Spencer Reid | Oneshots

Maddening One, My Goddess 🔥 (M)

Summary: Spencer has a one night stand... on February 13th. The next day, he is confronted with a familiar face on his pre-planned double date.

Rating: Mature (16+)

Content Warnings: Fade to black scene with sexual themes, alludes to sex, one night stand, Greek mythology, Reader as Aphrodite, second hand embarrassment, awkward dinners, kissing/making out

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Many mistakes begin with a poorly timed question. There is no more obvious rendition of this tired trope than a book chosen at random from the romance section of a bookstore.

So often had it happened, where the hero seals his own fate by misunderstanding the weight of his words. Whether he had been the one asking or the one being asked, it always ended with tragedy reminiscent of the Greek Gods.

I knew I would be that hero from the moment I saw my heroine sitting lonely at the cafe on the corner. Her eyes, half-lidded but filled with yearning, remain affixed on the empty chair across from her.

The place was packed with busy bodies, but she seemed so still. It was as if an oil painting of Aphrodite had come to life and left her without her other.

Perhaps it was just the foolhardy romantic in me, but I found that a woman waiting for nothing to arrive was a bit too tragic with Valentine's Day only one night away.

"Are you waiting for someone?" I had asked.

Those eyes that had been lost resurfaced. They'd turned to me with a dreamy sigh and a demure charade to hide the deviance hidden betwixt the words.

"No, I wasn't," she had purred, "but now I'm hoping you'll ask me to stay."

Who was I to deny Cupid's arrow, no matter how poorly timed? Was it chauvinistic to want to save her from solitude when she was so clearly aware of her own tragedy? She had not been a woman who needed to be saved. But she had wanted someone to try.

Try, I had. We spoke until long past the flickering of shy streetlights. I'd watched the sun set behind her, casting its halo as her backdrop. The jealous star had burned twice as beautifully in an effort to outshine her. When it had finally accepted defeat and gave in to the night, she also had to take her leave.

It had only been a few hours. It was only a few hours before the day of the lovers' feast. I'd spent the afternoon fantasizing about an alternate reality where I could let myself be consumed by her. I had trailed behind her, her Icarus chasing what felt both unattainable and inevitable.

When she had leaned forward to kiss me, wax wings turned to a puddle at my feet. I had been trapped in place, powerless to her as she kissed me again, and again, and again. I fell for her then, with no reservations.

The chilly February air had presented the perfect contrast to her warmth. Her scorching lips were still soft. I had felt the intensity growing stronger with each meeting of our lips. When she had shyly asked for entrance, I had given it without hesitation.

Like the fools in every Greek tragedy, we plummeted swiftly into the inferno of lust. Cupid had claimed another victim, but I hadn't been able to find a reason to resist her.

It was inevitable, after all. Fated by Eros himself.

Yet I'd been surprised that she'd lingered when her had chariot arrived.

Still sporting that intoxicating stare, she had asked, "Are you coming?"

So many mistakes begin just like that.