have a different dinosaur for each letter of the alphabet on each page. Educational and cute. Just what you would have expected from Spencer.
You felt a deep pain emanate out from the center of your chest - your heart literally aching as you fought your hardest to keep a big smile for your son.
“Seb, you still have to finish your snack.”
You told him, tossing the book aside to put it on the couch and walking back over to the coffee table in order to draw his attention to the abandoned plate with his food on it.
“Come on. You can play with your toys later.”
You had been part way through his snacktime when JJ had called you, trying to convince you to come into the police station for a briefing about ‘protection’. Ultimately, that conversation had distracted you when Spencer had knocked on the door.
He tucked Rubble under his arm and rushed to sit in your lap, shoveling cheese and crackers into his mouth off the frog shaped plate while you turned your attention toward Spencer - who had been watching the whole exchange while leaning against a wall, a tentative smile forming on his face.
“I have to hand it to you, you’re good.” You said, trying to keep your tone neutral, straying away from anger. “You hit on two of his biggest interests - Paw Patrol and dinosaurs. That profiling stuff is a lot more accurate than I thought,”
Spencer didn’t want to admit that he had just picked a book about dinosaurs because that was what he liked at that age, and the Paw Patrol thing had been all JJ’s doing. He had been far too busy caught up in anger at your initial stubbornness to try and ‘profile’ you.
“Well-” Spencer attempted to reply, but he was cut off by Sebastian’s loud, enthusiastic voice.
“What’s profiling?” He asked, nearly shouting, unintentionally spraying crumbs out of his mouth as he struggled to chew and speak at the same time.
“Buddy, what did we say about talking with your mouth full?” You huffed quietly, grabbing a napkin to wipe up some of the crumbs he had sprayed out.
You didn’t expect Spencer to indulge him with an honest answer.
“Well, you see…” Spencer thought for a moment, wanting to explain the concept to him in an honest, but child-friendly manner. “Profiling is when I look at the things around you, and how you act, and I can tell what you’re thinking.” He replied. “Like… if you have a secret.”
He moved toward the coffee table and once again crouched down to Sebastian’s level - and his cheeks curled into a smile at his son’s eager, curious eyes staring him down.
You watched the interaction quietly. You never would have admitted it, but it gave you butterflies to see how natural, how perfect Spencer already was with Sebastian.
Sebastian chewed a bit more before he spoke again.
“I have a secret.” Sebastian whispered - a dramatic stage whisper that kids his age always did.
“Hmm…”
Spencer put his thumb and forefinger against his chin, and cocked an eyebrow, looking around the room like a cartoonish detective, acting like he was trying to piece together exactly what this big secret was. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sebastian’s entire body go stiff, as if he could better hide while not moving - and one small, cracker-crumbed fist clenching tight under the coffee table as the boy tried his hardest to contain his laughter told him everything that he needed to know.
“You’re trying to hide part of your snack from Mommy!” Spencer declared, laughter in his voice as he pointed an ‘accusing’ finger toward Sebastian.
The boy burst into laughter and surrendered his hand, dumping a single crumbled up cracker onto his plate as he curled over with epic laughter - apparently finding the whole thing to be a very amusing game.
“You got me!” He chuckled.
You had difficulty hiding your own smile at all of this, and you tried to encourage Sebastian back into an upright position as he wiggled around from laughing so furiously.
“Well maybe we need Spencer around when you try to hide your carrots at dinnertime.” You said, your tone flat, not at all reaching that same joy. “Now come on, you joker, finish up please.”
You caught Spencer’s eye then - and he had the dangerous realization that you weren’t entirely kidding.
“I’ll be around whenever you need me.” Spencer replied, seriousness seeping back into his tone.
You wanted to argue this - but of course, you held back with Sebastian sitting in your lap. Instead, it dissolved into a sharp huff out of your nose.
When it seemed that you had nothing more to say on the matter, Spencer turned back to Sebastian, who was licking the mushy, bright red remnants of some strawberries off his fingers.
“What’s your favorite dinosaur, bud?” Spencer asked.
He was eager to get to know his son better - and he was expecting a rather generic answer from a four year old, like T-Rex.
He certainly did not expect what came next.
“Plesiosaurus!” Sebastian cried out excitedly, accidentally spitting out some food (again), which you rushed to wipe off his shirt and face with a nearby napkin. “They lived in the Jurassic period, and could grow to eleven feet long!”
Spencer beamed with pride.
Even though Spencer hadn’t spent that much time around children, he knew that this seemed to be fairly advanced knowledge for a four year old.
You gave Spencer a very distinct look over Sebastian’s head. You could see that glint in his eye, and you knew that you were both thinking the same thing.
He had interented his father’s big, big brain.
It was something you had known for a long time now. And you knew that it wouldn’t take Spencer long to see it.
“Wow, buddy.” Spencer smiled widely, eager to praise the boy. “That’s so awesome. My favorite is the Brontosaurus.”
Sebastian smiled, and nodded.
“They’re herbivores. Which means they only eat plants.” He replied. “Not like Mommy. She eats steak. And it’s gross.”
You couldn’t help but to let out a laugh at this, and Spencer easily joined you.
Leave it to the random stream of thoughts of a four year old to actually make you forget about your anger towards Spencer - at least for a little while.
“Mommy, can I have more strawberries?” Sebastian asked, holding up his now empty plate.
Something a lot of people don’t realize about little kids - they eat a lot of fruit.
“I’ll see if we have more.” You told him, moving to scoot him off your lap.
“I’ll go-” Spencer moved to get up, and you gave him a sharp glare that cut off his words.
Luckily, Sebastian didn’t see this as he jumped off your lap and rushed toward Spencer, picking up his dinosaur book with still sticky fingers along the way.
“I got it.” You grumbled quietly, picking up the plate and moving toward the kitchen.
You wanted to make a comment about how you had been taking care of him by yourself for the past four years, so a single plate of strawberries was not that big of a deal. But you didn’t want to be so passive aggressive in front of Sebastian, especially because he wouldn’t understand why.
You cleaned and cut up the few strawberries that were left, and when you came back, Sebastian was sitting on Spencer’s lap. They had the book propped open in Spencer’s hands while Sebastian gawked at it and explained in detail about whatever they were looking at - likely far greater detail than the book already had written in its pages.
“Ferrisaurus.” He said, nearly out of breath with excitement. “He has a very sharp beak. He was discovered in 1971 by Kenny F. Larson. He belongs to the Leptoceratopsidae family, and-”
You put the plate down in front of them, and Sebastian frowned when he saw it, cutting off his own words.
“Is there any more?” He complained loudly. “I wanna share some with my friend Spencer.”
Spencer’s mouth flattened into a thin line, clearly trying his hardest to hide a beaming smile at being claimed as Sebastian’s ‘friend’ once again.
“No, sweetie, that’s all the strawberries we have in the house.” You informed him. “I’ll go to the store and get some more tomorrow. But you can’t keep eating all the fruit and then complain when it’s all gone.”
It was a common theme in your life - Sebastian could eat an entire carton of raspberries in one sitting, and then became upset when there was no more in the fridge.
Sebastian shrugged and reached up over the book to grab one off his plate. He shoved it into his mouth before reaching for another, looking up over his shoulder to then clumsily aim for Spencer’s mouth. You were expecting Spencer to dodge it and tell him ‘no thank you’ - a man who was a germaphobe, someone who you had seen use disinfecting wipes on forks at restaurants because he didn’t trust other people to clean the utensils well enough. But instead, he leaned down and captured the half-mushed fruit from your son, giving a small grin as some of the juices smeared across his lips.
Your stomach twisted into knots as you moved to sit on the couch.
You didn’t want to call it affection. You would deeply deny that it was fondness rising in you at seeing Spencer clearly soft and loving toward your son.
Toward his son.
Especially because it was a sight that you thought you would never witness in your lifetime.
“Thank you.” Spencer mumbled out as he chewed, and Sebastian chirped out a ‘you’re welcome!’ - even reaching to grab a napkin to help Spencer wipe his mouth before he then turned back to his book.
“You know, if he wants more fruit, I can run to the store. It’s really no trouble.” Spencer offered, clearly eager to give your son whatever he wanted - whatever he needed.
“He’s fine.” You sighed in return. “It’ll be fine until tomorrow. Do you have any idea how much fruit this kid eats in a day? How much fruit he’s eaten just today alone?” You remarked.
Spencer saw it as the rhetorical question it was, and waited for you to continue on.
“He ate an entire carton of raspberries before he left this morning. I had to change his shirt because he looked like a character from Texas Chainsaw.” You explained, feeling safe that Sebastian would not understand that reference.
“It makes sense.” Spencer replied. “The natural fructose found in most fruits make it an incredibly appealing taste to the underdeveloped palette of a child. It’s actually believed that before puberty, people have a higher concentration of taste buds on the apex of the tongue, which is the area associated with sweet and salty sensations, so children are more likely to crave sweet flavors. And most fruit has a mild but naturally satisfying fructose level, essentially making it less assertive than artificial candy that pubescent children would enjoy with a more developed tongue. Basically - children like it so much because fruit is nature’s candy.”
Spencer let out a breathy laugh as he finished this statement, and you knew that your eyes were glowing with delight as you stared at him.
Sebastian was staring up at him - clearly absorbing every single word that he spoke with eagerness. You wouldn’t be surprised if Sebastian was able to repeat back those facts word for word later on. He was startlingly like his father.
You almost hated it, but this reminded you so much of the Spencer you had fallen in love with. The man who excited you with his passion; the person who made your knees tremble because he was so chalked full of knowledge, but never pretentious about sharing it.
“Is that so?” You grinned in return.
Before Spencer could get too caught up at that affectionate sparkle in your eye, something barreled to the forefront of his mind.
“Wait - what did you mean by ‘before he left this morning’?” Spencer asked. “Where does Sebastian go during the day?”
