Spencer Reid | Oneshots

Relief in Regrets ❤️‍🔥 (E)

Summary: Spencer turns to his ex-girlfriend in a time of need.
Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)
Content Warning: Exes, slightly toxic dynamic, heavy kissing, oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, crying after sex (Spencer), aftercare included, ambiguous/poignant ending

——————————————————

I swore off coffee the day Spencer Reid and I broke up. While my friends insisted that I was being dramatic, I'd never felt that way. If they'd ever spent more than an hour with the man, they would understand why it was necessary.

They would come to realize, as I had, that there was no divorcing coffee from his memory. The smell soaked into everything the same as his touch radiated warmth. Each droplet in the pot sounded like a sleepy yawn as he struggled to stay awake for just an hour longer because he hadn't seen me in so long.

Each abandoned half-full, half-empty mug served as a reminder to how he would fall asleep on my chest moments later. Or worse, a cup abandoned by his departure. Again.

It was almost Pavlovian how badly I craved it; how its absence was almost painful. But its presence hurt all the same, because the second I'd smelled the bitter grounds, all I could think about was him and how he wasn't there anymore.

So, I had promised myself that I wouldn't drink coffee anymore.

It hadn't lasted very long, but there had been a sincere effort for about forty-eight hours. I returned to coffee quickly, but I'd at least managed to avoid a few particular cafes. While I could handle tasting coffee, I wasn't sure I could handle seeing him.

But when his name appeared on my caller ID, I didn't hesitate to answer. I'd figured that I'd already proven I wasn't able to swear off one vice, so what was another? I'd agreed to meet with him for a cup of coffee on the condition that it would only be the one. We both pretended like either of us believed that.

Of course, things like that always seem better in theory. Everything changes when you're actually faced with the reality of the situation. When you're standing outside the window of his favorite cafe, staring at him through the glass.

I knew I shouldn't have come. The memories rushed back before I'd even opened the door to be met with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. The memory of him outlining olfactory memory and the pesky Proust effect was but the first of many.

The bell hung on the back of the door rang to announce my arrival. Spencer was quick to rise, and I suspected that he'd done the same each time he heard the door open. It was obvious in his expression that some small (or overwhelmingly large) part of him had been convinced I wouldn't show.

But there I was, fast approaching a table with my order already set in front of my chair.

Of course he remembered. Of course he knew I wouldn't have changed it.

Even when I sat, he didn't say a word.

"Hey, stranger," I offered with a smile I'd hoped would sell the lie that I didn't miss him.

"Hey," he muttered back with a similar sentiment, "you look great."

The bitterness won out in the end. I hadn't even realized the insult until it stumbled over my tongue.

"You look... tired."

He took it in stride, however. I suspect he'd been expecting the hostility. He was clever, after all.

"So, the same as usual, then?" he said with a self-effacing chuckle.

It had only been thirty seconds, but I could already feel myself falling for his facade all over again. It had only taken a few words, a little bit of beautiful nonsense for me to forget the nights I'd spent crying over him.