Autistic Spencer Reid - Tumblr Posts
Bro the first gif is so autistic of Reid and Garcia. Reid’s handshake, the way Garcia is standing (I stand like that lmao)
Bring it, pretty boy. I’ll be waitin’ for you. I’ll be there.
I love how we all seem to have collectively decided that Spencer has echolalia and uses it to communicate when overwhelmed by repeating what people say back to them or quoting some book or statistic.
Just To Hear Her Voice
Here's my first Criminal Minds fic!
summary: In the aftermath of Emily's death, Spencer starts calling and texting her number to cope as his life spirals down around him. He has no idea that halfway across the world, Emily is listening.
content: drug addiction, grief/mourning, angst, hurt/comfort, near relapse, angst with a happy ending
word count: 3.2k
Spencer calls Emily for the first time a week after her death. He’s sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest on the floor of his apartment, pressed between a chair and the wall, rocking forward and backward. He holds the phone to his ear and sobs when he hears Emily’s voice.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
The dial tone sounds. Spencer chokes on a sob and hangs up. He redials the number.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
He hangs up before the tone and calls again.
He only speaks on the sixth call.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
The dial tone sounds and Spencer takes a deep, shaky breath. “H-hi, Emily. I, um, I don’t know why I’m calling you. It’s– it’s not like you’re going to answer. You’re dead. I helped carry your coffin. It—” A sob pushes up his throat and cuts him off. “It was so heavy,” he whispers.
He bows his head and presses his knees against his face, he can feel the tears seeping through the fabric of his slacks. “I just– I really miss you. It doesn’t feel real, none of this feels real. I’m sorry. I—” Spencer cuts himself off with a wet chuckle. “I should go eat something.”
Spencer pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs up. He doesn’t push himself off the floor for another three hours and when he does he goes straight to his room.
He calls her again three days later just to hear her voice. He doesn’t speak.
Spencer lays on the floor of a Nashville hotel room four weeks and six days after Emily’s death and dials her number.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
He waits for the tone.
“I saw someone that looks like you today,” he says weakly. He breathes deeply and stares at the ceiling, tracing the perimeter of the room with his eyes. “It was uncanny. I, um, I really thought she was you. I was with Rossi, heading back to the Nashville police station, we’re on our first case since—” he pauses unable to finish the sentence. “It was good he was there. I might have called your name if he wasn’t. It feels wrong without you here.” Unable to think of anything else to say, Spencer hangs up.
He doesn’t know that halfway across the world his voicemails are transferred from one phone to another and Emily Prentiss, newly arrived in Paris, listens to them and cries.
After the case in Nashville, calling Emily becomes a part of Spencer’s routine. Most of the time he doesn’t talk, unable to force himself to speak, and just listens to her voice. On those days he goes over to JJ’s house once he hangs up and cries in her arms.
Emily receives records of those calls too, the times and dates are sent to her new phone and she stares at them when they arrive, hoping that she’s not the only person Spencer is talking to.
After three months he shifts from leaving messages to texting because it’s easier than talking. He still calls to listen to her voice but always hangs up before the tone. He texts her about his day, about the cases they’re working on without giving away any details, about how much he misses her. He still goes to JJ’s house at least once a week, he feels safer there on bad days.
Five months and thirteen days after her death, Spencer calls Emily’s number and yells.
“You should have told us! We could have helped you! We’re family, Emily! It’s our job to take care of each other.” Spencer's voice cracks and he lets out a screaming sob as he grabs a plate from the sink and throws it to the floor. “And now you’re dead! You’re dead and there’s nothing we can do about it! You’re so fucking stupid, Emily! We– we could have helped you! I hate you! I hate you! Why’d you have to leave?” He falls to the floor and trails off into uncontrollable sobs, not caring that the ceramic shards dig into his knees and the palm of his hand. He leans against the cabinets next to him and sobs, painfully and violently. He knows he’s being loud, loud enough that his neighbors can probably hear him but he can’t bring himself to care, not when he feels like he’s dying. He slams his head against the cabinet and the pain of it combined with the pain of the ceramic stuck in his skin helps ground him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice wet with tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you. I’m so sorry. I could never hate you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeats those two words until his phone dies in his hand eleven minutes later.
Halfway across the world, Emily Prentiss sits in her Paris apartment, listens to the voicemail, and cries.
Spencer doesn’t call or text for twenty-four days after that. He knows she’s dead. He knows she can’t hear or see what he says to her, but he feels painfully guilty for his last voicemail. The kind of guilt that burrows into his chest and stays there, squeezing tight around his heart and lungs whenever he thinks about it.
He lays awake in a hotel bed in Sedona, Arizona staring at the ceiling. With a sigh, he rolls onto his side, grabs his phone from the nightstand, and opens his text conversation with Emily.
“I don’t know why I’m still doing this,” he types. Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I know you’re not going to see this, but I want to say I’m sorry again for when I last called. I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you. I was just angry and sad and didn’t know what to do. I don’t know why I still feel so stuck. Obviously, everyone else is still sad but they seem to be moving on while I’m still here.” He sends the message and pauses for a moment. “I’ve been craving again, ever since you died. It’s getting worse the longer it’s been. I don’t know why. I thought it would get easier but it’s just getting harder. I’m scared, Emily.” His finger hovers over the send button before he changes his mind and deletes the message. He’s not going to tell anyone that, not even someone dead. Emily doesn’t deserve that. “I miss you,” he writes. He hits send and puts his phone back on the nightstand, curling into a ball with the comforter pulled up to his chin.
He squeezes his eyes shut and wraps his arms around his chest, trying not to scratch at the crook of his arm and trying not to think about getting high.
The next two weeks pass in a haze and Spencer can feel himself getting worse. He calls and texts Emily’s number more frequently and visits JJ’s house nearly every other day. Being around Henry is the only thing keeping him from contacting his old dealer. He would never bring that shit into their home, he would never even think of being high around his godson.
Spencer sits curled in on himself between a chair and the wall of his apartment with his phone pressed to his ear.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
The tone sounds. “I miss you, Emily,” he says, his voice weak around the lump in his throat. “It’s not getting easier, but I’m alright.” That’s a lie. He doesn’t know why he’s lying. Emily’s dead. She’s not going to hear it anyway. But he just can’t bring himself to say it. He hangs up.
Three days later, Spencer calls JJ to ask if he can come over. She apologizes and tells him that Henry has the flu and passed it on to Will. He tells her it’s okay and hangs up.
Forty-five hours later he calls a number he deleted from his contacts years ago.
Sixteen hours later Spencer is curled up on his couch, staring at the unopened vial of Dilaudid sitting on his coffee table next to a packaged needle.
He knows he shouldn’t do this. He doesn’t want to. But he needs it.
He feels frozen, his whole body is shaking. He rubs his eyes hard and continues to stare at the vial. He knows he should call someone but he’s scared and ashamed. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this.
His hand shakes violently as he reaches for his phone and selects Emily’s contact. She’s dead. He can call her. She won’t know and maybe calling will give him the courage to dump it down the drain.
The first ring startles him and he waits silently, tears streaming down his cheeks as the phone continues to ring.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
The tone sounds and Spencer speaks.
______
Emily's phone pings as a new voicemail is transferred to her phone. She looks at her phone with surprise. It’s eight am in Paris and two am in DC. It’s much later than Spencer usually calls.
She turns her volume on and selects the voice message.
The first thing she hears is a shaky sob she’s become painfully familiar with.
“Hi, Emily. I don’t know why I’m calling,” Spencer mutters. His voice sounds completely broken and almost dead. “Actually, that’s– that’s not true. I know why I’m calling.” There’s a pause and all she can hear is the shaky sound of Spencer breathing and crying softly. “I can’t call anyone else.” He sighs. “I’m, um, I’m sitting in my living room in– in front of a needle and a vial of Dilaudid.” Emily’s stomach drops and she shoots to her feet. A broken sob plays from her phone. Panic builds rapidly in her chest and she hopes, prays, that Spencer hasn’t taken any yet. She’s pulled from her thoughts when he starts to speak again. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I promise I don’t want to. It’s just too much, I—” his voice breaks “I need it, Em.” Emily raises her hand to cover her mouth as tears stream down her cheeks. This is her fault. This is all her fault. She should’ve told everyone.
“I’m so sorry, Em. I just– I really miss you. I-I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
The playback ends and Emily immediately rushes to the toilet to vomit because that sounded horrifyingly like a suicide note. She coughs violently and spits into the toilet. She doesn’t even take the time to flush it before she clicks on Spencer’s number and her phone is ringing.
Halfway across the world, Spencer sobs as rolls up his sleeve and wraps his belt around his upper arm. The sterile plastic crinkles as he removes the needle. He holds it and wishes he wasn’t like this. Wishes he was a better, stronger person. He reaches to grab the vial but as the tips of his fingers touch the cool class his phone rings.
He startles, almost dropping the needle. Too large a part of him is glad he didn’t drop it because that means it’s still clean and he can still use it. He slips the needle back into the plastic packaging and sets it back down on the coffee table but he doesn’t undo the belt around his arm. His hand shakes violently as he picks up his phone.
He stares at the screen for a moment, it’s a number he doesn’t recognize with a Paris area code. He doesn’t know why but he answers it.
“Spencer!” Emily’s voice gasps through his phone.
Spencer stares wide-eyed at the phone without responding. This isn’t happening, this isn’t real. She’s dead. He must be having a schizophrenic break, he’s the right age for it and he’s hearing the voice of his dead friend.
“Spencer!” the voice says again. He refuses to think of it as Emily’s voice. It’s not her voice, it can’t be because if it is that means she’s alive. That means that she and Hotch and who knows how many other members of his team have been lying to him for months. That means she heard and read all his messages. That means she heard him say that he bought Dilaudid and is about to shoot up. “Please, Spencer! Please answer me. Oh, God.”
“E-Emily?” he asks, his voice breaking. He hates that part of him believes it might actually be her.
“Yes, fuck. Yes, it’s me, Spencer, please tell me you’re okay,” she gasps. Spencer can hear her crying.
“Is–is this real? I’m not having a schizophrenic break?”
“No, I mean yes, I mean this is real!” Emily stutters. “I’m real. I’m alive. I’m so so sorry. But please, Spencer, tell me you haven’t done anything.”
Spencer doesn’t respond, just staring in disbelief at his phone. A moment later his phone beeps and a button appears at the bottom of the screen. Without thinking he presses it and immediately Emily’s face fills his screen. Her face is pale and her hair is all over the place and she looks terrified. She stares at him with wide eyes. In the bottom right corner is himself, and for the first time in sixty-one hours and twenty-three minutes, Spencer looks at himself. His face is red and blotchy and the bags under his eyes look like bruises. His hair is greasy and knotted. His shirt is buttoned incorrectly, his right sleeve is rolled up, and he can see the belt cinched around his arm.
“Spencer?” Emily asks, and her lips move on his phone as she speaks. “Did you—”
He cuts her off with a shake of the head and with a shaking hand, undoes the belt around his arm and lets it fall to the floor. “I was— I was about to,” he admits, his voice weak and wet. “I took out the needle. You called right— right as I grabbed the bottle.”
Spencer can see the panic fade from Emily’s face. “Okay, okay,” she says, her voice breathy with relief. “Thank God. Okay. Spencer, I need you to listen to me, okay?”
He nods and says nothing.
“I need you to pick up the bottle and dump it.”
Spencer immediately bursts into tears. “I-I can’t, Em. I can’t!” he cries. “I want to but I can’t. You were dead. I helped carry your coffin! I can’t! It was so bad. I need it! I need to not feel!” He knows he’s not making any sense but by the look of her face, he can tell Emily understands.
“I know,” she says softly. “I know. But I need you to do this for me. Please, Spencer.”
He bows his head and sobs ugly and violent sobs.
“You’re going to be okay, Spencer. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”
“But you weren’t!” he screams, the anger in his chest finally boiling over. “You weren’t here! You left! You lied! You let us believe you were dead! You let us mourn you! I hate you, Emily! I fucking hate you!”
Spencer looks up at the phone when Emily doesn’t respond and freezes when he sees the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I–I’m sorry,” he says, panicked. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you! Please, Emily, please. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I— fuck!” Spencer drops his phone on the couch and pushes himself to his feet, grabbing the needle and vial of Dilaudid as he stands.
“Spencer? Spencer!” Emily cries frantically through his phone. He doesn’t respond and practically sprints into his kitchen. Quickly, before he can regret it, he breaks off the tip of the needle and stabs it into a banana to make it safe and throws it and the rest of the needle in the trash. He unscrews the cap of the vial and dumps it down the kitchen sink. He sobs as he watches the liquid flow down the drain. The vial slips from his fingertips and he sinks to the floor. He says there until he’s sure all of the drug is gone before shakily pushing himself up, rinsing out the vial with water, and throwing it in the trash with the broken needle.
He stumbles back into the living room and picks up his phone to see Emily panicking. She opens her mouth to speak but Spencer interrupts her. “I dumped it,” he says weakly.
“Oh thank, God,” Emily sighs with relief. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Spencer.”
“Who knew?” he demands.
“What?”
“Who knew you were alive?”
“Just– just Hotch and JJ. But don’t be mad at them, please. I had no choice. Hotch knows because he’s Unit Chief and JJ only knows because she was assigned to making me disappear. It was too much of a risk to tell anyone else.”
Spencer scoffs. “What? You didn’t trust us? You don’t think we can keep a secret as important as this?”
A pained look crosses Emily’s face. “No,” she insists. “No that’s not it at all. I know all of you would have kept this a secret. I trust all of you with my life. But I couldn’t risk you knowing because it would put you in danger. Doyle will do anything to get to me. I wish even JJ and Hotch didn’t know, but I didn’t get a say in that. But I did get one in protecting you. You don’t– you don’t have to forgive me, or– or even be okay with it, but please—” a small sob cuts her off. “Please, I just need you to understand.”
Spencer stares at her for a while before slowly nodding. “I understand,” he whispers. “I hate it and I’m mad and I don’t forgive you yet but I understand.”
“Thank you,” Emily sighs weakly. “That’s all I ask. I just want you to be safe, that’s why I called, even though I have been ordered not to contact any of you. I couldn’t– I couldn’t let you relapse.”
Spencer nods weakly.
“I just need you to be okay,” she sobs softly.
“I’m not okay,” he admits, another sob forces its way up his throat. “I need help, Em. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m going to call JJ, okay? And she’s going to come pick you up. I'm so proud of you.”
Spencer nods. “I love you, Emily.”
