That's A Murder Right There, Sir

FUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKK i got tomorrow tomorrow

And if you want to "light it up," please do red, not blue. When we see the puzzle piece or "light it up blue," both of which are promoted by anti-autistic hate groups, that tells us you don't actually care about or respect us.

Not gonna argue about this; I'll just block.

GOODMORNING???

Wingwoman (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: You take your good friend/coworker, Spencer, out to the bar to find him a girl to hook up with. Things do not go as planned.

Word Count: 5107

Warnings: Romantic/sexual tension! Mentions of drinking / sex

A/N: Hi! I haven't written posted fanfic in like, 8 years, please be nice xD I would love to know your thoughts - if you have any requests or anything, I'm happy to oblige. ALSO -- I have only seen up to Season 7 of Criminal Minds because I'm a fckn loser. Anywayyyyy enjoy! Not my gif btw, all credit to the owner :)

It was kind of your fault, now that you were thinking back on it. 

Actually, it was definitely your fault, now that you were thinking back on it. 

It had been your suggestion to go out. It had been your idea to act as Spencer’s wingwoman, some last-ditch effort to try to get him out of your mind. He was your coworker, for Christ’s sake. And your best friend. And you’d thought about him desperately for eight of the nine months that you’d known him. 

Emily, Derek, and Penelope had all agreed to tag along, but as the work day went on, each of your coworkers had found some kind of excuse to opt-out. Derek’s niece wanted to Facetime. Penelope forgot Kevin’s birthday was next week and needed to go shopping for a present. Emily had a headache. 

Finding Spencer a romantic prospect on your own was certainly not the plan, but, stupidly, thoughtlessly, you’d decided to go along with it. You could do this. Just one night in a bar, chatting up women for the man you’d slowly been falling for the past eight months. As good of an idea as any, right? 

You and Spencer took an Uber to the bar the group frequented. Ski-ball and pool in one corner, a vintage jukebox and small space set aside as a makeshift dance floor in the other. But the best part - half-off drinks for federal agents. You’d never been one to abuse the badge before, but… 

Three Jack-and-Diet-Cokes later, your moral code had a bit of a crack in it. 

Spencer stood next to you - towered over you, actually, because that man was a fucking beanpole - and you felt his eyes on you as you scanned the crowd. “What about her?” you suggested, jerking your chin to the woman at a high-top table against the wall. She had her nose stuck in her phone and an untouched martini on the table in front of her. 

“She’s clearly waiting for someone,” Spencer pointed out, and you realized he was right just as the woman looked up from her phone and towards the door for the third time in the past minute. “I also don’t understand why you’re so dead set on finding someone to hog me up with.” 

You snorted into your drink. “Hog you up with?” you repeated, turning in your barstool so you faced him. Your knees brushed his thighs. 

“Yeah, is that not…” realization dawned on Spencer and he grimaced. “That’s not the phrase, is it?” 

“Hook,” you corrected, but not impatiently. You made a little hook with your index finger, like a pirate. A little giggle escaped you. “And I’m not dead set on it,” you argued. “I just didn’t want to be the only one leaving the bar with someone.” 

Your eyes flickered up to Spencer’s to gauge his reaction. He seemed surprised by this implication that you planned to leave with someone - someone who was not him. 

“Yeah? Who are you leaving with, matey?” Spencer countered, arching a brow and pointedly looking at your index finger, still in its hooked position. You dropped your hand. 

“It doesn’t matter right now,” you blushed furiously, desperately trying to drive the conversation back to his romantic conquests. Your thought process was that if you actually saw Spencer with someone else in any sort of romantic capacity - dancing, flirting, kissing - you’d finally hurt yourself enough with the sight for those stupid feelings for him to dissipate. “We’re looking for you.” 

Spencer merely hmm-ed in response, an indecisive non-answer, and you noticed he shook his head. Like he was annoyed, but trying not to show it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and polished off your drink before returning to examining the patrons in the bar. You nudged Spencer’s elbow with your own and your gaze landed on the group of three women giggling around one of the tables. “Any of them? The blonde is cute,” you pointed out. 

“Not really into blondes,” Spencer muttered, and you glanced back at him. You could have sworn his eyes were locked on your brunette hair. You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer cut you off. “But, sure, if watching me strike out will amuse you, Y/N.” Before you could protest, Spencer set his glass down on the bar and started towards the trio of women at the table. 

You leaned down to sniff his glass, curious as to what he’d been drinking. Clear liquid. No smell. Was he… totally sober? 

You watched with narrowed, studious eyes as Spencer approached the women. You could only see the back of his head, but the three women’s faces were perfectly visible. They smiled, friendly, unassuming, and then something came out of Spencer’s mouth that changed their expressions. The blonde in the middle furrowed her brows, and the two women on either side cocked their heads slightly. Spencer’s hand tapped the table and he earned awkward smiles as a goodbye was bid, and when he turned around to head back towards the bar, he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, like what are you gonna do? 

“What happened?” you asked as he returned to you. 

“I blew it,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. Too accepting of his defeat. Further supporting your theory that he’d gone over there and purposefully botched it. 

“Right,” you flagged down the bartender to order another drink. 

“You’re getting another one?” Spencer asked. 

You whirled your face to meet his and didn’t see judgment, but rather, concern. “Why does it matter?” you asked, no, dared. 

Spencer shook his head, defeatedly. “It doesn’t,” he grumbled. 

“What about that girl you were talking to earlier by the jukebox?” you asked, nudging his shin with your foot. “The grabby one. She seemed really into you.” 

Spencer visibly gritted his teeth. “I’m not interested.” 

“Are you interested in anyone in this bar tonight?” You asked. The words came too quickly for you to stop them. They were too real. Especially as Spencer’s frown hardened just slightly and you watched him look away from you. 

You took in a sharp inhale, the realization hitting you, the possibility that Spencer might actually feel the same way about you. And that you’d dragged him out here tonight to try and set him up with someone else. You were selfish and thoughtless and stupid. 

