#spencer reid x fat reader

[cometkenji]

Doctor, Doctor, please listen!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!reader Cw; Tension (I tried), cursing, the smallest physical description of reader in the last portion (just mentions their stomach going over their pants), reader has scars from previous cases, rivals to lovers?, lmk if i'm missing smth Summary: 3 times you called him doctor, 3 times he wonders why. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but I don't really ever describe their bodies that much cause it's x READER and every body has a different body <3 WC: 3,596 I am literally so obsessed with criminal minds somebody save my soul OBLIVOUS IDIOTS WHO WANT EACH OTHER MY BELOVED. Title from mad hatter by Melanie Martinez don't even @ me for that

1.

“...she will be an important part of making your team function quicker. We fought hard to get her here. I ask that you all treat her with respect and not make me intervene.” 

Strauss finished her introductory spiel with a familiar “mom-glare” towards the team, walking away once she finished her speech. Unfortunately, her departure left you standing alone in front of the most intimidating man you’ve ever seen and four of his team members. You had been practically still until now. You hated the pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, causing a general freeze response to the stress of a new team. Fawn, you thought, the newest addition to the fight or flight categories and also the lovely thing forcing you to practically disassociate in front of your new boss and co-workers. 

“Welcome, Dr. L/N. We’ve heard good things. I’m Aaron Hotchner, I supervise the team.” He was leaning on the table before he stepped forward to shake your hand as he spoke. “This is Emily Prentiss, Jenifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid.” He pointed towards the corresponding people as he spoke of them. “Agent Rossi is away right now, and you’ll meet our T.I. later…she’s been excited.” If you hadn’t been good at your job, you’re sure you would have missed the way his lips turned up slightly at the edges when mentioning the woman. He didn’t seem so scary anymore, more like a father of the team. You’d been expecting a drill sergeant - your last team leader could have given a bull a run for it’s money with how much aggression that guy had. You welcomed the rush of excitement you felt at the discovery, mentally shaking off the stiffness you were carrying. 

“I’m happy to be here, sir. I’ve heard good things about the team, too. Your boss seems to think highly of your capabilities.” You addressed the room as you spoke. Public speaking was a skill you were still trying to master, so you practiced whenever you could. 

Your statement earned a chuckle from the table. Nobody bothered to explain the reason. You figured it was too much history to sum up on the spot. Your eyes wanted to linger on Reid. He seemed so young, and you wondered if he’d been told that his entire career - lord knows you had too. A fellow doctor. You assumed he was a bit of a stickler about the title, as even his boss kept it tacked onto his name when introducing him. You’d originally hoped to find some comfort in the man, on the surface he seemed a lot like you. He was probably too smart for his own good as well. Given the way he was staring at you, though, you felt the realization sink in that the man had no intention of welcoming you. 

“Why exactly do we need another profiler?” His voice held no malice as he spoke in the direction of his boss. There was more curiosity in his voice than anything, however you did pick up on the sense of superiority that sat just beneath the surface of his words. You guessed that’s how he behaved generally - as though he was superior. Still, your head tilted slightly to the side at the question. 

Damn. Tough crowd. 

You saw the intake of breath in Hotchner as he prepared to defend your place here but you spoke before he could start. “While I am a profiler, sir, first and foremost I am a psychiatrist - a doctor. As I’m sure you heard from Strauss, the board is unhappy with your recent efficiency rates and would also like to aid your team in dealing with mental health crises. I’ve spent my entire life studying the effects and conditions of the mentally diseased brain. I’ll be able to tell you the most efficient and effective way of interacting with these individuals, along with more accurately predicting their actions and methodology. I’m an agent, I took the same oath everyone here did but I was brought here for my expertise.” You were on a bit of a tangent, you knew that, but something about the smug feel of the man forced an emergence of competitiveness. He looked at you so indifferent, and you couldn’t help the tiny sparks of anger lighting beneath your skin. You kept a friendly disposition towards the man - you were a professional, after all, not a teenager - but you sensed a rivalry sprouting it’s roots.