“I love you too, Spence. I’ll stay on the line until she gets here. I’m not leaving you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If anyone wants to be tagged in future fics, just let me know! Also if you have something you'd like me to write, my requests are always open!
reblogging this bc im proud of it
Just To Hear Her Voice
Here's my first Criminal Minds fic!
summary: In the aftermath of Emily's death, Spencer starts calling and texting her number to cope as his life spirals down around him. He has no idea that halfway across the world, Emily is listening.
content: drug addiction, grief/mourning, angst, hurt/comfort, near relapse, angst with a happy ending
word count: 3.2k
Spencer calls Emily for the first time a week after her death. He’s sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest on the floor of his apartment, pressed between a chair and the wall, rocking forward and backward. He holds the phone to his ear and sobs when he hears Emily’s voice.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
The dial tone sounds. Spencer chokes on a sob and hangs up. He redials the number.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
He hangs up before the tone and calls again.
He only speaks on the sixth call.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
The dial tone sounds and Spencer takes a deep, shaky breath. “H-hi, Emily. I, um, I don’t know why I’m calling you. It’s– it’s not like you’re going to answer. You’re dead. I helped carry your coffin. It—” A sob pushes up his throat and cuts him off. “It was so heavy,” he whispers.
He bows his head and presses his knees against his face, he can feel the tears seeping through the fabric of his slacks. “I just– I really miss you. It doesn’t feel real, none of this feels real. I’m sorry. I—” Spencer cuts himself off with a wet chuckle. “I should go eat something.”
Spencer pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs up. He doesn’t push himself off the floor for another three hours and when he does he goes straight to his room.
He calls her again three days later just to hear her voice. He doesn’t speak.
Spencer lays on the floor of a Nashville hotel room four weeks and six days after Emily’s death and dials her number.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
He waits for the tone.
“I saw someone that looks like you today,” he says weakly. He breathes deeply and stares at the ceiling, tracing the perimeter of the room with his eyes. “It was uncanny. I, um, I really thought she was you. I was with Rossi, heading back to the Nashville police station, we’re on our first case since—” he pauses unable to finish the sentence. “It was good he was there. I might have called your name if he wasn’t. It feels wrong without you here.” Unable to think of anything else to say, Spencer hangs up.
He doesn’t know that halfway across the world his voicemails are transferred from one phone to another and Emily Prentiss, newly arrived in Paris, listens to them and cries.
After the case in Nashville, calling Emily becomes a part of Spencer’s routine. Most of the time he doesn’t talk, unable to force himself to speak, and just listens to her voice. On those days he goes over to JJ’s house once he hangs up and cries in her arms.
Emily receives records of those calls too, the times and dates are sent to her new phone and she stares at them when they arrive, hoping that she’s not the only person Spencer is talking to.
After three months he shifts from leaving messages to texting because it’s easier than talking. He still calls to listen to her voice but always hangs up before the tone. He texts her about his day, about the cases they’re working on without giving away any details, about how much he misses her. He still goes to JJ’s house at least once a week, he feels safer there on bad days.
Five months and thirteen days after her death, Spencer calls Emily’s number and yells.
“You should have told us! We could have helped you! We’re family, Emily! It’s our job to take care of each other.” Spencer's voice cracks and he lets out a screaming sob as he grabs a plate from the sink and throws it to the floor. “And now you’re dead! You’re dead and there’s nothing we can do about it! You’re so fucking stupid, Emily! We– we could have helped you! I hate you! I hate you! Why’d you have to leave?” He falls to the floor and trails off into uncontrollable sobs, not caring that the ceramic shards dig into his knees and the palm of his hand. He leans against the cabinets next to him and sobs, painfully and violently. He knows he’s being loud, loud enough that his neighbors can probably hear him but he can’t bring himself to care, not when he feels like he’s dying. He slams his head against the cabinet and the pain of it combined with the pain of the ceramic stuck in his skin helps ground him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice wet with tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you. I’m so sorry. I could never hate you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeats those two words until his phone dies in his hand eleven minutes later.
Halfway across the world, Emily Prentiss sits in her Paris apartment, listens to the voicemail, and cries.
Spencer doesn’t call or text for twenty-four days after that. He knows she’s dead. He knows she can’t hear or see what he says to her, but he feels painfully guilty for his last voicemail. The kind of guilt that burrows into his chest and stays there, squeezing tight around his heart and lungs whenever he thinks about it.
He lays awake in a hotel bed in Sedona, Arizona staring at the ceiling. With a sigh, he rolls onto his side, grabs his phone from the nightstand, and opens his text conversation with Emily.
“I don’t know why I’m still doing this,” he types. Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I know you’re not going to see this, but I want to say I’m sorry again for when I last called. I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you. I was just angry and sad and didn’t know what to do. I don’t know why I still feel so stuck. Obviously, everyone else is still sad but they seem to be moving on while I’m still here.” He sends the message and pauses for a moment. “I’ve been craving again, ever since you died. It’s getting worse the longer it’s been. I don’t know why. I thought it would get easier but it’s just getting harder. I’m scared, Emily.” His finger hovers over the send button before he changes his mind and deletes the message. He’s not going to tell anyone that, not even someone dead. Emily doesn’t deserve that. “I miss you,” he writes. He hits send and puts his phone back on the nightstand, curling into a ball with the comforter pulled up to his chin.
He squeezes his eyes shut and wraps his arms around his chest, trying not to scratch at the crook of his arm and trying not to think about getting high.
The next two weeks pass in a haze and Spencer can feel himself getting worse. He calls and texts Emily’s number more frequently and visits JJ’s house nearly every other day. Being around Henry is the only thing keeping him from contacting his old dealer. He would never bring that shit into their home, he would never even think of being high around his godson.
Spencer sits curled in on himself between a chair and the wall of his apartment with his phone pressed to his ear.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
The tone sounds. “I miss you, Emily,” he says, his voice weak around the lump in his throat. “It’s not getting easier, but I’m alright.” That’s a lie. He doesn’t know why he’s lying. Emily’s dead. She’s not going to hear it anyway. But he just can’t bring himself to say it. He hangs up.
Three days later, Spencer calls JJ to ask if he can come over. She apologizes and tells him that Henry has the flu and passed it on to Will. He tells her it’s okay and hangs up.
Forty-five hours later he calls a number he deleted from his contacts years ago.
Sixteen hours later Spencer is curled up on his couch, staring at the unopened vial of Dilaudid sitting on his coffee table next to a packaged needle.
He knows he shouldn’t do this. He doesn’t want to. But he needs it.
He feels frozen, his whole body is shaking. He rubs his eyes hard and continues to stare at the vial. He knows he should call someone but he’s scared and ashamed. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this.
His hand shakes violently as he reaches for his phone and selects Emily’s contact. She’s dead. He can call her. She won’t know and maybe calling will give him the courage to dump it down the drain.
The first ring startles him and he waits silently, tears streaming down his cheeks as the phone continues to ring.
“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”
The tone sounds and Spencer speaks.
______
Emily's phone pings as a new voicemail is transferred to her phone. She looks at her phone with surprise. It’s eight am in Paris and two am in DC. It’s much later than Spencer usually calls.
She turns her volume on and selects the voice message.
The first thing she hears is a shaky sob she’s become painfully familiar with.
“Hi, Emily. I don’t know why I’m calling,” Spencer mutters. His voice sounds completely broken and almost dead. “Actually, that’s– that’s not true. I know why I’m calling.” There’s a pause and all she can hear is the shaky sound of Spencer breathing and crying softly. “I can’t call anyone else.” He sighs. “I’m, um, I’m sitting in my living room in– in front of a needle and a vial of Dilaudid.” Emily’s stomach drops and she shoots to her feet. A broken sob plays from her phone. Panic builds rapidly in her chest and she hopes, prays, that Spencer hasn’t taken any yet. She’s pulled from her thoughts when he starts to speak again. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I promise I don’t want to. It’s just too much, I—” his voice breaks “I need it, Em.” Emily raises her hand to cover her mouth as tears stream down her cheeks. This is her fault. This is all her fault. She should’ve told everyone.
“I’m so sorry, Em. I just– I really miss you. I-I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
The playback ends and Emily immediately rushes to the toilet to vomit because that sounded horrifyingly like a suicide note. She coughs violently and spits into the toilet. She doesn’t even take the time to flush it before she clicks on Spencer’s number and her phone is ringing.
Halfway across the world, Spencer sobs as rolls up his sleeve and wraps his belt around his upper arm. The sterile plastic crinkles as he removes the needle. He holds it and wishes he wasn’t like this. Wishes he was a better, stronger person. He reaches to grab the vial but as the tips of his fingers touch the cool class his phone rings.
He startles, almost dropping the needle. Too large a part of him is glad he didn’t drop it because that means it’s still clean and he can still use it. He slips the needle back into the plastic packaging and sets it back down on the coffee table but he doesn’t undo the belt around his arm. His hand shakes violently as he picks up his phone.
He stares at the screen for the moment, it’s a number he doesn’t recognize with a Paris area code. He doesn’t know why but he answers it.
“Spencer!” Emily’s voice gasps through his phone.
Spencer stares wide-eyed at the phone without responding. This isn’t happening, this isn’t real. She’s dead. He must be having a schizophrenic break, he’s the right age for it and he’s hearing the voice of his dead friend.
“Spencer!” the voice says again. He refuses to think of it as Emily’s voice. It’s not her voice, it can’t be because if it is that means she’s alive. That means that she and Hotch and who knows how many other members of his team have been lying to him for months. That means she heard and read all his messages. That means she heard him say that he bought Dilaudid and is about to shoot up. “Please, Spencer! Please answer me. Oh, God.”
“E-Emily?” he asks, his voice breaking. He hates that part of him believes it might actually be her.
“Yes, fuck. Yes, it’s me, Spencer, please tell me you’re okay,” she gasps. Spencer can hear her crying.
“Is–is this real? I’m not having a schizophrenic break?”
“No, I mean yes, I mean this is real!” Emily stutters. “I’m real. I’m alive. I’m so so sorry. But please Spencer, tell me you haven’t done anything.”
Spencer doesn’t respond, just staring in disbelief at his phone. A moment later his phone beeps and a button appears at the bottom of the screen. Without thinking he presses it and immediately Emily’s face fills his screen. Her face is pale and her hair is all over the place and she looks terrified. She stares at him with wide eyes. In the bottom right corner is himself, and for the first time in sixty-one hours and twenty-three minutes, Spencer looks at himself. His face is red and blotchy and the bags under his eyes look like bruises. His hair is greasy and knotted. His shirt is buttoned incorrectly, his right sleeve is rolled up, and he can see the belt cinched around his arm.
“Spencer?” Emily asks, and her lips move on his phone as she speaks. “Did you—”
He cuts her off with a shake of the head and with a shaking hand, undoes the belt around his arm and lets it fall to the floor. “I was— I was about to,” he admits, his voice weak and wet. “I took out the needle. You called right— right as I grabbed the bottle.”
Spencer can see the panic fade from Emily’s face. “Okay, okay,” she says, her voice breathy with relief. “Thank God. Okay. Spencer, I need you to listen to me, okay?”
He nods and says nothing.
“I need you to pick up the bottle and dump it.”
Spencer immediately bursts into tears. “I-I can’t, Em. I can’t!” he cries. “I want to but I can’t. You were dead. I helped carry your coffin! I can’t! It was so bad. I need it! I need to not feel!” He knows he’s not making any sense but by the look of her face, he can tell Emily understands.
“I know,” she says softly. “I know. But I need you to do this for me. Please, Spencer.”
He bows his head and sobs ugly and violent sobs.
“You’re going to be okay, Spencer. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”
“But you weren’t!” he screams, the anger in his chest finally boiling over. “You weren’t here! You left! You lied! You let us believe you were dead! You let us mourn you! I hate you, Emily! I fucking hate you!”
Spencer looks up at the phone when Emily doesn’t respond and freezes when he sees the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I–I’m sorry,” he says, panicked. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you! Please, Emily, please. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I— fuck!” Spencer drops his phone on the couch and pushes himself to his feet, grabbing the needle and vial of Dilaudid as he stands.
“Spencer? Spencer!” Emily cries frantically through his phone. He doesn’t respond and practically sprints into his kitchen. Quickly, before he can regret it, he breaks off the tip of the needle and stabs it into a banana to make it safe and throws it and the rest of the needle in the trash. He unscrews the cap of the vial and dumps it down the kitchen sink. He sobs as he watches the liquid flow down the drain. The vial slips from his fingertips and he sinks to the floor. He says there until he’s sure all of the drug is gone before shakily pushing himself up, rinsing out the vial with water, and throwing it in the trash with the broken needle.
He stumbles back into the living room and picks up his phone to see Emily panicking. She opens her mouth to speak Spencer interrupts her. “I dumped it,” he says weakly.
“Oh thank, God,” Emily sighs with relief. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Spencer.”
“Who knew?” he demands.
“What?”
“Who knew you were alive?”
“Just– just Hotch and JJ. But don’t be mad at them, please. I had no choice. Hotch knows because he’s Unit Chief and JJ only knows because she was assigned to making me disappear. It was too much of a risk to tell anyone else.”
Spencer scoffs. “What? You didn’t trust us? You don’t think we can keep a secret as important as this?”
A pained look crosses Emily’s face. “No,” she insists. “No that’s not it at all. I know all of you would have kept this a secret. I trust all of you with my life. But I couldn’t risk you knowing because it would put you in danger. Doyle will do anything to get to me. I wish even JJ and Hotch didn’t know, but I didn’t get a say in that. But I did get one in protecting you. You don’t– you don’t have to forgive me, or– or even be okay with it, but please—” a small sob cuts her off. “Please, I just need you to understand.”
Spencer stares at her for a while before slowly nodding. “I understand,” he whispers. “I hate it and I’m mad and I don’t forgive you yet but I understand.”
“Thank you,” Emily sighs weakly. “That’s all I ask. I just want you to be safe, that’s why I called, even though I have been ordered not to contact any of you. I couldn’t– I couldn’t let you relapse.”
Spencer nods weakly.
“I just need you to be okay,” she sobs softly.
“I’m not okay,” he admits, another sob forces its way up his throat. “I need help, Em. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m going to call JJ, okay? And she’s going to come pick you up. I'm so proud of you.”
Spencer nods. “I love you, Emily.”
“I love you too, Spence. I’ll stay on the line until she gets here. I’m not leaving you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If anyone wants to be tagged in future fics, just let me know! Also if you have something you'd like me to write, my requests are always open!