You hopped off the barstool, your feet wavering beneath you. “I’d better go home,” you said suddenly, grabbing your bag. You had to leave. You had to go home before you said something stupid, something irreversible. 

You stalked out of the bar and onto the brisk, late-autumn sidewalk. You’d forgotten your coat at the office and insisted you’d be fine. The chill smacked you in the face and you tucked your bag beneath your shoulder so you could cross your arms over your chest and hug yourself for any semblance of warmth. 

Thirty seconds hadn’t even passed before the door creaked and Spencer appeared at your side, throwing his coat wordlessly over your shoulders. “What did I do?” he asked. You looked up at him and saw his eyes - hurt, frustrated, confused. 

Your lips parted and there was a small shake of your head. “No,” you breathed. He furrowed his brows and you explained further. “You didn’t do anything.” 

“Then why the hell have you been so weird around me lately?” Spencer asked, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. Like a temperamental first-grader. 

“Weird how?” You asked, trying to pretend like you had no idea what he was talking about. Like your stomach didn’t flip every morning when you saw him. 

“Like you’re… like you’re mad at me. Like you don’t want to be around me,” Spencer looked at the street ahead of the both of you rather than at you. “You always find an excuse to leave the room when it’s just the two of us. You pull Derek or Emily or Penelope into the conversation so you don’t have to interact with just me. You’re out here trying to find me someone to hook up with?” he phrased the last sentence as a question, shaking his head. Your heart lurched. He let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s either you’re trying to shrug me off as a friend entirely, or -” 

He stopped himself. His eyes were fixed on the streetlamp a few feet in front of you. They widened and you felt your heart pound as he slowly met your gaze. The realization hit him, the second half of his sentence lingering, heavy and palpable between the two of you. 

“Or,” you repeated, not phrasing it as a question. Your voice was soft as you said it, your tone anything but a question. 

“Or?” Spencer asked, and you could see his chest start to rise and fall more slowly. 

“Or,” you confirmed, taking in a sharp breath. 

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he looked at you, his gaze piercing and soft, studious and lazy, hungry and satiated all at once. “Oh.” 

Oh. 

“How long?” he asked, turning his feet towards you. 

Your face went red and you lifted your chin, refusing to make yourself feel ashamed of it anymore. There wasn’t any point, not when he knew now. “Since March,” you admitted. Your voice was squeaky. 

“March?” Spencer repeated, incredulous. It was early October now. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders and bunching it up by the middle. You handed it to him. “You don’t have to say anything,” you said. Your body felt like it was on fire. “You don’t have to-”

“I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.” 

You thought maybe you were hallucinating for a second. Your mouth fell open and despite your three drinks, you remembered clearly that Spencer had been drinking water. This was not some drunken confession, not for either of you, because the second he’d asked you why you had been so weird lately, you had instantly sobered up. “Oh,” was all you managed to choke out.

Oh. 

“Yeah, oh,” Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smile. That playful, friendly, teasing little smile you’d learned to love on him. He stepped towards you. 

You let out this little half-garbled laugh. Spencer reached for your hand, and you let him. Your fingers spread, allowing his in the spaces between. You looked up at Spencer and little fires shot up your hand. How could merely holding hands feel so monumental? 

“What do we… what do we do now?” You asked, your mind in a haze, like a computer awaiting command. 

Spencer let his jacket fall to the concrete and used his other hand to slowly, almost hesitantly, cup your cheek. He looked down at you and your entire face reddened. “Well,” his voice was soft, crackling, like a fireplace, and he met your gaze with searching eyes. “I’d like to kiss you now, if that would be okay,” he said finally. Your lips turned up into an idiotic smile. 

“I think that would be okay,” you whispered. 

His hands were so soft, you realized. His grip on your hand loosened and he was now cupping your face on both sides. And every nerve in your cheeks was firing off signals - Spencer is touching my face, Spencer is touching my face. Like it was some forbidden thing. But then, as if in slow motion, he ducked his head down and his lips touched yours. Gently, at first, tentative and wobbly like a foal taking its first steps. Your hands rested on his torso - taut beneath that stupid little sweater vest. 

He pulled back after just a moment. It was really only five or six seconds at the most, but you were red-faced and breathless by the time your eyes fluttered open, into his. Spencer’s smile was now a full-blown grin, and your expression mirrored his. “Yeah?” He asked, the word carrying more meaning. You’re into this, right? 

“Yeah,” you exhaled as Spencer dropped his hands from your face, but your hands remained on his torso, not wanting to step away just yet. The syllable meant more coming from you, too. I’m really, very much, super into this. Please, for the love of god, kiss me again. 

Spencer arched a brow ever so slightly, and you nodded your head. 

Just like a dance, Spencer’s hands moved to your waist, and at the same time, you slid yours around his neck. He backed you up, completely disregarding his jacket on the sidewalk, until you were flush against the brick wall belonging to the bar. The brisk October breeze ruffled through his hair and yours, yet, suddenly, neither of you were terribly concerned about the weather. 

He kissed you again, and this time it wasn’t as timid. Slowly, at first, his lips pressed against yours, and then his tongue darted out. It teased your lips in silent invitation, and you opened them to grant him access. His hands were everywhere, your hips, your hair, your face. You had moved your own down to his torso again. He coaxed the tiniest little mewl out of your throat, a completely uncontrollable and inevitable noise. 

Spencer’s low, gravelly groan reverberated through your mouth. Your hands gripped the bottom half of his shirt, balling it up in tight, white-knuckled fists. An unmistakable hardness brushed against your thigh. You were perfectly content to stay right there, pinned against the exterior wall of a D.C. bar, but the sound of a car honking its horn peeled Spencer off of you. 

His face was flushed and you released his shirt from your grasp. He let out a small grunt, stepping away from you to grab his jacket off the ground, wrinkling it haphazardly in his hand, holding it strategically over his middle. 

Oh, he liked you a lot. 