The others at the table suppressed their smiles or looked down to hide it. Nobody had ever challenged Spencer like that. They could all feel he was a tad bit territorial. He was the guy people went to when they needed to know something. He was the Doctor of the group. They didn’t think he would take too kindly to another one encroaching his land. They saw the way he was tense, even more so after you responded. It was a riveting sight, though. The lot of them saw Spencer as a younger brother, and him meeting his match was something they were all so excited to see.

“Play nice, pretty boy.” Derek muttered to him, Spencer was slightly slouched in his chair now, not losing sight of you. Derek followed suit, turning his attention towards you. “We’re glad to have you, Doctor. We’ve spoken about an addition like you before, I’m glad to see the higher ups finally listened. I look forward to working with you - excuse me.” He left once his phone rang. 

The others took his exit as an excuse for their own, everyone giving you a warm welcome as they left. You reciprocated happily, telling everyone they could just call you by your first name, never having been one for titles. ‘There’s one difference.’ You thought, even your internal dialogue was bitter. Aside from him, there was a warmth here that you had been desperate to find in your last team. If you had to work passive aggressively with one uptight man in exchange for a team like this - you were going to take that deal. 

He refused to leave it seemed. He just sat looking inquisitively at the table, occasionally extending his stare to look at you before returning. How did you two end up alone in this room?

“Are you gonna have a problem with me, Doctor?” You shifted slightly on your feet. A notoriously nervous sign, one he definitely picked up on.

He stared again. It was his mind that kept him rooted in his seat. You were fucking alluring. He’d never met someone so like himself in his line of work. He was being a dick and he knew it but it seemed to be instinctual - some type of precaution, maybe. He didn’t know why you were being so respectful. Doctor. God, he didn’t know if the title had ever sounded so good being directed at him. His frustration only rose as he thought on the issue more. He wasn’t welcoming, it would be so easy to drop the formality, something he knew you knew would get on his nerves. But you didn’t. It didn’t seem like a question of dignity. You didn’t seem like the type to refuse a little pettiness - he sure wasn’t the type either. A thought stirred, an unsafe one he wanted to squash immediately but one he also couldn’t help but lean into. Did you want a power imbalance?

“No.” He stood abruptly, obviously still focused on the thoughts in his head. “Welcome to the team.” He addressed you one last time and then walked out of the room.

You followed shortly after, ready to make home on your couch and be done with being the newbie for the day. Your stress would follow you home, though, as the last thing you heard before you left the building was “Oh my god they’re perfect for each other.”

2.

The first few weeks were always the hardest. This was something you knew and were prepared for but it did nothing to calm your nerves. You’d been on countless missions having worked this job for a while now, but this was an entirely new dynamic to learn. You were an outsider for the first time in four years and it was scary. This case was shaping up to be a rough one, too. A man was having delusions telling him to kill. An extremely rare manifestation of his Schizophrenia, only elevated by the newly acquired aspect of him being an insomniac. 

Spencer hadn’t ceased being headstrong in cases either. Every time you wanted to help he made it his mission to overcompensate in order to snuff you out. On the contrary, he’d warmed up to you a little. It wasn’t major, he barely held any positive feelings toward you, but barely was better than not at all, so you coped. You two had managed a couple small talk conversations outside the battle of one-upping that you were currently losing. You absolutely hated it, but you liked him. You liked him a lot, actually. You don’t know when in the past few days that anger morphed into fondness but it had shifted hard. The casual dominance he exuded drew you in like a porchlight lures a moth. You doubted the opposite proved true for him, and that stung. You came to enjoy the banter, the competition, even if you were always playing the losing hand. It was the only way to get his undivided attention and the feeling of his eyes on you started to follow you home. 

You thought a lot about how you could get the relationship to pivot into something better. You didn’t want to be the girl he bickered with at work. You didn’t know what it was you wanted but you knew that your current fate sounded horrid. He was an ass, though, and he did not make it easy to admit those feelings. Every time he undermined you, you grew more attached and also more angry at yourself for doing so. It was because he’s so much like you, you thought. You knew from the way he interacted with his team that he wasn’t a cold guy, didn’t hold malice towards people for no reason. He needs time. He needs to know you, and God how badly you wanted to know him. 

