#nat's1klibrary

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

And I’ll Do Anything That You Say (If You Say It With Your Hands) (+18)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut-- emotional sex, dirty talk, unprotective sex, oral (female receiving), use of good girl. Angst with a Happy Ending, an unhealthy amount of Taylor Swift references, post Maeve

Summary: Spencer and Reader are forced to share a room, but can't resist falling into old patterns, even though it's dangerous and just might break them.

Category: Angsty Smut with a Happy Ending (NO MINORS)

Word Count: 6.4 K

Cards Chosen: Library (Season 10), Revolver (Requited/Unrequited Love), Hotch (One Is Never Enough)

Author's Note: Nat!! OMG!! Words really don't do you justice. You are an amazing person through and through. I love interacting with you on here. You make my day so much better. Love you to the moon and to Saturn forever and always @reidslibrarybook. And a very big thank you to @sleepyspencer & @spencerslibrary for being a beautiful betas <3

And I’ll Do Anything That You Say (If You Say It With Your Hands)

You couldn’t be anything but enamored with him. Even though you shouldn’t be anymore.

Enchanted by his integrity, the way he always does the right thing. Captivated by his soft brown eyes, you never thought that eyes could be kind before you met Spencer. Swept away by his intelligence, how just being around him made you feel smarter than you could ever dream.

You don’t dream of him whispering sweet promises in your ear or holding hands in the grocery line. You don’t dream of making the miserable magical, you can only think of the heartbreak, the pain, the annihilation that he would scar you. If you let yourself slip, if you let him carry you away on a white horse, you’d never come back the same.

So, as long as you don’t cross that invisible line, you’re in the clear. You’ll love him from afar. From a distance where you can’t get hurt. But, in the same token, is loving him from afar loving him at all?

All that separates you is the floor between your two beds. Maybe if you concentrate you’d be able to hear his breathing. You know you can’t sleep and neither can Spencer. His ghostly form, covered in the cheap motel sheets doesn’t move, but you’ve slept in enough motels with him only ten feet away to know when he’s not sleeping.

“Spence,” you whisper, hushed tones in the dark.

“Y/N,” he whispers back. You shouldn’t like the way your name sounds on his lips, how inviting and warm and natural it sounds coming from him.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, your hollow, tired voice echoing in the motel room. Spencer’s bed creaks as he turns to face you. The moonlight dips into the room, making his face glow. His eyes, trained on you, are a blaze of fire, “I can never sleep without…”

“Neither can I,” he finishes, knowing all too well what you were going to say because he feels it too.

The silence in the motel room has never been so loud. You lay on your respective beds, just ten feet apart. Neither of you dare to be the first to make the move, even though you desperately want to. Scratch that, need too.

You’ll betray yourself millions of times if it means he’ll hold you like he could love you one. For now, you’ll cling to the possibility, even if it makes you a traitor, even if it will, one day, be your downfall. All because the falling is too good to resist. Spencer Reid, and his warm brown eyes and his soft smile and sweet dispositions, will be your downfall.

Surprisingly, Spencer is the one to get out of bed. For a second, you let yourself think that he’s pulled to you just as you are pulled to him. He turns down the covers, slipping into the cool sheets. Spencer’s hair is messy from nearly two hours of tossing and turning before you both give into the rush of being close. You like it like that. It looks like you’ve run your hands through it. You love feeling his soft curls in the palm of your hand and wish it wouldn’t kill you to feel it again.

“How long have you not been sleeping?” you whisper, involuntarily opening your arms for Spencer to fold himself into. His face is inches from yours, laying there on the same pillow. You have to keep the distance between you two. You can lay here as long as your lips don’t touch. As long as there’s that uncharted territory you don’t succumb to.

“A really long time,” he answers, the no man’s land between your lips and Spencer’s lips growing shorter and shorter and you breath in and out.

“Ever since that night,” Spencer clarifies, his arms pulling you close so your front is flush against his. You’re reminded of that night when you slept alone in the cold bed feeling empty and hollow. The nights, as it turned out, were the hardest to get over. In a strange way, you are comforted by knowing that Spencer missed you in the same way that you missed him. How you missed falling asleep to the steady sound of his breathing, how you craved the weight of his arms, and how you longed to wake up to his head buried in your neck.

“Me too,” you reveal, feeling like you’re spilling your darkest secrets to the one person who you shouldn’t be, “I miss you. I miss us,”

You should be wary, wary of the haunted, desired look he gives you. You shouldn’t let yourself get lost in the daydream and the promise of a sequel. It would be smart to turn away, to run away from the hungry desire that gnaws at your heart. But he’s quicksand, one look and he’s swallowing you whole. One look and you can see yourself so clearly twisted in bedsheets.

“I never stopped missing you,” he whispers, his hands moving from your upper half to ghost up your arms. His thumb, the calloused skin rough, brushes your hair out of your eyes, “I’ll always love you, even if it kills me,”

“Love shouldn’t hurt,” you tell him, speaking to yourself more than to Spencer. You both need to hear it again and again until the world loses all semblances of meaning. You’ll say it so often until it becomes a watered down, diluted mixture of sounds and syllables. Meaningless and empty.

Someone so beautiful shouldn’t be this dangerous.

“Not being able to love you hurts more than loving you,” Spencer says. You close your eyes as his thumb grazes your eyelids. You hold your breath, but you can still smell his ivory soap and peppermint shampoo. You close your eyes, but you can still see him smiling in your mind’s eye. You try to resist, but you give in, knowing he’ll forever be the one you want.

There’s a time for words. Not now though, now is for doing. Now is for reaching out across No Man’s Land even though it’s reckless and dangerous. Now is for looking danger in the eye and trudging forward even though you’ll end up scarred. You can’t decide if getting swept away is a choice, but the sound of his voice ricochets around the room. You cling to the hope that the spark hasn’t died out yet. And that passion and love and desire are strong enough to keep it aflame for even one more night.

Spencer’s hand puts the tiniest bit of pressure against the back of your head. He’s letting you decide if this is what you actually want or if you are both letting yourselves get swept up in the intensity of being so close after holding each other at arm's length for so long. It’s the kind of love that’s stubborn like grease on a stovetop. No amount of friction could keep you away from him.

You’re kissing him again. Kissing the man you never imagined you would have a last kiss with. Kissing Spencer again after the eight month drought is picking up where you left off. His teeth nibble at your bottom lip, tugging as he kisses away the numb tingle. You sigh into his embrace, feeling for the first time in a very long time completely at peace. You fall back into the familiar rhythm. Just two souls searching for something to fill their empty hearts.

You wonder that, when this ends, if it ends, will you be left with the saccharine artificial taste of regret? Will your heart still ache for him even though his kisses fade and the sweet nothings whispered where as paper thin? Despite it all, despite every fiber in your being screaming at you to stop while you are at it, you don’t.

You kiss him back with enough fervor and intensity to match him. Grabbing at the bottom of his thermal sleeping shirt, you pull it up over his head, making a mess of his perpetually messy hair. He’s agreeable, letting you peel off his shirt. He turns on the mattress so his arms hover over you like a protective shield. Together, you form a delicate bubble. It’s so fragile that you know any sudden movement will pop it. Sending the once strong shield to the ground. But in the bubble, your defenses are down. All you are is skin and bone, fated to fall apart.

“Oh, god,” Spencer groans, his hands sliding down to your shirt, “I fucking missed this,” he curses, his lips, soft and pliant move across yours as he talks. You can taste his minty toothpaste, how sweet and cool it is. It’s familiar in an eerie way. You’re reminded just how easy it is to fall into old habits.

His hands, as the claw at the hem of your shirt, are cold against your skin. Spencer’s hands are always freezing, you remember warming them up in between him back when touching him was as natural as breathing. It still is, but at what cost.

“Spence,” you cry out, begging him with just his name to do something, anything. You rest on your elbows, letting him take your shirt off so you’re both left in only bottoms, “Spencer,” you plead, chasing the minty sweetness from his lips. Panting, you lean back against the headboard, hoping that the walls aren’t as thin as other cheap motels.

The moonlight drips in from the slits in the blinds. You let out bated breath, internally trying to calm yourself down as Spencer’s hands graze up your arm till he reaches your face. He holds your face in his palm as gently as he did all those year ago. You stare at each other, eye to eye. And even though he’s so close, his face, his unfortunately beautiful face, grows out of focus. You’re sure it’s because you’re dizzy from the anticipation of having him again.

“Shhh,” Spencer says, his voice wavering as he whispers, “I still think about you,”

And with that, Spencer’s fingers leave your chin, tingling down as he drags them down your chest. His touch brings forth everything pleasurable in this world. You’re back to the old games again; the games that left you empty and alone. But there’s that little voice in your head telling you Spencer’s worth it.

The voice, however, goes silent as his nimble hands drag down your pajama pants. His eyes, always so kind and shy, meet yours as he continues to undress you. You aren’t a reckless person. You don’t do silly things that you’ll regret in the morning. You’re a don’t-drink-on-Sundays kind of person.

And yet, you knot your hands in Spencer’s hair, satisfied with yourself when he moans as you tug. The one thing that’s good about hooking up with your ex, is knowing what he likes. You bottoms bunch at your feet so you kick them off, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Spencer, who’s grown quiet, places his hands on your hips, letting his cold hands rest against your flushed skin.

His fingers brush over your underwear that grows damp at his steady attention and tiny touches. Spencer’s hand, wrapping around your upper thigh, holds you still as he toys with you. You close your eyes, breathing in shakily, and let the pleasure from Spencer’s knowing fingers engulf your body. He presses kisses into the soft skin of your thighs. You aren’t sure if his kisses are new promises or old apologies. Do they mean something or is he just doing this because he knows you like it?

Oh how you wish it could be different. But it has to be this way. There’s nothing you can do about it. He’s your Achilles Heel. You’re fated to love him forever, he’s fated to love someone else. So much for the fall, for the rush of being someone’s someone.

“Still so responsive,” Spencer remarks, his fingers dancing across your hips. Sometimes you envied his memory. You were jealous that he could remember all the good times you made together. You wish you could commit the way his eyebrows knit together when he concentrates or his zealous excitement at sharing the world’s secrets with you. There was nothing sweeter than being his, “Just like I remember,”

“Spencer.” All you can manage is his name, but you say it like a prayer. You cling to the sounds of his name. Hold on to the syllables that form his name. You thread your fingers through his hair, marveling at the sight before you.