“You okay, Spence?” You asked all-knowingly, cocking your head to the side, leaning against the wall, lifting a foot to plant against it. 

Spencer shot a set of narrowed eyes at you, as if noting your smirk and storing it for later. “Yeah, I’m great,” he said, obviously struggling a little bit. His eyes quickly left yours and looked everywhere but at you. 

You didn’t want to embarrass him too much. So you just crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the sidewalk. But the smirk on your face wasn’t going away quite so easily. You considered briefly trying to talk to him about baseball or something to try and help him out, but you decided pointing it out would just humiliate him. Plus, it was a nice little ego boost, knowing you could get him like that with just a simple touch. 

He took a second, but he finally cleared his throat and met your gaze. You sucked your front teeth with your tongue and then bit your lip. “Want me to call an Uber?” You asked. 

Spencer just nodded, and you pushed yourself off the wall, stepping over to join him, digging your phone out of your pocket to order the car. “You okay?” You asked him again after submitting the request on your phone. Spencer’s face was still flushed, but he just nodded and reached for your hand. “Careful,” you warned, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him. “Don’t want you having an-“

“Shut up,” Spencer cut you off, and you snickered. 

___________________________________________________________

You had never been in Spencer’s apartment before. It was unmistakably his, with stacks upon stacks of books in lieu of furniture. 

There was a sofa in his living room, along with a coffee table, a couple of lamps, and a television on a stand. The remaining space, besides a few spots here and there and a clear path with which to maneuver the room, was filled with books. 

You had never seen so many books in someone’s possession before. And sure, you were an avid reader yourself. But nothing like this. Your heart fluttered at the sight, not only because books simply just made you happy, but because it was an incredibly endearing detail about Spencer. Your Spencer. 

He shut and locked the door after you stepped inside, looking around with a childlike, awestruck grin. The TV had a thin layer of dust over the screen - he clearly didn’t use it often. And as you trailed a finger along the top of the nearest stack of books, you felt a pair of eyes watching your every move. 

You and Spencer had both been quiet in the Uber ride here. He had simply held your hand, swiping his thumb across the back of your palm every few seconds. You would occasionally meet his gaze, but then quickly, bashfully, look away, like the two of you were teenagers. 

It was so strange to think of what he had said to you - I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met. How had you not figured it out before now? 

You supposed you had been hiding your true feelings as well, so he was allowed to, too. 

There wasn’t any point in wishing to change the past, you reminded yourself. All you should be focusing on is right now. 

And right now, the street lamps peeked in through Spencer’s living room window, glinting off of his endless brown eyes and making them look like he had the moon in his irises. 

“So,” you said softly, not nearly as wicked as you had been when you were teasing him on the street by the bar. “This is where you live.” 

“Uh-huh,” Spencer bobbed his head, that awkward, straight-line smile crossing his face.

“Lot of books,” you pointed out. 

“Yep.” 

You arched a brow, a teasing smile crossing your face once again. “What’s with the monosyllabic conversation?” 

Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. “It’s just… really difficult to just stand here and not touch you,” he admitted, a sheepish smile crossing his face. 

You grinned. “You can touch me,” your voice dropped an octave, without you even really thinking about it. 

Spencer licked a canine with the tip of his tongue. God, that tongue. You remembered how he’d teased you less than an hour ago outside of the bar. “Maybe I will,” he shrugged, and you rolled your eyes. 

“You can’t really play it cool, right now, Spencer. Not when I just gave you a-“

“Please stop talking,” Spencer laughed, crossing the room and cupping your cheeks in his hands all in the same movement. You snickered and he kissed you and anything you might have been wanting to make fun of him for was forgotten about. 

You pressed your hands against his chest - holy pectorals, Batman - and craned your neck up so you could reach him. Spencer slid his own hands down your arms and to your hips, and you looped your arms around his neck. One palm flattened against the back of his head, holding him in place, fingers curling around pieces of his soft hair. 

Your heart was hammering away, and there was this aching, hot feeling that was pooling in your core and you all of a sudden felt hungry. Starving for Spencer, for every piece of him, for fully and finally crossing that line from friend to lover. An insatiable hunger for nearly every moment since you’d known him.

Finally you broke away from him, simply because oxygen was a necessity, and he rested his forehead against yours. Your eyes were still closed and your fingers ground into his scalp. “Look at me,” he requested, his voice low. 

Your eyes opened obediently and one of Spencer Reid’s hands curled under your chin. His face moved away from yours but his gaze was locked on yours, a pinpoint, a Northern Star. 

And when Spencer spoke again, your knees buckled. 

“I want you.”

Your mouth fell open, ever so slightly, and you nodded. “I want you, too,” you whispered. 

“Are you still…?” He asked, his eyes searching yours. You’d had three drinks earlier that evening, after all, but you’d polished the last one off nearly an hour ago. Maybe not fully sober, but sober enough to know what you wanted. 

“I’m fine,” you assured him. 

Spencer inclined his head to the side. “You’re sure? Can you pass a sobriety test?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him before you realized he was being sarcastic. You stepped back from him, shrugging off his hands, and extended your arms, touching your nose with your left hand, then your right. Spencer just laughed, and reached out for you, tugging you back to him. “Okay,” he chuckled, planting a kiss on your neck. You let him. “You’re fine, then?”

“I’m fine,” you agreed, shrugging him out of his sweater vest, and then reaching for the buttons on his shirt underneath. 

Spencer kissed your neck as you fumbled with the buttons - how were buttons suddenly impossible to undo? Your head craned back just slightly on instinct, wanting - needing - to allow Spencer more access. Your dexterity had become abysmal at this point, and Spencer’s lips were kissing your neck, down your throat, teasing at your collarbone. “Spencer,” you managed to groan out, a wave of annoyance present in your tone. 

“What?” he asked, pulling back, concern filling his face. 

You realized you had actually worried him. “Oh, no, no,” you waved it away, and he visibly relaxed. “I’m just really frustrated, because… because your shirt,” you stammered, and Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smirk. 

“My shirt,” he stated. 