You had sustained good relations with everyone the past few weeks you’ve been here. Meeting Garcia and Rossi had been a treat - both of them being delightful company. You’d heard them whispering about you and Spencer when they thought you weren’t around. The whole team seems to think that you’re basically fated to be together. It was unnerving how comforting that thought was to you. You hoped they were right. 

Spencer hoped they were right too. He’d heard the same whispers you had, chastising the team when he got the chance as if he didn’t think about you every moment he could. His eyes seemed to naturally land on you if you were around. He watched you walk around the bureau more and more lately, enjoying the gained confidence in your step as you cemented your place in the team. The sway of your hips or the swing of your arms. You mesmerized him no matter what you did. One time he got so caught up in his thoughts of you that Prentiss had to check he wasn’t having a silent panic attack. He clung to his sense of resentment, tried so hard to remind himself of the feelings he had when he first met you - you were beautiful, of course you were - but you were on claimed land and he was anything but eager for you to make home on it. That had faded fast, seeing how kind you were, scrambling to help and earn respect from everyone. The only reason he kept up the act of  “man who wants you gone” was so that he could keep talking to you. Spencer was a genius but he didn’t know how to handle someone like you. He’d been interested in girls before, hell he’d had girlfriends before but it had never felt like this in such little time. Such intense infatuation was crippling for someone who’s brain worked in patterns - this was new ground for him. 

“Everybody suit up. We have Foster’s location and we need to move quickly. He’s going after the source of his rage and we don’t have time to spare.” Hotch came down the stairs two at a time, spurring the team into action. 

“This man is highly dangerous but also highly deluded. The cases I’ve read similar to this say it’s best to speak gently. He’s sick but he can be reasoned with.” Spencer pulls from his memory as he sets his ‘FBI’ vest into place on his chest. 

“No, not this time. This man is too severe, his mind is too far gone. If these hallucinations of his are strong enough for him to touch them it’ll be extremely easy for him to rearrange or imagine your words differently. You need to be loud, direct, and assertive. Speak as little as possible. The quieter you are, the easier it will be for him to change what you’re saying in his head.” You also spoke while putting your vest on. You didn’t carry a weapon - a personal vow of yours, as you were more than classified to - so there were no holsters to fill. The contradictions between the two doctors of the team made everyone hesitate even though they lacked the time to do so.

Spencer looked at you, slightly out of breath from working so quickly. “You’re questioning my memory?” 

“I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor. I’m questioning your sources. There’s a higher risk level if we do what you’re suggesting. Let me do my job.” You made the final adjustments to your attire as you finished speaking. You returned his eye contact for just a beat too long, letting the others rush out of the building while you stood your ground, the two of you begrudgingly following after them a moment later.

You had been assigned a different car than him for the ride over. ‘Thank God’ was the only thing you could think when you saw him heading to the other SUV. After another confrontation - another public one, at that - you weren’t sure you could handle being pressed leg to leg with him in the backseat. Your words were a looping record in his head as he rode towards Foster. They were about to attempt a hostage negotiation with a man seeing people who weren’t there but all he could think about was that fucking word you refused to drop. 

I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor

You had to be doing this on purpose, he thought. He originally believed this had started because you knew stripping him of his beloved title would cause irritation. Now he suspected you knew how badly he wanted his name in your mouth and this was your way of torturing him. ‘It’s working.’ He thought. God was it working. He agreed with his team, you were perfect for him. You had knowledge to match his, kept him on his toes. One time the start of a ramble slipped through his “I don’t like you” façade and he felt his heart speed up at the genuine interest that roused in your eyes. You wanted to know him and he was an idiot for all the shit he was doing. 

He wasn’t surprised when your strategy worked and Ben Foster was taken into custody. You were the one to talk him down, and if you hadn’t already been accepted to the team, he knew then and there that they needed you. You were flawless. He knew you’d been doing this as long as he had and it showed. He pleaded with himself to stay focused, zeroed in on the weight of the gun in his hand to save face. His mind never left you, though, much like his eyes. This was the expertise you spoke of - no wonder they fought hard to get you here. 