Something New and Wonderful
summary: Spencer has some questions he wants to ask you. Neither of you thought it would result in this.
genre: fluff and smut
cw: 18+ mdni! early seasons spencer (season 1 or 2), coming out, talk about sex and relationships, sub!spencer, kinda softdom!reader, dirty talking, praise, use of good boy, begging, couch sex, oral sex (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), gn!reader (reader has a vagina but nothing else is specified (the only word used to describe reader's genitalia is clit)), handjobs, cumming in pants, no use of y/n, autistic!spencer reid (because every spencer is autistic!spencer)
wordcount: 4.2k (I finally caved to writing this and surprised myself)
Spencer has been anxious recently. In the time you’ve known him you’ve never seen him act like this. You can see him gnawing on the inside of his cheek in your periphery. You look between him and the TV and you can tell he isn’t paying attention. He always pays attention when you watch Star Trek together. You’re halfway through watching The Next Generation and even though he’s seen every episode multiple times he always looks just as enraptured by it. But not tonight.
You’re concerned for him. Clearly, something is wrong and it must be big for it to be bothering him this much. After a moment of consideration, you reach forward to grab the remote off the coffee table and pause the episode.
Spencer sits upright almost immediately. His brow is furrowed and he looks back and forth between you and the paused TV with a confused look on his face. “Why’d you pause it?” he asks softly.
You set the remote back down and, tucking one leg underneath you, rotate to face Spencer. He doesn’t speak but you can see the way his mouth contorts slightly as he starts chewing on his lower lip.
“You weren’t paying attention.”
“Yes, I was,” he protests weakly.
You shake your head. “No, you weren’t, Spencer. You weren’t even looking at the screen. You’ve been preoccupied by something, I don’t know what it is but it’s making you nervous. You’ve been chewing on the inside of your mouth all night, you only do that when something’s bothering you. And every time I’ve seen you recently you’ve been anxious.”
He pulls his lip from between his teeth. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry,” he says shyly.
“What? No, no there’s nothing to be sorry for, Spencer. I’m just worried about you, okay? You can—you can talk to me, you know that right? About anything?”
He nods and you search his face for any sign that he isn’t being truthful and find none.
“You don’t have to, but if you want to talk about it I’m all ears.” You smile at him, hoping to reassure him. You really want to know what’s been bothering him and if there’s anything you can do to help, but you’re not going to make him talk if he doesn’t want to.
You can see him start to chew on his lip again but he notices himself doing it and stops, wringing his hands together in his lap instead. He bows his head and a strand of hair falls from behind his ear. You have to resist the urge to tuck it back.
“Have you, um, have you ever been with a guy?” he asks, still facing forward and looking down at his lap.
You tilt your head at him, confused. Is this what’s been bothering him?
“Or–or anyone who’s not a woman?” he continues, nerves making him stutter slightly.
“What do you mean by ‘been with’?” you ask.
His leg starts bouncing. “Like been in a relationship with. Romantic or sexual. Either.”
“I have. Both, kind of.”
He looks up at you at that. “What do you mean ‘kind of’?”
You chuckle lightly. “Well, I’ve dated a guy. We never had sex though. At least not by the classic definition.”
“Vaginal sex?” he asks simply.
You can feel yourself flush and you have to fight the urge to hide your face.
“Yeah. We had oral sex though.” You intend to stop there but Spencer is looking at you so intently that you keep talking. You’re not sure why he wants to know this stuff but if it helps him feel less anxious, you’ll tell him. It just feels weird talking about the sex or lack of sex you had with your ex to the guy you have a crush on. “He, um, ate me out like twice, I think. I tried to suck him off but I wasn’t ready for that yet so I just gave him handjobs. Mostly we just made out though. Why do you ask?”
Spencer turns bright red and looks away from you, wringing his hands so aggressively some of his knuckles crack. You reach out and rest your hand on his shoulder.
“Spence?”
He freezes for a moment and turns his head until he’s looking in the complete opposite direction of you. “I think I’m bisexual,” he whispers.
Suddenly this all makes sense. “Okay. Thank you for telling me, Spencer.”
He whips back around to face you. “What?” he asks, surprised.
You cock your head at him, confused. “What?” you parrot.
“That’s it? You’re not—you’re not upset?”
“Of course not, Spencer,” you say. It seems ridiculous that he would even think that was a possibility but you know him and you know he’s been running the worst case scenarios over and over again in his head.
“Oh, okay. Good. Um, that’s good,” he says awkwardly, finally turning his body to face you on the couch.
You smile at him. “Why’d you want to know if I’d been with someone who wasn’t a woman?” you ask.
His entire face turns red and you have to fight the urge to tease him. “I was curious. I wanted to know what it was like,” he admits.
“It was good,” you say honestly. “We dated for a little over a year.”
“And you, um, are you dating anyone now?” he asks nervously.
“No. Why? Do you want to ask me out?” you tease, unable to resist.
Spencer opens and closes his mouth without speaking and bows his head, fidgeting in his seat.
Oh. You stare at him with wide eyes. He wants to ask you out? He likes you? Your world feels like it was flipped on its head in the best way possible.
“Spencer?”
He lifts his head slowly, cautiously, like he’s afraid you’ll run the moment he looks at you.
“Do you want to ask me out?” you ask again, moving slightly closer to him.
“I-I, um, I—“ he stutters.
You plant your hands on the couch just in front of his knees and lean forward until your face is less than a foot away from his. You smile at him and his eyes widen. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to finish his sentence. When he doesn’t you can’t help but tease him a little. “Use your words, sweetheart.”
Spencer’s eyes widen even further and you can see his chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. He looks adorable like this. There’s movement at the bottom of your vision and you dart your eyes down to see Spencer covering his crotch with his hands. You look back up at his beautifully flushed face with a knowing smile. He looks down slightly, clearly embarrassed.
You can’t have him doing that, not when you want to see his pretty face.
You reach up and hook your fingers under his chin, gently lifting his head to look at you. “C’mon, baby, what happened to that big brain of yours?”
Spencer gasps and whimpers quietly and you have to fight the urge to kiss him right then as arousal pools in your gut.
His mouth opens and closes soundlessly like he’s unable to think of what to say or even remember how to speak. God, he looks gorgeous like this. You notice his gaze fall to your lips and you crawl across the couch, stopping just before climbing into his lap, waiting to see if he's okay with it. You don’t want to push him or make him uncomfortable, that’s the last thing you want to do.
Spencer’s breath hitches in his chest and his hands dart from his lap to gently grab your hips. “Please,” he whispers desperately.
You have to swallow a groan at the sound as you settle onto his lap, straddling his thighs with your own. His fingers dig into your hips and it’s a struggle to not grind against him. You reach up and tuck the loose strand of hair back behind his ear before draping your arms around the back of his neck. “Do you want to take me on a date, baby?” you ask. “Yes or no?”
Spencer nods frantically, his eyes roaming all over your body like he can’t get enough of looking at you. The thought turns you on more than you can believe.
“Words, baby,” you tease. You want to hear him say it. You want to know for sure that he wants you. You’re also curious just how much he’ll surrender himself to you. How easily he’ll let you take control.
“Y-yes,” he gasps. His mouth hangs open and you can feel the rise and fall of his shoulders with each panting breath.
“Good boy,” you say, and he outright moans. Fuck. The sound goes straight between your legs. “I’d love to go on a date with you, sweetheart.” I stare directly into his eyes. “Do you want me to kiss you? Yes or no?”
“Please,” he whimpers. Unable to resist any longer you cup his head in your hands and pull him into a kiss. He kisses you back hungrily. Like he’s been starving for it. God, how is he so good at this? His hands twitch awkwardly at your hips before he seems to find a bit of confidence and slides them up to your waist, hiking up your shirt slightly. You gasp into his mouth at the feeling of his hands touching your skin. You’ve been dreaming about this for months.
You slide a hand from his cheek around the back of his head, curling your fingers into his hair. You don’t even pull but Spencer lets out an almost pathetic whine and starts kissing you with desperate, open mouth kisses. His teeth nip at your bottom lip and you open your mouth.
You kiss him back just as hungrily, tugging ever so slightly on his hair. Spencer’s head falls back, breaking the kiss, as he moans desperately. The sound of his moan and the look on his face has heat building fast between your legs and you can feel your underwear starting to get wet. You pull him into another kiss and rock your hips against his.
His back arches and one of his hands slides up your back to press you closer to him, hiking your shirt up to your chest. The other slips down to your thigh, gripping you tightly just inches away from where you want him. You moan into his mouth as his hips buck up slightly. You continue to rock your hips and drop your hands to his chest to start fumbling with the buttons of his shirt without breaking the kiss. He gasps into your mouth as you unbutton his shirt as quickly as you can. You need him now. You’ll have him in whatever way he’ll let you but you have to have him.
Eventually, you manage to finish unbuttoning his shirt and he leans away from the arm of the church so you can slide it off his shoulders and toss it to the side. “Please,” he whimpers into the kiss. You pull away and grind your hips harder against his dick, relishing in the way his head falls back and his eyes flutter closed as he moans.
“Please what, baby?” you tease because he seems to like it.
His eyes open and he stares at you, his pupils blown wide with lust. His eyes dart down to your chest as he slides his hands to your sides, slowly pushing up your shirt. “Can—can you take this off? Please?” he pants.
You smile at him and grab the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head. You toss it somewhere to the side and when you look back at Spencer he’s just staring at you, his hands hovering just above your skin. He’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
The brief pause gives you a chance to look at him too. He’s gorgeous. His hair is messed up and sticking all over the place. His lips are wet and swollen and his face and neck are flushed red. He’s thin but toned and the only body hair you can see is a small happy trail leading down into his pants. You press your palms against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with each gasping breath he takes, and rub your thumbs over his nipples.
Spencer gasps and his eyes snap shut as his head falls back with pleasure. His hands quickly find their way back to your waist and hold on tightly.
You maneuver him until he’s lying down fully with his head resting on the throw pillow against the arm of the couch, your fingers never leaving his nipples. He whines and gasps desperately, arching his back and bucking his hips, causing his bulge to rub up against your clit. You moan softly with each thrust of his hips and grind back down against him once you have him situated.
You lean forward until your mouth is hovering next to his ear. You roll your hips down against his and press a brief kiss behind his ear. “So pretty,” you whisper.
“Please,” he begs in a whimpering voice. “Don’t stop.”
You chuckle lightly against his ear before pressing kisses along his jaw and neck. “Of course not, baby,” you say. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
You move yourself down and latch your mouth around one of his nipples, pinching the other between your fingers. He lets out a pathetic moan as you toy with him. You groan in response and shift your hips so that each thrust rubs his dick against your clit. You can feel your underwear soak through and wetness sticking to your thighs. Arousal pools in your gut and you can feel the heat climbing up your back as pleasure shoots through your body.
“Fuck! Feels so good!” Spencer gasps. You pull your mouth away and start kissing your way back up his chest and along his neck, until you reach the shell of his ear. You nip at his earlobe and his hips buck up hard, pressing right into your clit and you moan into his ear. His hands reach around you to grab your ass and push you back down against him. “The things I want to do to you,” you whisper breathlessly.
“Please!” he begs. “Tell me! Please!”
You smile and nip again at his ear. “I want to fuck you until the only thing you can do is scream my name. I want to make you feel so good, baby.”
Spencer groans loudly. “Fuck, please. I want that. Please fuck me. I want you so badly. I need you. Please.”
God, the way he’s begging. You love how desperate he is, how needy. He wants you so badly he can’t even control himself. You want to see just how desperate you can make him, see how long it takes until he’s begging you to let him cum. You roll your hips against him, groaning at the thought and the jolt of pleasure that shoots up your spine—another time. But you will make him beg for you.
“Good boy,” you whisper. His back arches, pressing his chest against yours. You shift until you’re only straddling one of his thighs and reach down between your bodies to palm him through his slacks. His hands fall from your ass and scramble frantically at the couch cushion.
His hips buck up into your hand and a long, raspy moan falls from his lips, his eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you! Thank you!” he gasps. At the sound of his pleasure, you start rocking against his thigh, unable to stay still with how turned on you are.
You smile and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Such a good boy, using your manners.”
“Fuck! Please! Please!”
“Please what, baby? Use your words, remember?”
“Please touch me!” he gasps.
“Aww, but I am touching you,” you tease.
He shakes his head frantically and stares at you with desperate, hooded eyes.
“You’re going to have to be more specific, Spencer.”
“Please touch my cock!” he gasps. The sound of him saying something so dirty makes you moan and you grind faster against his thigh.
“Good boy, Spencer,” you praise, undoing his belt and slacks. “Such a good boy for me. I’ve got you, baby, don’t worry.”
You slip your hand down the front of his pants and the moment your fingers touch his cock he whimpers pathetically. He’s so wet that your hand glides up and down him with ease and the thought that he’s this turned on because of you drives you crazy. His hands shoot up from the couch and pull you down into another deep and hungry kiss.
You continue to stroke him quickly despite the awkward angle of your wrist, swallowing all the whimpers and moans he makes. His hips buck up into your hand rapidly until he’s practically fucking your fist. He pulls away from the kiss to breathe, gasping like he can’t get enough air. With each stroke he lets out breathy little moans that go straight between your legs. You groan as you grind against his thigh in time to the movement of your hand.
“Oh fuck!” he gasps. “Please! Please! I’m gonna— I’m so close! Please! Please can I cum?”
You lean forward and press a kiss right below his ear. “Good boy,” you whisper. “Come for me, baby.”
As soon as you finish speaking, as if he was holding it back until you gave permission, he cums crying out your name. His head tilts back and his mouth falls open as his eyes screw shut and his face contorts. And fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. His thighs shake and his hips jolt as you stroke him through it, kissing gently all over his face and neck. “Such a good boy,” you whisper. “Did so good for me.”
You keep stroking him, only pulling your hand away once he starts to squirm. He stares at you with big wet eyes. “Th–thank you,” he gasps weakly, turning his face into your neck. “That—that was amazing.
You smile and press another kiss to his jaw. “I–I’m glad, baby,” you say, your voice catching on a groan as you grind your clit onto his thigh.
His hands slide to your hips and hold them tightly, moving with you as you rock against him.
“What about you,” he asks softly. “You haven’t cum yet. Do you want me to touch you?”
You gasp at his words and bury your head into his neck. Yes. You want that so badly, more than you’ve ever wanted anything. But you don’t want him to feel obligated.
“O–only if you want to,” you gasp.
“I want to,” he insists. “Please. Can I touch you? I want to make you feel good.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as a spark of pleasure shoots up your spine at his words. “Fuck,” you groan. “Please.”