“That one, right here,” You laughed softly, curling your fingers around the buttons. You managed to wiggle one free, then another. Spencer leaned forward to continue kissing your neck, but you held a hand up to stop him. “Hang on,” you murmured, working through another button, and one more. “I’m concentrating.” 

“You’re sticking your tongue out,” Spencer snickered. Your eyes met his and your cheeks flushed.

“I’m concentrating!” Your voice rose slightly in self-defense. Spencer’s hands went to your hips. 

“It’s adorable,” he told you. “You make the same face at work. When you’re in the middle of filling out a form or trying to open a new bottle of coffee creamer without spilling it,” Spencer rubbed circles in your hips and your fingers stopped working again. 

“You noticed that kind of stuff?” You asked softly, looking up at him with doe eyes.

Spencer just nodded. “All the time.” 

I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.

You inhaled sharply, finally undoing the last button.The skin beneath the shirt was pale, smooth, and perfect. And when he slid his arms through the sleeves and the shirt fell to the ground, you bit your lip, unable to help it. 

“Y/N?” 

You met Spencer’s gaze and let out this awkward little laugh. Embarrassing, really, if you hadn’t been in the company of your best friend. “You okay?” he asked, and you felt a little giddy as you nodded, moving your hands to his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him again. 

You didn’t know which direction the bedroom was in, so you just took a guess, pushing him back towards one of the doors. He kept his hands on your hips and his lips pressed against yours as he guided you, walking backwards, to the right door. You entered the bedroom and could not possibly be bothered to look around right now, not when Spencer was guiding you in a circle by merely touching your hips, not when the back of your knees hit what was unmistakably a mattress, not when you fell back against it. 

Your eyes were shut, unwilling to take in your surroundings as Spencer guided you onto your back. You toed off your shoes before lifting your legs, and Spencer hovered over you. Your lips were locked with his the entire time. And when you finally opened your eyes and you saw only Spencer, you grinned like a fool. 

Spencer’s fingers were like taking a shower. They were all over you - your hips, first, then your stomach, and you had to resist the urge to giggle because they tickled as he teased the bottom hem of your shirt up. You sat up slightly to get the blouse over your head and you watched him discard it onto the floor. And then his hands were over your chest, thumbs teasing under the wire of your bra, outlining the shapes of your breasts. 

Your breathing had gone heavy and staccato by this point, your body sinking into the mattress, shipwrecked as Spencer touched you. His eyes wandered over your and that little smile on his face was enough for you to know that he was immensely enjoying himself. 

“Can I…?” Spencer’s hands wandered down and gripped your pants as he looked into your eyes, a brow arched. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat and your blush appeared over your cheeks at the same time as his. “Yeah,” you whispered, and Spencer helped you wiggle out of your pants - black slacks, since you had gone straight from work to the bar. They were soon tossed to the floor, and you were only in your underwear and your bra. And Spencer’s brown eyes did not make you feel objectified or embarrassed, but safe. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he told you, seriously, and your breath hitched in your throat. 

“You-”

“I’m not done,” Spencer cut you off, lifting a hand to run his thumb down your chin. “You’re so beautiful. And you’re so kind, and smart, and funny. And I’d really like to show you how much I care about you,” he looked into your eyes as a sort of request. 

“I’m not on birth control,” You breathed out in response, feeling your cheeks redden for even bringing it up. Way to damper the mood. Still, you wanted to be responsible. “Do you have a c-”

Spencer’s soft smile turned into a wicked grin and he shook his head. “We’re not going to need one,” he promised, and after looking into his eyes for a moment, you understood. 

___________________________________________________________

Spencer had thoroughly worshiped you, until you quaked and cried out with absolutely no thought to how thin his apartment walls might be. Usually, you didn’t allow yourself to be the center of attention for too long, but Spencer had insisted, and, well, you couldn’t very well deny him what he wanted, right? 

Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your hair matted to the back of your neck, Spencer finally lay down beside you. Your breathing was just starting to come back to you as you turned on your side to face him. Spencer’s body mirrored yours, the tips of his fingers - those fingers - trailing up the side of your arm. “That was…” his voice was soft, gravelly, and he looked at you like you had anything to do with it. It was literally all him. “Incredible.” 

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out, unable to really focus on anything besides the curve of Spencer’s lips, the way the apples of his cheeks appeared when he smiled like this. Spencer kissed your lips, unlike any way he had before. All the other kisses tonight had been hungry and excited, exploratory and new. This one was lazy and slow and you let his tongue dance across yours, and when he finally pulled away, your nose scrunched up in delight. 

Your eyes traveled from his lips, down his neck, his collarbone, then back up, taking him in. The glow of his skin, the tired yet exhilarated look in his eyes. So different now than at the beginning of the night, when he’d looked at you with that slightly annoyed expression as you had tried to set him up with other women. You recalled how he had gone off to that group of three women right before you’d abandoned the bar, how he had struck out on purpose just to satiate your nagging. “What’d you say to those women tonight?” You asked him curiously, furrowing your brows at him. 

Spencer, in turn, arched his brows at you. “Why?” 

“Because I’m curious,” you said as his fingers continued to trail, feather-light, up and down your arm. You traced your thumb along his jawline, stopping at his chin. “You were obviously blowing it on purpose.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I actually do have some game, despite what Morgan might say,” he said, his tone defensive. 

You snickered. “Sure you do, Spence. Took you, what, eight months, to get me in your bed?” 

Spencer shot a playful glare at you and pinched the skin on your arm. You squeaked in response and he just laughed. “I just asked them how they were doing tonight,” he said finally, and you knew just from the look on his face that he was lying. 

“You did not,” you pushed back. “Come on, Reid, spill it.” 

“Ok, fine,” Spencer heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, sitting up in the bed, his back against the headboard. You sat up, too, looking at him with concern. Why was he so embarrassed? “I told them… Jesus.” Spencer rubbed the space between his brows with his thumb and his forefinger. “I told them I was here with a coworker that I had a massive crush on, and that you were trying to set me up with someone else,” he began. 