“You were excellent in there.” It was just the two of you now. Even in the dull, flashing police lights, you were breathtaking. “Good job.” He said. Then he walked away because he was on the brink of kissing you and didn’t feel like breaking about 18 workplace rules while at the scene of a crime. You wouldn’t have been complaining if he did.

3.

Every time something like this happened it was difficult to remind yourself that not carrying a weapon was a choice you made willingly. You were currently sitting in the back of an open ambulance, about to be hoisted onto a stretcher and driven to the ER for stitches. You’ve been with the BAU for almost 3 months now and have miraculously managed to avoid injury in that time. This had been one of the easier cases. No chases or clues to follow, just a sick man who left a fairly obvious paper trail. You were the speaker on almost all cases. You were in charge of de-escalating a situation, making sure the bomb didn’t blow. You’ve never carried a weapon, always preferring to take the wounds of a job over using a gun to back up your words. You were a psychiatrist, you wanted to make people better, not vilify them. It worked, usually. People did tend to trust you more when you were unarmed. This time, though, it got you stabbed.

It wasn’t a bad injury, the blood had already stopped and was mildly dry by the time Spencer was joining you. Just one more scar to your collection. It was to the side of your quad, missing any artery by miles and just serving as a pain source at this point. A little numbing and some stitches and you’d be right as rain is what the doctor in the ambulance had said. 

“What happened?” He spoke softly to you. There wasn’t a rivalry between you two, not really. The banter hadn’t stopped, but it changed. It was playful and actually fun now. The both of you weren’t obsessed with outdoing the other anymore. Some casual boastfulness and a budding friendship is where you were at with him currently. 

“I got stabbed.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

He exhaled like he couldn’t comprehend the stupidity of your answer. You laughed at that. One enjoyable pastime you’d picked up in the past month was trying to bewilder him. The EMT said he needed to check the rest of your body for injury despite your protest of such a procedure. It was typical and you knew that, but you held onto the fear of your own body that middle school gave you. There was a man you liked here, and the thought of him seeing the bit of stomach that hung outside the waistline of your pants scared you more than you thought it would. You forced yourself to be rational in spite of this. It was Spencer, you wanted to be seen by him. 

“Holy shit.”

You chuckled at that. You forgot that maybe a warning was in order for the amount of scars that littered your stomach.

“Probably should have told you about those.” There were dozens. You amassed a countless amount of scars over the course of your job. Stab wounds, bullet grazes, burn marks. Unsubs, as much as you tried to empathize, were often violent at the end of the day and usually lashed out before they could be helped. 

He was staring - well, gazing more like. Not like someone stares at a car accident on the freeway but instead how someone stares at the moon - awe. He was in awe of you. Your strength, your courage, the fact that you went through all these individual events and still chose not to arm yourself. Some of these were in places that could have been fatal, and he thanked whatever entity may be listening that you persevered, begged them to continue that streak. He crashed hard into the desire to touch you, to run his hands over what little of your past he could see. He wondered if you would let him. If you’d fit into his palms the way he thought you would - if that was something you even wanted. The EMT was gone by now, having moved to the passenger seat for the ride to the hospital. 

“Could I - " He hesitated for a moment, this was definitely the wrong question to ask. “Can I touch you?”

Your eyes glazed over slightly. Jesus. You felt your lips part a little.

“You want to?” Genuine surprise. You didn’t think you looked particularly desirable in your current state. He wanted to touch your fucking scars. Who does he think he is?

“Please.” He was looking at you in a way you hadn’t seen before. His eyes were glazed over too. You held his eyes as you nodded. The heat was so stifling that you laughed just a little at the tension.

“Fucking hell, Spence.”

Blood shot to his ears when you said his name. It had been well worth the wait to hear you say it like that - breathy and confused and so fucking pretty that he wondered how he ever lived before you said it. 

“Will you tell me about them?” He was breathy too, but he wouldn’t have you here, not like this. He just needed to feel you. 

“I’ll tell you anything you want, Doc.”