He pulls down your underwear, tugging at the elastic waistband. You’re bare to him, completely naked compared to his pajama bottoms. Spencer takes his time, his fingers darting back up your legs and his eyes lowering past your chest and stomach. His lips lower to your stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses all the way down. His breathing has gone labored. Maybe he’s anticipating it as well; wanting to hold back for so long because he knows it will be over much sooner than he’d like. You cling on to the hopeful thinking, wanting to be a beautiful fool over a wise soothsayer.

“You really are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Spencer whispers, saying exactly the words you always wanted him to hear. He says the words that you don’t want to hear from anyone else. Together, you’ve seen colors that no one else can see. He’s taken you to places that you’ll never dare to venture alone. And now, gone are the romantic picnics and fancy hotels. You’ve traded them in for longing looks and scratchy sheets.

He lowers his lips to your inner thighs. Spencer’s wild curls tickle your sensitive skin. It’s not the time for laughter, so you hold it in as it threatens to slip from your lips. Spencer nips at your skin, leaving marks there when you wake. The marks on your skin may fade, but he’s mark on your heart is etched into your soul. He’ll take the leftovers, store them in his pocket. He’s taken a piece of you and left the rest to heal and grow without him to watch.

“Holy fuck,” you plead, remembering just how good at this he is, “Spencer, fuck. Please,” you whimper, tugging on his hair to give him a sign to continue. You try to control your voice, knowing very well that a teammate could be next door, “I need it,” you whine, covering your face with your arm. You’re vulnerable like this, letting yourself get swept up in pleasure at Spencer’s hands. It was also a dangerous game with him, yet it’s something you’ve both loved at one point or another.

You have to stop talking before those three little words slip out. Those words, the only words that should be off limits, are the ones you want to say. Heartbeats in Morse Code, kisses in Sign Language, and touches in Braille. You can still translate it, even after all the time that’s past. You know you’ll always be able to read the language of Spencer’s kisses because at one point you would have sworn they were for you to decipher.

He dips a finger in, his hands holding you still, not letting you move from his grasp. Spencer brings his glistening finger to his mouth, letting his calloused fingertip brush against his plump lips. You always loved kissing his lips, biting them and watching him squirm at the sensation. He moans as he sucks on his finger, turned on by the memories of you as he tastes you on his finger. Spurred on by his pleasure, you grip his hair, tugging on his curls as he brings his mouth to your bare inner thighs.

“You always tasted like Heaven,” Spencer whispers, his lips hitting the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he speaks.

“That’s scientifically impossible,” you reply, pushing his messy hair from his forehead. He might say you taste like Heaven but where he brings you in nothing but sin, “You should know that Doctor Reid,” you add, daring to poke him. But you taste like Heaven to him and look like sin so you should be able to get away with it unscathed.

“Watch it,” Spencer mumbles, kissing your legs as his fingers rub slow circles around your clit. You bite your lip, holding in the reactions to his ministrations. You feel yourself grow more and more wet as Spencer continues to pay attention to you, “I’ve got you,” he assures, as his talented fingers continue to untie your sanity. You never imagined you’d be doing this again with Spencer. Not after the burning red heartbreak he put you through.

His other hand crawls up your torso and his nimble fingers latch on to your nipple. His cold hands send shockwaves of pleasure, making you arch your back in response. As you do, Spencer takes the opportunity to hoist himself up so your faces are inches apart. Your lips are so close that it could be considered kissing. You miss kissing him; you miss feeling his heartbeat against your chest and his cold hands tightly holding you face as he practically devours you. If there’s one thing you can confidently say about Spencer, it’s that he gives everything his all. And kiss is no expectation.

So when his face eclipses the little moonlight the drips in between the slots from the blinds, you know that he will be your downfall. You knew he was trouble from the moment you saw him shooting off that film canister in the bullpen. Yet, all those kisses since then could not have prepared you for how Spencer’s hands grip the side of your face. He used to hold you like if he was too forceful you’d shatter. But now, he holds you so tightly as if you’d fall apart without the glue of his grip keeping you together. You figure that he’s already broken you once. Shattered you into fractured pieces of memories and promises. So if he doesn’t hold you tight enough you’ll break again into those millions of pieces.

He kisses you with the intensity that he should have fought for your heart with. Your hearing is impeded by his hands covering your ears, so all you can hear is the warbled tones of Spencer’s groans and your whimpers as his lips glide over yours. His breath is hot against yours. The minty taste of the toothpaste and his unyielding lips leave you stunned. Spencer, despite his cool and collected reserve, isn’t as impenetrable as he thinks. Just as he knows what makes you tick, you know what makes him tick.

His body covers yours and his lips bite yours swollen and puffy. Your hands travel from his back, leaving scratches in your wake to his hair. You tug and pull his hair, encouraging him to kiss you deeper, rougher, hungrier.

“I want to taste you again,” Spencer says, his voice haunty with self satisfaction as his eyes run down your front looking at the marks left from his affections, “I need to,” he says, the pleading sparking something about your being. You give in to him, letting go of his hair and watching as he kisses down your torso and legs.

“Sit on my face,” Spencer says, the words tumbling from his lips before he can shy away from what he truly wants, “Please,” he adds, the tone of pleading back in his voice. Tapping his cheek sarcastically, you think you just might give into him.

He’s made you crumble tonight, why not watch him fall too.

Spencer scoots up on the bed, giving you the space to move so you’re straddling his waist. Encouraged by his prematurely blissed out expression, you grind down on his erection, satisfied with the disgruntled moans of pleasure that he lets out. His hands cling to your waist, holding you still from your movements. Spencer’s eyes, darting around in the dark hotel room, look for yours.

“You better stop, if you want to continue,” he warns, loosening his grip on your waist in a sign to get you closer to his face.

“Yes, sir,” you tease, poking fun at the way he’s writing under your touch with the title. He smirks, proud of himself, despite the inevitable burn that will come tomorrow.

With either of your thighs on the side of his head, you lower yourself to his waiting mouth. Spencer’s tongue presses up against your folds, daring to break through as he eagerly starts kissing your skin. Gripping his hair, you’ve given yourself permission to let go. You’ve allowed yourself, for the night, to give into the temptation that Spencer is.

He teases, darting his tongue around your entrance. You can feel his smile grow as you squirm above him. Gripping on to his hair, you use him as a handle, much to his pleasure your tugs grow rougher and rougher. He matches your grip with his hands. They dig into the soft skin of your upper thighs. No doubt there will be bruises left on your skin to remember him by. Yet again, all you’re left with is bruises and marks fated to fade. Bruises and kisses can only linger for so long.

Spencer’s pleasure, evident by his wild moans and quicker licks, grows rapidly. You reach back and slip your hand under the waistband of his pants. He groans into your skin, his hot breath vibrating through you stimulating and tickling your clit. He continues to lick, focused intently on driving you wild. You drag your thumb up his tip, watching the way his veiny hands grip at your thighs.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, Spence,” you cry out, running your hand up and down his cock lazyily as he grows more and more frantic. His moans fill the room, muffled by your thighs and causing vibrations to shoot up to your center, “I’m going to cum, baby. You did such a good job for me, all for me,” you reassure him, as you come undone over his eager mouth. He continues to lap up your release, licking and kissing your sensitive folds.

You slide off him, your legs shaking and unsteady from your orgasm. Spencer wipes his face with the back of his hand, looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes are like headlights in the dark room. They are lights flashing a sign of warning before a tragic collision. But you’re too far into the crash to care about the fallout. So you kiss him. You kiss him so he’ll remember you long after you’re back in Quantico pretending that this night never happened.

“Let me fuck you,” Spencer says, confirming that you want to continue as much as he does. He slides up so he rests against the headboard, “Let me fuck you so you’ll always feel me. You’ll feel me when you let some pathetic excuse of a man fuck you,” he whispers, his voice deep and heated in your ear. You want to do nothing but comply. His hands draw you in. They’ve always drawn you in. Spencer’s filthy words replay in your head. Is it true jealousy or is it just part of the allure? You wonder if it’s him wanting you back or him fucking with you one last time?

“Please,” you call out, crawling up to sit in his lap. His pants are kicked down, laying forgotten on the bed. You’re skin to skin. You can feel him blush deep red as your fingers dance across his face. He’s beautiful like this, but tragic. Maybe that’s why you were drawn to him. You’ve always loved beautiful, tragic things, “Please fuck me, Spencer,” you insist, kissing his neck, leaving marks of your own.

“Has anyone fucked you since I’ve had you?” he asks, the patronizing tone shouldn’t have the effect on you that it does. It washes over you, threatens to rip away at your sensibility and overrun your sanity. Spencer’s dark eyes, blown out in pleasure, are dangerously beautiful. He’s always walked the line of dangerously beautiful. If love shouldn’t hurt then why do you crave the sting that his kisses leave?

“No,” you tell him, honestly, despite the humiliation that comes. He knows that you’re not over him and yet he’s going to leave you wondering if he’s still hung up on you, “No one would compare,” you tell him, hoping it’s the right answer to convince him to do something.

“Is that right?” Spencer coos, his voice oozing with pride and lust, he kisses your temple, his hands cling to your back, “You’re a smart girl, Y/N. You know that only I can make you feel like this,”

He’s right. Never did you feel the deep, burning passion for someone. Never did you feel so strongly for someone until Spencer. Not with your college hookups or early twenties relationships did you ever want someone as much as you wanted Spencer. He’s quicksand, he’s dangerous, and yet you find yourself clawing out from the wreckage seeking his soft lips and kind brown eyes.

“Only you,” you choke out, as Spencer’s fingers find your clit once again. He grinds up into your, letting your soaking folds meet his painfully hard cock. You hold in the moans that want to escape, knowing well that you’ll wake up your neighbors if you don’t. You would think that Spencer is magic from the way his fingers and lips find the parts of you that need him the most. But magic doesn't exist. It’s not magic that drives him to the places that you yearn for his touches, it’s not love either. It’s passion and desire. He has the map to you; the very map that he shred to pieces years earlier.

“That’s right, baby,” Spencer teases, lining up against your entrance as he kisses all over your chest. Your breasts fall in front of his face, nearly distracting him from what he’s saying, “I’m going to fill you up so good, sweetheart,”

You sink down on his cock, sighing as you relish in the way he fills you up. His hands cling to your hips, keeping you in place, like you’d even dare to move. Your mouth opens as you feel the burning sensation of him inside you. Spencer’s index finger draws along the curve of your upper lip, marveling as you whimper as the tiniest of touches. You want to move, to see if he can get deeper inside you, but you don’t dare to do anything with his permission first. His steady breathing, his finger against your lip and his eyes trained on yours has your flushing with anticipation.