You started to smile. 

Spencer continued. “I told them that I had absolutely no interest in going home with anyone tonight, and that I had been purposefully striking out all night long because I couldn’t stand the thought of even trying to look at someone the way I look at you.” 

Your smile grew and you moved to sit on your knees, inching closer to Spencer and throwing one leg over him, effectively straddling him against the mattress. “So I asked them,” Spencer continued, his lips turning slowly from an exasperated frown to a small smile. “I asked them if they could just look at me like I had said something stupid, and then I would leave them alone.” 

“Did they say anything to that?” You asked as Spencer’s hands found your hips, contouring to match the curves into the small of your back. 

Spencer’s voice got slightly lower, more serious, when he said, “The girl in the middle did. She said ‘that girl definitely has feelings for you, too’. And then they did what I asked, and I walked back over to you.” 

“She did not say that,” you rolled your eyes, just as Spencer kissed your lips. 

“I have an eidetic memory, Y/N,” he reminded you in a low whisper, as his lips lingered against yours. “Would I lie to you about that?” 

Im so gay

But then there is Spencer reid, making me question things

So

You know that wolverine fic i said would be out soon?

Im a fucking liar

Im currently ✨️moving✨️ so everything is up in the air and *a* fic will be posted ASAP

itll be gambit / wolverine or deadpool

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ when we are together

| Charles Leclerc x female reader

Content warning(s): FLUFF eventual smut 18+ mdni, mutual pinning, friends to lovers, unprotected sex, english is not my first language.

Summary- It took quite some time for you and Charles to realize that you were truly meant to be together.

word count 4.7k it's a bit long, but I swear it's worth it.

Charles Leclerc has the most captivating eyes you’ve ever seen. Sometimes, they shimmer with a beautiful shade of green, flecked with honey, and at other times, they resemble the majestic blue of Niagara Falls. Regardless of their hue, you find yourself captivated, able to admire them for hours, even days, lost in their beauty.

You first met Charles back in 2014, on a rainy Thursday night. He and his friends burst into your favorite café, shattering the serene quiet with their adolescent banter and laughter. Amid the lively chaos, Charles seemed to glow with an infectious vitality, his face perpetually adorned with a radiant grin.

Unfortunately for you, the café was unusually crowded that evening, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when his pair of striking eyes met yours for the first time ever. "Sorry, would you mind sharing your table with us?" he asked, his voice as captivating as his gaze.

"Of course not, please sit," you heard yourself say, scooting to the corner to make room for them.

"Do you play?" one of his friends asked, displaying the Uno cards they had brought along.

"Uh, not really," you replied softly, fingers tracing the pendant of your necklace. Despite your attempt to remain composed, the sudden surge of energy around you left you feeling somewhat overwhelmed. The calm ambiance you had been enjoying was swiftly replaced by an unbridled liveliness, making you feel strangely diminutive in comparison.

"Give it a try, I swear it's super fun," he urged, his enthusiasm always infectious to everyone around. Little did you know that simple invitation marked the beginning of years where you found yourself incapable of saying no to him.

That night, you discovered that Charles Leclerc was fiercely competitive, his energy palpable as he fussed around his seat, grimacing and sighing whenever he was losing, and occasionally even letting out a scream directed at his friends—but never at you. You also realized that you both attended the same school yet had never crossed paths before. This was likely because you spent all your free time in the library, while he was always engaged in lively conversations with anyone who would listen.

Even though you hadn't actively sought out Charles's friendship, he made it his mission to befriend you. He would flash you a warm smile and wave at you in the school hallways, trailing behind you as he yapped on about karting and racing. He even accompanied you to the library (although he often ended up falling asleep, it still counted!). And on top of all that, he would walk you home after school, casually mentioning that his house was in the same direction, so he might as well accompany you.

2016

It became challenging when Charles left school to focus on his racing career. Despite this, he still crashed at your house most of the time, practically becoming a permanent fixture there. Your mom now prepared meals for five instead of four, often shooting you suggestive glances whenever Charles would praise your intelligence and express his desire to spend more time with you now that he couldn’t see you at school anymore.

Even your dad and brother had grown accustomed to his presence in your home, to the point where Charles would sometimes inadvertently spend more time with them than with you, getting caught up in their lively discussions about races airing on TV.

"You like them more, admit it," you tease, poking his cheek on a casual Friday evening while the two of you lay in the grass of your favorite park. It was the middle of spring, and he had suggested going for a run, but after the first two kilometers, your lungs and legs had given out, screaming for a break.

"I don't," he says, gently catching your wrist, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "But they let me talk about racing as long as I want," his fingers trace the delicate lines of your knuckles and veins.

"I let you talk about racing all the time, even though I don't understand half of what you're saying," you pout at him, your voice softening with affection.

It's true. Ever since you were seventeen, you've let him chatter on about racing endlessly. Even back then, when you didn't understand a single thing about it and resorted to googling terms like 'rear wing' and ' suspension' at night, you still listened intently. Because seeing his eyes light up with passion, cheeks flushed, and a wide smile on his face was worth it all. You loved watching him talk about racing.

"Fair enough, mon ange. You're my favorite, you always have been and always will be, happy?" he says teasingly, grinning at you before pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"No," your pout deepens, and he can't help but let out a chuckle. You're adorable, he thinks

"What can I do for you to forgive me?" he asks, his gaze locking with yours. You're not sure if he's aware of the power his eyes hold over you, their deep blue hue pulling you in, inviting you to lose yourself in their depths.

"Carry me back?" you jest, reaching out to him with a mischievous grin. He laughs, but obligingly stands up and turns around, offering his back for you to climb onto.

2017

You certainly understand the meaning of "suspension" now, but you wish you never had to. If you thought Charles leaving school was tough, you never imagined the agony of not seeing him for weeks. You had grown so accustomed to his presence that now, in his absence, you feel empty, as if a piece of you is missing.