He needed to know more about your life. There could be something small lurking in some corner that could lead him to the UnSub before the man had a chance to even consider attacking you.
“I go to see Abby!” Sebastian piped up, answering the question as he turned a page in his book. “And my friends: Paige, and Jimmy, and Emma.”
“Abby is his babysitter.” You explained. Spencer nodded at this. “He goes there four days a week. From nine in the morning until three in the afternoon. They have three other kids, Paige, Jimmy, and Emma. So he has friends there. He likes the social interaction. And I get my work done while he’s gone.”
“But you’re on a waitlist for a daycare in the area?” Spencer prodded. You grew confused at this, so he added on: “That’s how my team found you. Through the daycare applications.”
It felt like a violation of your privacy, but you didn’t point that out.
You felt like the conversation was straying into ‘grown-up’ territory. Things that you didn’t want to speak of in front of your son, because children are sponges and you don’t really know how much they absorb. So you decided that it was time for him to have some independent playtime while you and Spencer talked. He had finished his snack in the meantime, anyway.
You picked up a napkin and wiped his hands, and then you gently took the book from Spencer, who had been holding it open for Sebastian to look at it.
“Seb.” You spoke to him gently, leaning into his view. You brushed away one of his wild curls and he looked at you attentively - Spencer’s heart rate sped up uncontrollably, and he knew that he was looking at you much the same way. “Can you go play in your room for a while, buddy? I need to have some grown-up time with Spencer.”
“I want Spencer to come with me!” Sebastian argued gently. “I wanna show him my toys!”
“Yes, you can show him later.” You told him. “After we’re done talking, he’ll be right up, and you can show him all your dinosaurs, and-”
“And the stars!” Sebastian added on excitedly.
“Yes.” You nodded. “Whatever you want.”
Sebastian then let out a bright ‘okay!’ and Spencer helped him up, and there were more thunderous racing footsteps as Sebtastian went upstairs to go and play in his room.
“Grown-up time?” Spencer asked, quirking a brow at you.
You hated that the tiny bit of innuendo in his voice drudged up heat between your thighs.
You labeled it as desperation because you hadn’t been touched by another person in so long, not your genuine attraction toward him coming back again.
“Yes.” You said firmly. “You and I need to talk. About a lot of stuff. And he doesn’t need to hear all the gory little details.” You sighed. “Coffee?”
“That sounds great.” He nodded.
He followed you to the kitchen loyally and leaned against the counter while you went about the mechanical, ingrained movements to make a pot of coffee.
“So, why isn’t he in preschool?” Spencer asked.
He neglected to bring up the fact that the UnSub had likely targeted you through the preschool applications. He knew that you would become annoyed again if he brought up the fact that you were in danger - so he left that alone for now. The longer he stayed in the house, the better chance he had of convincing you to leave, to come into police custody for your own protection.
If the worst case scenario were to take place, his gun was in his bag. He would protect you if anyone tried to break in. He would protect you at all costs.
“They wouldn’t accept Sebastian into daycare because… they thought he was too advanced for their program.” You explained, answering his question. “They wanted me to have him IQ tested. And I refused, so they put him on the waitlist.”
You weren’t facing Spencer as you filled up the coffee machine with water, but he could hear it in your voice. Grit. Disdain.
Did you dislike the fact that your son was so advanced? Did you harbor annoyance because he had likely inherited that incredible intelligence from Spencer?
“Why didn’t you get him the IQ test?” Spencer probed, brimming with frustration. “Get him an assessment with a professional, at least?”
Sure, you disliked Spencer for your own reasons, but it was no good reason to have your son held back in life.
You shrugged. Obviously, you were holding back the truth.
“My mom thought it was a good idea.” You remarked. “But…”
You clicked the coffee pot into the coffee maker and turned it on, and then turned to face Spencer.
“I remembered all the stuff you said.” You said gently.
This confused Spencer, and he eagerly listened as you continued.
“About feeling ‘socially isolated’, and how you were upset that you didn’t have a ‘real childhood’ because you didn’t get to go to school with people in your own age group.” You explained.
Then it truly hit Spencer.
You weren’t avoiding having him tested to hold him back in life - you thought it was for his betterment.
Because you had truly retained something from your relationship with Spencer. From all those late night hours the two of you had spent talking, tangled up in the sheets together after-
Spencer forced himself not to think about it.
“I want him to have friends.” You continued on. “To have socialization. Even if he’s special - he can have education individually. Hell, having a tutor will probably be better for him if he’s so advanced, right? He probably needs individual attention.”
Spencer nodded at this.
“I wanted him to go to daycare - not because he needs to learn the ABCs and shit. He could recite the alphabet when he was eight months old.”
Spencer felt a wave of shock at this, and then intense pride.
“I wanted him to go there and make friends. So I guess him going to the babysitter and making friends turned out to be a better fit for him anyway.”
Spencer couldn’t describe the depth of the pride he was feeling. Not just at knowing how truly intelligent his son was, but at knowing that your instincts as a mother were so well tuned.
Not just because you knew what your son needed, but because you had listened to Spencer talking about regrets from his own childhood and you had tried to keep from making those same mistakes with his son. It was likely that you even saw how socially underdeveloped he was when you met him as a twenty one year old and that was a huge part of your reasoning.
In the few minutes he had spent with Sebastian, he already saw that brilliant intellect colliding with the nurturing you had shown him. His ability to make friends easily, his eagerness to share, his natural curiosity. He was leagues ahead of where Spencer had been at that age - shy, apprehensive, constantly clammed up around new people.
You had raised such a brilliant, beautiful boy.
“It seems like the right choice.” Spencer assured you. “I can already tell that the socialization is doing him well. He - he’s such a great kid.”
He couldn’t hold back his beaming smile this time, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, highly resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. He wanted so badly to pull you into a hug - to kiss you.
But he had to remind himself that he had lost those privileges so long ago.
He had to be thankful for the simple privilege of basking in your smile when you returned the action.
“I - I am actually kind of glad that you’re here.” You admitted meekly, a moment of shy honesty shining through.
Spencer resisted the urge to cheer loudly.
“I’ve been trying to teach him, but I barely know where to start.” You added on, exasperated laughter escaping your lips at the thought. “I can barely keep up with stuff that’s on his level. I read to him a lot, but I have trouble picking books that are appropriate for him? Anything that’s on his level academically has too much violence or racism or complicated themes for his age. At least, when it comes to fiction books. And I can’t really comprehend the scientific stuff. He picks out dinosaur books when we go to the library and reads them on his own, and half the stuff… he just tells me all the stuff he’s learned when he reads on his own and it amazes me.”
You chuckled, and Spencer easily returned it.
His son was truly an egghead after his own heart.
“I’ve been trying to teach him the periodic table, but I don’t even remember half of it myself. I haven’t needed it since high school chemistry.” You remarked with another dry laugh.
Spencer smiled brightly at you.
“You - you were right.” You hated to admit it. “He does need his dad. He needs you. He needs someone who can nurture that big brain of his.”
The detail oriented part of Spencer’s brain was eager to jump into planning - he wanted to ask you about creating a schedule, the logistics of how and when he would see his son, especially considering that the two of you lived in different cities, in different states. (Truthfully, he wanted to ask if you were willing to move closer so that he would be able to see Sebastian as often as possible.)
But he forced himself to set that aside for now, because something else was bothering him.
You reached up to the cupboard and grabbed two mugs, and poured up the coffee, and Spencer watched carefully as you went to the fridge and grabbed some creamer for yourself before you handed him his mug.
“The sugar is behind you.” You told him. “Spoons are in the drawer to your left.”
Naturally, you remembered how he liked his coffee. Black with regular sugar. It was something fond, that left an ache deep in his soul. He set to the gentle task of getting some sugar while he conjured up the courage to ask the question.
“Have you ever told him about me?” He asked. “I mean - have you told him about his father? Does he know who his dad is?”
He knew that obviously you hadn’t told Sebastian outright that Spencer was his father - not with a photo and a name. But he wondered if you had ever told him stories about who his father was - a doctor, a man who fought against bad guys. Did you only have room for malice against Spencer in your heart, or would have told Sebastian some of the good things about his dad? Had you told him how you and Spencer had met? Had you told him that the two of you were once in love?
He hated to think that you resented Spencer so much that you had lied. That you had made up some falsehood. Perhaps you had told Sebastian that his father was dead, or someone who never existed at all (because someone his age would believe that). Spencer’s insides flooded with anxiety at the thought that perhaps you had a boyfriend. Someone who was a fixture in Sebastian’s life already who the young boy called Dad.
Before Spencer could flare with too much jealousy at a completely made-up figure, you answered his question.
“I - ugh.” You stuttered out. “No.” You admitted hesitantly, capping the creamer and moving to put it back into the fridge.
You moved to sit down at the kitchen table and Spencer followed you with his own mug in hand. He found it quietly adorable that there was a rubber dinosaur placemat and a booster seat on one of the chairs - clearly the place where Sebastian sat to eat his meals. He pulled out the chair opposite of yours and carefully waited for you to continue talking.
“It was one of those things…” You stared down into your mug, a wave of embarrassment spiking in you.
Seeing how put together Spencer was now - how mature. It filled you with regret, and made you feel quite embarrassed about not contacting him before.
But the Spencer you had last seen was nothing like this. So previously, you had no intentions of seeking him out in order to introduce him to his son. But every time a major life event came up - toward the end of your pregnancy, the birth, filling out the birth certificate and leaving the section of his father’s name blank… The first time Sebastian sat upright on his own, his first words, seeing how truly intelligent he was, his first steps, potty training him.
Through all of it - you ached with regret. There were more than a dozen times (sometimes more than a dozen times a day) when you considered reaching out to Spencer and telling him the news. But you thought that he might lash out at you in anger for not telling him when you found out that you were pregnant. (And then you thought he would be even angrier for not telling him sooner).