“Oh sweetheart, I missed this,” Spencer coos, kissing the sides of your jaw messily. You smile at his praise, loving the feeling of making him feel good as you try to focus on steading your breath, “I miss you, Y/N,”

“I miss you too, Spence,” you say, the words tumbling out as you plant a kiss against his lips, hushing the words he was about to say, “I need more,” you beg, hoping to convince him to move. You know he can feel your walls grip around him, needing something more than the stillness he offers.

“Be patient, good girls are patient,” Spencer chides, kissing your forehead and over your eyelids. He can smother you in his kisses if you’d have it your way. Death by a thousand kisses; cuts patched up by healing pecks.

You start to roll your hips, hellbent on reliving the burning pleasure that blazes through your core. Spencer, though on his last defense of resistance, grips your hips, halting any attempt at seeking your release.

“Be a good girl,” he whispers, remind you of your place, “Be my good girl, Y/N,”

“Yes,” you say, eager to follow his demands. You take his hand in your hand, inspecting it. His veins start near where his wrist meets the back of his hand. It takes over the whole expanse of his skin, coloring parts of his skin a blueish green. The veins lead into his slender, long fingers. You’ve hand them lost in your hair and on nearly every inch of your body at some point— and still it’s not enough. He is a perfectly crafted balance of delicate and strong. You kiss the back of his hand, teeth grazing against his prominent vein, feeling the life course through his hands. Turning his hand over, you left wet kisses across his palm. You can feel him twitch inside you, as he watches you pepper kisses on his hands in an act that resembles worship.

“I’ve hardly moved,” he says, referencing your labored breathing and blown out pupils, “looks like I can still make you fall apart,” his fingers sneak up to your face. His cool touch is the cure to your flushed, heated skin.

You never doubted that he could make you fall apart. The real question is if he could — would put you back together. You want to have faith in him, even if it’s a faithless fate. You want to love him again, even if it will kill you.

“I need more, Spence,” you beg, not caring that you sound desperate in his arms, “Please fuck me,” you plead, hoping to appeal to the side of him that you know can never resist your charms. Especially as you kiss along his jawline, whimpering into his ear.

“You’re so fucking cute like this,” Spencer says, brushing his hands over your hair as he thrusts up into you. His hands grip your hips, spurring you on as you begin to move on his cock, “Come on, Y/N. You’re so insatiable. I know one is never enough for you,”

His lips seek yours, hungry to feel you against him. Spencer groans, feeling you tighten around him. He holds you to his chest, his grip digging into your skin as he grinds his teeth.

He kisses you again, his lips seeking the contact after just moments apart. His quiet whimpers and fingers against your face make you a traitor against your own will. You feel yourself melt away as his feverish kisses become more erratic. You can feel the tense build in your chest and it threatens to spill over.

“I love you,” Spencer whispers, so quietly you’re sure you’ve missed it. You kiss him, or rather, smother him with your lips.

“I love you,” you say in return. Not because it’s what you say after someone says they love you. You can’t even count how many times you’ve said it. To your college roommates as they run out the door to their terrible paying jobs, to your mother from the fire escape as she gets in the taxi after visiting, to your cat as you dash out the door when whisked away on a case. It’s such a simple three words. Simple, but heavy.

With an equally heavy breath, you whisper it again in Spencer’s ears.

“I love you, Spencer,”

He is so close you can stretch your lips so only a little bit and is flushed chest. You can feel in suck in a breath as you kiss his skin. Your touch, not foreign to him, but charged this time.

“I never stopped loving you,” Spencer says, his words hanging in the air as they drip from his lips, “And I’ll never stop,”

His hands return to your face, holding you gently. You’re still consumed by the weight of his confession, by the promise of being his again. The fears of falling into old paths and hurting each other again rests in the back of your mind as Spencer’s delicate fingers run across your face. His fingertips leave evidence of his love on your skin and you never want to wash it away.

Together, you’ll dance across the dangerous slope. And though it might make you a traitor, with Spencer by your side it might just be worth the risk.

“You feel so good, so good, Spencer,” you cry out, stunned by how deep inside you he reaches. The headboard bangs against the wall, disturbing your unlucky neighbors, “I feel so full,” you tell him, making his thrusts grow faster and more intense at the praise.

He kisses your cheeks, losing himself for a moment. Forgetting that things like that don’t happen during hook-ups. He kisses like he’s making promises. You can get dizzy off the way his lips mesh with yours and the way his hands hold your face. His slender fingers slide down your jawline and his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. Spencer tugs on your lip, smiling as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock. He closes his eyes, moaning.

“I know,” Spencer says, still holding your face, “I know it’s good, sweetheart. You were always so good for me,” his voice strained. Exhausted from your first orgasm, you feel yourself grow more tired. Spencer must notice because his hands leave your face and hover over your back.

Gently, he pushes your back so your chest is flush against his. Overwhelmed by his thrusting, you lean forward, resting your forehead against his sweaty chest. He heaves as he breaths, hellbent on chasing both your climaxes. His words stick to your skin as the room burns down around you. You sway in the dark with your arms wrapped around Spencer’s torso and your legs around his waist. Crying out in pleasure, Spencer’s lips cover your mouth, quieting you effectively.

“Spencer,” you cry out, stopping at his name because you know you won’t be able to stop the rest of the words that follow, “I love you,” you say, his name and those three little words synonymous on your lips.

“Spencer, I’m gonna- I’m gonna come,” you cry out, your voice hoarse from trying to keep quiet.

“You want to come on my cock?” Spencer asks, his thrusts growing sloppy and unmeasured as he nears his release too, “You’re such a good girl, Y/N. My good girl,” he adds, kissing the side of your head as he draws shapes on your back.

“Yes, please, Spencer,” you shout, not caring that your voice carries throughout the room and down the hallway, “A-anything, fuck, Spence,” you cry, pleading for Spencer to allow for your release. He’s usually lenient, or rather, you’re his weak spot.

“Okay, sweet girl,” he says, kissing your face as he relents, “you can come, but right after you let me fill you up,” he tells you, his words making your body rage with an inextinguishable fire. His fingertip kisses burn your skin.

“Oh my god,” you cry out, carried away by Spencer’s continued ministrations on your clit as he comes undone, “Please fill me up, Spencer. Please I need it, I need you,”

He comes undone, his thrusting growing sloppy and his vocal whimpers ricocheting in your ears. All through his release, Spencer continues to rub circles on your clit, encouraging your shy whines and needy moans. He smiles at your desperation as he acts on his promise.

“Can you take it, Y/N? Be a good girl and take my cum. Just like that. I love you, Y/N. I love you,” he cries, his lips finding yours as he kisses you again, “You can come now, Y/N. Such a good girl for me,” he says, kissing you in encouragement. His words and lips are enough to help you reach your climax.

It’s never like how it’s described in those bodice rippers you hid in between your mattress in college. You don’t see a big white light and there’s no moment of clarity. His teeth clash against yours as his thrusts slow, your release evident on your thighs. You’re still sensitive when he tries to pull out. You hiss at the sensation of him leaving you. Spencer, still drunk off the high of doing this again, kisses your collarbone as he calms down.

He lays next to you breathing unsteadily as he comes down from his high. Spencer’s hands snake around your body, searching for your warmth and acknowledgement that the words spilled were just as heavy as they seem. Shyly, contrasting his words and actions just moments before, Spencer moves his head to rest against your bare shoulder. His hair tickles your neck and you know you’ll get numb from the weight of his head against your arm.

“Do you think we get second chances in life?” Spencer asks, his voice wavering as he mumbles in the dark, “I mean I don’t think I deserve a second chance, because of everything that’s happened…”

“We both hurt each other,” you say, taking part of the blame, that is rightfully yours to carry, “We both did things we regret. But what’s important, Spence is that we came back to each other,” you promise, kissing his hand that rests on your stomach. You lace your fingers in his squeezing as you continue to kiss the scars and marks on his beautiful hands.

“I don’t want to hurt you again. Ever,” Spencer whispers, “I love you, but does me loving you hurt you?” he asks, his reservations bubbling to the surface as a stream of tears run down his face.

“Spence, there isn’t a rulebook for this. I don’t have the answers for what to do when a good man hurts me and I hurt him too. There’s no answer, baby,” you tell him, wiping away the tears from his face as they collect on your skin, “But here’s the thing, you’re worth the risk,”

“I’m going to love you,” Spencer says, “I’m going to love you for a lifetime and then some,” he tells him, twisting his body so your legs and arms are tangled up in the sheets, “It’s just, after Maeve, I didn’t think I deserved to be happy. I thought that I had all the happiness I was allowed. I thought that I was done,”

“You’ve got enough love to share, Spence,” you say, hoping his heart is big enough for you, even know with the wounds that you both wear, “It’s big enough for both of us,”

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, sitting up to pick his long discarded shirt from the bed.

“I know,” you say, kissing his forehead as your heartbeats mesh into a single beat.

You’re not a faithful woman, but somehow, you do believe in Spencer’s promises, “And you’re worth it in the end, Spence,”

“I love you,” Spencer says, repeating the word as he did before till it loses all meaning, “I love you,” he says, as sleep, for the first time in a very long time, takes the reins of both of you.

His deep breathing and steady heartbeat is the lullaby that you’ve dreamt of. It’s worth the risk if you’ll wake up in his arms tomorrow morning with more than the lingering kisses to remember him by.

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[everyonesfavoritepipecleaner]

Cocktails and Confessions

Summary: a night out with the ladies of the BAU leads to more than one spilled secret

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Genre: fluff (shocker, I know)

Content Warning: alcohol/drinking - think that's it but please let me know if I missed anything

A/N: this is for @reidslibrarybook's 1k celebration!! Congrats Nat, I had so much fun writing for this 🥰

Cards: Kitchen (Season 5), Gold Pen (Drunken Confession), Alvez (Prompt 5: "There's no way that's happening, absolutely not.")

“Another, another!” Penelope chants as she slides the shot glass in front of you. You eye her warily and she piles on, “Come on, last one of the night!”

“You guys are the worst influences I’ve ever met,” you laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling up in the way they only do when you’re truly happy. JJ counts to three as you tap your glasses on the table before knocking them back and grimacing at the burn of the alcohol.