His hands were warm. It wouldn’t be the last time you felt them.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #x reader #x chubby reader #x fat reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #fanfiction #suggestive #spencer reid x chubby reader #spencer reid x fat reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #plus size reader #comet: SR

[emomosquito]

If you tag a fanfic as plus sized reader and it's not I hope you know that your road to hell is a greased slip n slide. I hate miss Brandy Melville herself less than you.

#plus size #fanfiction #spencer reid x plus size reader #fat #if the descriptions are open ended that counts too because y'all don't know how to write it lmao #like my skinny man and I are not shopping at the same store are you dense

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Do any of you guys have any Spencer Reid requests? I'm on s11 and LORD.

#✉ ― signed meau ! #i am a ride he would not survive #each season i watch im more and more convinced he'd fuq a fat chick #sigh #plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size!reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader #fanfiction #fluff #smut #angst #spencer reid x plus size reader

[januaryembrs]

CROSS MY HEART | Spencer Reid x wife!Reader

Request: read here

description: Spencer's wife struggles with the aftermath of JJ's confession

length: 1.5k

warnings: JJ's 14x15 confession spoilers (big ick, pull yourself together Jennifer) infidelity, thoughts of worthlessness, reader thinks Spencer is going to leave her for JJ.

authors note: I have loved JJ for all of fourteen seasons and fourteen episodes. this was a BIG ICK for me watching this won't lie

She should have known something was wrong the minute they left that damn store. 

It took her all of two seconds to throw herself into her husband’s arms, her voice choked with tears that had threatened to spill when she’d seen the video of Casey shooting at him, and she swore Spencer had never grabbed her so tight. 

“I thought you,” She sniffled, running her fingers through the back of his scalp, the entire spanse of his huge hands ran along her spine, counting every vertebra to make sure she was still intact, despite the fact he had been the one held hostage, “I thought he’d shot you- it came so close,” 

He hushed her mewls, a hand reaching to the back of her head and tucked her into his neck further, the sob rattling through her ribcage almost, almost, taking his mind entirely off what JJ had said in that stupid game of truth or dare. 

What the fuck did she mean she had always loved him? She had a husband and children who doted on her; Will, who loved every shred of her being like it was his only purpose in the world. His godsons who had known him as uncle Spencer since he’d held them in the hospital, covered in goop and looking like the cutest little aliens he’d ever seen. 

And yet JJ, his friend, perhaps one of his longest friends, was willing to throw it away for him? He, who had a wife he adored more than there were birds in the wind, leaves on an Autumn floor, more than there were galaxies in the damn cosmos. His wife, who had been there for him since the moment they’d met, who he’d known was the one since that first day she’d ran into him in the lobby, their files mixing together because neither of them had been watching where they were going, like one of those romcoms she forced him to watch and he pretended to hate, or like the silly thing she called fate that she insisted was very much real. 

Spencer was a man of statistics and numbers and facts; things he could see. But he was sure there was nothing in any textbook that could have ever made sense of how the one person so perfectly created for him, the blob of cells that made up his wife that seemed to call to his own as if they were coming home to one another, would have just so happened to bump into him on a random Tuesday in August. 

Most people waited decades for that kind of love, or something close, and he’d managed to get it at the ripe age of thirty three. 

And yet in the space of ten seconds, of four little words in a wretched game, he felt like the carpet had been pulled from beneath him. Because why would JJ, who saw as clearly as anyone else how much he cherished his wife and the future they were planning together, try to take that away from him?

And as if his own odd spiral of thoughts wasn’t a kick to the gut enough, his sweet wife had quickly released him from her grasp and thrown herself at JJ, who seemed to just now be understanding the gravity of her words as she looked around with wide eyes, tear stains wetting her cheeks, the guilt gnawing in her gut already. 

“JJ! Are you okay? Oh, you poor thing, you must have been so scared,” She sobbed, wrapping her friend in a loving hug that was shakily reciprocated, like JJ was waiting for the second she would get a fat shiner to the nose for confessing such a thing. 