You had considered that with his job, and with the other circumstances - he might be dead. That there might not even be someone on the other end if you did reach out.
You didn’t want to go looking for a father for your son, only to have to mourn over someone you once loved.
You didn’t want to open the door for more hurt to come your way.
“It was one of those things, that… the older he got… I never considered that he might ask.” You explained. “I just thought I could get away without telling him who his father was. Without talking about you at all. Because I was so hurt over what happened between us.”
Oddly enough, Spencer understood this. That night - things had been so messy. Spencer had always wanted a chance to apologize. He would have pushed harder - he would have chased after you better if he knew that there was a child hanging in the mix.
“You had no intention of ever finding me again to introduce me to my son?” Spencer asked.
He needed to hear you say it.
You shook your head, entirely solemn, even more guilty.
“It was selfish.” You admitted. “I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle the pain of seeing you again. I didn’t consider how it might affect him.”
“So… he has been asking about me?” Spencer probed. “He’s been asking about his father?”
You shrugged.
“He’s old enough to understand the concept now.” You said, sipping your coffee. “He sees stuff on TV. Cartoons where characters have a Mom and a Dad. And he reads science books about animals - so he knows that other ‘species’ need two parents to ‘reproduce’.” You were almost annoyed by the fact that your son was so smart and still so young. You couldn’t trick him with gentle lies anymore. “I don’t think I can convince him that I am the only asexual reproducing woman on the planet.”
Spencer let out a harsh chuckle at this. He knew how it was at that age - too smart for his own good.
“What have you told him?” He wondered aloud.
“I have been trying my hardest not to tell him anything.” You replied. “Whenever he asks about his own father, I just… dodge around it.” You told him honestly. “What do you think all the strawberries are for? I mean, I can’t lie to him, but I can distract him. He’s still at the age where his attention span is not that great if he gets excited about something.”
“Would you be willing to have that conversation with him?” Spencer asked meekly. “The three of us? Would you - would you be okay with him knowing me as his dad?”
He was terrified that you might reject him. That you still hated him enough after that horrible night that you wouldn’t want your son to see Spencer as his father, even if it was the truth. (A truth that you and Spencer knew intimately well.)
“Spencer.” You choked out his name, looking at him with tears dancing in your eyes.
You knew that you had been harsh upon first seeing him again, perhaps unrightfully lashing out due to your own vendetta. But you didn’t think that you had made such a nasty impression.
“Of course. Spence, I-” You choked on your own words for a second, taking in a sharp breath in an attempt to regain your composure.
Spencer tried not to get excited at you calling him ‘Spence’ again for the first time in so long. He couldn’t take the familiarity, the sweet nickname as meaning the same thing it used to. He couldn’t take it as a signal of affection.
“Even if you and I can’t get back to where we were…” You continued on.
(Which would be something you would gratefully regret now, those feelings for him locked up inside of you, banging on the door, just begging to get out.)
“My son is so lucky to have you as his father. And I am sorry that it was due to my own selfishness that he missed out on you in his life for so many years.”
“It’s not all your fault.” Spencer replied. “You don’t have to apologize.”
You nodded at this, and the two of you fell silent once again.
Of course, both of you wished that you could go back to that night and do things differently.
You wished that you would have told him about the pregnancy as soon as you took the test - so if he was going to scorn you, he could make an informed choice about doing so.
Spencer wished that he could have chased you - that he could have been in his son’s life from day one.
Which made him curious about something.
“Can I ask you one more thing?” Spencer asked when it came to the forefront of his mind.
“Sure,” You sighed. “I think we have a few more minutes before you have to go.”
You chuckled, motioning toward the stairs - where Sebastian would surely be running down soon, waiting for Spencer to come and play with him, so Spencer could be shown all of his toys, introduced to each dinosaur by name and species.
“When did you find out that you were pregnant?” He asked. “Was it - was it before? Or after?”
He didn’t even have to fully spell it out in order for you to know exactly what he meant.
Had you known that you were pregnant when the two of you had broken up?
You could have easily lied to him. But just like every other moment on this day, stupidly - you felt like you owed him the truth.
“After.” You told him. “It - it was about two weeks after. When I took one of those at home tests. And I had already made up my mind that I never wanted to see you again. So just - then and there, I decided that I was gonna raise the kid alone.”
“You - you just unilaterally decided that you were going to raise my son alone?” Spencer snapped, some of that spite from early coming back like the coals from a fire being stoked.
“Yes. I did.” You said firmly.
You didn’t have to remind him of why.
Spencer sighed and rolled his eyes, and then plowed forward with another question.
“So - so do you know when-?” He began, and you cut him off.
‘Do you know when he was conceived?’
“No.” You quickly replied.
But it was a lie. You knew.
You felt like you couldn’t easily tell him the truth about this. If there was one thing you couldn’t afford to do right now, with Spencer Reid sitting at your kitchen table, staring at you with his big, inquisitive, glossy eyes, licking his lips, with his firm jaw set tight in contemplation - you couldn’t afford to go reminiscing with him about the night your son had been conceived.
You had spent a lot of time during your pregnancy thinking. Doing the math. Trying to remember.
And you knew exactly when.
The night was so vivid in your mind.
It was one of the last good memories you had with Spencer. It was one of the most perfect pictures you had of who he truly was before he came home from Georgia such a different person, and you had no clue why he had changed.
…
Spencer had come over to your place late one night.
He had a key, but usually he was afraid to wake you up by using it. But that night he had been swamped with paperwork, writing up consultations on cases less urgent for police precincts that the BAU couldn’t get out to attend to in person. Images of mangled bodies stuck in his mind and by the time he finished up, it was well past dinner - well past a decent hour to be seeing you. But his insides felt hollow with a unique kind of grief as he imagined all the people who wouldn’t be getting home to their families - the people in the photos.
He fingered over the key to your apartment on his keyring as he walked out the front doors of the office. He had taken the metro that day, and the last trains ran late into the night - until two or three am, to ensure that people drinking could get home safely. But he needed some fresh air, so he decided to walk. He took out his cellphone and decided to call you.
If he let himself into your apartment unexpectedly so late - he didn’t want to scare you.
“Spencer.”
Your voice had a breathy, airy quality to it. He wouldn’t quite call it tiredness, not like he had woken you from sleep.
“Y/N.” He called your name back softly. “Did I wake you?” He still wanted to ask, even though he wasn’t sure that was the case.
“No.” You replied. “I - I missed you, baby.”
The slightest quiver in your tone gave you away. That gentle, needy curl around the word baby - it practically brought him to his knees on the sidewalk.
All at once, his mood changed.
It was something beautiful that you often did for him.
Every single bit of brick-like grief was pushed out of him in favor of that flowery, dreamy lust.
“You missed me?” He parroted the words back, mischief seeping into his voice as he continued the walk toward your apartment on slightly weaker legs, the cool night air brushing up against his now heated cheeks. “You’ve been thinking about me a lot tonight, haven’t you, darling?”
You let out a fluttering moan. You knew that you had been caught, so you felt no sense in holding back now.
Spencer pulled his messenger bag to sit in front of his crotch, praying that he wouldn’t look indecent in public. It took so little effort from you to make his cock swell to attention - with his intense attraction toward you, and with you being so perfect, such a beacon of beauty and sex.
“You caught me.” You huffed out. “Been thinkin’ about you all night, baby. The bed feels so empty without you.”
You both knew that it was a subtle admission. The downright filthy way you said the word ‘empty’ - Spencer bit his lip to hold back a moan just hearing it. You knew that those clouded innuendos turned him on so much. The veil. The intention.
You were touching yourself, and Spencer had called with perfect timing to ‘catch you’ in the middle of the act.
If Spencer strained his ears enough, he could hear the wet slide of your fingers against your pussy on the other end of the line, and he knew that you could hear the increase in his breathing - the hard huff coming out of his nostrils because of it.
“Where are you?” You whined, clearly needy. “Need you, Spence.”
You hoped that he wasn’t too busy, caught up at work.
“On my way to you now.” He told you, his voice leaking desperate breaths.
He was already grinning widely at the thought of what would be waiting for him - how you would be leaking wetness, so warm and ready for him; how he would be able to simply slide his hard cock into you with no resistance and your gorgeous pussy would so eagerly swallow him up. He forced himself to focus.
“Wait for me, okay?” He added on, trying to have some firmness in his tone - but he knew that it sounded too much like pleading and you would be kind to comply.
Wait.
You let out a strained, harsh sound at this.
You knew that it was another subtle code.
He didn’t want you to make yourself orgasm until he got there. (You had already had one before he called, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as one by Spencer’s hand, or his tongue.)
He likely wanted you to stop touching yourself all together. He wanted to leave you on edge, to make you even more needy for him. Even if he would only take a few minutes to arrive, he wanted you hungry.
You had the urge to argue with this, but you held back.
You knew that it would be worth it.
Spencer always made it worth it.
“Okay.” You huffed back, an undertone of frustration in your voice that got Spencer even more excited. You needed him. And he planned on providing every single inch of what he knew you needed so badly. “I’ll wait.” You agreed. “But hurry? Please?”
Please.
The way you said it, asking so nicely - it nearly knocked the wind out of him. You would never truly have to ask him to touch you. Truthfully, he should have to ask for the privilege of providing you with pleasure. He would never say no to you.
But there was something beautiful about hearing that from your lustful voice.
“I’ll be there before you know it.” He promised you gently before hanging up the call.
Spencer would have broken out into a full run if - one, it wouldn’t have made him look entirely idiotic, and two, it wouldn’t have stolen all his energy. Energy that he needed in order properly fuck you. He didn’t need to arrive at your apartment sweaty and panting and then collapse onto the floor in a heap and miss out on his chance to make sweet love to you.
