Spencer Reid | Oneshots

Get Lucky 🔥 (E)

Summary: The fire alarm in your apartment building goes off at 3AM after a pipe bursts in the middle of winter. You are soaked and you left your wallet in the apartment. You only (barely) know the FBI agent who lives in the building, but he offers to share his jacket, and eventually a hotel room, with you.

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Content Warning: Strangers to lovers, only one bed trope, kissing, oral sex (female receiving), face-sitting, penetrative sex, protected sex (condom), implied weight for Reader (she wears his shirt/boxers)

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There was supposed to be something romantic about winter nights in the city. The poorly maintained lighting was supplemented with colorful bulbs that caught every snowflake. Each frozen lattice refracted the light and littered the air with rainbows. For a few hours, while Washington, D.C. slept, the prismatic powder would cut through the smog.

There was usually a purity, a serenity to the city soaked in snow. But that night, as I stood in three inches of snow in already drenched slippers, I only had one thought regarding the world around me.

"It's fucking freezing out here!"

My voice didn't echo back to me, and instead dissipated into distant honking of an insistent fire truck slowly fighting its way through construction gridlock at 3am.

I hadn't expected anyone to answer my cry, which had been borne out of frustration and apathy for everything around me that moment.

But someone did answer. And oh boy, did he piss me off.

"It's actually only 35 degrees, so we're 3 degrees off," the man corrected what was an obvious hyperbole.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything to explain just how close this man had come to death. But when I finally turned and spotted the sleepy smile of my neighbor, I couldn't help but soften at the sight. His eyes were barely open behind foggy glasses he'd thrown on in a hurry and he was swaddled in a chunky cardigan that must've been three times his size. It might as well have been a blanket.

A warm, cuddly, insanely soft looking...

"But in your defense, I think we're close enough for it to count," he interrupted as effortlessly as ever.

I smiled even though it felt like it should be impossible under the circumstances. Even though I couldn't feel my ears that were suddenly burning as my face flushed with heat when I saw his eyes quickly scan my body.

"You were about 3 degrees away from getting your ass kicked," I warned playfully.

He smiled. Then he made it worse.

"Yeah, it's probably not the best ice breaker right now," he snickered.

"Say one more cold thing, I dare you."

With both hands in the air (in a very inviting way), he immediately conceded to my fury.

"Sorry!" he laughed through the surrender, "I'll stop talking."

"You don't have to do that," I grumbled, "It's a nice distraction from the fact I can't feel my toes."

I looked down at the offending digits as if my glaring would make them any warmer. But it did nothing to make that contradictory burn any less painful when I'd tried to move them.

While I was trying to bend the laws of thermodynamics, however, my neighbor had decided to work within their confines to find a solution. One that consisted of him stripping off his comfy cardigan and baring his arms to the cold.