But that never happened. Instead, she pulled away from the frozen blonde woman, who looked like she could burst into tears then and there and apologise for everything until her face turned blue, and ran a kind hand over the JJ's hair, stroking it behind her ear tenderly as she tried to quell her cries because she wasn't the one who had been held at gunpoint. 

She didn’t know. It hit them both at the same time. She didn’t know what JJ had said, hadn’t even got an inkling into what had happened, and god did it make the sinking feeling in Spencer’s chest swallow itself up into something the size of the Mariana Trench. 

And what was left, what had for a second been a horrid mix of confusion, shock, fear and then another big dollop of confusion for good measure, quickly was dragged away by the current and replaced with anger. 

Anger that JJ could do something like this to his wife; he frankly didn’t care how her words had affected him, that if he had been single he would have been left feeling unworthy of her affection the first time it had been offered around, like there was something so disgustingly wrong with him this was what it took for her to say anything. He didn’t care about any of that. He cared that this would absolutely destroy his wife. 

And it was for that reason Spencer hurried the paramedics into fixing the small graze on his palm as he watched with boiling blood his wife tend to JJ like she would any other time her close friend was hurt in the field. He seethed whenever Jennifer would simper and avoid her friend's eyes, how his beautiful, caring, devoted wife would stroke the woman’s back and will her to talk, to tell her what to do to make it better.

Because it was her who should be fussing over his sweet wife, certainly not the other way around. 

But he couldn’t say that, not there at least, and so he didn’t, not until he had got the greenlight from the medics to leave and he had all but cut off the circulation in her fingers with how tight he’d held her hand as he led her to the car. 

Spencer said nothing, not wanting to fight when she forced him to sit shotgun as she climbed behind the wheel, not wanting to cause a commotion when there was a much bigger bombshell he was sitting on that he knew would change her feelings entirely. 

-

“What?” Her voice was soft still, a murmur in the quiet night air of their bedroom. She sat, fresh faced, minty breathed, kevlar vest long gone and replaced with one of his old Dr Who shirts and comfy bottoms.

She said the word again, like she hadn’t heard him, but judging by the way her expression had fallen into something dejected, he knew that wasn’t the case. 

Sighing, drawing gentle motions up and down her legs with his warm hands, shuffled closer where he kneeled down in front of her submittingly. “JJ said that she has always loved me; that was her ‘truth’ in the game,”

“Well, she-she was lying right?” His wife said quickly, her voice shaking, trying to make sense of it herself. She didn’t get an answer right away, just her husband’s eyes casting down as he tried to think of the best thing to say, “Right, Spencer?” 

“I don’t know,” He said earnestly, and he saw immediately the way tears sprung to her eyes, her bottom lip trembling, her face warming in wet-anger, “But it doesn’t change anything, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter, to me- baby, please don’t cry,”

“Ofcourse it changes things, Spencer, it’s JJ. She’s literally the hottest woman to walk the earth, Pen said you were like in love with her when you started the BAU, and now you have your chance,” She whimpered, fat tears rolling over her freshly moisturised cheeks, and he swore he felt his chest concave at her words. 

“My chance? I don’t want a chance, I want you,” Spencer said in earnest, his hands rubbing further and further up her legs until his hands went under her night shirt, grabbing onto the soft of her hips with pleading tenderness, “I want you forever, no matter what JJ or any other woman feels about me,” 

She sniffled pitifully, her eyes still unsure and he took it as a sign she needed more, so he leaned in fully to hug her to him. 

“But it’s JJ,” She said again, like that was going to change anything, and he shook his head, stroking over the back of her hair softly.

“I don't care,” He said, and she sniffed gently into the crook of his neck, his skin wetting with the contact. She finally wrapped her arms around him, and he knew he was close to getting it through to her, “I had the smallest crush on JJ, what, fifteen years ago? Honey, I want you for the rest of my life, and nothing and no one is going to change my mind about that, not even you.” 

“Really?” His sweet wife whispered tearfully, and he chuckled sadly, hating how hard she had cried that it had ripped the life from her voice. 