He got there as fast as his legs could carry him (at a reasonable pace), and he estimated that it took him less than four minutes - because your apartment really wasn’t that far from the office. Conveniently enough for him. He skipped the elevator ride and took the stairs two at a time in his eagerness (and long legs). And soon enough, he was putting the key into the lock, welcomed by gentle shadows, the smell he recognized as the air freshener you loved to use, and a single guiding light that must have been the tableside lamp in your bedroom.
“Spence?”
You called out from down the hall as he closed and locked the door behind him.
“It’s me.” He assured you.
He tossed his keys into a bowl that you kept on the counter, toeing off his shoes, ditching his bag off to the side, and shrugged off his jacket as he walked down the hall.
“That was fast.” You remarked with a giggle, making him smile.
“A lady should never have to wait.” He replied, coming to stand at your open bedroom door, already working open his tie.
“Then you better hurry up.” You told him, your voice melting into a purr as you stared at him with honey warm lust in your eyes.
You were completely naked, laying in the middle of the bed, propped up on a few comfortable pillows. The comforter was down by your ankles; perhaps you had crawled into bed with the intention to sleep (some of your sleep clothes strewn across the floor, as though you had stripped them off and tossed them aside) - but then found yourself feeling that deadly ache between your thighs and kicked away the covers to relief yourself.
Spencer had called you with perfect timing.
Perhaps your soul had sung out to him like a siren - luring him here to perform his duty to you, to act as the servant meant to bring you pleasure. He could think of no better duty meant for his existence than to serve you. Ideally, it was something he wanted to spend the rest of his days doing. He would buy you a house, give you kids if you wanted them, support you in whatever ways you needed. He felt like he lived to make your life better - to make you smile, to make you laugh, to make you moan with pleasure.
If he didn’t have that, then he was lost.
In the low lighting, the star shaped necklace that he had given you for your birthday sparkled between your breasts, and Spencer found that you were most gorgeous wearing only that - a kiss of his claim on you, a perfect symbol of the beauty of your relationship among your goddess-like curves.
He felt entirely overdressed and he rushed to play catch up; fingers fumbling over buttons, his movements becoming downright frantic as he stripped out of his clothes. He almost knocked his glasses off his face while ripping his shirt off his head, and he had to place them on your bedside table for safekeeping. And then he nearly tripped out of his pantlegs on his way to the bed, which had you giggling, and he flashed you a smile.
But finally, he was freed, as naked as you were, and he crawled between your open, welcoming thighs. It felt like coming home. Your hands reached up to settle onto his ass - gently smoothing from the skin there, up his back, spreading warmth across his body as you groped him smoothly with soft, open hands.
He planted one hand on the pillow beside your head and used the other to gently lift your chin toward his. He captured your lips in a smooth, knowing, passionate kiss - you didn’t hesitate to moan into his mouth, and Spencer echoed it right back. He had missed you so much during the day. Even though he had seen you less than forty-eight hours before this, he felt decades of yearning in his heart.
He really should ask you to move in with him soon.
Even if he had to be away for days on cases, he should get to come home to you.
The two of you should start building a proper life together.
But of course, any thoughts about the clippings of property listings that Spencer had hidden away in a desk drawer fled from his mind when you rubbed your knee across his thigh, sending shivers through him - reminding him exactly what he was here for.
Typically, he would be the kind of man to go down on you, thoroughly, before he fucked you. He loved the feeling of your legs tightening around his head - he loved the taste of you on his tongue.
But when he felt the bare head of his cock bump up against your entrance, smearing your wetness over him - his self control broke down. He had missed you so much. He realized that he needed you just as badly as you needed him. He moaned even harder against your mouth, and he pulled away from the kiss with a huff, moving his hand to your hip.
Then, he asked a very important question.
“Do you have a condom?”
It broached the front of his mind, then, that he hadn’t brought one with him.
He knew that you typically kept a box of condoms in your bedside table. But the last time he had reached for one, the box had been empty. And he had resorted to using ‘the emergency condom’ that he kept in his bag. He didn’t have one in his bag now and he wasn’t sure if you had gotten a new box of condoms for the nightstand.
While he contemplated all of this, he kissed along the side of your breast, and then gently tongued at your necklace, still loving how it looked against your bare skin.
“You don’t need one.” You breathed out in reply.
You combed your hand through his hair, raking your nails across his scalp in a way that made his hips unconsciously buck forward. It was something that made it far more difficult for him to concentrate. Especially when he felt more of that warm wetness smear across him, his cock just barely dipping into your heat.
He didn’t entirely care to decipher the meaning behind your words. He simply trusted you.
(Later, when he was looking back on it, he would have guessed that you meant you were taking your oral birth control consistently. Or that you meant to pick up a Plan B pill in the morning. But looking back on it now - it was the only time within those last months of your relationship that the two of you didn’t use a condom. You were urging him on, and maybe, at the time - a baby truly was what you had in mind.)
“Please, Spencer.” You begged quietly. “I need you. Just you.”
He wasn’t one to deny you anyway. And he certainly wasn’t going to deny himself of this.
He reached down and used a hand around the base of his cock to help line himself up - and then he gently guided the length of his cock into you.
This was always his favorite part.
The gasp - the lilting moan you let out when his cock first slid into you, the way your thighs flexed around his hips - it was all so perfect.
But it was even more perfect without the barrier of a condom in the way. Spencer always thought that it was a myth, men talking about how condoms actually reduced the feeling. It was such a thin piece of latex, how could it truly affect the overall sexual experience that much? Sex with you was so amazing, he couldn’t possibly imagine it getting any better.
But this - this was so much better.
He could feel your wetness sliding against every inch of his cock, he could feel your heat drowning him, he could feel every little clench you made - every little movement. He felt like he was truly drowning inside of you. Like he was being smothered inside of your perfect body.
His head collapsed against your breast, and he sucked in a sharp breath, struggling through it all, as though he was trying to swim through thick, warm honey. His head was hazier than it had ever been - if someone asked him to recite a most basic fact at this moment, he wouldn’t be able to.
“Spence,”
You whined, arching your hips into him, forcing your pelvis into him just slightly more - he felt your pubic hairs grazing against the base of his cock, the sensitive head of his cock angling at a new place inside of you. He let out a pathetic moan, struggling not to cum too early.
“Move, please.” Your voice was breathy, and desperate, and he had to remind himself of his purpose - bringing you pleasure.
“Yes.” He sighed, trying to regain his composure. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, just-”
Whatever else you were going to say was promptly cut off when Spencer put both hands on your hips and bent his knees slightly, gaining the traction needed to properly fuck you.
He didn’t initiate a brutal or rough pace, but he pistoned his hips well enough to take the air out of you. His movements rang a moan out of your lungs as pleasure hummed through your body, finally getting what you had been craving all night. You loved the feeling of his long cock finally plunging in and out of you, especially without the barrier of a condom. It was enough to create the delightfully filthy sound of skin smacking through the air, well timed with the chorus of moans that began to echo out from your lips. Something that was complemented by Spencer’s own grunting and whining - something he tried to partially hide by biting his lip.
It was perfect. It was so easy, came so naturally between the two of you. It was a perfect rhythm between your bodies that came from knowing each other so well, feeling so at ease with each other. It was a perfect dance that made your entire body relax - the beautiful tingle of knowing that he was touching you.
“Thank you.” You moaned, reaching around to plant your hands on Spencer’s ass again. “Fuck, thank you.”
You bent your knees and spread your thighs more, angling your body perfectly for him to fuck into you even deeper. At the same time, you used your hold on him to pull him closer - to shove his cock even deeper into you. Something that both of you grunted harshly at. It wasn’t just out of the visceral need to have him inside of you; it was the pure yearning to feel close to him, to have him as physically close as possible.
With your wetness gathering around the base of his cock and dripping down over his balls - with your hot, thrumming cunt squeezing over him, he was getting dangerously close.
“Y/N.” He warbled out your name, almost as a warning.
“It’s okay.” You breathed back. “Cum for me. Come on, please.”
Spencer couldn’t resist - not when you said ‘please’.
The sound that came from his chest could only be described as a cry, and you forcibly held him close by digging your nails into the flesh of his ass. Any fleeting thought he might have had about pulling out left his brain in a millisecond. Especially when he felt your tightness fluttering around him, his hips unconsciously fucking deep into you, his body loving the feeling of being held tightly there while your cunt milked him for all he was worth.
He certainly didn’t miss the sweet moans you let out - the bright eyed awe you started up at him with as you felt his cum fill you up for the first time.
Spencer collapsed on top of you - even as tired as he was, he was careful not to hurt you by putting too much of his body weight onto you. (Even though you professed that you liked feeling his weight on top of you because he didn’t weigh all that much).
“Wow.” Spencer breathed into your neck - finding himself speechless after such a fantastic moment.
“That - that was amazing.” You remarked, breathless.
After a few moments, his cock began to go flaccid and slipped out of you, and he still felt your pussy practically beating with heat. He was reminded of something.
“You haven’t had an orgasm.” He mumbled quietly.
“It’s okay, I-”
‘I made myself cum earlier.’
Your words were cut off as Spencer descended down between your thighs. He felt his cock twitch with interest at the sight of his thick, white cum leaking out of your used cunt, mixing with your clear wetness.
So perfect.
He didn’t hesitate before putting his hands on your thighs, holding your legs apart while he shoved his tongue deep inside of you - partially with the purpose of cleaning up his own mess and partially with the newfound curiosity to taste what the two of you were like together.
You gripped onto his hair and moaned out, not a single complaint to be found on your lips.
It was the most perfect night that either of you could have imagined. All topped off by falling asleep in each other’s arms after a hot shower together.
Three days later, Spencer was called away on a case in Atlanta, Georgia that changed his life forever.
…
‘Do you know when he was conceived?’
“No.”