As soon as the words leave your mouth, Spencer stills your hips and guides you off his thigh. You open your eyes in surprise and groan at the loss of friction, rubbing your thighs together to try to make up for it. He gently flips your positions until you’re lying on your back across the couch and he’s settled between your thighs in just his briefs. At some point while he flipped you he managed to get his pants the rest of the way off. He looks so beautiful. Your eyes trail down his chest to the wet patch at the front of his underwear from where he came in his pants. Your hips buck against the air, desperate for him to touch you.
His hands rest at the waistband of your shorts, his thumbs just barely slipping under the elastic as he rubs soft circles into your hips. “C–can I touch you?” he asks nervously.
You nod frantically and lift your hips as he slowly pulls down your pants and underwear. You curl your legs up to allow him to pull them off fully and his breath hitches when he sees you. He rubs your thighs and guides your legs back down around him. As soon as you’re flat on the couch, he reaches up to tug at your nipples and presses his thigh between your legs. You moan loudly, grinding against him, desperate for any kind of friction.
“So pretty,” he whispers, sliding one hand down your stomach. It slips between your legs and you moan as he rubs gentle circles against your clit.
You pant heavily, overwhelmed with pleasure as he touches you so perfectly.
“Does that feel good, baby?” he asks, sounding pleased with himself.
“Yes! Yes! Please! Feels so good!” you cry, rocking your hips up into his hand. He smiles sweetly at you and your stomach flutters. He presses a kiss to your chest and slips further down the couch until he’s lying on his stomach with his head between your thighs, just inches away from your clit. He looks at you for a moment, gripping your thigh hard with one hand and continuing to touch you with the other.
You stare at him with wide eyes. Is he really going to eat you out? You never imagined that would be something Spencer would want to do with his aversion to germs. Part of you is worried that he’s just doing this because he thinks he should but that concern is swept the way the moment he whispers a desperate and needy, “Please?”
Your eyes practically roll back into your head and you nod frantically. Spencer immediately removes his thumb to wrap his lips around your clit. You gasp in pleasure at the feeling of his mouth on you. His tongue darts out and swirls around your clit before he pulls it back and sucks gently. Your hands shoot to his head, your fingers curling into his hair, making him groan against you. The vibration of his moan against your clit causes your hips to buck into his mouth and in response, he drapes one arm over your waist to hold you down. The action makes you dizzy with arousal. With his other hand, he gently presses one finger inside you.
You moan loudly as he laps at your clit and slowly thrusts his finger in and out of you. “Oh, fuck, Spencer!” you cry out. “So good! Such a good boy!”
He moans around your clit and slips another finger inside you. The combination of sensations makes you whine desperately. Arousal coils in your gut and jolts of pleasure shoot through your body. You can feel heat rising up to your neck and you can tell you’re getting close. You’re about to tell him when he curls his fingers up and hits the spot inside you that you’ve never been able to reach yourself. The words disappear from your mind and the only sound you can make is a broken moan. Your thighs shake with pleasure as he continues with his mouth and hits that spot with his fingers over and over again. His tongue swirls around your clit and somehow you manage to gasp, “F-fuck, baby. I’m so close.”
He pulls his mouth away from you slightly but keeps it close enough that you can feel his breath against you. He continues to thrust his fingers in and out of you, hitting that spot every time. “Cum for me, baby, please,” he whispers. “I wanna taste you.”
His mouth latches back around your clit and with a moan you come hard, clenching around his fingers and curling your hands into his hair. You gasp and tremble with pleasure as he works you through it. When you finally come down, he removes his hand and presses a soft kiss to your clit that makes you gasp before kissing his way up to your neck. You roll onto your side and move over slightly so he can slide between you and the back of the couch. He brings the fingers that had just been inside you up to his mouth and licks them clean with a groan.
“Fuck, Spencer,” you gasp with shock. “You can’t just do that.”
“Do what?” he asks innocently but with a smile that shows he knows full well what you mean. He chuckles softly. “You just taste so good, I couldn’t help it.”
You can feel your cheeks burning and you bury your head into his neck with a groan. He laughs at your embarrassment.
“That was amazing,” he whispers and you nod in agreement. “You’re so beautiful. I wish we could stay like this forever.”
Butterflies swarm in your stomach. You smile and press a kiss to his neck. “Me too, baby. You’re gorgeous.”
He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I never want to get up,” he whispers, almost whining.
You laugh and pull back to look at him. “Well, you’re going to have to if you ever want to go on that date,” you tease.
He smiles at you and you feel your heart melt. “Where do you want to go for our date?”
“Tonight?” you ask, surprised.
“If you want to.”
You nod. “How does Indian food sound?”
Spencer’s eyes light up at the suggestion and he presses a soft kiss to your lips. “That sounds perfect.”
______________________________________________________________
ok, so I've never written smut before but this was just tumbling around in my brain. hopefully I did alright
My criminal minds neurodivergency headcanons:
Intro/Requests/Masterlist!!
REQUESTS ARE (temporarily) CLOSED (while I catch up on the ones I have)
Intro!: I'm Em/June! I'm 21 and currently hyper-fixated on criminal minds because of autism. I use they/them pronouns.
What I will write!: I'm down to write any genre (fluff, angst, smut, gen) I will pretty much only write afab!reader (because that's what I know/am), everything will be gn!reader (but it won't really be noticeable if it's just reader and the one character), I'm totally chill with writing potentially triggering things,
What I won't write!: scat, piss, feet, anal (r!receiving), pregnant reader, hard dom! spencer, hitting, public sex, age gap, CNC
(even if it isn't stated spencer is bi and autistic in everything I write)
Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics
MASTERLIST!:
One Shots!:
Just to Hear Her Voice (spencer reid angst, hurt/comfort)
Something New and Wonderful (spencer reid x gn!reader, fluff and smut)
Ways of Saying "I Love You" (spencer reid x gn!reader, fluff, requested)
It's a Beautiful Thing (emily prentiss angst, hurt/comfort)
Put to Use (spencer reid x gn!reader, fluff and smut)
Ashamed (spencelle (platonic or romantic), angst, hurt/comfort)
What if? (spencer reid x gn!reader, angst and fluff, hurt/comfort)
Soft Early Mornings (emily prentiss x non-male gn!reader, fluff and smut)
Desperate (spencer reid x gn!reader, smut)
An Awkward, Yet Important, Conversation (spencer reid x gn!autistic!reader, light angst/hurt/comfort)
One More (spencer reid x gn!reader, smut, requested)
Home Early (emily prentiss x non-male gn!reader, fluff and smut, requested)
Coming Out (emily prentiss x transmasc!reader, angst and fluff, hurt/comfort, requested)
First Time (spencer reid x fem/gn!reader (gender isn't specified but reader is afab and wears a bra), fluff and smut, requested)
Strip Poker (emily prentiss x fem/gn!reader (gender isn't specified but reader wears a bra), fluff and fade to black smut, requested)
Bad Time at the Bar (spencer reid x gn!autistic!reader, angst/hurt/comfort, requested)
Pretty Girl (spencer reid x gn!reader, smut)
Series!:
Astrophysics!reader masterlist (spencer reid x gn!reader)
Drabbles!:
gn!reader fingering trans!spencer
whiny!spencer
Y’all send me fic requests! Angst, fluff, smut! Anything! I want to write but don’t have any ideas!
lowkey me and my autistic friend when we hang out (especially the first gif)
Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia being an iconic duo — Season 5 Episode 3 ‘The Reckoner’
OH OH OH how about a coffee shop/bookstore date like reader is new to town and Spencer decides to take them out to his favorite book shop and coffee shop (gn reader if possible:3)
Ways to Say "I Love You"
thank you so much for the request! I had a blast writing this
spencer reid x gn!reader (no use of y/n)
cw: nothing, just pure fluff
wordcount: 2.6k
You pace in circles around your living room, avoiding the boxes still piled up along the walls. You’ve been here two months already, but starting as a new professor and researcher at Georgetown has kept you so busy you simply haven’t had time to finish unpacking. You suppose you could do it now, a distraction would probably help your nerves, but you’d rather continue with your circles.
You check your watch. You have six minutes until Spencer will be here. He always arrives exactly on time, never early or late if he can help it. You take a deep breath. “It’s just a date,” you whisper to yourself. “No expectations. Just have fun.” You know you will but your heart is beating so fast and hard that you can feel it in your chest.
To be honest, you don’t know why you’re so nervous. You’ve known Spencer for years. You met at CalTech in your freshman year of undergrad while he was finishing up his third PhD and you’ve kept in touch through letters and occasional visits ever since. He even flew out to watch your thesis defense.
You’ve loved Spencer for nearly as long as you’ve known him and the fact that he asked you out is like a dream come true but you can’t help but worry that he’ll realize he made a mistake.
A knock at the door startles you from your thoughts and you almost trip over a box. You glance down at your watch. It’s two o’clock exactly and you can’t help but wonder how long Spencer waited outside your apartment door before knocking. You take a deep breath and run your hands down the front of your shirt, smoothing down any wrinkles in the fabric, before making your way to the door.
You will your shaking hands to be still as you unlock the door and pull it inwards. Your jaw nearly drops at the sight of Spencer. He’s dressed how he usually is, looking as good as always, but he’s wearing his glasses and smiling softly at you, a nervous flush on his cheeks. He holds a bouquet of flowers in his right hand. The bouquet is made of three types of flowers. You recognize the sunflowers and daffodils, but not pale purple, pinwheel-like ones.
“Oh, Spencer, thank you!” you say, taking the bouquet as he hands it to you. You bury your nose in the flowers and smell them with a smile. “This is lovely! Come in while I put these in some water.”
You step aside and Spencer slips awkwardly into your apartment.
“Ignore all the boxes,” you laugh. “I’ve been too busy to finish unpacking.”
He nods, looking around your apartment as he follows you into the kitchen. He seems twice as nervous as you are.
“Can you hold this for me for a moment?” you ask, holding out the bouquet. He nods and takes it from your hands. You turn around and climb onto the counter to reach the empty vase you’d placed on top of the cabinets once the housewarming flowers your parents sent you had died. You slide off the counter and head over to the sink to rinse off any dust.
You dry the outside of the vase with a dishtowel before filling it halfway with water. You set the vase on the small dining table pressed against the wall. “So, where are you planning on taking me?" you ask, taking the bouquet from Spencer and slipping it into the vase.
“There’s a nice little bookstore and coffee shop right next door to each other not far from here. I was thinking we could go there if that’s alright.”
You smile at him, his obvious nervousness making yours fade. “That sounds great,” you say. “But first, now that our hands are free, can I give you a hug?”
Spencer nods and pulls you into a tight hug, resting his face in the crook of your neck. You’ve always loved his hugs, they make you feel safe and loved. And knowing that you could probably count on your hands the number of people Spencer feels comfortable hugging makes it feel that much more special.”
“I’ve missed you,” you whisper.
“We saw each other last week,” Spencer says, sounding confused.
You chuckle and end the hug. “I know, but it still feels like it’s been years.”
Spencer’s brow furrows. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m just saying that because we saw each other so rarely before I moved here I still feel like I haven’t spent enough time with you now that I am here. Like I need to make up for it. I can still miss you even if I’m close by,” you tease.
“Oh, then I missed you too.”
You chuckle lightly and pat him on the shoulder. “Alright then, Spence, take me to that bookstore.”
________________
The walk wasn’t a long one and with the nice spring weather and catching up with Spencer, it almost felt like it went by too fast.
“This is it,” Spencer says, stopping in front of a cafe.
You look at him confused. “I thought we were going to the bookstore first.”
“We are,” he says with a smile. He reaches his hand out toward yours and after a brief moment of hesitation, takes your hand in his. You can feel yourself blush and wonder if you're as flushed as Spencer.
He guides you toward a small alleyway about three feet wide with a cat sleeping on a book painted on the ground and leads you down it. The alley curves to the right and then back to the left and at the end is a little courtyard and an old brick building. There are stacks of books on and under a wooden table at the side of the courtyard, shaded from the sun by an awning that extends from the wall of the neighboring building. Along the back of the cafe are three small tables with two chairs each and along the third side is a small garden filled with wildflowers native to the DC area.
A large window covers the front wall of the book store and there’s a classy-looking decal of the same image on the alley floor a sign that says “Alleycat Books”. The view inside the store is mostly blocked by stacks of books but through the gaps, you can see shelves stretching along the walls from floor to ceiling and multiple shelves in the middle of the room, all filled to the brim with books.
You look around the courtyard in awe.
“Spencer, this is amazing!”
He smiles at you, his nose scrunching up adorably. “I’m glad you like it. But the inside is even better.”
You laugh as he leads you to the door and opens it for you with an awkward little bow. He’s right, the inside is better. It looks almost magical. Floor-to-ceiling shelves cover every inch of the side and back walls. About fifteen feet away from you, halfway across the room, another floor-to-ceiling shelf with gaps on either side acts as a divider. Two rows of three shoulder-height shelves with gaps between each of them fill the ten-foot width of the room in front of the dividing shelf and based on the line of sight you have through the gaps of the divider, the same seems to be true on the other side. A woman greets us from a small desk in the corner as we enter and Spencer waves awkwardly at her as you nod your head in greeting.
“The sci-fi section’s over here,” Spencer says, leading you to the back half of the room. “I know it’s your favorite genre.”
You laugh and nod, tilting your head to read the titles of the books. Spencer laughs softly as you start to tilt your whole body to read the names of the books on the lower shelves.
“I’m going to look in the poetry section,” Spencer says.
You nod in response, your upper body still tilted almost horizontal. You hear his footsteps retreat to the opposite side of the divider. You stand to see where he ended up and can’t help but laugh when you see his hair poking over the two rows of books on the divider.
“What?” Spencer asks.
“Stand on your toes,” you say with a laugh.
His head rises as he does what you say and you stand on your toes as well to see his eyes poking over the books.
“I can see you,” you tease.
“Yes.” You can hear his smile in his voice.
You laugh and return to browsing the books. Your gaze brushes over a copy of DUNE and you pull it from the shelf to look at the cover. “Spencer!” you call, running around to the other side of the shelf. He looks at you with raised eyebrows. You hold out the book. “There’s no sticker! I love this book and I’ve been trying to find a copy without the sticker for so long! I hate the stickers.”
“They do ruin the covers.”
“Well, that’s it. I just wanted to show you. I’m going to keep looking.”
You both spend almost an hour looking around the store and by the time you’re both satisfied, you’ve found three books, including the copy of DUNE, and Spencer has read two collections of poetry and found a vintage copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.