“Hey, with everything we see at work we have to let loose somehow!” Emily says with a wild grin.

You hum in agreement. In the six months you’ve been with the BAU you’ve dealt with some of the most grueling cases of your career. It takes a toll at times, emotionally and physically, but it’s worth it to know you’re doing your part in bringing some of the worst people in the world to justice. And while you couldn’t have asked for a better team to work with, sometimes you still feel like a bit of an outsider. It’s clear they’ve forged strong bonds with one another throughout their years of working together, but nights like these make you remember how openly they’ve welcomed you into their chosen family.

Penelope nudges your shoulder, shaking you from your thoughts, “Y/N, don’t look now, but that gorgeous specimen of a man over there has been making eyes at you all night.”

You cast a cautious glance toward the bar. He’s the textbook definition of handsome with his strong jawline and steely blue eyes, blonde hair perfectly coiffed. You give him a polite smile when he sees you looking his way before turning back to the table.

“Objectively, yes, very hot. Not really my type though,” you remark, raising your eyebrows and taking a sip of your drink.

“Not your type?! If that’s not your type, what is?” Penelope asks, wide-eyed.

“Seriously! I would be all over that if it weren’t for Will,” JJ interjects, her giggles devolving into a fit of hiccups.

You give a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know,” you start, unsuccessful in stopping your mind from drifting to thoughts of Spencer. “I guess someone who’s always there for me, who will put aside what they’re doing to hear about my day. Caring, tender, smart… maybe a little nerdy. Looks don’t matter as much, although I’m definitely more into brunettes. Bonus points for curly hair. Oh! And if it’s a bit longer too—so I can tug on it. Grab a fistful of his hair, pull his head back, kiss his neck—“ you cut yourself off, the alcohol coursing through your veins causing your mouth to run wild alongside your thoughts.

“So… Reid.” Emily smiles devilishly.

“What? No,” you say a bit too quickly.

“Oh my god! You totally like him!” Penelope squeals, practically bouncing out of her seat with excitement. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god! You two would be the cutest couple! Em, Jayje, we have to make this happen.”

“Penelope, no! There’s no way that’s happening, absolutely not,” you beg. “He’s just a friend, not to mention my coworker. I’m sure he doesn’t think of me that way!”

At this, JJ lets out a small gasp.

“What?” Emily whips toward her.

“Nothing!”

“Oh my god, you know something! That is not a ‘nothing’ face,” Penelope chimes in, scrutinizing JJ’s features. You stare intently too, your interest officially piqued.

“Spencer has a crush on Y/N!” She rushes, eyes wide as she claps a hand over her mouth after the words escape.

“He… he does?” You ask, heart fluttering in your chest.

Emily lets out an exaggerated groan, “Oh my god, of course he does! How did I not see it before?! It’s so obvious!”

“Em, now is not the time to be lamenting your profiling skills—we need details!” Penelope exclaims, emphasizing the syllables of her last words with four quick taps of her palm on the table.

“JJ,” your heartbeat hammers in your ears, “I need you to tell me exactly how you know this. Did he tell you?”

“Yeah… It was that night after the two of you babysat Henry together. You had just left, and he couldn’t stop talking to me and Will about how great you were with him. At one point it just kind of slipped out. He said something like ‘that’s why I like her so much, she’s sweet and considerate and so beautiful too—” her words are cut short by another hiccup, “He didn’t even realize he had said it at first. But as soon as he did he made us promise not to tell you.”

“That was like, three months ago!” You shriek as you let out the breath you weren’t aware you were holding, head spinning from this sudden influx of information. “JJ, I’ve been pining over him practically since I set foot in the bullpen, and you’re telling me I could have been with him this whole time?”

“Well, what are you waiting for now? You have to go tell him how you feel!” Penelope shouts, waving frantically to catch the bartender’s attention to close out your tabs.

“I’ve got the Uber!” Emily offers, already pulling her phone from her bag.

You walk outside and take a deep breath, the dull warmth of the alcohol starting to fade from your veins, overtaken by a rush of pure adrenaline. This was really happening. You were about to go confess your feelings for Spencer Reid.

The drive to his apartment is filled with you finally spilling the details of your crush to your friends—how he always has extra tins of your favorite tea stashed in his desk, how you love the fact that he teaches you something new every day, how he even lets you win against him in chess every now and then. You clamber out as soon as the car comes to a stop, excited energy thrumming through the cool night air as your feet hit the pavement.

You scan the facade and take in the distilled moments, vignettes of different lives, each window offering a glimpse into a unique story. There’s a couple washing dishes at the sink, a cat perched comfortably in a bedroom taking in the night’s views, and then your eyes land on the telltale soft glow of Spencer’s apartment. His silhouette is reclined in the reading chair by the window, the green tint of his walls visible through the sheer curtains. You find a few small pebbles on the sidewalk and toss them at his window, turning to give an elated smile to the girls cheering you on from the car.

There’s a flurry of movement before Spencer draws back the curtain, the look of annoyance on his face morphing into one of confusion and concern when he sees you. He opens the window and shouts, “Y/N? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Spencer! I like you too!”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“JJ told me everything! And I like you, Spence—a lot! So much so that I have a hard time thinking about anything else when I’m around you.”

“Hold on, I’m coming down,” he calls.

Your heart beats faster with each passing second until he emerges from his building, awash in the dim glow of the streetlights. As he crosses the lawn to you, his eyes dart to the car and take in the sight. Penelope’s face and hands are pressed eagerly against the window, Emily shoots him a drunken grin accompanied with finger guns, JJ gives him a look that’s somehow a cross between apologetic for spilling his secret but ecstatic at the romantic comedy-esque events unfolding before her.

Spencer turns his attention back to you, “Y/N, are you serious? This—this isn’t some joke you guys are playing on me?”

“Spence,” your heart breaks a little at the implication, “Yes, I like you! I’ve liked you ever since that day in the break room when I asked you why you take so much sugar in your coffee and you launched into that whole explanation of how we’re genetically predisposed to like sweet things, and that sugar was widely regarded as medicine in ancient Greece and Rome.” You roll your eyes to feign annoyance, but can’t keep from smiling fondly at the memory.

“You remembered that?” The concerned wrinkle sitting between his brows finally smooths out, the beginnings of a smitten smile playing on his lips.

“Of course I remember! I remember everything we talk about. Well, almost everything. It’s not like I have your eidetic memory, but when it comes to the people I care about, I remember,” you assure him. The truth is that with him, you find it hard to forget. Every time he absent-mindedly swept his hair out of his eyes or accidentally brushed his arm against yours is seared into your mind, the way one’s mind only works when you’re hopelessly in love.

“Can I tell you something?” He asks.

“Always.”

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he says with an intense sincerity, like it’s the only thing he’s capable of thinking at the moment.

“Can I tell you something?” A mischievous grin plays on your face as you take a few steps forward.

“Of course,” he answers, the two of you drawing closer with every breath.

You take his hands in yours and pull him in, “I really want you to kiss me right now.”

A spark ignites, his lips on yours the match that fuels the flame. You’re enveloped in peppermint and the lingering taste of coffee, his hands drifting from their place in yours to cradle your waist. Yours travel to the nape of his neck to pull him ever-closer to you, and what started as a tender kiss grows deeper, his tongue slipping into your mouth to tangle with yours. When you break apart and open your eyes into his, you peer into a world where your lives are intertwined—woven together so seamlessly, it’s a wonder you had ever known a time without the other.

A series of whoops and high-pitched squeals erupt from the still-parked car and you let out an embarrassed laugh, having been too swept up in the moment to remember your teammates were witnesses to the whole ordeal. You watch as Emily leans in to tell the driver something, then gives you a suggestive grin as the car starts to pull away.

“You know, I’ve told them before that I wish they wouldn’t meddle in my personal life,” Spencer remarks sheepishly, “but this time, I have to admit I’m thankful they did.”

“Me too,” you say with a blissful smile.

He tightens his grip on your waist and plants a kiss on the top of your head, and contentment washes over you, knowing that this is just the first of a lifetime of moments together. And with Spencer by your side, you can’t wait to watch your stories unfold.

as always, thanks so much for reading - hope you enjoyed :)

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[unmitigatedsuperiority]

A Not-So Claustrophobic Christmas

Summary: What happens when two FBI agents get stuck in Quantico on Christmas day? Deep conversations, new Christmas traditions, and perhaps an appreciation for the faulty mechanics of elevators.

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Spencer Reid

Word count: 7.1k

Category: Hurt/comfort

Rating: T

Warnings: Talks of PTSD and trauma, Referenced drug use, Referenced torture, Referenced homophobia and Catholic guilt, Confined spaces

Read it on Ao3

Cards (Prompts): Fountain (Season 13-14), Medal (Trapped Together), Morgan (Prompt 1: "I didn't think you had that in you.")

This fic is for @reidslibrarybook's 1k celebration! Congrats, Nat!

-

Spencer Reid knew two things: he didn’t have any Christmas traditions, and he wasn’t afraid of elevators.

See, when the team got the call that they’d have to spend their Christmas working a case, no one was particularly overjoyed. But Spencer, who had never really done much for the holiday anyway, was perfectly content as he rode up in the Quantico elevator to greet his teammates and get to work on the latest case. In his mind, there were little qualms to be had.

In addition to being okay with working on Christmas, Spencer Reid was also perfectly content taking the elevator to the seventh floor, as he did every day. Despite all the facts and statistics in his head about elevator-related deaths (30 per year) and injuries (17,000 per year), he knew, logically, that elevators were quite safe. Knew for a fact that this particular elevator was quite safe; it had been inspected within the last six months, after all. This wasn’t some rickety old thing that he was going to get stuck in. Quantico was a safe place. It was safe here. It was going to be just another day of work, another trip in the elevator. The only difference being the holiday. Statistically, Spencer knew everything was going to happen exactly as expected. Business as usual.

Now, if Spencer had watched any cliché Christmas movie like the many Luke was familiar with, he would’ve known that nothing ever goes according to plan on Christmas.

The day had begun with an intense case. A kidnapping, local. Tension accented every step, every breath. Spencer wasn’t special here; they all knew the reality of the situation. What was at stake. The fact that they didn’t have to travel out of state only meant that they could save those few precious hours for more productive work. Luckily, it only took around half a day before they had a promising lead that resulted in the team rushing out of the building to help on the ground. Even Penelope had left the safety of Quantico. Everyone was scattered around the greater D.C. area while Spencer stayed back to work on the geographical profile. Well, nearly everyone. Luke had also stayed back to help go through all the evidence they had.