“Cross my heart,” He kissed her hairline softly, tipping her head upwards with one long, warm finger under her chin, pressing a gentle kiss to her wetted lips, “Hope I never die,”

She smiled sorrowfully, kissing her husband as if it was the last time she could ever do so, hoping it made up for how puffy and ugly her tears had made her face. But he didn’t care, he never had, he thought she was perfect just the way she was.

And he’d remind her of that any time she thought otherwise. 

–

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #matthew grey gubler x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

[gubsbuubs]

Friendly Cupid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 5K

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, slow burn? smut, creampie.

Summary: Despite their closeness, Y/N and Spencer's relationship always stayed within the bounds of friendship. That's until a very fateful Valentine's Day, when a friend decided to play cupid.

A/N: Hi my loves! The "Friends to Lovers" trope won the poll, thanks to your votes. Any thoughts or suggestions for what's next? I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒

My requests are open!

English is not my first language.

The team basked in a mix of exhaustion and accomplishment as we settled into our seats on the jet, heading back home after successfully closing another case. The subtle hum of the engines seemed to echo the collective satisfaction that enveloped us.

We had just finished a case where the unsub targeted individuals with a deep passion for books. Each victim was chosen based on their preference for a particular literary work. The killer orchestrated scenarios inspired by famous novels, challenging us to decipher the connections between the crime scenes and the literary references.

From my seat across from his, at the meeting table in the Nevada police department's, I observed Spencer in awe. His deep concentration, the way his fingers danced over the pages, and the thoughtful furrow of his brow—he looked so handsome, absorbed in the task of perusing a pile of books that would have taken me at least two years to read.

I cherished watching Spencer at work; his intellect, passion, and dedication were captivating. There was an undeniable admiration that had grown within me as we spent countless hours in shared pursuit of justice.

I vividly recall the first time our connection became something more. After a grueling case left him drained, slowly succumbing to fatigue, his head found refuge on my shoulder during the flight back. It was an unexpectedly intimate encounter—his tousled hair brushing against my neck and the faint scent of lemon shampoo lingering close to my nose. Though innocent, the closeness left an indelible mark, and often I think about the weight of his head resting against me.

Fast forward to another sweet moment; it was forever engraved in my mind when I first noticed that he cared for me. Spencer and I were staked out in a park that an unsub used to frequent in Boston. The autumn winds whispered through the colorful foliage, and the chilling breeze made my arms shiver. It was getting cold, and I scolded myself for not bringing my jacket. Spencer, ever observant, noticed how I hugged myself for warmth and asked, "Hey, are you cold?"

"What? No, it's just a bit chilly, but I can take it," I chuckled, my teeth almost clacking against each other as I shivered.

"I can clearly see you're cold, Y/N."

"Okay, fine. I may be a little bit cold; we left in a hurry, and I forgot my jacket," I admitted.

Without hesitation, he took off his FBI jacket and handed it to me. "No, Spencer, I can't accept this. If it's cold for me, it will be cold for you too," I protested.

"Compared to men, women have less muscle, which is a natural heat producer. They also have 6 to 11 percent more body fat than men, which keeps the inner organs toasty but blocks the flow of blood carrying heat to the skin and extremities." He started to ramble while holding the jacket in front of me.

So I gave up, not wanting to hear him talk about this for the rest of the night, and accepted his offer. As the jacket touched my body, I could still feel his warmth, and the scent of his perfume enveloped me. His tall stature made the jacket too big for me, and I struggled with the oversized jacket's zipper. Looking down as I tried to zip it, I felt his hand on mine. "Hey, come here! Let me help you." I looked up to meet his beautiful brown eyes as he held his gaze on mine. His gentle hands zipped up the jacket. "There you go; now you'll feel warm," he added with a sweet smile.

We had a connection—an undeniable force drawing us together. For example, with Spencer and I, the casual "sorry, Y/n, passing through" was never just a phrase; it accompanied the gentle press of his hand on my side.

When shared laughter ensued, it almost always led to a playful nudge against my shoulder, a light and affectionate gesture.

And there were times when Spencer would reach out with a reassuring touch on my arm during tense discussions or a challenging moment. His fingertips, feather-light yet grounding, conveyed a silent reassurance that we were in this together.