Spencer tries to convince you to let him pay for your books and after a brief and silly argument, he relents to only paying for one of them. You make sure to pay first so he can’t try to tell the cashier to put all of your books on his card. He pouts slightly when as you pay, but you won’t let him guilt you into relenting. You smile and pat softly on the shoulder as he sets his book and the third of yours on the counter to pay.
Once he’s finished, he holds his messenger bag open and you slide the books inside. Ever the gentleman, he holds the door for you again on the way out. “What kind of stuff does the cafe have?” you ask as you lead the way through the alley back out to the street.
“They have hot chocolate, so that should make you happy,” Spencer says. You step out of the entrance and turn around to watch him emerge. “They have really good pastries too. And toast with butter and honey.”
“Hmm, I think I’ll get that and a hot chocolate.”
“The toast? You nod as he opens the door for you. “Okay, I’ll order while you grab us a table.”
You look around the room for the perfect spot as Spencer heads to the counter to get in line. There’s a small table for two in one of the corners by the window and you slip into one of the chairs to claim it.
You can’t seem to take your eyes off Spencer as he waits. He’s just so beautiful. His hands clutch the strap of his messenger bag and you can see his fingers tapping slightly. When it’s his turn he shifts his weight from side to side as he orders. He’s never been able to keep still the entire time you’ve known him, but that’s just another thing you love about him. You smile and wave at him as he turns around and a flush lights up his face. He holds up a small stand with the number twelve on it and sets it on the table as he slides into the seat across from you.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Spencer asks, embarrassed. His cheeks are still bright red.
“No reason,” you say. “You’re just pretty.”
Spencer’s face gets impossibly redder and he hides his head in his hands. “Y-you’re pretty too,” he mutters, his voice muffled behind his hands.
You reach across the table, gently grabbing his sleeves to tug his hands away. He stares at you with wide eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can a waiter comes with the food and drinks and Spencer shuts his mouth again.
You thank the waiter and Spencer mutters a thanks as well. You slide your hot chocolate and toast over to you and Spencer moves his coffee and croissant to his side of the table.
“What were you going to say before our food came?” you ask, spreading the butter and honey onto your toast.
Spencer’s blush, which had started to fade, comes back in full force. He lowers his eyes to his coffee as he tears open a couple of packets of sugar and dumps them in.
“That I’m really glad you’re here. In DC,” he says awkwardly, stirring the sugar into his coffee with a wooden stir stick. “I’ve missed being around you. And I like that you’re so close now.”
Your face heats and you know that you’re blushing now too.
“I’m glad, too, Spencer,” you say softly. He raises his head to meet your eyes. “I really like being around you. And I’m really glad you asked me out. I’ve liked you for years and now that I’m here and we can actually see each other I would’ve done it if you hadn’t.”
Spencer smiles widely at you, his nose and eyes crinkling and his tongue poking out slightly between his teeth.
You and Spencer stay in the cafe long after you’ve finished your food and drinks, just talking about anything and everything. You tell him about your research and invite him to come to some of your lectures and he tells you about work and his team. Eventually, the conversation slows and you and Spencer walk back to your apartment in a comfortable silence only occasionally interrupted by Spencer voicing a thought because he knows you like to listen.
________________
Once back inside your apartment Spencer holds open his messenger bag so you can take out your books and set them on the dining table to put away later.
Spencer gently runs his hand over the bouquet in the center of the table.
“Vinca minor,” he says softly, pointing at one of the purple flowers. “The lesser periwinkle or dwarf periwinkle. It’s a member of the dogbane family and is native to central and southern Europe and southwestern Asia. In the language of flowers, it means early and sincere friendship and tender memories.” He points at a daffodil. “Narcissus jonquilla. Commonly referred to as Jonquil or Rush daffodil. It’s native to Spain and Portugal and represents desire or returned affection. Helianthus annuus. The common sunflower, it’s native to the Americas and represents loyalty and adoration. But I mostly just included them because they’re your favorite.”
You can feel your cheeks warm with a blush and you smile big and wide at him, enough that your eyes close partially. “Spencer?” He looks up at you and you take a few steps forward until you’re right in front of him.
“Y-yeah?” he asks, stuttering slightly.
“Can I kiss you?”
His eyes widen and he nods. You reach up to cup his cheek and kiss him softly. It’s full of love and care and words that should have been said years ago but are finally being shared now. You pull away with a smile and chuckle as he chases after you slightly. You drape your arms around the back of his neck and look him in the eyes. “I love you too, Spencer.”
Put to Use
summary: Spencer has been bothering you all day while you try to get work done, you decide to put his mouth to better use.
genre: fluff and smut
cw: 18+ mdni! sub!spencer, softdom!reader, dirty talking, praise, use of good boy, begging, oral sex (r receiving (kinda)), strap-ons, strap-on sucking, hair pulling, gn!reader (reader has a vagina but nothing else is specified (the only word used to describe reader's genitalia is clit)), masturbation, no use of y/n, whiny/bratty spencer, autistic!spencer (because every spencer is autistic!spencer), aftercare
wordcount: 2.1k
Spencer has been whining all day. He’s been pacing around the apartment, practically begging you to put aside your work and complaining about how bored and lonely he is. Both of which you know for a fact is not true. If Spencer was bored he would grab one of the many books littering your shared apartment and read, and if he was actually lonely he would have a proper conversation about it rather than whining. He’s not bored or lonely, he’s just horny.
If you weren’t so busy you’d help him out, but you have a deadline coming up and you’ve been stuck on this part of your code for over two hours and it’s starting to piss you off.
Spencer sighs loudly as he passes by your desk. You briefly close your eyes and take a deep breath to tune him out and continue working. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Spencer watching you and when you don’t push everything aside to attend to him he whines your name.
“Spencer,” you reply in a matching whine. He pouts.
“I’m bored.”
“Then read,” you say, still not taking your eyes off of your computer.
“But I don’t want to read,” he whines.
“Since when do you not want to read?”
“I just don’t,” he grumbles.
He flops onto the couch with a huff, his legs draped over the side. If you weren’t so worried about spurring him on, you’d laugh.
A few minutes pass before he calls your name again.
You roll your eyes, starting to get a bit annoyed. “What, Spencer?”
“I’m still bored.”
Jesus Christ. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve seen him desperate for you before but he’s never been such a brat about it. “Spencer, you know I have to work.”
“I know, but I’m lonely,” he whines.
“I’m right here.”
“That’s too far,” he groans.
“I’m really busy, Spencer. You’re just going to have to be patient.”
He mumbles something to himself but goes quiet and occupies himself by swinging his legs. It would be adorable if he wasn’t being such a pain in the ass.
You rub your eyes and lean closer to your computer as if that will tell you how to fix the error that just appeared in your code. You change the dimensions of an array and try running it again, when the code still fails, frustration builds in your chest and you have to fight the urge to slam your computer shut.
You mentally run through all of your most common mistakes and their solutions but not one of them gets rid of the error. You’re about to plot the data to see if there’s an issue in the reading of the file when Spencer calls your name again.
You close your laptop with a snap and Spencer’s head pokes over the back of the couch. You stand, pushing your chair away from your desk hard enough that it almost topples over.
You glare at him. “Up,” you snap.
Spencer immediately scrambles off the couch and onto his feet, staring at you with wide, desperate eyes.
“Go to the bedroom. I want you naked and kneeling on the floor by the time I arrive. And no touching yourself.” Spencer’s eyes get impossibly wider and he seems almost frozen with surprise. “Now, Spencer.”
He nods frantically and races down the hallway and into the bedroom. You love how desperate he is to obey you. Watching him practically trip over himself to do as you say makes arousal pool in your gut. You walk around to the front of the couch and sit where Spencer had been lying mere moments ago. You stare at your watch and press your hands between your legs to relieve some of the pressure.
Spencer has no doubt done what you said by now but you want to make him wait. He needs to learn some patience. Eventually, your own arousal becomes too much to bear and you follow him into the bedroom.
Ever the good listener, Spencer is kneeling on the floor completely naked. His hands are resting just above his knees and he’s squeezing his legs hard enough that the skin around his hands is white. His cock is hard and resting on his thighs and you can tell by how much it’s leaking that he hasn’t touched himself. The sight of him drives you crazy.
He gasps your name when he sees you, but you walk toward the dresser at the other end of the room without acknowledging him. He whines pathetically and as much as you want to kiss him, you don’t turn around. You open the top drawer and move aside your underwear and socks to grab the strap-on and harness you’d purchased recently. You turn around, closing the drawer with your elbow, and Spencer’s eyes widen when he sees what you’re holding.
“Oh my God,” he gasps, his voice breaking slightly with desperation.
You toss the items onto the bed and twirl your finger. Immediately, Spencer shuffles around until he’s facing you, not leaving his knees once.
You saunter forward, stopping only inches away from him. He lifts his hands and reaches out to touch you, his mouth hanging open and his chest rising and falling rapidly with each panted breath, but he lowers his hands when you give him a pointed look. The pure adoration and need in his eyes has you soaking through your underwear and it takes a tremendous amount of self-control not to kiss him.
You grab the hem of your shirt and slowly pull it over your head. You can feel Spencer’s unwavering eye contact the entire time. You toss the shirt to the side and unbuckle your belt before pushing your pants and underwear down your legs at a snail's pace, never once taking your eyes off of Spencer’s face.
You step out of your pants and underwear and kick them aside as you reach around behind you to grab the dildo and harness off the bed. Spencer watches your hands intently as you slide the dildo through the hole in the front of the harness. “Please,” he gasps. “Oh my God, please, I need it! Please!”
You shoot him a glare and his mouth snaps shut.
“You want to use your mouth so bad?” you ask with a snarl, stepping into the harness and pulling it up to your hips. “Talking and talking nonstop? Distracting me even though you know I have to work? I’ll put your mouth to use.” You tighten the straps until the harness fits snugly around your hips and waist. “Maybe this will shut you up.”
You grab Spencer’s hair and pull him forward until his face is right in front of your strap. He falls slightly and scrambles until he’s sitting between your legs, looking up at you with an open mouth and wide eyes.
“Suck,” you command. The second the word leaves your mouth, Spencer wraps his lips around your strap with a pathetic moan, his eyes fluttering shut. He looks gorgeous like this and you can feel your arousal sticking to your thighs.
Spencer bobs his head and a gasp forces its way from your throat as the base of the dildo presses against your clit. Spurred on by the sound of your pleasure, Spencer presses his face closer to you and wraps one of his hands around the base of the strap, stroking it in time to the movement of his head.
Each stroke sends pleasure shooting up your spine and you tangle your hands in his hair to steady yourself. “Such a good boy,” you groan. “Taking my cock so well.”
Spencer moans desperately and pulls his head away for a moment, not stopping the movement of his hands. He looks up at you with wet eyes. “You’re cock,” he rasps. “Love your cock. Tastes so good.”
His voice already sounds ruined and the thought makes you moan as you push his head back down. He rewraps his lips around your cock and takes you down as far as he can. The dildo isn’t big and the tip of his nose presses lightly against your stomach. You can feel where the silicone hits the back of his throat and you moan loudly, your head falling back with pleasure. He wraps his hands around your thighs and holds you in place, slowly and gently bobbing his head. Even the slightest of movements send waves of pleasure through your body as the base of the dildo rubs against you and you have to fight the urge to buck your hips.
As if he could read your mind, Spencer pulls back off your cock and replaces his mouth with his hand, stroking rapidly. You gasp as each stroke presses the dildo against your clit with the perfect amount of pressure. You look down at him and the sight is almost enough to make you cum. His entire body is flushed red and his chest heaves with each desperate breath. His cock is red and hard and he’s leaked all over his lap, the hand not stroking you is clenched into a fist at his side so he doesn’t touch himself without permission. He looks divine.
Spencer stares up at you with an expression of pure need. “F-fuck my face,” he gasps, his voice weak and scratchy. “Please.”
His words send sparks of pleasure through you and combined with the movement of his hand you can feel your orgasm starting to pool in your belly. “Holy shit,” you gasp, nodding your head frantically, unsure of how else to respond. The moment he sees you nod he replaces his hand with his mouth, groaning loudly.
Your hips buck forward and the sensation makes you cry out with pleasure. Heat starts to climb up your back and you thrust sloppily into his mouth as you chase your orgasm. “Such a good boy,” you gasp. “Taking me so well. Touch yourself, baby, touch yourself while I fuck your pretty face.”
A loud moan rips from Spencer’s chest and even though you can’t see it, you know he has his hand between his legs and is desperately fucking his fist.
“That’s it, baby,” you pant. “I’m so close.”
Spencer whimpers around your cock and you can see his hips moving desperately beneath you as he touches himself. His whole body tenses as he cums and the sight of his orgasm brings you to yours. You cum hard with a cry of his name. Your legs shake as pleasure shoots through your body and you struggle to stay on your feet. Your hips still and you untangle your hands from Spencer’s hair as he pulls back.
He smiles a big dopey smile up at you and you sink to your knees to pull him in for a kiss. You rub your thumb over his cheek and he sighs into your mouth as he kisses you back. You pull away and he chases after you weakly. You chuckle and press a brief kiss to the tip of his nose. “Did so good, baby. So proud of you,” you whisper.
Spencer smiles and buries his head in the crook of your neck.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, alright, sweetheart?”
He nods and you guide him to his feet and into the ensuite bathroom. You undo and step out of the harness and set it and the strap on the edge of the sink to clean later. You turn on the bath and wipe the cum off his legs with a wet washcloth as you sit on the edge of the tub and wait for the water to get warm. Spencer stays pressed close to your side the entire time but you don’t mind. You love how soft and cuddly he gets after sex, especially when you’ve been a little rougher with him.
You keep one arm wrapped around him, holding him against your body, and feel the temperature of the water with the other. Satisfied, you plug the drain and let the bath start to fill.
“Alright, sweetheart, the water’s nice and warm. Why don’t you climb in?” Spencer presses his face back into your neck. You feel a pang of worry at his lack of communication. “What’s wrong baby?” you ask gently. “Are you alright? Does anything hurt?”
Spencer shakes his head and wraps his arms tighter around you. You return his hug, rubbing your hand up and down his back, feeling the ridges of his spine under your fingertips. “Do you just want to be near me?” you ask. Spencer nods and your worry dissipates. You smile and press a kiss to the top of his head. “Okay, baby. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll join you in the bath, alright?”
Spencer nods and lets you guide him into the tub. You slip in right behind him and turn off the water. You press kisses to his back and shoulders as you bathe him, whispering praises until you’re both clean.