Spencer liked Luke; he really did. Despite their lack of closeness, there was an inherent familiarity between them. A sense of comfort. But right now? Spencer couldn’t help but feel as though he was being babysat. Did they really both need to be stuck back at Quantico right now? Luke probably wanted to get this case over with like all his other teammates, anyway. He seemed like the type to have Christmas traditions, regular yearly plans. Spencer looked over at the man plaguing his thoughts and felt a chill run through him at the sight. Feelings of claustrophobia, maybe. He didn’t need someone else distracting him from his work.

“Reid, look at this,” Luke spoke up suddenly, piles of papers strewn in front of him. Spencer got up to the other side of the round table, leaned over to inspect what Luke had found. As the two discussed the discrepancies in location and evidence, a warm magnetism passed through them, pulling each of the agents closer and closer together. As they got into a flow in their own investigation, their shoulders hunched forward over the work in front of them, brushed against each other. At that touch, a spark of an idea made Spencer shoot upright and take out his phone. It just so happened that someone else distracting him from his work was exactly what he needed.

“Hey, Prentiss, we’ve got something,” He greeted as he began to spew facts at Emily on the other line. They’d done it. The breakthrough in the case. Luke unconsciously puffed his chest as the other man excitedly described their revelation. Soon, they’d all be on the ground, saving the victim, arresting the UnSub, and getting back home in time for delayed Christmas celebrations. Luke, for one, couldn’t wait.

Spencer tried to relay as much useful information as he could before Emily was requesting they both meet up with the rest of the team to assist with the case on the ground. As he listened to the address and instructions, he motioned for Luke to come with him, mouthing Let’s go as he did. The pair walked out and towards the exit, Spencer in front and Luke in tow, ready for what lay ahead.

“Okay, Alvez and I are leaving now,” Spencer let Emily know before hanging up and tapping the elevator button a few times in rapid succession. He could hear Luke approach from behind. Years on the fugitive task force allowed him a quiet kind of gracefulness that Spencer could appreciate. A softness around rough edges. He risked a glance at the other agent. Luke was staring up at the elevator with a gentle determination set across his features. Spencer understood the feeling. Before he could dwell on it though, the elevator arrived, opening its doors and welcoming its new occupants into the shiny room. The pair hurried in, and Spencer hit the button for the garage as the doors closed.

“I’ll drive,” Luke spoke, slicing through the tension that came with cases like these. Urgency like this. The steady drop of the elevator did nothing to help.

“Sounds good,” Spencer responded. He thought over everything he’d just gone over in the case. Of the next steps waiting on site. The two watched the numbers tick down as the elevator descended. 7…6…5…4…

Creeeeeeeak.

Well, that couldn’t have been good.

Spencer stilled, listening for the tell-tale sound of the elevator whirring, felt for the sinking motion that came along with descending to the ground level. Nothing. Luke looked around.

“Uh…Reid?” He spoke slowly, carefully, before placing his hands on his hips. “I think we’re stuck.”

Spencer looked around before sighing in agreement. “We are.” Luke nodded, taking in the situation before him.

“So, how long do you think we’ll be in this thing?” Luke inquired, shuffling his feet as he turned toward the other man.

“30 minutes,” Spencer replied without hesitation. Luke huffed a laugh.

“Damn, you really just knew that, huh?”

“Well, that’s the average amount of time most elevator entrapment cases last before help arrives. However, I believe most people are gone for the night and it is a holiday so that may impact things a bit.” Spencer turned toward him as he explained.

“What’s ‘a bit’?” Luke asked.

“A few hours, maybe.”

Luke groaned before leaning back against the cool, metal railing of the elevator carriage. May as well get comfortable if it was going to be a while. He took out his phone to provide an update of the situation.

“Hey, Prentiss, it’s Luke.” He listened to Emily’s quick greeting before describing the predicament at hand. “Yeah, Reid and I are currently stuck in the elevator at Quantico. We’re okay, but it could be a while before we’re out of here.” Spencer looked at him. “I’m going to pass you to Reid so he can update you on the situation,” Luke added, leaning forward to hand Spencer his phone. Spencer took the cell, quickly relaying pertinent information about the case to their unit chief. After he had said all that he needed to, he inquired into the reality at hand.

“Can Garcia do anything?” Spencer put the phone on speaker just in time for Emily’s apologetic words.

“Sorry, guys. She says it’s not a problem she can solve – not for lack of trying, of course.” The two men nodded.

“Yeah,” Spencer sighed, pulling the help lever on the panel in front of him. “It was worth a shot. We’ll wait for help. Well, you know where we’ll be in the meantime. At least we have service.”

“Of course, I’ll text you both updates on the case. Stay safe,” Emily added.

“You, too,” Luke replied as Spencer handed off the phone. He ended the call and pocketed the device, resting his head against the wall, hands gripping the railing behind him. The two stood there for a moment, mentally shaking out all the excess energy they had from the urgent case. Trying to let go of their Plan A.

“The FBI can’t get an elevator working,” Luke laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Guess in case of emergency most people just take the stairs.”

“Not even the federal government is exempt from bureaucratic incompetence,” Spencer joked. Luke harked a deep laugh at that.

“Oh, they invented it,” Luke added, thinking about all the paperwork and red tape he went through last week. Spencer smiled, propelling Luke forward.

“So, tell me,” Luke continued, looking for a way to pass the time. “What else do you know about bureaucratic incompetence?”

* * *

Spencer and Luke had chatted for twenty minutes before the pair lapsed into a semi-comfortable, boring silence. It was another ten minutes before Luke got tired of staring at his phone. He tucked it back in his pocket and risked a glance at Spencer, observed the lanky man settling in on the opposite side of the elevator, legs curved into a crossed position. The books previously in his bag lay in a stack in front of him, having taken no time at all to read through. Now, the genius sat there quite literally twiddling his thumbs. Luke sighed, prompting Spencer to look up. The two grinned at each other in not-quite-awkwardness. Spencer felt that same magnetism he’d felt earlier at the round table in their echoed smiles. That sense of familiarity, he could call it, even though he and Luke weren’t close. There were definitely worse people he could be stuck in an elevator with.

“What were you reading?” Luke motioned toward the pile of books precariously balanced at the opposite corner as he sat down.

“A few studies on obsessive behavior and stalking I had tucked away for the case. That and Slaughterhouse-Five.”

Luke blinked in surprise at the last title. “Vonnegut fan?” Spencer shyly bowed his head.

“Actually, I haven’t read too much of his work. You’d think I would have by now but even I have my limits; I suppose.” Spencer lightly joked. Luke pulled his leg up, resting his arm on his knee.

“What encouraged you to start reading his work?” Luke prodded. Spencer absentmindedly flipped through the book, slim fingers deftly brushing across the pages. It was hypnotic, in a strange way. Luke snapped his gaze back up to his face.

“Honestly, Agent Morgan was a big fan of Vonnegut. He liked to project this big macho persona but secretly he was far more intelligent and capable than most people,” Spencer explained, a wistful look in his eyes. Luke hummed in understanding.

“You miss him.”

“Yeah, I do. I mean…” Spencer searched for the right words. “I still see him sometimes. But he’s at home with a newborn and that kind of cuts into any socializing he does now.”

“I knew I had big shoes to fill,” Luke commented.

“You’re doing just fine.”

Luke smiled at the compliment; Spencer returned it easily. Maybe the next few hours wouldn’t be so bad. Spencer pulled his leg up toward his chin, mirroring Luke’s own pose. If Luke were to peer into the genius’s mind, ever the self-aware one, he might have picked up on the psychology of mirroring others. On what it secretly meant. But Luke couldn’t read minds, and Spencer wouldn’t acknowledge his own feelings any further, instead opting for a simple change in conversation topics.

“So,” he dragged out the syllable, subtly acknowledging the strange feeling in the air before changing the subject, “any fun holiday plans?”

Luke chuckled knowingly. They weren’t getting out of here any time soon. “Not this year with the case, unfortunately. Normally, I spend Christmas with my folks. My ma sure can cook and I do try to help her but I’m just…I’m terrible, man,” he laughs; Spencer chuckles along with him. “She always kicks me out of the kitchen. We have a big dinner and then we watch Titanic. Out of the stellar collection of Christmas movies we have, we always go for Titanic. Don’t ask me how that got started, but it is now firmly a Christmas movie in my mind. It’s tradition.”

Spencer shrugged, trying to ignore the ache in his bones. He’d never had Christmas traditions with his family like that. “If you watch it on Christmas, it’s a Christmas movie.”

“Exactly!” Luke agreed, a beaming smile that warmed Spencer’s insides. “What about you? Any holiday plans?” Spencer looked down.

“Not really. Christmas was never that big of a thing at home.” Luke nodded in understanding, allowing the moment to lapse into silence. Spencer tugged at the lace on his sneakers before speaking again. “I remember…I brought home a Christmas tree one year, because my mom usually forgot. I must have been a sight. Some nine-year-old kid dragging this tiny little tree down the sidewalks of Nevada,” Spencer smiled, before he got this look in his eyes. “My mom, uh…she wouldn’t let me keep it. Said that bringing it in was essentially letting the government spy on us. It, uh,” Spencer cleared his throat. “wasn’t my favorite holiday, to say the least. And now, my mom…” Spencer trailed off. He didn’t have to finish his sentence. Luke knew. More than he probably wanted him to. “I love her so much, but I don’t think I ever grew out of wanting a normal Christmas,” he revealed. Spencer looked back up, concern evident across his face. “Is it selfish? For me to not want to visit her during Christmas?”

In that moment, Spencer wasn’t the confident genius who’d gotten a coveted position at the FBI before most were even qualified. He wasn’t the expert negotiator, talking down UnSubs and solving cases flawlessly. No, at this moment, he looked small. Luke had the urge to wrap him up, keep him safe from the harsh reality of this world, even if that meant protecting him from his own negative beliefs. The care he felt toward Spencer in that moment shocked him, prompting him to hesitate, just for a second before responding. He opened and closed his mouth, took a breath, and then said what was on his mind.

“No, you’re not selfish, Reid. You’re doing what’s best for you, and that’s all anyone can do. You’ve done so much for your mom, and I know she loves you. She really does.” The sincerity of the words stilled Spencer’s fidgeting fingers. Sprouted a look of gratitude and understanding. Luke didn’t wait for a response, instead prodding further.