Spencer could see the lie reflected in your body language - how closed off you became, how quickly you rushed to cut off his words. Along with the intense heat reflected in your eyes. You were thinking about that night.
He thought he knew exactly which night you were thinking about - if his memory served him well enough. Which it usually did.
He couldn’t hold himself back from calling you on it.
He locked his eyes on yours across the table, the memory of that night possessing him - the ghost of your warm skin pressing against his own only further driving the words from his lips.
“Don’t lie to me.” He said, his voice a deadly, low rumble. “Look at me now, and tell me in all honesty that you don’t remember that night. Tell me that you don’t remember the way I felt inside of you. Tell me you don’t remember how good it was.”
Maybe it was pure spite on Spencer’s end. Desperately wanting to know that after all the resentment, the arguing, the years he had lost with his son, with you, that you still felt something for him underneath the anger and the annoyance.
Even if that underlying thing was lust. It was a strange victory, but he mentally cheered when he saw you clench your thighs together past the table - when your jaw tightened up. Your fingers twitched, and he knew you well enough to see the subtle signs of your lust from a mile away.
Old habits die hard.
Spurred on by this, and your steely silence, he kept going.
“Tell me that you don’t remember how perfect we were together - how good it felt when it was just us, nothing but skin on skin for the first time.”
You exhaled sharply.
“Spencer, we are not doing this right now.” You declared, your voice quivering slightly in your throat.
This didn’t deter him.
It was your use of the words ‘right now’ - even if unconsciously, you thought that there might be a ‘later’.
(In your mind, having sex with your ex, the father of your child, just to get off, sounded like the worst idea ever. But he looked so good and you knew that he was good in bed and if you had to be cooped up in the house with him for much longer, you would be making that stupid decision against your own will.)
“Tell me you don’t remember how good it felt when I came inside you that night.”
Spencer’s words were becoming more graphic now, looking to get more of a reaction out of you.
It worked in an instant - you swallowed thickly, your whole body tingling with the imagery his voice carried. The underlying lustful rumble in his tone making your insides quake. Your leg twitched with that unconscious desire to have some friction between your thighs. It was working so well, and he hated how much he loved it.
“I mean - what was your intention that night? Did you want me to fuck a baby into you? Is that why you were so desperate for me to fuck you raw? Is that why you kept pushing my cock deeper inside of you? Were you just that desperate to get knocked up?”
His words were making you utterly dizzy with heat. If it wasn’t for the common sense blinking loudly at the front of your brain, you would have jumped across the table and tackled him just to hump him for some sort of friction on your aching cunt.
Of course, he could read this plainly all over your face.
“Spencer-” You breathed out.
Just then, Spencer’s phone rang, cutting through the dangerously palpable tension in the air.
He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and when he saw Morgan’s contact name on the screen, he thought for certain that the man was calling to discuss some development in the case.
“I have to take this.” Spencer sighed.
“That’s fine.” You nodded. You were glad to have some relief from the dangerous tension - you needed a few minutes to collect yourself.
Spencer got up from the table and naturally moved toward the back door - a sliding glass door that he was disappointed to find unlocked. He would have to remind himself to have a talk with you about having better security protocols in your home, even during daylight hours.
Spencer closed the door behind himself, creating a small barrier of privacy as he answered the call.
“Hello.”
“Hey, pretty boy,” Morgan chuckled.
Spencer rolled his eyes, immediately knowing that this wasn’t a work call - this wasn’t anything serious in nature for Morgan to be greeting him that way.
“What do you want?” Spencer replied, his patience already in short supply.
“Oh, come on, man.” Morgan kept up that airy, light tone. “You think you can sneak around with your secret little family and not have it be the hottest gossip we’ve had in years? I wanna hear more about this kid of yours. Me and Prentiss got a bet, goin’ - so, was it an accident or not? Did you really know what you were doin’ when you stuck your little genius thang in her back then? Or no?”
Reid was going to kill JJ. (Well, not really. He was likely just going to glare at her firmly and ignore her for a day - or, just until she apologized.)
He knew that it had likely been an accident - the information about his private life getting leaked to the entire team. But, if JJ could keep important information about killings away from the media, why couldn’t she keep this out of the team’s hands? Why couldn’t she have made up some excuse about where Reid was?
“No, no.” Spencer ground out harshly, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I am not telling you if my son’s conception was an accident or not just to satisfy some stupid bet.”
“Ooh, a son.” Morgan seemed stuck on this piece of information. “Rossi, you owe me a drink. It is a boy.”
Reid heard Rossi and Prentiss arguing in the background, and he let out another frustrated sigh.
“Don’t you have work you should be doing?” Spencer asked, desperately trying to change the subject.
“Hotch has us spinning our wheels here.” Morgan replied. “Goin’ through more of these daycare forms while Garcia runs more background checks - but, so far, we’ve come up with squat. Your Baby Mama is the only real lead we’ve got so far.”
Reid sighed.
“So, was it a one night stand? An epic night of passion?” He chuckled, still using a teasing tone.
Spencer didn’t answer.
“At least tell me this - is she cute? What was it about this woman that got Doctor Reid to chase after his Darwin instincts for once?” Morgan pressed on.
“She’s beautiful.” Spencer replied without even thinking, his eyes looking at you through the glass door. “She… she’s perfect in every conceivable way.”
Sebastian had come back down stairs, clearly looking for Spencer. And now you had him in your lap, still sitting on your kitchen chair, playing with a couple of plastic dinosaurs that he had brought down from his bedroom on the tabletop.
There was a distinct, humble beauty in the fact that you didn’t know you were currently under Spencer’s attention. You looked at Sebastian with such intense love in your eyes - a way you had once looked at Spencer, before that love had been replaced by scorn and disdain. Before he had messed it all up.
“Woah.” Morgan wisped in reply. “That sounds like a whole lot more than just one night of baby makin’.”
Maybe he was still fishing for information to ‘win’ the bet, maybe not. Spencer couldn’t quite tell from his tone alone. But he did sound a bit more serious, and that wedged Spencer open a bit more in order to feel comfortable continuing.
“It was.” Spencer sighed. “She - she was the love of my life.” He added on, feeling safe to tell Morgan this. “But I messed it all up.”
Morgan instantly dropped his joking and teasing when he heard the choked off tears in Spencer’s voice.
“What happened?” He asked.
“Long story.” Spencer sighed. “But - it ends with me being excluded from my son’s life. For a good reason.”
“I don’t see any good reason why you shouldn’t be allowed to see your kid.” Morgan replied. “Reid, I’ve seen you with kids, man. If anybody deserves to be a father, it’s you.”
“I was different back then. Around the time she got pregnant.” He explained. “It was just after Hankel.”
There was a tense silence as Morgan sat with the truth - as he absorbed it. Clearly, he was unsure of what to say, and Spencer found himself naturally continuing on.
“He’s so smart.” He added on, looking at the way Sebastian ran his fingers along the neck of the brontosaurus - maybe he had brought that one down for Spencer, remembering that he had said it was his favorite. “He’s such a good kid.”
He almost choked on these words, more tears welling up that he forcefully pushed down.
He turned away from the glass door then, just in case you looked up to see his tearful face. He wiped his eyes with a stiff hand, and he was surprised by what Morgan said next.
“So be good to him.” He said. “Be there for him now. Step up and be the dad that we all know you can be.”
Before he could reply, Morgan continued.
“I don’t know if I believe in fate, but Penelope always says that everything happens for a reason.” He said. “And she would tell you to use this as an opportunity to be reunited with your girl, and become a real family. Even if it is because of some scumbag killing people that brought us here.”
Spencer smiled at this.
“That is very Garcia.”
“And you know she’s always right.”
...
Continue reading here: Chapter Four - Last Hope
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Omg I just saw that u write for atsv!! So I was wondering if u could do one with a female reader x hobie where the readers quite reserved to everyone in public (maybe she’d been a spidey longer so she’s lost more people? Idk why she’d be reserved bc I cannot write for shot lmao) and people think she’s super cold but then they like?? Walk in, and she’s like open and warm with Hobie (it doesn’t matter if she’s loud or not) and they kinda just look at the scene in shock like wtf and Pav is sort of smug bc he knew all along and then it comes out that they’re dating?
It Sounds Nice coming from You.
Hobie Brown x Fem!Spidey Reader
“I totally called it.” “Don’t even speak, Pavitr.”
kisses him cause he my bf (-compulsive liar)
People whispered about you. Spider people and the general public alike. Your city spreading gossip, rumours and misinformation to try and figure out who you were, but that was a Spiderwoman affair, every one of them dealt with it.
But having people same as you talk in hushed tones, glancing at you as you walked past. That’s a new kind of feeling.
The Spider Society didn’t exactly favour you, per se. There was nothing inherently wrong with you either, so no reason to get rid of you. But you were just so silent. No one knew a thing about you.
You mostly kept to yourself around base, never really trying too hard to make friends, you were well known enough not to be questioned. A loyal fighter was what you were recognised for, not your personality, your abilities.
There were still some people that managed to creep their way in though, their hearts so full of love, you didn’t know how to refuse them.
So you conceded. You let them in, and begged to any deity that would listen not to take them from you.
—
Hobie knew you as someone who could listen. Who understood him rather than challenged his beliefs. Not that he had any, but that was the point.
Your lack of input made him feel accepted in going on tangents of why he thought the way he did. And you just sat, and listened. A kind heart and an open mind.
Which eventually led to him falling for that kind heart. Tripping over his own feet to please your silent self. To get those small smiles or amused huffs out of you.
The occasional time you spoke to him, under hushed breaths and fond tones. God, he couldn’t take it.
The way your accent forms over each and every word, how your voice was akin to honey malt, sweet and addicting. Only giving him small doses, but he was the only one who got those doses. Only him, and you, and the words you spoke or times you listened.