_____
Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics
@daryls-crossbow16
Ashamed
summary: Spencer has always felt ashamed of his autism and some local officers just make it worse. Fortunately, Elle is there to convince him otherwise.
genre: hurt/comfort
cw: spencelle (can be read as platonic or romantic), (explicitly) autistic spencer reid, internalized ableism, abliesm, use of the r-slur, meltdowns, autism viewed in a negative light, communicating through echolalia
wordcount: 1.8k
“Jesus, kid, do you ever stop talking?”
Spencer freezes mid-sentence. He closes his mouth and lets his hands fall to his sides from where they had been moving wildly in front of him. “Sorry,” he mutters. The officer rolls his eyes and walks away. Spencer turns back to the geographical profile, wishing that a member of his team was still at the station with him.
“Didn’t know they let freaks like that in the FBI,” the officer says. His voice is quiet, he probably doesn’t realize Spencer can hear him. Spencer swallows hard and clasps his hands over his stomach so he doesn’t shake them.
Spencer lives in a limbo of being both proud and ashamed of his autism. It allows him to recognize patterns others would miss and to communicate with witnesses and unsubs that the rest of the team is unable to. But at the same time, it’s another thing that’s different about him, another thing that’s wrong.
He should be used to this by now. He ignores but doesn’t miss the quiet questions the police ask each other nearly everywhere they go, wondering what’s wrong with him and how someone like him managed to get into the FBI. Spencer knows that it makes him self-destructive. That it makes him push aside his health and well-being and work until a meltdown to prove that he deserves his place on his team and that he’s worthy of being listened to.
But the comments don’t stop no matter how much he throws himself into his job. He helps his team deliver the profile and hears the officers compare him to a robot. He sees the way the police and his own team members sigh in annoyance whenever he begins to talk.
It’s worse this case than it usually is. They’re in rural Indiana and the police border on cruel. He’s a profiler, he sees the way they look at him. With disdain and disgust, like they’re worried he’ll infect them.
Spencer always holds himself in a way that is far too still to be natural for him. He still rocks and sways and wrings his hands together but he can’t stop no matter how hard he tries. At least it’s subtle, at least that movement could be explained away by too much coffee or the eccentricities of a genius whose brain works too fast for his body to keep up. But even those movements draw disapproving glares from the officers and Spencer forces himself to stand as still as possible. He knows Elle notices. She always notices. But she doesn’t mention it and he’s grateful.
The one time he moves naturally is after he talks down the unsub before he can slit the throat of an eleven-year-old girl named Maya who moves like he does. Spencer steps to the side after cuffing the man and passing him to the officers and the rest of his team. He flaps his hands and takes deep, steady breaths.
There’s a loud and painful-sounding whine and Spencer looks over to see Maya thrashing in the arms of the EMTs. She’s crying and screaming and trying to hit the EMTs and herself as they drag her bodily toward an ambulance. Horrified, Spencer rushes over and demands that they let her go.
An EMT gives him an incredulous look.
“She’s having a meltdown. You’re hurting her. Let her go,” he explains.
The EMTs reluctantly release her and Maya falls to the ground, curling in on herself, rocking back and forth, and slamming her hand against her chest.
Spencer sinks to the ground before her and pulls a pair of bulky noise-cancelling headphones from his messenger bag. He hates carrying them around because it reminds him that he needs them, but Elle insists that he brings them because they help him. He’s grateful to her in this moment as he carefully slips the headphones over Maya’s head. Her hand freezes at her chest and her pained cries calm into whimpers.
Maya continues to rock and Spencer holds out his hands to her. Maya grunts and contorts her face in clear confusion. “I’ll help you rock,” Spencer says, just loud enough for her to hear through the headphones. “I like it when people help me rock.”
Maya slips her hands into his and Spencer gently tugs her forward and pushes her back. Quickly, Maya’s whimpers turn to giggles and soon she’s laughing happily with a huge smile on her face.
Spencer can feel the eyes of the officers and the rest of his team boring into him and he’s embarrassed but he pushes the feeling aside to focus on the feeling of pride for being able to help this girl. Maya’s parents arrive at the scene after a few minutes, Spencer can only assume someone called them, and they quickly rush over with Maya’s stuff. Upon seeing her parents, Maya lets go of Spencer’s hands and pushes herself to her feet to run over to them. The exchange goes quickly as her parents replace Spencer’s headphones with Maya’s and thank him profusely for saving their daughter and calming her down.
Spencer smiles and insists he’s just doing his job. He advises them to go over to the ambulance to get Maya looked over. Spencer returns his headphones to his bag and heads toward the rest of his team where they wait by one of the SUVs, passing by a group of local officers as he walks.
“Can’t believe the retard managed that,” one of them mutters. “It’d be pretty cool if he wasn’t such a fucking embarrassment.”
Spencer’s stomach drops and all the pride he feels is quickly replaced with burning shame. He bites the inside of his lip and rejoins his team. Morgan claps him on the back and congratulates him and Spencer puts on a fake smile and thanks him.
Spencer stays lost in thought as they grab their stuff from the precinct and hotel and drive to the airport to board the jet. He curls up on the couch and pretends to sleep for the entire flight while the officers' words throughout the case play on a loop in his head.
His entire body feels heavy with shame. Why does he have to be like this? Why does he have to be so wrong? He hates that he feels this way, but he can’t help it. Spencer knows that his autism will always be either the first or second thing people notice about him. The effort he puts into masking will never be enough. When the jet lands, Spencer doesn’t move, staying curled up toward the back of the couch with his eyes closed.
Spencer feels the couch dip as someone sits by his feet, a hand squeezes his knee and he instantly knows it’s Elle. He listens as everyone else leaves the jet.
“You move in your sleep,” Elle says softly.
Spencer opens his eyes and sits up, not facing her. Elle stays silent. Spencer opens and closes his mouth without speaking. He turns his head in the opposite direction of Elle’s body, he can’t look at her when he asks this question, if he tries he won’t be able to talk.
“Are you embarrassed by me?”
“No,” she replies and she says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like there’s no other answer. “Can you tell me why you think I would be?”
Spencer tries to explain but the only words that come out are the words of the officers. “‘Jesus, kid, do you ever stop talking?’ ‘Didn’t know they let freaks like that in the FBI.’ ‘Can’t believe the retard managed that, it’d be pretty cool if he wasn’t such a fucking embarrassment.’”
Elle is silent for a moment and Spencer appreciates that she doesn’t make him turn to face her.
“Did the local police say those things?”
Spencer nods. “‘Did the local police say those things?’ They always do. Worse this time.”
“Is there a reason why you didn’t tell any of us? We would make them stop.”
“‘Fucking embarrassment,’” Spencer repeats again. “Not your problem.”
“It is our problem if they’re going to mess with someone on this team,” Elle says. “You know none of that shit is true, right?”
Spencer shrugs. “‘None of that shit is true,’” he echos. “I guess.”
“Do you think any of those officers would have been able to help Maya like you did?” Elle asks simply.
Spencer turns to look at her. “‘Like you did?’” he repeats.
“Help her calm down in a way that was safe and didn’t hurt her or anyone else,” she elaborates.
“No. The EMTs were hurting her.”
“Exactly. If the EMTs didn’t know what to do, those officers definitely wouldn’t have. None of the rest of us knew what to do either. You were the only person who was able to help her and that is because of your autism.”
“‘Because of your autism,’” Spencer echoes. “‘Can’t believe the retard managed that.’”
Elle purses her lips. “What that officer said was bullshit, what they all said was. Your autism is not an embarrassment, it is one of the many reasons you are an invaluable member of this team.”
“Many people with autism have heightened pattern recognition skills and can focus intently on a task for extended periods of time,” Spencer says.
“That’s true, but it wasn’t what I was referring to.”
“‘Wasn’t what I was referring to.’ What were you referring to?”
“You have a unique perspective on the world that allows you to see things that we miss. You’re able to understand things in a way the rest of us could never hope to, your intelligence aside. Your autism allows you to form unique connections with people that have helped us time and time again. It is the furthest thing from an embarrassment. You are the furthest thing from an embarrassment. You are an incredible asset to this team. I don’t always understand you or know the best ways to help or support you but I’m glad you are the way you are and not just for your value as an agent.”
“‘I’m glad you are the way you are.’ Really?” Spencer asks, unable to believe what Elle is saying. Unable to wrap his head around the fact that people think he has value as a person and as an agent and that his autism doesn’t subtract from that. That the way he is isn’t a bad thing.
“Really,” Elle says. “You know I don’t lie to you, Spencer.”
Spencer nods. “‘You know I don’t lie to you’,” he affirms. “Thank you.”
Elle nods and pats him on the shoulder before grabbing her bag off the floor and rising to her feet. Spencer does the same and follows Elle off the jet feeling, for the first time in a long time, that maybe there isn’t something wrong with him.
_____
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics
@daryls-crossbow16 @nemobee777 @lover-of-books-and-tea
Y’all! I want to write but I’m at work!! If y’all request stuff I’ll probably be able to get at least one written this weekend!! Please request! I need ideas!!
An Awkward, Yet Important, Conversation
summary: You have some fears surrounding sex, you and Spencer talk it out.
genre: fluff, very light angst and hurt/comfort
cw: suggestive 16+! talk about/discussion about sex (specifically blow jobs and prepping for pegging and/or anal sex), insecure reader, reader is worried about sex, understanding spencer, completely gn reader (reader is not described at all), no use of y/n, autistic!reader, reader has sensory issues, bi spencer (including mention of past spencer/ethan), autistic!spencer (because every spencer is autistic!spencer)
wordcount: 1.4k
You stand in the corner of Spencer’s living room, wringing your hands together and slowly and gently rocking back onto your heels, as he putters around putting away papers and books. Your throat feels clogged and you suck your upper lip between your teeth. You curl your fingers at the first and second knuckles and shake your arms back and forth, gently knocking the side of your hands into your chest. You feel some of the anxious energy in your body dissipate.
Spencer taps his fingers against the spine of the book he just reshelved.
“Ca-can we talk about something?” you ask, your voice slightly shaky with nerves.
Spencer turns to look at you and gives you a reassuring smile but you can tell your question has made him a little nervous with the way he tugs on his pinkie finger. “Of course,” he says gently. He makes his way over to the couch and sits down on it, he picks at the edge of the blanket draped over one of the arms.
You clench and unclench your fingers and shake your hands out before joining him on the couch. You sit down and quickly realize that the normally comfortable couch is too soft for this conversation and you rise again to your feet and start pacing in circles around Spencer’s coffee table.
Spencer calls your name gently and you stop pacing to look at him.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “Did something happen?”
You nod then shake your head and realizing how that could be confusing you say, “Nothing happened. And-and I’m alright. Just nervous.”
“About what you want to talk about?”
You nod and continue your circles. “It’s nothing bad. It actually has the potential to be something good. It just–“ You sigh. “I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”
Spencer doesn’t say anything. You glance over at him and stop walking when you notice him chewing on the inside of his cheek and rubbing his hands together.
“Spencer?” you ask softly, feeling a bit concerned.
“You’re not, um, you’re not breaking up with me, right?” he asks weakly.
Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “No! No,” you insist. “No, I love you, Spence. I definitely don’t want to break up with you. I’m sorry for worrying you.”
Spencer smiles with relief and you can see the way his body relaxes. His cheek pops out from between his teeth and his hands return to picking at the blanket. “I love you too. I’m glad you don’t want to break up,” he says with a slight chuckle.
You can’t help but huff a laugh in response.
“Yeah.” You flap your hands at your sides and turn your head to the side to stare at the wall. You’ve always found it easier to start difficult conversations when you’re not looking at the person. “I, um, I want to talk about sex.”
“Okay,” Spencer replies. You can hear the confusion in his voice.
“I want to have sex with you,” you state.
“I want to have sex with you too.”
“Not right now.”
“Of course.”
“I know you’ve had sex before. With both men and women,” you say. You swallow hard and hesitate for a moment before starting to walk around the table again to relieve your anxiety. “And you know I haven’t. Or at least not penetrative sex.”
Spencer nods. “Is that something you’re worried about?”
You shrug. “Kind of. But not really. It isn’t the act of penetrative sex itself that worries me. It’s sensory stuff.”
“Ahh,” Spencer says, understandingly.
You nod and stop to look at him.
“Are you worried sex will be overstimulating?” he asks.
Your face contorts as you try to come up with the most accurate response. “Yes and no. I’m not worried about being overstimulated by sex. It’s—“ You sigh and hum in frustration, gently thumping your hand against your chest.
Spencer waits patiently for you to continue and it puts you at ease. You know he holds no expectations for you and isn’t judging you.
“It feels weird to say,” you admit.
Spencer nods. “That’s okay. You know I don’t mind weird.”
You chuckle. “Yeah. You’re dating me.”
Spencer laughs and the sound makes you smile. “I was mostly referring to the fact that I’m weird,” he jokes. “But you do have a point.”
You stick out your tongue at him with a smile. You take a deep breath and say. “I’m worried about giving blow jobs and prepping you.”
Spencer’s eyebrows raise at the sudden shift back to the conversation.
“I want to give you blow jobs and I want to fuck you. But— and I really hope you don’t take this as something personal, it’s not you, I don’t think you or your body is—“ You cut yourself off with a deep breath and close your eyes to try to recenter yourself in the conversation. “I’ve tried giving a blow job before and didn’t enjoy it because of the taste. I know it’s natural, but it’s just one of those things I can’t handle, at least not currently.”
“That’s okay,” Spencer says kindly.
“But I really like the idea of sucking you off. It’s definitely something I want to do.”
“I'll just wear a condom then. It’s no big deal. I understand. You sucking me off is also something I want to experience but only if you’re enjoying yourself too.”
You feel your face warm with embarrassment, and you hide your head in your hands. Spencer laughs sweetly at your reaction.
“I think I know what your other concern is. Would you like me to guess, or would you prefer to say it?”
“Can you guess?” you ask, your voice muffled by your hands.
“My guess is you’re concerned about fecal matter when fingering me.”
You lower your hands and nod.
“That’s another easily solved problem. Whenever you fuck me, I will have cleaned myself beforehand, and we can also get you some nitrile gloves to wear. That’s what I did when I was dating Ethan in college. Before long, me just putting on a pair of gloves drove him crazy.”
You can’t help but laugh. You pat Spencer on the knee and try to sit back down on the couch. Now that the hard part of the conversation is done, the couch is back to being comfortable.
Spencer holds out his arm and you tuck yourself beneath it, curling up against his chest and playing with his fingers.
“I’m glad you understand,” you whisper. “I was worried that you’d take it the wrong way. That you’d think I that I think you’re gross or unclean when I don’t.”