“How have you been recently? During the holiday season and post-prison and…” Luke gestured. Spencer felt a sharp twist of anxiety in his chest. He shrugged.

“Fine, I guess.” Luke narrowed his eyes. Spencer looked away from the intensity of the gaze, the rawness of the moment.

“Well, I’m here to talk if you want,” Luke suggested, carefully formulating the words so as not to scare him off. He got the feeling that Spencer was shoving everything down and that couldn’t be healthy. Luke knew that firsthand. Spencer didn’t budge as he replied.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said quickly, fiddling with his shoelaces some more. Avoiding eye contact. Hiding. Spencer didn’t want to revisit these things. These painful reminders of all the tragedy in his life. Sympathy bubbled up in Luke’s chest at the sight. He tried again.

“It might help if you—"

“Sorry if I don’t feel up to talking about my PTSD right now, Luke,” Spencer snapped as the terrible feeling burst in his chest at the thought, the conversation now suddenly equipped with a hostile bite. Luke gingerly showed the palms of his hands in a sign of surrender. The gesture immediately softened Spencer, a regretful look in his eyes as he ran a hand down his face. He sighed. Breathed in, out, before speaking. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just…” Spencer vaguely gestured as he tried to search for the right words. He couldn’t find them. “…hard.” Luke nodded at the sentiment before huffing a dry laugh.

“The infamous Dr. Spencer Reid finally rendered speechless,” Luke joked, testing the waters. Spencer cracked a sad smile in return. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Spencer wished he could find the words. It seemed these were the only times he couldn’t.

A quiet settled over the elevator after that. Luke’s fingers itched to take his phone back out just to have something to do but for some reason it felt…wrong. Like the action would ruin what was happening. Whatever was happening. Luke stared at the wall, their legs stretched out on opposite sides of the carriage. Feet just barely not touching. It was a few minutes before Spencer spoke again.

“I’ve gone through it before,” he said, a newfound wary confidence in his voice. Like he needed to get this out, even if it was uncomfortable. The sting of cleaning a wound so it could heal once and for all.

“Prison?” Luke asked incredulously, a furrow in his brow.

“Trauma.” Spencer paused. “…Torture.” Luke frowned. Spencer didn’t look up as he formed the words, kept his eyes trained on a speck on the floor that seemed to have captured his attention. Luke didn’t want to push him. He understood it was easier this way. Spencer cleared his throat, licked his lips, and pushed forward, imperfect words and all.

“When I was 25, I was kidnapped by an UnSub with dissociative identity disorder. Tobias Hankel. He kept me for days, torturing me.”

“Reid, you don’t have to—”

“No,” Spencer stopped him. Determination set in his features. A reflection of the look Luke had while staring up the elevator not too long ago. A stubborn will to go set things right. “It’s okay. Let me do this. I’ve never really talked about it here.” The thought of Spencer keeping this bottled up worried Luke, so he nodded for Spencer to continue, hoping he didn’t push too far. Spencer took another breath.

“The UnSub had three distinct personalities: his abusive father, the archangel Raphael, and himself. I really felt for him. He seemed so scared. The other personalities were keener on inflicting pain. But when Tobias was there, he… he wanted to help me in the only way he knew how.” Spencer tugged at his laces, grounded himself in the feeling of the braided thread. He was safe here. He risked a glance at Luke and felt the knot in his chest ease up at the concern evident on his face. Spencer swallowed thickly before continuing. “He drugged me. With dilaudid. I tried to refuse it at first but after the first few times…I was begging for more.” Luke remained silent, so Spencer continued.

“When it was all over—when the team got there, I shot Hankel, it was all…over—I stole vials of dilaudid off his dead body.” Spencer looked up at the ceiling, blinking back the vulnerable emotions buried deep, threatening to spill forth into the suddenly cold, confined space. “God, you must think I’m pathetic.”

“No, Spencer. I think you’re brave.” Luke leaned forward. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. No one deserves that.” Spencer shrugged.

“It made me stronger.”

“It shouldn’t have had to.” Spencer let his hair fall into his eyes as he kept pulling the laces on his shoes.

“I just feel like that was the beginning of the end. Like I’m…stained now. Everything I’ve been through. My mom, prison, everything. I’m reminded of what went down back in that barn every time I feel a craving. I’ll always be a drug addict. It’s who I am.”

“It’s not who you are,” Luke offered. Spencer gave him a look. “Okay, it’s a part of you, but that’s not what makes you you.” Spencer scoffed at Luke’s justification.

“I’m serious, Spencer,” Luke continued. “You’re incredibly intelligent, and not just in a child genius way; you’ve acquired more and more knowledge over the years and have been able to form new connections that anyone else would struggle with. You’re kind, so kind. Even after all you’ve been through you still have that humanity in you. That empathy for the UnSubs. For the victims. It’s a real superpower, man. One that I need to work on myself sometimes. Emotion gets the best of all of us on these cases. Our desire for revenge or justice but you. You see all sides. I’ve never told you how much I respect that.”

“Not always,” Spencer mumbled.

“Hmm?” Luke looked at Spencer, a questioning look in his eyes. Spencer curled into himself under the stare, like a brittle leaf curling in the strong heat of the sun.

“I wanted to kill him. After everything all of us have gone through, I…”

“Scratch?” Spencer nodded. Luke studied the look on his face, the bitten lips, furrowed brow. Quiet, terrible, contemplation.

“You feel conflicted about it.” Spencer shrugged at the statement.

“I don’t like feeling that way. Like I have that in me. I could’ve killed Scratch and I would’ve slept well. Even now that he is gone, I’m not torn up about it. At all.” Spencer felt brittle, but Luke understood.

“Spencer, that’s human. I can guarantee you that no one on the team is torn up about it. But the fact that you care, the fact that you feel so conflicted about feeling this way…that’s the empathy. It never went away. You experience things differently now, but it’s still there.” Luke kicked his leg out, stretching as he spoke. “I’m not particularly torn up about it either, you know.”

“I think the section chief would lose their mind if they knew we were practically lining up for the honor,” Spencer chuckled dryly. Luke shook his head as he joined in.

“See, you’re also funny. Sarcastic in the best way. I don’t care what anyone else has to say, I love conversations with you.”

Spencer grinned a tight-lipped smile. “I appreciate that.” Luke nodded, propelling Spencer forward. “I know we haven’t really been close. Not like with the others…” Luke gave a slight nod. Spencer had a point to that. “But I do admire you. Even beyond your capabilities in regard to the BAU—which are impressive in their own right. I, uh…I like talking with you, too.”

If either of them were to look up, really look at each other, they would see the matching shades of pink across their cheeks; a pop of color in the stark, metal room. Luke leaned his head against the railing behind him.

“Man, we should get trapped in elevators more often, man.” Spencer let out a laugh and Luke felt something warm in his chest at the sound. Like the sun peeking out on a hopelessly cloudy day, kissing the skin, radiating heat. He felt the sudden urge to stretch out and bask in the feeling forever. But something was bothering him. An itch he couldn’t quite reach. This new imbalance in their relationship hung heavy.

“I feel like I need to level the playing field now,” Luke suddenly spoke, putting an end to the comfortable silence they had fallen into.

“Luke, no, you don’t have to.”

“Reid…Spencer.” Spencer looked up at the use of his first name. It made Luke’s stomach do something funny. “I want to,” Luke reaffirmed. “Besides, you probably understand that talking about this kind of stuff strengthens a bond; it’ll be good. We’re getting to know each other better. Just on a deep, very-much-not surface level.”

Spencer nodded at the sentiment, scooted ever so slightly closer to the other man, ready to listen. Luke heaved a great sigh as he went into his mind and pulled at his wounds, unraveling the threads of his past. He stared just past Spencer when he finally found the words.

“Catholic school.” Spencer hummed before cracking a smile, nudging Luke’s foot with his own.

“Altar boy?” Luke chuckled at this playful side of Spencer, grateful for how he lightened the mood, just a bit. Made Luke feel safer.

“Shut up,” he laughed. Luke sat in the feeling for a moment longer, letting it fuel him, before sharing.

“It’s just…hard realizing that you’re an abomination to God, you know? And don’t…” He gave Spencer a stern look, exhaustion laced in its stare. “I know I’m not an abomination. I know that. But I was 12 years old when I realized I was gay, man. And I’d gone to Catholic school for all my life, where it was ingrained in me – being gay is sin, don’t be gay. It messed me up for a while.”

Spencer cleared his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t know you were gay.” He couldn’t pinpoint why this new information affected him so.

“I don’t exactly go parading my sexuality around the FBI,” Luke responded. After a beat, he added, “I’m not ashamed, though. Not anymore. Those first years, the realization? That was the hard part.”

Spencer nodded in understanding. They’d led very different lives, had such different childhoods, but Spencer could more than relate to that realization. That you’re not like everyone else. In more ways than one. He blinked up at Luke, urging him to continue. “How’d you get through it?” Luke sighed, dropped his head back against the wall. A dull, staccato sound.

“My parents, mostly. I came out to them when I was 18 and they accepted me. Of course, they did. They’re good people. But when you’re a scared kid you don’t know what to expect, you know?” Spencer gave him a tight-lipped smile. He knew.

“Also, this one kid, Carter.” Luke continued, “He and I…were seeing each other. During high school. God, he could make me laugh. Even in the midst of all the teenage angst and Catholic guilt, he made me happy. We were happy when we were together. And I think my parents knew. Well, I know my parents knew. Looking back on it, it’s clear as day. But back then we were so concerned with sneaking around.” He smiled, a far-off look in his eyes. Spencer couldn’t quite decipher it. “It didn’t last, though. I mean, it was high school. We drifted apart in the end. But that whole middle part? It really helped me be the person I am today. Taught me loads.” Luke grimaced. “Sorry, that was a lot.” Spencer waved a hand to let Luke know it was fine. He knew all about rambling. Spencer threaded his hands together before leaning on them, elbows in his lap.

“Do you still think about him?” Spencer asked. Luke smiled, sad.

“I think he ended up marrying a girl from our school. Settled down, had a few kids. Really makes you think.” Spencer hummed.

He didn’t share this with many people. This large, incalculable thing that brought him to the edge of panic and back again. Coping had been hard. He thought about Roxy laying on him, the heavy weight of her calming him down, in her own clumsy-pawed way. Usually, talking about this hurt in a way that he couldn’t even describe. But he had Spencer. Here, in this elevator, sharing the deepest parts of themselves, it somehow felt safe. Luke hadn’t felt that way with another person in a long time. Like he didn’t have to carry this weight alone. And if he were to ask Spencer, he’d learn the feeling was mutual.