On the other hand, if someone were to ask your mom, she'd likely tell you that you're overreacting. After all, you talk to Charles every single day through every imaginable form of communication—texts, calls, emails, social media posts comments, even postcards. You name it, and the two of you have probably already covered it. She's actually impressed that you two haven't resorted to smoke signals yet.

Either way, she drives you to the airport on the day he's coming back. She stands next to Pascale, just a few steps away from where you are, surrounded by his brothers.

"Thought one of them would have confessed by now," Pascale whispers to your mom as they watch you tease Arthur alongside Lorenzo.

"I thought they’d be dating by now," your mom snorts, and Pascale joins her in a laugh.

It’s as if your body is possessed the moment, you see him step through the doors. Your legs carry you forward at full speed, drawn to the sight of his messy hair, tired eyes, and familiar hoodie. He notices you just in time, catching you in his arms, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place.

"Miss me that much, ange?" he teases.

"Shut up," you retort, and he falls silent, savoring the way your legs wrap around his waist and your arms encircle his neck, pulling him closer. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, letting your scent envelop his senses.

"I did miss you," he whispers into your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'm signing with Sauber, but don’t overreact—I haven't even told my mom yet. I wanted you to be the first to know."

His breath brushes against your neck, and you have to summon all of your strength not to let out a squeal. Instead, you tighten your hold and whisper back to him, “So proud of you, cœur,” your feet touching the ground again. With a final smile, you release him, allowing him to reunite with his family.

2019

Ferrari's garage buzzes with precision as the final details for the Monza GP are attended to. You weave through the crowd filling the Ferrari lounge, your family already dispersed, likely exploring, and soaking in the pre-race excitement.

"Where's your mom?" you call out, raising your voice to be heard over the noise once you spot Arthur. "I haven't seen her yet, and it's about to start."

Although this isn't your first time attending a Grand Prix, it's the first with such a massive crowd. Normally, it's just you, Charles' family, and occasionally Seb's wife. You've never experienced this level of hustle and bustle before. It's a bit overwhelming, but you'll manage—for Charles.

“Didn't he tell you?" Arthur asks, puzzled, as you respond with a questioning look. "Mom’s in the grandstands. He couldn't get her a paddock pass."

"Unbelievable," you mutter under your breath. "Is he still in his driver’s room?" you ask. Arthur nods, grinning as he already anticipates what's about to happen next.

You make your way to Charles driver’s room in what you can say is the fastest walk you have achieved in your life.

“Leclerc” you say in a stern tone of voice knocking at the door of the room.

He opens the door, taking you by the wrist to pull you in before closing it behind you. He already knows why you're here, but a playful smile spreads across his face at the sight of your annoyed expression.

"Arthur is such a gossip," he says, his tone teasing. You resist the urge to slap him, recognizing that playful tone he always uses when you’re annoyed. He enjoys it—he really does. You look so cute when you're angry, with your hands on your hips and your mouth twisted in a grimace.

"You let your mom sit alone in the grandstands," you nearly scream, and he looks at you, guilt written all over his face.

"She decided to come too late," he tries to explain, already aware it won't help his case. "I was out of paddock passes by then."

"I could have given her mine," you interrupt, and he smiles adorably at you. Of course, you would have given yours to his mom. You were probably her favorite, even above her three children.

"I'm going to sit with her," you declare firmly, the smile on his face morphing into a mischievous grin as he reaches for a piece of paper from one of his drawers and hands it to you.

Charles Leclerc knows you all too well, always a step ahead, as if he can read your mind and predict your every move and decision before you even make it. It used to be unsettling, but now it's like second nature.

"Cheer for me, ange," he says, handing you the GP ticket for the seat next to his mom.

He walks you to the exit of the Ferrari motorhome, kissing your forehead before reluctantly letting you go, only after you assure him that you won’t make it to your seat on time if he doesn’t release you quickly. He stands there, watching you walk towards the paddock access, turning around to give him a small wave before disappearing from his sight.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Seb asks, observing the dreamy smile on his face.

"I wish," he murmurs wistfully.

2022

On your twenty-fifth birthday, you find yourself grappling with a quarter-life crisis like any other twenty-something human in the world. No one can say a single thing to you, whether good or bad, without potentially bringing you to tears. It's as if no words seem capable of consoling you.

So, seeing your fragile state, you decide not to celebrate your birthday this year—a decision you come to regret the day before your birthday when you attempt to arrange a small dinner with your loved ones, only to discover that they have already made plans. While you understand their commitments, it doesn't prevent you from breaking down in tears at Charles's apartment, clinging to one of his blankets as you indulge in birthday pancakes, he's prepared for you.

"Please, ange, don't cry. You're breaking my heart," he murmurs softly as he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. "We can still plan something for tomorrow. My brothers will be free, and my mom would cancel anything for you. Your family has already said yes," he suggests, trying to lift your spirits with solutions.

"It's just not the same. My birthday is today," you whine, pushing the empty plate aside before snuggling closer to Charles's side.

"What about we celebrate just you and me? How does that sound?" he suggests, but you only bury your face further into his side. "We can go have dinner at that restaurant you love, the one with the plants hanging from the ceiling."

He senses your thoughts as your whimpers die down, and you peek one eye out from his shirt. "Can we get gelato too?"

"Yes, of course! Whatever you want, Ange," he agrees, gently removing the strands of hair that cover your face.

After catching a few episodes of Bridgerton, you head out from his place, planning to shower and get ready back at your own spot for the dinner ahead. There's a promise to reunite later, this time at your apartment.

He stands outside your door, holding a small box between his hands, playing with the corners of the envelope. It's your gift, meticulously chosen to be perfect for you, the only one that always takes him a lot of time to select. As you open the door, he admires one of his favorite dresses of yours, a stunning green shade that makes your skin glow.

You finish putting on your earrings, giving him an apologetic look for the lateness. "I just need to put perfume on, and I'll be ready."