Spencer presses a kiss to your hair. You tilt your head back and he presses the next kiss upside down on your lips. You giggle, smiling into the kiss.
Spencer pulls away and kisses your forehead. “I know you don’t think that. And I know you never would,” Spencer affirms. “I’m glad you told me. I want you to be as comfortable as possible when we have sex. And if condoms and gloves make that possible, I’m happy to use them.”
“You’re not worried about it feeling different?” you ask, looking up at him nervously.
“Not at all. I think a lot of people, guys especially, exaggerate the difference. There is a difference, but I don’t really notice much of one outside of how wet things feel, but that’s something that doesn’t mean much to me. I’ve, um, I’ve always been quite sensitive, and wearing condoms or using gloves doesn’t really do anything to affect that. I’ll enjoy it just as much because it’s you I’m having sex with.”
Your face grows hot again and you turn to bury it in Spencer’s chest with embarrassment. You both feel and hear when he laughs.
“Why are you embarrassed?” he teases. “I’m the one who just admitted to being super sensitive.”
You pull your face back and reach a hand up to cup his cheek and kiss him gently before resting your forehead against his, your noses pressed together. “You’re just really sweet,” you mutter. “And I’m glad you understand.
Spencer smiles and tilts his head forward to catch your lips in another kiss. “Always,” he whispers.
_____
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics
@daryls-crossbow16 @roboticsuccubus83 @nemobee777 @dorcas4meadowes @spenciesslut @Idfk17 @pleasantwitchgarden @angeliccss @novaana
Like Garcia is so explicitly autistic coded (though probably unintentionally) in some ways even more so than Reid (though he is definitely autistic). People just never consider autism in women. And Gideon and Hotch are both extremely high masking individuals (bc of when they grew up and also probably don’t realize they’re autistic) and no one thinks about you autistic traits still come through to an extent even with masking. And how by masking some traits become more pronounced unintentionally.
I like to think that for Hotch, he struggles with facial expressions and tone. Which is why his face is always so neutral and his voice can seem monotone if you’re not used to it. And in my mind part of that is because that’s what’s natural to him and part of it is because he’s masking less socially acceptable expressions and tones of voice (though I definitely don’t think he’d be very expressive if he wasn’t masking).
And Gideon with his birds. That is a special interest right there. He’s like those old men who have a room dedicated to a collection or something and everything thinks it’s just a quirk of theirs when it’s just undiagnosed autism.
People never really consider autism and how it can manifest outside of the stereotypical boy/man who is either a lower support needs savant/genius of some sort (like reid) or higher support needs and intellectually disabled (****having high support needs does not mean someone has an intellectually disability people just believe that it does which is why I phrased it like that****)
This is coming from someone who is low support needs, non-masking, raised/socialized as female, and was diagnosed as an adult due to my own instigation.
(Don’t forget to listen to people with higher support needs when it comes to autism and the perception of autism (they experience the effects of autism’s perception more than I do))
It kind of annoys me that Garcia, Gideon, and Hotch could all be argued to have autistic traits but most people laser focused on Reid being The Autistic One.
First Meeting
summary: You're having difficulty with some code so you stop by Penelope's house for help, unaware that she has a guest. Spencer takes one look at you and is immediately head over heels.
genre: fluff
cw: meet cute (is it a meet cute?) completely gn!reader (reader is not described at all), no use of y/n, autistic!spencer (because every spencer is autistic!spencer), season 1 spencer, university/college student reader, talk about research and coding, pov switch from reader to spencer
wordcount: 1.5k
a/n: this is an actual error I had this summer when writing my spectra analysis code
You lean back in your chair with a sigh, scowling at the code you’re trying to write. You’re still relatively new to coding, the first time you ever took a class on it was just under two years ago, so this code has taken you significantly more time to write than it would have taken Penelope. But you’ve written it. You read through the code again and rerun it. Everything runs fine, the code should work, but it doesn’t.
You rub your eyes and groan with frustration. You should be able to get a wavelength solution out of this. The professor you’re doing research with told you what you need to do to get the wavelength solution and then how to use it to find the redshift of the lensed galaxy and the foreground lensing galaxy, but nothing is lining up!
You’ve opened the data, plotted the variation in flux for each line in the image, fit a Gaussian to it to get the brightest point, and converted the pixel value of that point to vacuum wavelength, but none of the wavelengths you’re finding match up with what lines should be present in the spectra for this lamp type!
You briefly consider emailing your professor but decide against it. Even though he told you that asking things wouldn’t bother him and that it’s his job, you don’t want to take up more of this time than you already have.
You look around your apartment for anything that might help. Your eyes land on your keychain and the spare key Penelope gave you because she enjoys it when you stop by. You quickly shut your laptop, tucking it under your arm, grab your keys, slip on a pair of shoes, and make your way down the hall to Penelope’s apartment, not bothering to lock the door behind you.
_____
Spencer sits awkwardly on one of Garcia’s kitchen stools, tapping his fingers on the Tardis mug she had filled with tea and given him. He’s not exactly sure why Garcia invited him over. She said she wanted to bond, but they’ve known each other for almost two years now, and Spencer considers her a good friend, so he doesn’t really know what bonding entails. So far, Garcia has just been bustling around her kitchen preparing snacks and drinks for their Doctor Who marathon.
The lock clicks and Spencer’s head whips toward the door just in time for it to burst open. Spencer freezes and stares at you in awe and confusion.
“Penny!” you cry, your voice a mixture of a shout and a whine.
Garcia calls your name with a surprised look. “What happened? Are you alright?”
“What?” you ask. Then you wave your hand flippantly. “Yeah I’m fine, I just need help with some code.” Your eyes land on Spencer and he can feel his heart rate increase. He really hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had someone over,” you say. “I can, um, I can come back later.”
Spencer watches as your posture stiffens slightly and you start to fiddle with your keychain.
Spencer opens his mouth to reassure you but Garcia beats him to it. “No, no, it’s fine,” she says. “I’ve been wanting you two to meet anyway.” You shoot Spencer a small, awkward smile and wave from across the room when Garcia shares your name. When she introduces him, your eyes widen and you look toward Garcia with an expression Spencer can’t decipher and whisper something to her that makes her laugh loudly.
Spencer can feel himself flushing at your reaction and takes a sip of his tea to hide his face.
“Anyway!” Garcia says cheerfully. “Do you mind if I help them real quick?”
“Go ahead,” Spencer responds, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. It’s difficult with you there, though, all his thoughts suddenly seem much harder to grasp. Like your presence is forcing them aside.
Your eyes seem to linger on him for a moment before you head over to the counter and set your laptop down. “Right,” you mutter, opening it and entering the password. Spencer listens intently as you describe to Garcia what your code should be doing and he can’t help but smile at the clear passion in your voice. It sends butterflies to his stomach.
“What do you study?” Spencer blurts out.
You close your mouth and cock your head at him for a moment. “I’m, uh, I’m studying astrophysics. Specifically strong gravitational lensing. I’ve already made preliminary models of the system and I’m just working on analyzing the spectra now.”
Spencer nods and leans over to look at your code.
“Do you want to help Penny find the issue?” you ask. You sound a bit nervous and Spencer looks up and smiles what he hopes is a soothing smile.
“I would if I could. I really don’t know how to code, though.”
“Seriously?” you ask. Spencer cocks his head at the tone of surprise in your voice. “Sorry, it’s just that Penny has told me a lot about you and about how you’re a genius and have three PhDs, which is insanely impressive by the way, so I guess I’m just surprised you don’t know something.”
“There’s a lot I don’t know,” Spencer admits. “Coding and other technological things are some of it. I don’t know too much about astrophysics either.” That’s not exactly true but it isn’t a lie either. He’s read papers on several astrophysical topics but he’s never come across one on strong lensing before. But the truth of the statement is irrelevant, the only reason he said it was to find an excuse to spend more time with you.
You smile and Spencer’s stomach feels like it does a backflip. “I won’t be much help teaching you how to code, Penny would be better for that, but I can tell you about some astro stuff at some point.”
“Alright, lovebirds,” Garcia teases and Spencer’s face burns. “Let’s focus.” You nod, clearly also a bit embarrassed, and turn back to your laptop.
“How about I go line by line and tell you what it should do and you let me know if something doesn’t do what I think it does,” you say. Garcia nods and both she and Spencer follow along as you point to and describe each line of code. You get to a printed image of the data file you’re analyzing before Garcia stops you.
“Can you open the file on your computer?” she asks.
You nod and open the file in a new application and move it so it’s side by side with the image in your code. “Wait,” you mutter, glancing back and forth between the two images. “Is that seriously the issue?” Spencer leans forward to get a closer look, the x-axes of the images are flipped.
You throw your head back with a groan and change the rotation of the file in your code. “I swear, if this works,” you growl. The clear exasperation in your tone makes Spencer chuckle slightly.
You rerun the code and compare several of the outputs to a list of wavelengths before groaning again and letting your head fall onto the counter. “I hate Python,” you grumble. “Why does it have to switch the axes!”
Garcia laughs and pats you on the back. You raise your head off the counter and tap your forehead against her shoulder in a gesture Spencer assumes expresses gratitude. “Thanks, Penny,” you sigh. “You’re the best.”
“Of course I am!”
“Oh, and Spencer,” you say, turning to look at him. “We should get lunch sometime. I can tell you about astrophysics and you can tell me about all the crazy things you know.”
“I-I would love that,” Spencer stutters, unable to speak clearly with you looking into his eyes. He's hardly able to wrap his head around the fact that someone as beautiful as you would want to spend more time with him. Spencer's not sure whether you’re asking him on a date or just to go out as friends, but he doesn’t care either way as long as he gets to spend more time with you.
“Great!” you say happily. You stand and cross the room to quickly grab one of Garcia’s pens before returning. You hold the fluffy pink pen with a smile on your face and hold out your hand to his. “May I?” you ask.
Spencer’s eyes widen and he nods, setting his hand in yours despite his usual aversion to touch. The contact makes his heart feel like it’s about to burst from his chest. You scrawl your number across the back of his hand before handing Spencer the pen and holding out your hand for him to do the same. He writes his number on your hand and watches in a sort of daze as you gather your computer and keys and wave goodbye before leaving.
Spencer jumps slightly as Garcia ruffles his hair. He looks over at her to see a knowing smile on her face. Spencer blushes and hides his face in his hands. “Shut up,” he grumbles, embarrassed.
“No way,” she laughs. “Derek’s going to have a field day with this. Boy genius has a crush!”
_____
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics
@daryls-crossbow16 @roboticsuccubus83 @nemobee777 @dorcas4meadowes @spenciesslut @Idfk17 @pleasantwitchgarden @angeliccss @novaana @moonysreid @cynbx @dead-universe @starlighta
could you possibly write a smut where its spencer and autistic!f!reader’s first time? reader has a hard time relaxing and being present in their body, and is really nervous but spence is so gentle and understanding and they take it slow. it’s so mushy and tender it’s almost sick how in love those idiots are!!!!
First Time
Here you go!!! I had a lot of fun writing this one haha
genre: fluff and smut
cw: 18+ mdni! kinda fem! kinda gn!reader (reader's gender is not specified but is described as having afab anatomy, including having breasts and wearing bra), nervous reader, first times, crying during sex, fingering (r!receiving), protected p in v sex, no use of y/n, autistic!reader, autistic!spencer (because every spencer is autistic!spencer), cuddling, they're just so in love
wordcount: 2.2k
Your whole body feels fuzzy. Not in a bad way. It’s just weird.
“Hey, come back to me,” Spencer mutters, cupping your face and rubbing his thumb over your cheek.
“Hmm?” You blink a couple of times and focus your attention back on him. You’re both sitting on the edge of your bed, Spencer had suggested that the familiar location might help you feel less nervous. You’re both still fully clothed.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want you,” Spencer says softly. He shifts away slightly and lowers his hand like he’s trying to give you the space to tell him what you’re thinking.
“No, I—I want to,” you insist. You lower your gaze to your lap and run your hands over your thighs, picking at the hem of your shorts. “I’m just—“ You pause for a moment trying to find the best way to describe your feelings. “I think I’m nervous. Yes. I’m nervous.” You look back up at him to gauge his reaction.
Spencer smiles sweetly at you and holds out his hand. You take it and squeeze. He squeezes back and you feel more settled in your body, more at ease. “Nervous is okay,” he says. “Nervous is normal. But I don’t want you to make yourself feel bad for my sake.”
You shake your head and smile at him in a way you hope is reassuring. “I’m not. I don’t feel bad. Just fuzzy. Nervous fuzzy.”
Spencer chuckles. “I love you, you know that?”
Your smile grows and you nod. “I love you too.”
Spencer’s eyes dart from your own to your lips. “Can I kiss you again?”
You nod and climb farther onto the bed, pressing your free hand to the back of his neck and pulling him toward you. The kiss is soft and sweet and you’re both smiling into it in a way that makes your teeth knock together every so often.
Spencer rests the hand not holding yours on your hip and gently, leaving you room not to follow, pulls you into his lap. You can feel how hard he is beneath you and your whole body feels like it’s on fire. The kiss increases in intensity and you remove your hand from his to curl it into his hair.
Spencer gasps weakly into your mouth and brings his other hand to your hip as well. He toys with the hem of your shirt, his fingertips brushing lightly against the skin of your waist and stomach in a way that would otherwise be ticklish but right now just electricity shooting through your body.
He pulls away, panting heavily. “C-can I take your shirt off, honey?”
The fuzziness returns and you pause for a moment before nodding. “Only if yours comes off too.”
Spencer smiles and presses a brief kiss to your lips. “Of course.”
His hands slip under your shirt and he slowly starts to push it up. His hands leave trails of heat that shoot straight between your legs as they glide up across your body. The feeling is so wonderful and overwhelming you have to brace your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. His hands glide over your chest and you can’t help but arch into his touch.
He chuckles and passes his thumbs over your nipples a couple of times through your bra until your head bows forward and you’re gasping.
He finally pulls the shirt over your head and guides it off of your arms before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss right below your ear. “So sensitive,” he whispers, unclasping your bra and carefully removing it, discarding it along with your shirt.
You nod, too overwhelmed to respond in any other way. You tug on his shirt in a way that makes Spencer laugh, and he quickly removes it. You take in his bare chest for a moment, running your hands up and down it. He’s beautiful. You’ve seen him shirtless before but this feels completely different.
“You’re so pretty,” you mutter.
Spencer smiles and softly says. “Thank you, baby. So are you.” He leans in to kiss you again with a soft intensity, gently cupping the back of your head. As you kiss, he slowly guides you down until you’re lying on the bed with your head resting on the pillows and he’s kneeling between your legs, propping himself up on one arm.