Luke nudged Spencer’s foot with his own, observing the domino effect of the playful touch on the other man as Spencer’s features morphed into a small smirk, reflecting Luke’s same expression. There were no words coming from the genius’s smile, no filler facts and statistics in the face of the great expansive silence before them. Because it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It settled easily in the small elevator carriage, as though its presence was inevitable. As though every quiet confession, every shared glance and touch, had led to this.

“It’s nice…” Spencer started, struggling with the phrasing, “Well, not nice, but it’s interesting to hear about your past. See where Luke Alvez truly came from. I only wish you didn’t have to suffer for it to happen.”

“The most formative experiences are often the most painful,” Luke commented.

“I just wish they didn’t have to be,” Spencer sniffed, ran a hand through his hair. “Like I get they help us become who we are but…I don’t like everything about who I am now.” Luke remained quiet as Spencer spoke. “Like…prison was a formative experience but I could’ve gone without it, you know?”

“I know,” Luke affirmed. Spencer’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, a nervous tic. He took a breath.

“I thought I was going to die in there.”

Those words knocked the air out of Luke’s lungs for a second. He wasn’t that close with Spencer when everything went down—prison, Mexico, Cat Adams—but he would’ve been devastated had anything terrible happened. That ache drove him to great lengths to protect the other man last year, a desire he couldn’t quite make sense of then. But he was starting to. Luke tried to reassure him now despite the shakiness evident in his voice.

“You went through a trauma.” Spencer nodded at Luke’s words, then shook his head.

“I feel like I should really be over it by now,” Spencer replied. He quickly tried to explain himself before Luke could say anything in return. “—which I know is objectively ridiculous because there’s no set time in which a person is expected to feel and then heal from a traumatic experience. There are too many variables involved to expect anything aside from affected function and some common symptoms, but I guess I just thought—” Spencer sighed. Luke didn’t offer any words this time; simply waited for him to sort them out himself. Letting the silence of the moment unravel him. It seemed to be what Spencer needed. The space to talk. The feeling of being listened to. “I don’t know. I’ve always been ‘above average’. I think some part of me thought I’d be able to heal faster from this. Faster than normal. Even though I should know better.” Spencer cleared his throat, leaned forward as he launched even further into his explanation.

“There’s this Einstein quote: ‘Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results.’ Well, that quote was actually not from Einstein but comes from a mystery novelist from the 19th century, but either way. That’s exactly what I’m doing. I’ve been through enough trauma to last a lifetime. I mean, multiple traumatic experiences, over and over again. I know firsthand how I coped or didn’t cope. I know how long it took me to get through those things or to not get through them. I still live with most of them every day. But for some reason, I still think that I’ll get through it faster this time. Get over it quicker. As if that’s something I can just do. As if that’s the inevitable conclusion to this horrible chapter. So, clearly, I must be insane, because I keep expecting impossible things to happen. Repeatedly.”

Luke got up at that, strode over toward Spencer. The other man was a sight, all elbows and knees and shoulders curved in. As though he was shouldering his own protective shield, all angles, holding himself together. Luke gently sat down next to him, careful not to startle the infamously touch-averse man. He took a moment to consider the risk he was about to take. And then, Luke reached out, his fingers outstretched toward the other man. Lowered his hand down gently, a leaf floating through the crisp winter air, giving plenty of time for Spencer to reject his advances.

He didn’t.

Instead, something in the air changed. Imperceptible to anyone else who would’ve seen. But suddenly, Spencer was holding Luke’s hand. No, not holding. Gripping his hand. Gripping as though Luke was the very life raft holding him afloat. It reminded him of Rose holding onto the door in Titanic, white-knuckled grip on its edges. Spencer had that same desperation hidden behind his features, carefully guarded beneath a hastily constructed mask. Luke studied his features, sensed Spencer’s shame in taking the help so easily, as though reaching out for the other man would drag Luke down with him. But that’s where Titanic got it wrong. There was always room for two people on that damn door.

Luke squeezed Spencer’s hand in reassurance as the two of them sat on the hard elevator floor, each grateful for the softness of the moment. Spencer focused on the grounding sensation of Luke’s hand in his, the warmth of his palms, the slight sweat that had begun to break out on his hand. He didn’t dare let go, though. Didn’t dare think about the staggering number of pathogens being exchanged right now. And especially didn’t think about the way his heart stuttered the moment Luke sat down next to him, initiating the touch. Instead, Spencer tried to let his mind calm as he allowed the weight of the other man’s hand to put him at ease. As he did so, he went over everything they had been discussing, of the life waiting for him outside the elevator doors. He had the startling realization that letting go of Luke’s hand and walking back out there when the time came was absolutely terrifying.

“I just want to be in a phase of my life where everything feels okay again,” Spencer sighed, wistfully under his breath.

Luke chuckled and Spencer gave him a strange look. He shook his head before addressing the anxious agent. “You’re a hermit crab, man.” Spencer looked bewildered at Luke’s statement; not entirely sure what crustaceans had to do with his moment of vulnerability. Luke pushed forward, ready to explain the simile that was decidedly not a universal thing.

“It’s something my abuela used to say. Basically, you’re in a transitionary period right now. You’re between shells. Out in the vulnerable wild like the hermit crab. But that’s not a bad thing, because you’ll get a new shell. One that’s different, yes, but one that fits better, no matter the change. And you can’t rush the process; you just take it one step at a time.” Spencer leaned his head back against the silver walls of the elevator as he pondered this, ran it over in his mind, savoring the foreign taste it left in his mouth. Like golden beaches.

“I used to have a pet hermit crab when I was a kid.” Spencer spoke. “My mom always liked the idea of having a pet, but we weren’t exactly well-suited to a dog or anything.” Sadness tinged his words, even with a smile on his face. Luke gave his hand a squeeze.

“Well, if you ever need to hug a dog or something, I happen to know this beautiful Belgian Malinois,” Luke grinned. Spencer laughed at the sentiment, grateful. He leaned his head ever so slightly toward the other man.

“Thanks,” he whispered. Luke hummed in return as he ran his thumb across the back of Spencer’s knuckles, feeling the other man start to relax. If only they could stay like this outside of the confines of these elevator walls.

“My mom would like you,” Luke suddenly spoke, warranting an eyebrow raise from Spencer at the sudden change in subject.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She’s always asking me questions I never know the answer to,” he laughed. Spencer lit up as he matched Luke’s laughter. “She knows about you already; I talk to her all the time so she kind of knows everyone on the team. But when I call her tomorrow, I’ll get to tell her that I spent Christmas stuck in an elevator with the genius of the FBI,” Spencer grinned, his insides lit up as though the Rockefeller tree itself lived inside of him. The thought of Luke telling his mom about him…Spencer couldn’t even describe it. He turned towards the other man.

“If it’s worth anything, my mom would like you, too.”

“Oh, she does.” Spencer looked up at that, a quizzical look in his eyes. Luke continued. “When you were away, JJ looked after your mom, but I went over a few times as well. A lot of us kind of took turns,” he explained. Luke smirked as he recalled his conversation with Diana. “She told me she always liked the name Luke.” Spencer hummed at that.

“I’m sure she did,” Spencer said. “She has great taste.” He barely whispered that last part, opting to study the other man instead.

Luke looked at him then, really looked at him. Honey brown irises eclipsed by dark undereye circles. Sharp cheekbones that somehow didn’t take away from the inherent softness of his features. Pink lips turned a maddeningly vibrant shade with all the biting Spencer does to them. Luke suddenly understood the funny feeling he got in his stomach whenever he caught a look from the other man. Whenever Spencer passionately spewed facts and statistics to him, excitement exuding from every part of him. Luke had the heart-stopping realization that he liked Spencer Reid. Like, really liked him. All these months with charged encounters, an invisible magnetism, the immense care he felt for the other man…it made sense. And now, that realization only electrified the air even further, Luke’s breath hitching as he realized Spencer hadn’t broken eye contact either.

See, Spencer had the same realization moments prior.

And before Luke knew what was happening, soft lips were on his, prompting him to respond, newfound realization spurring him forward. Eagerly.

Luke cupped his jaw as Spencer enthusiastically initiated kiss after kiss after kiss. It was electrifying, like waves of static coursing through his veins. When Spencer slipped in a bit of tongue, Luke thought he was going to melt into the ground. He settled for a hand on the other man’s hip instead. The two remained this way, all thoughts out the door as they fell into each other, reveling in the warmth of the moment. That familiar comfort lending itself to something new, something exciting. Luke summoned every ounce of willpower he had before pulling away, almost emitting a groan at the sight of Spencer. Lips kiss-bitten and sweater just slightly askew. It was sinful. Luke cleared his throat before speaking.

“I didn’t think you had that in you.”.

“Well, you’ll just have to get to know me better, then,” Spencer cheekily replied, his responding smirk only slightly betrayed by the flush running down his neck. Luke grinned as Spencer leaned his forehead against his.

“Dinner?” Luke prompted.

“Yes. Definitely. I mean, I’m kind of starving anyway.” Spencer licked his lips and Luke followed the motion intently, prompting Spencer to chuckle at the sight. He tore his eyes away, leaning his head back against the wall. A questioning look flashed across Luke’s face.

“Oh, yeah. How long have we been in here?” Spencer checked his watch.

“Roughly three hours.”

Luke smiled, a smug look on his face. “I know you know the exact number of minutes, Spencer. How long have we really been in here?”

“Since we got onto the elevator?” Spencer looked up as he calculated in his head. “Three hours, twenty-one minutes, and forty-six seconds.”

“Well, I have an idea of how to pass the remainder of the time…” Luke drawled, a suggestive air in his tone. Spencer laughed before leaning back in. Giving into the magnetic draw he’d felt for so long.

* * *

Spencer was only mildly embarrassed about his debauched state when the crew arrived and broke them out of the small metal cage. It was funny, being trapped for that long. Because in those four hours they’d spent together, a room not even six by six feet, neither had ever felt so free.