He knows that people thought you were cold, or unloving. And maybe you were at first, maybe he thought you were. But he figured you out fast. Where you couldn’t talk, you could touch. Brushing your hands over his arm to get his attention. Linking your hand through his and dragging him away from people you don’t want to be near, he would smile down at you and follow along like a lost puppy. How your brows would crease a certain way, or nose would scrunch a little when you found distaste in things. He was a fool for you.
Where you lacked in verbal communication, you strived in every other category. So when some Spider-people decided to come to him, urging him for answers about you.
Telling him that he wasn’t sure you even wanted to be here—, Hobie would shut down the conversation quicker than thought to be possible. Giving a simple “She’s just quiet.”, and ditching the moment the words are out of his mouth.
It’d worked—, for a while. Ignoring the demeaning or conspiratorial comments made about you by spider-people a-kind. But eventually it got the better of him. Having him borderline snarl at the people who would talk shit right in front of his, or your, face.
“She’s silent, ain’t she?”
“Yeah. Peter 48 said she was like that ‘cause she killed her parents, made ‘er real quiet.”
“Jesus christ. Wouldn’t surprise me, she’s a freak.”
“Dude—“ One of the two spiders, the first one, turned to Hobie. Spider-senses ringing. Hobie stated back at them, deadpan and unblinking. “Don’t.”
The younger spider paled, quickly trying to backtrack.
“Hey— Hobie. I— Didn’t mean it. Was just repeating what I heard, ykno—“
“Cut it, mate.”
He squeaked, head tilting down in respect, the other spider following.
“Stop spreading shit rumours like ‘at. It ain’t fun when you’re the subject. ‘S it?”
“No.”
“Mm.”
Hobie walked past them smoothly, brushing shoulders with the kid just to scare him a little more. When he was far enough away, he heard them start to whisper to one another. “Fuck man, that was close. He could tell Miguel, and then we’d be out.”
“Jesus..”
He felt rather accomplished that day.
—
It was days later where you were brought up around him again. He’d been texting you, the upper half of his body hanging from Miguel’s platform, his wicks shifting every time he moved.
Miguel and Lyla were talking amongst themselves, clicking through holograms and sorting things out for potential anomalies.
Jess, Pavitr and Gwen had walked into the room chatting, Pav and Gwen expressing their excitement rather loudly.
He glanced up at them from his phone, you were still typing.
immm gonna b homein ten just be patient >:(
I’m patient 🦑
u werent 2 seconds ago
I don’t subscribe to consistency.
Or this slandering talk
ur consistently lame
also why squid
I’m never lame. Also, he’s cute
hes not real
Don’t do this me
reeeeeal tasty tho
What is wrong with you.
numnnum crunchhhh crrcchhh numnum ( > _ <)
Inhumane.
mmmmmm yummyyyy
He can’t die, he’s immortal
The ‘Texting’ bubble popped up on his screen.
“Hey, Hobie!”
Pavitr was running up to him, looking from his lowered position below the elevated platform.
He slipped further down the platform, slumping slowly as he greeted Pavitr upside down.
“Pav, my guy!”
Pavitr bounced on the balls of his feet, smiling wide at his friend.
“What’chu doing up there?”
His eyes darted to Miguel and Lyla, ending their conversation.
Smirking, he whispered to Hobie, “With the grump.”
Hobie snickered, gaining a disapproving look from Jess.
“Textin’ [Name].”
Just then, the next message from you showed.
immortal ??? how consistent of him to live
He grinned, typing back quickly while Pavitr eyed him knowingly.
He’s a squid, he’s more fluid than anything
ihu
terrivle joke
No, you don’t
And it was great
wtvr >:P
Hobie grabbed the ledge of the platform and swung down, landing softly in front of Pavitr and pocketed his phone.
“Glad ya ‘ere. Those two can’t keep it quiet, aye?” He said, pointing back towards Lyla and Miguel.
“They do argue very often.”
“Nah, Lyla don’t argue, mate. Just the hardass.”
Pavitr snorted and Hobie softly punched his stomach in jest, earning one from Pav to the chest, and starting a round of playful punching. Pavitr laughed as Hobie brought him into a headlock, scrunching his fist over the shorter man’s hair and rubbing it in.
They let up when they heard Lyla teasing Miguel for something again, giggling to each other at his expense.
He threw an arm over his fluffy haired friend and leaned his weight on him. Pav smiled up at him once more, brighter now. Before he could speak, Gwen’s voice echoed through the barren room.
“Same reason as you, I’m guessing.”
Hobie turned his head towards her, dropping himself off Pav and standing up straight again. Smiling at her as she reached him, and went in to hug her briefly. When they disconnected, he spoke again.
“Yeah—, No clue then, mini-punk.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Neither big bad has said nothin’ to me yet.”
“Seriously, are we going to skip over that?”
“Maybe they’re waiting until [Name] is here!” Pavitr chimed in.
“What does mini-punk even mean!”
“Not exactly, Pavitr.”
Jess, who now was standing next to Miguel, spoke.
The trio turned to face the two elder spider-people.
“Huh?”
“We wanted to have a discussion with the three of you—.” Miguel put his hands on his hips, authority that Hobie only saw as a challenge emanating from his figure.
“—Away from [Name], she’s already been consulted.”
Hobies eyes narrowed, the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifting to something a lot less unfriendly, and a lot more cautious.
Jess caught wind of the younger man’s tense stature and shuffled forward a step, not unwilling to intervene.
“Nothing too bad, just—,” He paused for a moment, the dense light from the reflective floors making the contours of his face pop.
Hobie watched with batted breath, posture only slightly relaxing from the statement. The crease in his brows begging to be drawn, yet his pokerface was something to be beat.
“,—Addressing her.. lack of communication.”
A shiver raked down the brit’s body, physically restraining himself from chewing this man out with a rebuttal.
“Wha’ ‘bout it?”
His gruff voice was a stark indicator of his annoyance.
“Well, ignoring the rumours following her—,”
Hobie, the usually rather sensical man, was getting more agitated by the minute.
“,—We’ve noticed a certain independence that she holds. Something not many others do.”
The punk quirked a brow.
“So?” Gwen was the one to talk now.
“That doesn’t seem very serious, ‘f you ask me.” She laughed lightly, trying to lighten the mood. Something Pavitr seemed a tad scared to do. There was a lot of competition in the air right now, he wasn’t very competitive.
“Exactly, it’s not.”
Jess cut in, seeing how terribly Miguel started this conversation made her cringe.
“It’s not—, but,” She shook her head, hair falling prettily with every move. “,Her ‘independence’, has been more akin to ‘lack of teamwork’. In some cases.”
Gwen started to speak again, her eyebrows furrowed, just as Hobies now were. He was right about brewing with offence.
“So!—,” Jess cut her off before she could begin.
“So there’s no need for her to have distractions anymore. From now on, she will not be going on team missions. Just solo’s.”
“Wha—! You’re cutting her off?!”
“Gwen, it’s not like that.”
“Like hell it isnt! She’s a part of us!”
“Doesn’t this mean she’s going to be in more danger?” Pavitr spoke up, concerned.
“No— well, not unless—,”
“Unless!? You’ve gotta’ be kidding!” Gwen choked out.
“And what does ‘consulted’ mean! Did she agree to this?!—“
They continued to argue, Gwen and Pavitr advocating for your teamwork skills while Miguel and Jess had made up their mind.
“No communication,” He pinched the bridge of his nose “,Fuck off.” Hobie scoffed under his breath, turning to leave and storming out.
The voices of Miguel, Jess and his friends following him through the portal to you.
—
“You agreed to this?”
lIts not like they’re wrong, I just hold you all back.”
He huffed, exasperated. Not only were you putting yourself in danger, you were doing it alone. And letting some guy who has a borderline vendetta against teens be the call for it.
“Now, you know that’s not tr—“
His stern voice was cut off by the frown on your face quivering. A due sign of you nearing to cry.
“Oh, shit— C’mon dollface, c’mere.”
He sat down on your shared bed, scooting against the headboard and bringing you into his lap. A soothing hand ran over your back as you tried to reel in your embarrassment.
“I really didn’t mean to agree.”
Hobie sighed, pushing your head into his neck and watching how the rings adorning his fingers rose goosebumps in their path. “I know, sweet’eart.”
And he did know, the moment that it had been a meeting addressed solely with just Jess and Miguel, he knew that Peter had been excluded for a reason. That Miles had been sent after an anomaly as an unknowing distraction for Peter to chase after. He knew those two intimidated you. And the fear of parental disappointment was something they used on you—, young, sweet you. That only ever got hurt because she didn’t want her problems to hurt others, or herself.
You had opened up to him once. Told him what everyone twisted when they whispered sickening words. A story unlike the rumours crowding your reputation.
How no, you hadn’t killed your parents, or siblings, or whatever messed up thing people claimed of you.
You told him how you hadn’t been bitten yet. How, when your family was killed, you hadn’t had any powers. So you couldn’t save them. And it wasn’t even canon. Nothing could’ve stopped them from dying, but it didn’t have to happen. And that was the guilt that weighed on you. How no matter the hardships your parents put you through, a kid neglected of attention. You still would rather die a million times for them to live once.
And it’s all “would”, and never “can”.
Other spider-people don’t have to live with the fact their parents died for nothing. Was what you said. A messed up thought, no doubt. And one you felt guilty for. But the sole continuer of this sorrow-filled silence. Which has worked well enough to protect you so far, why is Hobie one to break that?
Because you love him, you guess.
His hands slid further down your back, resting on the curve of your waist in his lap.
His breathing soothed yours. The shuddering breaths you had been giving to stop your tears, also stopped.
“You wanna talk about your day instead, luv?”
“Yeah, thank you Hobie.”
“Love when you say my name, Babydoll. So pretty and sweet like that.”