He breaks the kiss and your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest as you look up at him. And heat pools between your legs when you glance down and notice how hard he is.
His hands slowly glide down your sides until they reach the hem of your shorts and suddenly the fuzzy feeling is back. Spencer cocks his head slightly and rubs gentle circles into your hips. “You okay?” he asks softly.
You nod, but there must be some expression on your face because Spencer asks, “Nervous?”
You feel your cheeks warm in embarrassment. You nod and mutter a quick, “Sorry.”
“Hey, hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about, okay?” Spencer says. “Nothing at all. Being nervous is completely normal. And everything we do is at your pace. I just want you to feel good.”
You nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
Spencer lifts a hand from your hip to cup your face. “We really don’t have to do this. We can stop here. I won’t be upset.”
You shake your head. “I want to keep going. I–I want to feel you.”
A little groan escapes Spencer’s lips. “Fuck, baby, you can’t just say that. You’re going to drive me crazy.”
You bring your hands up to grip his waist with a laugh. “Isn’t that my job?”
Spencer leans down to press a kiss to the valley between your breasts, making you gasp. “And you’re very good at it.”
He slowly kisses lower and lower as you writhe beneath him until he reaches your shorts. He carefully hooks his fingers under the waistband and looks up at you in a way that sends heat pooling between your legs and you realize you desperately want him to touch you. “Can I take these off?” he asks softly.
You nod frantically and lift your hips with an eagerness that makes Spencer chuckle.
“Just shorts? Or shorts and underwear?”
“B–both, please,” you gasp.
Spencer smiles and moves from between your legs to sit beside you and slowly slides your shorts and underwear off. He tosses them to the side and, gripping your upper thigh with one hand, presses a series of gentle kisses to your stomach and hips that make you squirm and pant. Your hands shoot up to curl into his hair and you can feel your arousal sticking to your thighs. “You’re so beautiful,” he mutters between kisses. “I’m so lucky I get to see you like this. I’m so lucky.”
His kisses move slightly lower and his hand slightly higher and you moan, your hips bucking involuntarily.
“Sp–Spencer,” you gasp and he pulls away with a smile.
“Yes?”
“Pl–please. Wa-wanna feel you.”
He moves up to press a brief kiss to your lips and pulls a condom from his pocket before pushing his pants and boxers down his legs with one motion and kicking them aside. You can’t help but stare at his cock as he rolls the condom onto it. He’s what you assume is an average size for his height but you can’t help the nervousness that starts to make a reappearance. That’s going to go inside you?
“Spence–” you start, though you’re unsure of what to say.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he says kindly as he climbs back between your legs, sensing your anxiety. “I know it can be intimidating, but don’t worry, I’m not going to just put it inside you, alright?”
You nod, feeling relieved and still a bit nervous, but incredibly turned on.
“Can I touch you, sweetheart? Spencer whispers, his hands mere inches away from where you want him.
You nod again and then a moan rips from your chest as Spencer’s thumb presses against your clit and starts to rub gentle circles into it. Your whole body feels fuzzy again but you’re not nervous anymore, you feel amazing. It’s like the pleasure is frying your brain.
You gasp and moan as Spencer’s thumb works over your clit. His other hand presses a gentle and grounding grip into your thigh that somehow heightens the pleasure you’re feeling. With the hand on your thigh, he guides your legs apart and the movement of his thumb stops. You whine in disappointment at the loss of sensation but then you feel the tip of his finger pressing ever so slightly inside of you. Your eyes slip shut from the pleasure and you moan loudly.
“This okay?” Spencer asks, his arousal apparent in his voice.
You nod without opening your eyes and Spencer’s finger slips the rest of the way inside of you. It’s a strange but wonderful sensation that has you gasping for air between moans. His finger curls slightly, pressing against different spots inside of you, and then suddenly a wave of pleasure slams into you, making you cry out.
“There it is,” Spencer mutters to himself, pressing his finger into that spot over and over again. You’re so overwhelmed with pleasure you barely notice when he slips a second and then a third finger inside of you.
But then his fingers are pulling out of you and you whine in disapproval. You open your eyes and stare up at him with a pout.
“Shh, i-it’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, his voice cracking slightly with pleasure as he gently strokes his cock. “You think you’re ready?”
You nod frantically, desperate to feel him inside of you, and hold out your hand. Spencer smiles at you and laces his fingers into yours before lining himself up and gently pressing inside of you with a moan.
Though you expected it, you still gasp at the sudden and ever so slightly painful stretch, and grip Spencer’s hand tightly. He pauses only halfway inside of you to allow you time to adjust. It doesn’t take long for you to get used to the sensation and you wrap your legs around Spencer’s waist and pull him closer until he’s all the way inside you.
Spencer’s head hangs forward as he pants and you admire just how beautiful he looks like this.
“C-can I move?” he gasps weakly.
You nod and Spencer pulls his hips back slightly before rocking them back forward.
You moan in tandem at the feeling and your eyes slip shut. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced and he isn’t even hitting that spot he’d found with his fingers. With every thrust of his hips, Spencer adjusts the angle until he’s once again hitting that spot that makes you see stars. Each movement of his hips has you gasping and writing and you feel an overwhelming surge of emotions and a desire to be even closer.
You wrap your free arm around Spencer’s back and pull him down until his chest is pressed against yours, with his head buried in your neck, and you’re both holding each other. The pressure of his body against yours is soothing and grounding and helps you feel present in the amazing sensations your body is experiencing that might otherwise be overwhelming.
Spencer gasps your name and “I love you” between moans and you cling to him as you moan in response, unable to form words. Heat climbs up your spine and you can feel yourself getting close. Tears well in your eyes and start to slip down your face but you can’t bring yourself to care because you just feel so good and so loved. The heat rises to your neck and burns in your stomach and you cum with a cry.
Spencer talks you through it but you’re too overwhelmed with pleasure to understand him. He thrusts a few more times before stilling with a moan of your name as he cums into the condom. His body goes limp against yours for a moment and the only movement is the rise and fall of both of your chests. Spencer slowly pulls out and the strange feeling makes you whine and causes more tears to slip unbidden from your eyes. He removes his hand from yours and you can hear him moving but then he goes still and whispers your name with clear concern.
You open your eyes and look at him to see a scared and almost horrified look on his face.
He reaches up with one hand, setting the tied-off condom aside with the other, and cups your cheek. He wipes away a tear with his thumb.
“A-are you alright? Di-did I hurt you?” he asks gently. He looks so worried.
You immediately shake your head. “Good tears,” you mutter. “Happy tears.”
“Oh, thank God,” Spencer whispers, letting out a relieved sigh. He lies down beside you and pulls you into his chest, pressing a brief kiss to your head. “You worried me there for a second.”
“Sorry.”
“No, no, don’t be sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
You smile and turn your head to look at him. You cup the back of his head and kiss him softly. “I’m very okay,” you mutter against his lips.
Spencer kisses you back for a moment before pulling away and pressing his forehead against yours.
“That was amazing,” you whisper. “I love you.”
Spencer smiles. “I love you too.”
_____
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics
@daryls-crossbow16 @roboticsuccubus83 @nemobee777 @kittensandkrows @dorcas4meadowes @spenciesslut @Idfk17 @pleasantwitchgarden @angeliccss @novaana @moonysreid @cynbx @i-live-in-spite @dead-universe @starlighta @ilyremuslupin @mylove4lana @greyslover3004 @written-in-the-stars @readerbitch123 @khxna
astrophysics!reader masterlist!
First Meeting (fluff)
MORE AUTISTIC FEM! READER X SPENCER PLEASEEEE maybe her getting overstimulated at a bar with the team? or at the store? i neeeeddddd more of them!!
Bad Time at the Bar
here you go!! tho it's gn!reader bc gender didn't really come up, hope you don't mind!
genre: hurt/comfort
cw: autistic!reader, explicitly autistic spencer reid, overstimulation (and not the fun kind), meltdown (which reads a lot like a panic attack bc that's what my meltdowns are like), kinda self harm (hitting) and chewing lip until bleeding), internalized ableism and autism viewed in a negative light (spencer talks to reader about it and provides reassurance), completely gn!reader (reader is not described at all)
wordcount: 1.3k
There are too many people. The smell of sweat and alcohol hangs heavy in the air and burns your nose. The room is saturated with noise. Drinks clinking on tables, music playing, people talking. Your head pounds and you regret not bringing your headphones. You thought you’d be fine. You’ve never needed them when at the bar with the team in the past. Someone bumps into you and the unexpected contact causes panic to build in your chest. There’s not enough room. Everything feels like it’s closing in on you.
You suck in a breath through your teeth, gripping your bottle of beer so hard you’re surprised the glass doesn’t shatter. You chew on the inside of your lip until you taste blood, but it does nothing to soothe your quickly growing panic.
You look around frantically, your eyes so wide you feel like they’re about to burst from your skull. Finally, you spot Spencer. He’s gathered around a table with Derek and some strangers, talking animatedly about something. You stagger forward, nearly tripping over your own feet as you try to reach him. People slam into your shoulders and chest and you can feel the burn of tears welling in your eyes. The tears cause the already painfully bright lights to reflect directly into your eyes so you blink hard and wipe them away.
Your whole body shakes and you desperately want to raise your hands to cover your ears but you’re still holding your drink and there’s not enough room and it’s embarrassing. You can feel your heart pounding throughout your body and your limbs feel like they’re going numb.
By some miracle, you manage to reach Spencer. You stumble toward him, reaching out and clinging to his arm. He startles and turns to look at you. Immediately, concern rushes over his face and he takes your drink and passes it to Derek before gently grabbing your hand. As quickly as he’s able, Spencer guides you through the bar toward an exit, using his own body to force people aside and away from you despite his dislike of germs.
He holds open the back door and you practically fall into the alley. The door closes and immediately the smells, lights, and sounds lessen. You sink to the ground, pressing your hands against your ears now that there is no one but Spencer to see you. You curl your knees to your chest and stare with wide eyes at the ground. Each breath you take is a rasping, heaving mess, and a distressed groan forces itself from your throat with each exhale.
You feel like you’re dying.
Spencer crouches down beside you, sitting with his legs crossed and leaning against the wall, and you immediately press your body into his. You curl your legs beneath you and lean awkwardly in a way that hunches your back and presses your forehead into his knee. You squeeze your eyes shut and you can feel the way your tears soak his pants.
Spencer drapes himself over your back, using his body to provide the grounding pressure he’s learned you need in times like this. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes tightly. You let out a broken sob and slam the heel of your palm into the side of your head.
“Hey, hey,” Spencer mutters, gently taking a hold of your wrist.
You shake your head. You need to hit. You need it. And there’s no way to redirect.
Spencer releases your hand and you move it to thump it against your chest.
“Okay, that’s better than your head,” Spencer says to himself. He squeezes your body in intervals and the varying pressure helps ground you. Slowly your sobs lessen to sniffles and hiccuping breaths and the hand hitting your chest falls limp against Spencer’s leg.
“You’re okay,” Spencer mutters, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. “You’re going to be alright.”
You sniffle and move your head to press it against his stomach.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly. You can hear the love and care in his voice. “You feeling a bit better?”
You hum and nod against him.
“Do you need some more time, or do you want to go home?” he asks, keeping his body pressing against yours in case you still need the pressure.
You tap his leg twice.
“Home?” he asks sweetly.
You nod, and Spencer sits back. The sudden lack of pressure makes your body feel weird, and part of you wants to drag him back down. You decide against it, knowing that you’ll get used to it quickly and that Spencer will hold you again when you get home.
Spencer carefully guides you to your feet and, keeping an arm wrapped around you, leads you out of the alley and down the street to his car. He opens the passenger side door and you climb in.
“Will you be okay for a minute or two while I run back in to grab our stuff from JJ?” Spencer asks.
You nod and do your best to smile at him. Spencer smiles back and closes the door. He locks the car and jogs back toward the bar.
You sigh and wrap your hands around your stomach. Guilt and embarrassment coil painfully in your chest. You can’t believe that just happened. You should have been fine. Why this time? Why the one time you didn’t bring your headphones? You groan in frustration. Why couldn’t you just be normal? And Spencer. You feel so guilty for dragging him away from the rest of the team and the fun he was having to deal with you.
There’s a soft click as the doors unlock, then Spencer opens the driver's side door and climbs inside. You keep your head bowed as he closes the door and reaches into the backseat to set down both of your stuff.
You see him still out of the corner of your eye, and he rests his hand gently on your shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks.
“I–I’m sorry,” you mutter weakly.
“For what, sweetheart?”
“For this! For everything!” you cry. “You–you were having fun and I ruined it! You shouldn’t have to deal with this!”
Spencer says your name softly and, when you don’t respond, he whispers, “Please look at me.”
You slowly raise your head, wiping away the tears streaming down your cheeks.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t care what it is I’m doing, if you’re upset or need help, I will always drop everything to be there for you. And it’s not ‘dealing with you’, baby. We’re partners. It’s our job to take care of each other. You can’t control when you get overstimulated or have a meltdown.”
“But I could have!” you insist. “I didn’t bring my headphones because I thought I’d be fine like every other time and then I wasn’t! It’s my fault I freaked out like this. I should be able to handle it.”
“There is no ‘should’. Having a meltdown will never be your fault. And I know you know that, because you would never think these things about me when I have a meltdown.”
Your jaw drops. “Of-of course not!” you stutter, taken aback.
“Then why is it different for you?” Spencer asks. “Why is your autism bad but mine isn’t?”
You open and close your mouth for a moment, unsure of what to say.
Spencer doesn’t speak.
“I–I don’t know,” you eventually admit.
“It’s because it isn’t bad. I understand why you might feel that way or why you feel guilty about making me deal with it, as you say. But I help you because I love you and care about you and because I want to. Just like you help me because you love and care about me and want you. And I will always choose to help you and be there for you, no matter what, no matter how ashamed you may feel. Okay?”
Your chin wobbles, and soon tears are streaming down your face as you let out a wailing sob.
Spencer leans over the armrest to hug you, neither of you caring about the awkward angle.
You pull back and wipe at your eyes. “C-can we go home, now?” you ask weakly.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Spencer says kindly.
“And then cuddles?”
“Always.”
_____
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics
@daryls-crossbow16 @roboticsuccubus83 @dorcas4meadowes @spenciesslut @pleasantwitchgarden @angeliccss @moonysreid @dead-universe @starlighta @eliscannotdance @written-in-the-stars @khxna