He nods and watches you step inside your room, leaving him alone in the living room. His eyes wander over your walls adorned with pictures of you and your family, a few with friends you've made over the years. But his gaze always returns to the picture standing above your fireplace—a moment captured where he's holding you close, hand at your waist and the other at your head, bringing you in for a kiss on the cheek. You have a playful look on your face, but he remembers the joyous laughter that followed, the day he realized he was in love with you.

“Shall we go?” you ask bringing him out of his daydreams.

“Actually, I was going to ask you to open my gift first” he handles you the box his fingers brushing yours. “You need to read the paper first” he says, and you nod unfolding the paper sheet attached to the box.

He seizes the moment to admire you, your beautiful, expressive eyes focused intently on the paper while your pink, rosy lips nibble with concentration. God, he just wants to cup your face in his hands and taste them, a desire he's harbored for years now. He wonders how much longer he can resist.

"You bought me a star," you say, catching him off guard. He only nods, momentarily unable to trust his voice.

"Look inside the box," he finally manages to say, urging you to open it.

Inside the box lies a delicate silver star necklace. You take a moment to admire it before carefully lifting it out, holding it between your fingers to inspect it. That's when you notice two sets of dates engraved on the back.

"The day the star was born and its coordinates," he explains. "May I?" You nod, allowing him to fasten the necklace around your neck. His warm fingers against your skin feel comforting, and once he's finished, he takes a moment to admire how it rests against your chest.

"The reservation," you choke out, your mind foggy after being under his gaze for so long.

Of course, Charles had orchestrated a surprise birthday dinner with all your closest friends and family, despite your decision to cancel all birthday celebrations. As the evening unfolded, you found yourself stealing glances at him more and more frequently. He sat beside you, his hand resting on your thigh, and suddenly, the weight of the necklace around your neck felt heavier as the realization dawned upon you: you were in love with Charles Leclerc.

2023- December

Your friends were on the brink of insanity (more so than usual). The tension had reached new heights throughout the year, yet neither of you seemed to grasp the obvious.

Joris was tempted to dive off the yacht every time Charles not-so-subtly stole a glance at your ass, or vice versa. Meanwhile, Andrea found himself uncomfortably caught between your flirtatious gazes and the prolonged silences that followed. And as for your moms, they were simply tired of arriving at your houses only to find the two of you cuddled up together on the couch, fast asleep.

And yet, every time someone dared to ask, "Are you two more than friends?" The response was always a dismissive, "We're just friends." you brushed off any insinuation, insisting it was all normal behavior. But with each passing moment, it became increasingly evident that you were simply avoiding the truth.

God, please have mercy on them.

2024 – May, 26

After the celebrations subsided and the echoes of sobs and cheers faded into the night, you found yourselves back in Charles' home, seated beside him on the familiar comfort of his couch.

In the soft glow of a small desk lamp, the two of you sat in silence, each lost in your own thoughts. Tears stained your cheeks, remnants of the emotional rollercoaster of the day, while Charles' face was cleansed, washed free of any traces of tears.

“I won” he murmurs softly.

“You won” you echo, your voices intertwining in the quiet of the room. "Are you heading out to celebrate?" you inquire, twirling your pasta absentmindedly.

"Yeah, I think so. Do you want to come with me?" he asks, his eyes hopeful, like a puppy waiting for you to accept.

"Only because it's Monaco," you reply playfully, rising from your seat and reaching for his empty plate.

He shadows your every move, a constant presence since the day he first met you. He stands by your side as you rinse the dishes and load them into the dishwasher.

"I know you want to do it, just go for it," you encourage him. And with those words, he begins to recount every detail of his race, starting from the very beginning. He recall the morning when he woke up to breakfast with you, his mom, and his brothers, though he conveniently leaves out the part about how breathtaking you looked in just a tank top and shorts.

You lean against the kitchen island, watching him talk, and memories flood back of all the times you've been in this exact position. Charles has evolved over the years—his looks have changed, and he has matured in many ways. Yet, whenever he talks about racing with you, he reverts to being your Charles, brimming with passion and a light bright enough to illuminate the entire world.

You’re well aware this isn’t the first time you’ve noticed, but Charles Leclerc has the most captivating eyes you've ever seen. Sometimes, they shimmer with a beautiful shade of green flecked with honey; at other times, they resemble the majestic blue of Niagara Falls. Regardless of their hue, you find yourself utterly mesmerized, able to admire them for hours, even days, lost in their beauty.

He makes you feel valued, seen, safe, and adored. You must have been staring at him for a while because he looks at you with a curious expression, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You, okay?" he asks.

You can't resist anymore; you're done holding back. The next thing you know, your hands are gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you. Rising onto the balls of your feet, you meet his lips for the first time. He tastes of champagne and chocolate, so sweet and intoxicating that it’s instantly addictive.

There's something undeniably magical about kissing Charles Leclerc. Perhaps it's because it's your first time kissing each other after a long time of yearning, but it's mostly the way he kisses you—tenderly, frigid at the edges and with such care. It transports you back to high school, where every love felt like an explosion of giggles and butterflies in your stomach.

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to suffocate you both after you parted ways. Charles's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his breath coming unevenly.

When you opened your eyes, you saw his cheeks flushed with a radiant pink, his eyes wide with surprise. Normally, you would have teased him for being so flustered, but a quick glance at his slightly parted lips made you cringe inwardly.

"Sorry," you offered weakly, your voice barely above a whisper as you attempted to escape the kitchen. However, his arms rested on the kitchen island, trapping you in place.

"Again," he said, almost breathless. "You caught me off guard." He swallowed hard, his nose now mere inches from yours. "I didn’t do it right. Please, let me try again."

And who are you to deny him? You lean in, pressing your lips to his once more. This time, he isn't caught off guard. He steps closer, pulling you in tightly. The tips of your noses brush together, and you feel his hands slide to the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly to sit you on the kitchen island. He gently opens your legs and steps between them.

You gently push him back, whispering, "Wait," as you step off the island. His eyes widen with concern.