Wrapping your hands around his lithe waist, you hummed. Beginning your recount of the day in the honeyed, reserved tone you’d always held.
—
Around half an hour had passed with Gwen arguing against Miguel before Peter showed up, Moles in tow.
“What’s all this about?” His slippers flopped when he walked and the baby carrier strapped to his chest shifted every time a sleeping MayDay squirmed to get comfortable.
“This—, This asshole!”
“Gwen.” Jess chastised her.
Gwen ignored it, pointing at Miguel accusingly. “—Kicked [Name] off the team!”
“Not kicked.”
“You said she wasn’t going with us anymore.”
Miles looked offended by the prospect. “Why?”
“She’s not kicked, she’s simply better off solo.”
“Oh, so it’s our fault then!”
“Gwendolyne.”
“All of you, stop.”
Peters voice ended the bickering, having learnt since fatherhood exactly how to use said voice. “We are not sending an 18 year old on solo mission against anomalies.”
“Since when did you have a say—“
“Miguel. You’re an idiot if you think i’m going to let that happen. That’s a kid.”
“She’s an adult.”
“When it’s convenient to you.”
Miguel pinched his nose bridge, growling under his breath. Jess spared a glance at him before wincing and backing down from the conversation.
“She doesn’t talk to people.”
“I’m sure she does, just not to you.” Gwen cut in.
“Yeah, her and Hobie talk a lot.” Miles prepped up on his toes. Pavitr smiled and hummed an agreement.
“Not that I’ve seen.”
Peter gave him another disapproving look. “Disregarding that. The fact you decided to not consult me on this decision is another reason that it’s not happening.”
“Consult? Like some council, please.” Miguel scoffed at him, rolling his eyes and turning to open a holographic tab.
“Yes, like some council. Someone’s gotta be the brains ‘round here.” The father joked, coddling MayDay as she cooed.
“I’m going to go inform [Name] the retraction of this decision.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Oops too late, portals open.”
“Can I come with?” Miles jogged after Peter, hopping quickly through the portal, Peter, Gwen and Pavitr following. Not without Gwen flipping Miguel off as she went. “We’ll sort something out, she can go duos with Hobie.” Jess put a hand on his shoulder, watching as he stared off to where the portal had previously been with a sided expression before sighing.
“Yeah..”
“That went great.” Lyla dragged, popping up on Miguel’s shoulder.
“I’m a second away from shutting you off.”
The AI blew a raspberry at her companion, and disappeared.
—
He had went off on a tangent about some movie he saw, or song he’d heard. Hobie honestly couldn’t remember, he was too focused on you. The way your voice sounded, how open you were being with him when every now and then you would respond to him. The hearts in his eyes were probably from how heavy his own was beating. Staring at you like a sinner to a prophet.
You had moved down from his lap, now curled against his side, head leaning on his shoulder and hand resting on his chest. At some point, the movie you had been watching before Hobie showed up was unpaused, and serving as background noise for his quiet rambling.
Both of you pressed under a blanket to beat the cold, and the darkness outside your window being killed off by the lights strung across your room. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this cozy, this utterly comfortable.
Sparks of colour strung out of nowhere, neither of them really seeing it at first, up until it spat out Miles. He stumbled forward a little and went to greet you before taking on the scene. You and Hobie cuddled up on a bed, blanket wrapped around you both, fire going, people singing. He was exaggerating the last parts, but it felt necessary for something so unexpected.
“Hey—, guys.” The awkward teen managed, before Peter walked through the portal with the other two in tow.
“Woah, no mean to interrupt.”
Peter put his hands up in surrender. Hobie snorted, it wasn’t like you were incapable of affection, It just seems he was the only one who got it.
“I totally called it.”
“Don’t even speak, Pavitr.”
He pouted, before giggling and waltzing over to sit next to the both of you. Flopping down on the bed and turning to watch the TV.
“Oh my god, I love this movie!”
“Favourite character?” You inquired. A collective raise of eyebrows was shown throughout the room.
Gwen shuffling over to sit down as well, a baffled look on her face.
“The horse.”
“Pff- Max?” Hobie snorted at Pav. Giving the still rather confused Miles - Peter duo a reassuring smile. And greeting Gwen with a fist bump, she smiled wearily at him before her smirk filled out and she punched his arm in congrats.
Pavitr nodded and laughed, gasping excitedly when the scene on the lake showed up. “Perfect timing.”
You glanced up at Hobie, Miles and Peter finding somewhere to sit as well, talking quietly amongst themselves.
He smiled at you, bringing you in closer while Pavitr sat smug.
The air of confusion slowly dissipated into something accepting, none but Pavitr had really expected you to be so.. Open. But they came to find they didn’t exactly mind it.
—
Everyone had left by now, the knowledge that you didn’t have to go on dangerous missions alone anymore leaving Hobie satisfied and you comforted.
“You doin’ right, babe?”
“Yeah, Hobes.”
You gripped his shirt a tad tighter and yawned, eyes drifting more shut as the minutes ticked down. “Wanna go t’ bed?”
“We’re in bed, dummy.”
He shot you a playful look.
“Don’ ge’ smart with me, young lady.”
You smiled at him before he made the decision to shuffle you both down in bed to get comfortable, switching off the lights by the outlet. He moved back to you, letting his whole body rest near yours, and letting you initiate any contact wanted.
A leg wrapped around his, and your arm still picking the fabric of his shirt.
“Sleep, sweethear’.”
“Mhmmph.”
Hobies breathe lulled you to sleep, white noise against your racing thoughts. He watched you fall, your trust in him to keep you safe was enough to make a man weak. He smiled, looking out your shared window at the city life below.
No crime, no anomaly or misshaped villain could possibly drag him away from you.
—
BAMBAMBAM 🦑‼️
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"Sweet & Vicious" - Young!Coriolanus Snow x Tribute!Reader
Summary: Coriolanus learns that there's more to you, the sweet little tribute from District 1, than meets the eye.
Word Count: 3,000
Rating: 18+, MDNI
TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, mentions of previous sexual assault, canon-typical murder/violence (reader is a tribute), oral m receiving, tiddy succin, p in v sex, creampie, lowkey breeding kink lmao
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Hunger Games/Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
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Coryo knows that Gaul is setting him up to fail when she assigns him to be your mentor. You’re from District 1 and apparently you’re a career, but truth be told? He doesn’t see it. He observes you, chatting with the other tributes, a friendly smile on your face. You’re bubbly and outgoing, but you look harmless. Like you wouldn’t be able to harm a fly. How’s he going to win the Plinth Scholarship with you as his tribute? He presses his lips together in a thin line, his mind working double time to try and figure out what his angle is here. How is he going to do this?
You have an interesting way about you, he muses. You flirt with every single male tribute in the room, batting those lashes of yours, smiling up at them so demurely. Coryo can’t help but feel the slightest hint of envy when one rests a hand on your bare waist, helping fix your position as you practice knife throwing - something you fail at miserably. Shit. But, you have each of the boys there eating out of the palm of your hand. And there’s something sharp in your gaze. You stand off to the side, and to anyone else it would look like you’re being lazy. But Coryo knows what you’re doing.
You’re studying the others. Searching for weaknesses. It’s what he would do.
You move with an almost serpentine grace, weaving your way through the room, taking note of everything happening around you. At first glance, you seem like a ditzy flirt. But Coryo sees past that now. He sees you, scrutinizing and evaluating. There’s more to you than meets the eye. You flirt your way through the room, dazzling everyone with your sweet demeanor, your pretty face. You endear yourself to them so that they will feel bad about killing you when the time comes. So that they hesitate. But there’s so much more to you than that.
It’s time to break for lunch and one by one, the tributes file out of the training room. Save for you and the girls from 2, 3, and 4. Coryo raises a brow as they approach you, the girl from 1 having a knife in hand. Before he can even yell to warn you, you turn, grabbing her by the wrist, a smile a little too sharp to be genuine on your face.
“That’s cheating, Rachel,” you say, your voice sickeningly sweet, “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to try to kill me until we’re in the Arena? Not very nice.”
He watches as you quickly dispatch them, tackling Rachel to the ground, sweeping the girl from 3’s feet out from beneath her as you do before lunging on top of the girl from 4. All three of them groan in pain, holding their stomachs, while you make your way toward Coryo, that same innocent little smile on your face. He watches you with admiration as you approach him, already feeling proud to be your mentor.
“You’re my mentor. Coriolanus Snow, right?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, a coy little grin on your face as you introduce yourself.
He nods, taking your hand to shake it, a small smile on his face. You’re not asking that question out of curiosity. You already knew. He can tell. You’re trying to figure out how to manipulate him into wanting to help you.
Little do you know it’ll require no manipulation at all.
“General Snow was your father, right?” You ask, gazing up at him through your lashes, fluttering them slightly.
Of course you know that, you little minx. He’s sure you’ve done plenty of research.
Coryo nods, gaze moving along your form, the training gear you wear hugging the curves of your body in an enticing way, “Correct. And you?”
“Oh, my family?” You giggle, covering your mouth in an almost dainty way, “Nothing special. We’re just a basic District 1 family. No one too important. Not like you or the Plinths.”
He knows that’s a flirtation attempt. That you’re buttering him up. From where he stands, he can smell your perfume, the way it mixes with your natural scent. It’s almost intoxicating. He takes another step closer to you.
“Shouldn’t you join the others for lunch?”
“I’d rather have lunch with my mentor,” you say, batting your lashes, “Is that allowed, sir?”
A smirk plays at the corner of his lips and he nods, leading you out of the training room, “It is. You know, I do enjoy a bit of respect, but maybe you’d like to call me something a bit more personal.”
“Such as?”
He chuckles, a hand resting on your lower back as he leans in to whisper, “Well, how about my first name? Coriolanus. Do you feel comfortable calling me that?”