The two had gotten back to talking when the elevator repairman showed up. A series of texts from Emily had reminded them of the matter that got them stuck in the FBI elevator in the first place. Everything outside of their little metal world had worked out. The victim was safely recovered and the UnSub was arrested. Discussions of casework dispelled the heated air that had filled the elevator only minutes prior. It wasn’t unwelcome, though. They were glad to hear everything had gone well. It was as good a day as any for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. In sitting in the resolute feeling that a case gone well had left behind, the pair lapsed into captivating, pointless, beautiful conversation. See, Luke and Spencer would both agree that, while keeping their hands off each other wasn’t exactly a priority anymore, they wanted to know everything about the other person. Deep stuff, surface level, checkered pasts, pizza topping preferences, and all. They were so different, and yet somehow complemented each other perfectly, like Titanic and Christmas.

One crew of elevator repairmen and several attempts to pry the door open later soon resulted in Luke and Spencer tumbling out of the carriage, opting to take the stairs to the garage this time. Spencer ached to reach out and grab hold of Luke’s hand once more as they headed out of the building.

“There’s a DVD place down the block from my apartment that’s open really late,” Spencer said as they entered the parking garage following a comfortably silent descent down the remaining flights of stairs, hands brushing together. Now, a hopeful kind of vulnerability was painted across his features. The vulnerable bubble of being trapped together had popped. Did that mean whatever had happened was over? Luke interrupted his spiraling train of thoughts as he grabbed his hand, firm. Spencer broke out into a smile, every cell in his body lighting up as though it were a grand Christmas display.

“An offer like that? How could I say no?” Luke replied, nudging Spencer’s shoulder with own as he unlocked his car, separating hands only for a moment before once again gripping tight across the console as they both got settled. The two pulled out of the Quantico garage, a newfound fondness for the fragile nature of elevator mechanics. Spencer would have to update the statistics on elevator-related incidents in his head. Maybe with a decidedly-biased and positive spin.

See, claustrophobia was never the problem for either of them. It was always meant to happen like this. Invisible forces pushing Luke and Spencer together, even in the face of all the obstacles that came with being seasoned FBI agents with intense histories. And the two would spend the remainder of their Christmas together, forming new traditions all their own. Traditions involving a strapping young Leonardo DiCaprio and plenty of elevator jokes that both Luke and Spencer would follow for years to come. Because deep elevator conversations, renting Titanic on DVD, and getting takeout at the only place still open this late on a holiday?

Well, now that was the most Christmas thing either of them could think of.

-

taglist: @honeyreid @ropoto @moderatelydelusional @reidactually

masterlist | taglist

#ralvez #spencer reid x luke alvez #nat's1klibrary #spencer reid #luke alvez #criminal minds fanfiction #luke alvez x spencer reid #ralvez fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[reidslibrarybook]

SFW

Get a Clue by @reidsbookclub

Summary: As the BAU team struggles to find who the Fisher King is, Spencer realizes that he needs to fly his mom to Quantico. There’s only one problem, in his daily letters he told a little white lie, that he was in a relationship with a coworker. Will he fave to face the truth or will he be able to fool his unsuspecting mother?

Warnings: case details, alcohol consumption (let me know if I missed anything)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! BAU Reader

Cards: Hall (S1-S2), Gold Pen (Drunken Confession). Rare Book (Fake Relationship), Crystal Paperweight (Temporary Amnesia), Spencer Reid (Prompt 7: “It’s my fault, i-i tried. I’m sorry… so so sorry”)

A Not-So Claustrophobic Christmas by @unmitigatedsuperiority

Summary: What happens when two FBI agents get stuck in Quantico on Christmas day? Deep conversations, new Christmas traditions, and perhaps an appreciation for the faulty mechanics of elevators.

Warnings: Talks of PTSD and trauma, Referenced drug use, Referenced torture, Referenced homophobia and Catholic guilt, Confined spaces

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Spencer Reid

Cards: Fountain (Season 13-14), Medal (Trapped Together), Morgan (Prompt 1: "I didn't think you had that in you.")

Cocktails and Confessions by @everyonesfavoritepipecleaner

Summary: a night out with the ladies of the BAU leads to more than one spilled secret

Warning: alcohol/drinking - think that's it but please let me know if I missed anything

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Cards: Kitchen (Season 5), Gold Pen (Drunken Confession), Alvez (Prompt 5: "There's no way that's happening, absolutely not.")

Liquid Courage by @reidsacademia

Summary: Apparently, a little champagne was all you needed to repair things with Spencer and confess how you truly felt about him.

Warning: intoxication, willifer's wedding from s7

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Cards: Conservatory (season 7), Gold Pen (Drunken Confession), Callahan ("you remembered... i didn't think you'd remember.")

NSFW

And I’ll Do Anything That You Say (If You Say It With Your Hands) by @samuel-de-champagne-problems

Summary: Spencer and Reader are forced to share a room, but can't resist falling into old patterns, even though it's dangerous and just might break them.

Warnings: Smut-- emotional sex, dirty talk, unprotective sex, oral (female receiving), use of good girl. Angst with a Happy Ending, an unhealthy amount of Taylor Swift references, post-Maeve

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader (no pronouns, but referred to as a girl/woman)

Cards: Library (Season 10), Revolver (Requited/Unrequited Love), Hotch (One Is Never Enough)

Come Back... Be Here by @boldlyvoid

Summary: Readers husband died in a plane crash, leaving her with one baby while pregnant with another, and a crazy amount of debt. Scared she'll have to sell the only home she's ever known, her friend Emily, informs her that her boss is looking for a babysitter for his son.

Warnings: minor character deaths mentioned (their spouses), mutual pining, smut, car sex, drinking

Pairing: single dad hotch x single mom reader

Cards: Ballroom (season 6), Golden pen (drunken confession), Hotch (one is never enough)

#nat's 1k writing celebration #masterlist #nat's1klibrary

[reidslibrarybook]

test test

#nat's1klibrary

[reidslibrarybook]

omg, this is absolutely insane to me. having 1,000 people following me on here because of my occasional shitposts and mediocre fanfics didn't even seem possible when i first started a couple of months ago. i just want to thank everyone for taking the time to read my fics and interact with me.

i have made so many friends on here, all of whom are people i greatly admire whether it be for their awesome stories and/or overall amazing personalities.

to celebrate this crazy momentous occasion, i'd like to ask you all to play a game of clue with me!

everyone is encouraged to participate! all works are allowed, sfw and nsfw with any character pairings.

plz excuse my horrible editing skills lmao

cut-off date is dec 31 2021 CLOSED

if you have any questions, feel free to dm me or send an ask

directions and specifics below the cut!

how to play my celebratory version of clue:

⇢ in a typical game of clue, there are three types of cards-- room, weapon, and player cards. for our purposes, each card will represent components my writing celebration instead: season (room), trope (weapon), and prompt (player) cards. you should use at least one of each card in your entry, at least three cards in total.

⇢ all fics will go in the masterlist (case) file and continue to be added to the file until the cutoff date stated above.

⇢ masterlist

rules:

⇢ every fic has to be at least 500 words with the limit being 15k

⇢ must be a stand-alone fic

⇢ format your fic like so (with or without the indent in no specific order) -

pairing:

warnings:

summary:

category:

word count:

cards chosen (there should be at least three, one of each kind):

⇢ any pairing, fic (i.e. sfw and nsfw), and category (i.e. fluff, angst, hurt/comfort) is welcomed.

⇢ make sure to add the appropriate warnings while formatting your fic

⇢ tag @reidslibrarybook and use the tag #nat's1klibrary in your entry

⇢ bold your specific prompt

⇢ lastly, just have fun!

season (room) cards:

⇢ each entry must have at least one season (room) card, more than one may be used

⇢ each card represents aspects of the labeled season(s) in criminal minds that you can use in your fic whether it be -

a certain character's appearance (ex. glasses reid; post prison reid)

a story/narrative arc (ex. hotch, haley, and foyet; emily and ian doyle)

specific scenes (ex. jj and will's wedding; found family/team dinner)

as long as it is in the season (room) card you choose, you can use it in your fic!

⇢ you can also mix and match each card if you'd like to include certain things from multiple seasons if it is an integral part of the story. if you mention something that happened in a past season that is not pertinent to the story, there is no need to use that season (room) card.

trope (weapon) card:

⇢ each entry must have at least one trope (weapon) card, more than one may be used

⇢ each card represents some of the most common, and most of my favorite, fanfiction tropes

⇢ be creative and use each trope to fit your story!

⇢ more details on certain cards -

unrequited love (revolver): this may entail someone thinking that their love is unrequited when it's really not or it may entail that the love is truly unrequited

fake relationship (rare book): this card could mean any kind of fake relationship (dating, marriage, etc.)

alternate ending (letter opener): this could be an alternate ending to any episode/arc or an alternate universe

trapped together (medal): characters can be trapped anywhere together literally anywhere (ex. elevator, room, office, stairway, etc.)

i think the rest are self-explanatory but if you have any questions feel free to dm me!

prompt (player) cards :

⇢ each entry must have at least one prompt (player) card, more than one may be used

⇢ IMPORTANT: the prompt does not correspond to the character on its card, they are completely unrelated and separate things. (ex. if you decide to write for hotch, you do not need to use prompt 2 or if you decide to use prompt 7, you do not have to use it with spencer). AGAIN, you may use any prompt with any character.

⇢ each card represents one of the eight prompts listed below -

1. "i didn't think you had that in you."

2. "one is never enough."

3. "you remembered... i didn't think you'd remember."

4. "what would you do if you could go back in time?" & "i'd go back to when i was at my lowest and find you."

5. "there's no way that's happening, absolutely not!"

6. "i wish it could be different but it has to be this way. there's nothing they can do about it."

7. "it's all my fault, i- i tried. i'm sorry... so so sorry."

8. "how have you managed to stay alive for as long as you have?"

⇢ each prompt can be changed to fit your stylistic preferences (tenses, pronouns, povs, etc.) as long as the core of the prompt stays the same

tagging some amazing moots that i love so so much :

@simmonsmilf @samuel-de-champagne-problems @writhingintheroses @shemarmooresfedora @moderatelydelusional @orpheus-but-gay @deadravenclaw @reidsacademia @reidsbookclub @meganskane @reidselle @cmvibess @immypersonal @eurydice-but-gay @a-broken-pact @fightingdragonswithreid @boldlyvoid @raegan-reid @rigatonireid @alltooreid @donald4spiderman @rigatonireid @lil-stark @strawberryspence

big thank you to @meganskane and @cmvibess for helping me come up with certain parts of this

divider credit:

@firefly-graphics

#nat's1klibrary #nat's 1k writing celebration #<- you can filter out these tags if you don't want to see anything related to this