"Did I do something wrong?" You shake your head, offering a sheepish smile.

"No, not at all," you assure him. "Let's go to your room." He follows you without hesitation.

Charles short-circuits for a moment, watching you sit down on his bed. Sensing his hesitation, you stretch out a hand, pulling him closer. As he bends in front of you, you catch his lips with yours once more. He only needs a second before he regains control, responding with fervor, his movements sure and confident.

“God, you are so pretty, I can't think straight,” he murmurs. You open your mouth to mock him, but he interrupts, parting your legs with his knees before kneeling between them.

“So pretty,” he repeats, his voice low and reverent, as he massages your bare thighs with tender, his hands slipping under your skirt hiking the material higher “fuck beautiful you are so wet” his fingers graze your soaking panties, drawing a gasp out of you, lithe fingers rubbing and pitching your clit through the thin fabric.

“Fuck” you whisper under your breath “Charles please.”  Seeing you grow purely frustrated was utterly amusing to him. The way your eyebrows curl and furrow, jaw slightly tensing.

“Tell me what you want” he commands, kissing all over your inner thighs. moving a thumb to press in between your folds against your panties.

After that his kisses got closer to where you craved him kissing at the outskirts of your panties, moving to lay the flat of his tongue against your clothed pussy just to feel you twitch under him.

“Charles please, need you to­— eat me out” you huff out in a short singular breath. He lifted his head and began to peel your panties off of you sliding them all the way down your legs using his mouth.

“Whatever you want Ange” he says in a low gruff. The moment he finally hovers his mouth over your sopping clit Charles gently strokes a thumb up and down opening you up to slowly create a single lick to make you whimper.

One taste and he was hooked, you tasted so fucking sweet on his tongue he was pushing forward tongue-first and nose- deep into you occasionally prod against your entrance. You slumped back against the bed, trying not to close your legs at him at this point.

“God, ange, you taste so good," he murmurs, his breath hot against your folds. Just when you thought your situation couldn't get any more intense, he starts speaking into your pussy proving you wrong.

The room filled with the sounds of your overzealous moans and the noises Charles tongue made, sliding his tongue between your folds, sucking and nibbling “Look at her” he breathes broken away from your cunt, watching the way you twitch for him to return his tongue to you. “How’s it feels, ange?” You stare at him mesmerized as he spit on your pussy legs squirming a bit.

“Good” you gulp nearly choking on your own saliva.

“Uhm just good?” his gaze flicks up to you. Catching you with such an expression of pure needs, His eyes hungry on yours as he tips his head to the side “talk to me pretty girl.” He’d tease, bringing a long suck towards your clit. You let off a moan once he playfully nibbles near that particular spot with his teeth.

Your lip’s part and a breathy sigh escapes you “please” your voice almost gone.

“Can’t hear you amour” he takes two fingers and presses them against your pussy lips before spreading them apart glancing down a pretty cobweb of his own spits and nice wad onto your pussy

“Please Charles” Charles gives your cunt a sweet little kiss and he feels it start to hastily pulse from it. He knew you were getting close. “don’t be mean please.”

He looks innocently at you one finger finally starting to sink deep into you watching the way your cunt greedily swallows it. He lets out some breathy little sound as he slips a second finger into you, slow against your walls sliding in and out watching the sheer coat of your taste gather along his fingers.

Your back arches up off the bed as his fingers curl upward against your walls, feeling the way you squeeze around him “Charles I am gonna..I” his fingers increase in speed looking up at you while latching his lips to your clit again.

Charles swears you are the most perfect thing to ever grace his presence- head thrown back, eyes glossy moan after moan of his name leaving your bitten lips, and pussy making the obscenest sound every time he slides his fingers in you.

“Yeah baby, there you go, you are s’close, c’mon ange give it to me” he utters softly, tongue slipping out to swirl around your clit “Lay it on me.”

His tongue darts around to the left of your clit and you’re moving your hand down to his hair to pull him closer “Cha-Cha…. too much, ah please,” you cry as your eyes meet his and you watch his pink tongue flick up and down over your clit. He’s so fucking messy and it’s driving you over the edge.

“Cum f’me- cum ange” and there you are. Gasping, sputtering as he drags the orgasm out of you. Your head tosses back, and he continues to stroke you through it. “That’s my girl you look so fuckin’ pretty messin’ my fingers.”

Hand departing from your pussy while you lay there panting, his body lifting and fingers dropping to get his pants off “Not done with you yet. I've been waiting to fuck you forever," he murmurs.

"You're going to miss the party," you gasp between heavy breaths, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“I’ll be quick” Any counterargument you might have had is swiftly cut off by Charles cock pressing in between your warm folds.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅

You arrive fashionably late at the party, almost surprised you made it at all. Charles's arm wraps snugly around your waist, his murmurs tickling your ear from time to time. Lorenzo shoots you a knowing grin from across the club, raising his glass in a silent toast, and you can't help but feel a flush of warmth spread through you.

"Finally grew the balls to confess," one of Charles's friends pats his back, and you chuckle, holding your cup between your lips.

He gazes at you in awe, taking the cup from your lips and replacing it with his own, planting a kiss on your nose before pulling away. "She kissed me first, for your information. Couldn't resist my charm," he says proudly to his friend, and you gasp indignantly.

The night ends in the blink of an eye, but as you wake up curled up in Charles's arms, you couldn't be happier. Gazing at his peaceful slumber, you admire the contours of his beautiful face, tracing each line with your finger.

"A picture would last longer," he says with a hoarse voice, eyes still closed as he pulls you closer.

"Ah, cockiness doesn't suit you, cœur," you tease, burying your face in his chest, which rumbles with a steady laugh before you both drift back to sleep.

Formulamoons, please do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend my content outside of Tumblr.

Forgot to say, hi im back off of hiatus, new fandoms n all

Anyway hiiiii

(Bestie was very excited about this)

@bipaniccosplays

My new migraine meds make me so freakin tired and have a list of side effects as long as my armso content may be slow