“Coriolanus,” you repeat, the word sounding like honey dripping off your tongue to him before you glance up with a tiny little pout, “It’s a pretty name, but it’s so long. Can I just call you Coryo?”
He nods, “Yes. Coryo will be just fine.”
Over the next few days, he grows closer and closer to you, his little mentee. You’re always eager to learn whatever he has to teach you, and you have no issue endearing yourself to the viewers. The two of you make quite the team, he thinks. It doesn’t hurt that you’re fucking adorable. You walk in to train with him, a smile playing on your lips.
“What are you going to mentor little old me in today, Coryo?”
He eyes you up and down, unable to help feeling a bit smitten by you and your innocent demeanor even though he knows it’s all a facade; Coryo takes a moment to clear his throat, holding back the inappropriate noise threatening to come from his mouth before informing you, “Well, we’re going to be practicing some hand to hand combat today. You do know how to fight, right?”
You look up at him, shaking your head as you keep up your act, innocent as ever, “Who, me? Gosh, I’d never wanna hurt anyone…”
“So you beating the crap out of those three girls yesterday was what then?” He counters, giving you a wry smile.
“Aw, we were just playing, Coryo! Just girly things.”
He shakes his head at you affectionately, watching as you bite your lip, “Yeah, I bet you girls get really brutal when you ‘play’, huh?”
“Well, I prefer playing with boys,” you hum, “They’re much sweeter to me.”
And again he feels it. That gnawing sensation in his gut. The jealousy when he thinks of the fact that you’ve got every one of these boys wrapped around your pretty little finger, himself included.
“So I’m going to have to be competing with all the other boys for your attention then?”
He can’t help but smile at your reply, “You are my mentor, Coryo. There’s no competition. I think you know why I flirt with them.”
Coryo nods, “You’re making them think twice before they kill you. The little sweetheart who makes them fall in love.” He chuckles, “Pretty naughty of you.”
You shrug, “If I wanna survive the games, it’s what I gotta do. I mean, I could beat them in hand to hand. But why do it if I don’t have to? Work smarter, not harder.”
“You’re quite the manipulative little girl, aren’t you?” Coryo teases, growing more and more impressed - and infatuated - with you every passing minute.
“I’m eighteen, not so little. We’re the same age,” you tease back, your voice a playful lilt, “But if you want me to be your little girl, I don’t mind.”
Coryo’s throat goes dry, his voice a low rasp as he leans in even closer, feeling your sweet breath tickle his face, “So you want me to treat you like my little girl then?” You nod, lashes fluttering as he stares at you, those doe eyes and that sweet smile, “And how would my little girl like to be treated?”
“Any way Daddy wants to.”
He feels his pants growing uncomfortably tight. That submissive gaze of yours, the sense of possession over you nearly overwhelming him. He needs to protect you, keep you away from the dangers of the world. It’s not a want at this point. It’s a need. And he’s going to make damn sure his pretty little girl survives these games. That she wins. So, the two of you begin training in earnest. And he’s pleasantly surprised by your complete change in attitude, how seriously you take everything he tells you, adjusting your aim, your stance, listening to his tips on how to make the audience like you. You’re really quite intelligent and talented, and the fact that you’re not just using this time to flirt or distract him. It makes him, dare he say it, respect you.
When he asks why you volunteered for the Games, however, your expression grows dark, and he feels as if he’s about to unlock another side of you, “Ben from D1. My fellow tribute. I want to kill him.”
He can sense the anger and hatred you harbor for your fellow tribute, and is almost caught off guard by the bluntness and raw honesty of your answer. But as you explain your reasons, your need for revenge after what he did to you back home, he comes to understand. You tell him you knew you were going to volunteer the moment he was reaped. That it was God or whatever higher power exists giving you a chance for revenge. And when you tell him just what he did to you, he feels the rage inside him building toward Ben too.
“He told everyone at school I begged him for it, when really, I was begging him to stop. To let me go. I want him underneath me in the Arena. I want to hear him beg for his life. And to watch the light leave his eyes when I refuse to listen.”
Coryo wants nothing more than to take away your pain, but he realizes, only you can do that for yourself. He doesn’t think he’s ever been as attracted to another person as he is to you in this moment, both physically and emotionally. And at the drop of a hat, you’re back to your sunny personality, taking him by the hand and declaring that it’s time for dinner, that you’re starving and need to grab something to eat.
He watches you with amazement when the Games begin, the way you manage to outthink and outmaneuver every one of your fellow tributes. The girls you’d bested back on that first day try to rush you, but one by one, you finish them off. This vicious, bloodthirsty side of you is yet another layer of your personality he’s seen. He can’t take his eyes off of you, completely enamored. He watches, amused, at the way you cling to some of the male tributes, convincing them you need their help, only to dispatch them the moment they’re no longer useful to you.
Ruthless. Beautiful. Dangerous.
In the end, it’s down to just you and Ben from District 1. The reason you volunteered in the first place. Coryo watches in terror as Ben manages to stab you in the side, but you keep him pinned to the ground, your teeth gnashing as you ignore what must be excruciating pain.
“Fucking beg me for your life! Do it! Beg me like I begged you, coward!” You snarl, pulling the blade from your side, blood seeping from your wound.
Coryo watches, seeing the intensity, the brutality behind your eyes. Ben tries to punch your stab wound, and you wince from the pain, but then? You let out a laugh. It’s a pretty laugh, musical even, but absolutely terrifying.
“Oh, Ben, it’s gonna take a lot more than that.” You stab the blade he used on you, deep into his chest, “This is in your aorta. I can leave it in and you try to finish me off if you can, and hope the healers get to you in time. That’s if you beg me. But if you don’t? I pull it out and bleed you like the fucking pig you are.”
And he does. He begs, tears falling from his eyes as he pleads for his life. For the chance to fight you again, to win the Games. But you just smirk down at him, leaning in as you rest a hand on his cheek.
“When I begged you to stop, you didn’t. So why should I?”
You pull out the knife, letting him bleed out onto the grass below, winning the Games. Coryo watches you, awestruck. You’ve gotten your revenge. This brutal, sadistic side of you - he doesn’t understand why but it’s so completely alluring.
Soon enough, as the victor, you’re rushed away to have your wounds treated, particularly the nasty stab wound Ben left you with. When you awake, Coryo makes sure he’s at your side, sitting by your bed as your eyes open wearily and you question if you won, voice hoarse from disuse.
He nods, lifting your head gently so that you can drink from the cup of water on the table beside you, “Yes. You won. You were incredible. Brutal and ruthless and,” he murmurs, “So beautiful.”
You feign shyness - or is it truly feigned, he wonders - looking away from him as you bite your lip, “O-oh, you thought it was beautiful?”
He nods, “You were… Amazing.”
Your lips meet his in a slow, sensual kiss, his tongue gently pushing into your mouth as he caresses your cheeks. Coryo tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. You moan softly against his lips, every small gesture of submission to him, of deference to him turning him on, bringing out a wild, almost animalistic side to the man. However, when he sees the way you wince slightly as he trails his hand along your waist, he pauses, looking at you with concern.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just a little sore,” you tell him, moving to touch his cheek with your hand, fingertips tracing his jaw, “I don’t mind a little pain with my pleasure, Coryo.”
Your words break something in Coryo, a dam that held the semblance of resistance he held on to. His hands move to your hips, squeezing your soft flesh as he moans against your mouth, tugging off the flimsy gown you wear. Your body has been repaired, every scar, every blemish removed as is the case with every victor. He stares at you in wonder, his hands moving to cup your breasts, squeezing gently. You gaze up at him, lips parted in a silent plea for him to continue touching you as you grind yourself against his cock, achingly hard against his pants. He moves to take one of your tits in his mouth, latching onto one of your nipples, icy blue eyes boring into yours as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive nub. Every cry of “Coryo”, “Daddy”, “please - they all make him smirk against you as his fingers move to tease your tight, wet pussy, wanting to get you ready to take him. You are so fucking perfect for him. You were made for him. Made to be his.
He pulls away for a moment, loving the way you whine at the loss of contact, only to lock the door and make quick work of his own clothes, leaving both of you entirely bare before each other. Coryo has never felt so desired, so wanted as he does when you move to mouth at his cock, your soft hands cupping his balls, massaging them as you gaze up at him through your lashes with those gorgeous eyes. He gently pushes you back, shaking his head.
“Let Daddy take care of his little girl right now.”
You feel so perfect as he pushes inside you, your tight cunt squeezing around him like a vice. Your teeth sink into your plump lower lip, but he shakes his head, almost scolding you.
“That’s my lip to bite, baby.”
You whimper softly as his lips devour yours in another kiss, his hips slotting against yours at a brutal, relentless pace. He knows now that you were meant for him. Meant to be his sweet little girl. He’s going to make you fully and completely his. After your victory tour, he’s going to make you his pretty little wife. Keep you at home, by his side. All sweet and pretty, his perfect little doll. Pump you full of his cum, breed you like the good little girl you’re meant to be. And he knows you won’t have a problem with it. He knows every part of you, he muses as your fingers knot themselves in his golden curls, your hips bucking up to meet his movements. He knows your sweet side. Your vicious side. Your brutality and your vulnerability. And it’s all going to be his.
“Daddy, I’m close,” you whisper breathily in his ear, his lips moving to your throat as his teeth graze against your skin, “Cum inside me. Fill me up, Daddy.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice, his stomach tightening, body going rigid as he feels you squeeze around him, your pussy soaking his cock as you reach your peak, spilling himself inside you moments later. He stays like that for a moment, just staring into your eyes with a small smile on his face, one that you return.
In that moment, there’s no mask. No pretense between the two of you. He sees the real you and you see the real him.
And Coryo knows, with everything he has, that the two of you are going to change the world. The two of you are going to become the very future of Panem.
You, his perfect little girl, his sweetheart, his everything, every part of you now being his.
Sweet and vicious.
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