I’d like to think that our connection extended beyond the realm of solving cases and catching serial killers, finding roots in those quiet spaces between words, because unspoken sentiments resonated louder than any conversation we had.

These simple and innocent touches left me curious, especially considering Spencer's general aversion to physical contact, often sidestepping handshakes. Each touch, though understated, carried a significance that lingered, prompting me to ponder the depths of our friendship.

Yet, somehow, we were never more than friends. Perhaps because of the lingering fear of disrupting the delicate balance we had, I hesitated to act upon the emotions that quietly blossomed within.

So, Spencer and I stayed comfortably within the boundaries of friendship, keeping the unexplored depths of our connection confined to the realm of what-ifs and maybes.

Rather than risking it all, I chose the simplicity of silent observation and opted for the quiet intimacy of just watching him while he worked. There was an unspoken fascination with witnessing Spencer's mind at play.

The breakthrough came when Spencer uncovered a pattern in the victims' book preferences, his face lighting up at the realization. The Unsub, it seemed, orchestrated his killings based on the ominous narratives found within these chosen novels. Each victim unwittingly acquired a literary prelude to their tragic end as the killer turned the pages of their lives into a haunting script of their own demise.

With this knowledge, we were able to predict the next target and swoop in just in time to prevent another tragedy. The final confrontation took place in an abandoned library, where the unsub attempted to stage his twisted interpretation of a tragic love story. With swift and coordinated action, we thwarted his plans and brought justice to the victims.

So, with the unsub's twisted plans foiled, we found solace in the fact that we had saved the couple from his dark intentions.

Amidst the chatter on the jet, the mood shifted to a more relaxed and celebratory tone. The weight of the case had dissipated, replaced by a comforting conversation and shared laughter.

"Hey, Prentiss, any hot plans for Valentine's Day? Morgan teased, giving Emily a mischievous grin.

"Valentine's Day? Seriously, Morgan? After all the chaos of this week, I just want a quiet night with a good bottle of wine," Emily responded, leaning further into her seat.

"Valentine's Day is this weekend, and I completely forgot! Will and I will have to just stay at home," JJ confessed, sounding a bit bummed.

"Well, Beth and I will be taking Jack to the cinema to watch a movie. Would you like us to also take Henry so you and Will can have a date?" Hotch offered.

"Oh, Hotch, that’s very sweet. If you don't mind, yes! We would really appreciate it," JJ replied gratefully.

"What about you, pretty boy? Got any plans?" Morgan playfully mussed up Spencer's hair.

"Well… I…” He cleared his throat. "I, um… I actually do have a date," Spencer stammered, his face immediately turning a bright shade of red.

"A date, Reid? Come on, spill the details. What's her name?" Morgan proceeded to probe.

“It's a blind date, so I'd rather not jinx it by talking about it.” Spencer spoke with a faint smile.

As I learned about Spencer's date, I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the sheer coincidence—both of us had blind dates on Valentine's Day. What were the odds?

Then it hit me, and as much as I tried to dismiss it, there was a subtle pang of envy that Spencer also had a date. I understood the irony of feeling jealous while I was also going on a blind date this weekend.

Earlier that week, my friend from the previous division I worked in—International Affairs and Counterterrorism—set me up with a guy. According to him, this guy was perfect for me—smart, kind, and seemingly attuned to my taste. So, I've decided to give it a shot and go on this date. It was Valentine's Day after all. So yes, I was also going on a date, and I acknowledged how contradictory it sounded to feel envious of Spencer's date. Nevertheless, a twinge of jealousy lingered.

Yet, in the grand scheme, I genuinely wished for Spencer to have a fantastic time this weekend. After all, we were nothing more than friends, and his happiness was something I truly valued.

Morgan, with a playful glint in his eye, turned his attention to me and chimed, "Alright, Reid's stepping into the world of romance, so what's the deal, Y/N? Any Valentine's plans on your agenda?"

"No, I don't really have plans. It'll be a normal weekend for me." I spoke with a smile, gently sidestepping Morgan's inquiry. I preferred to keep certain aspects of my life private, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

Saturday night came around pretty quickly.

I chose a simple red dress and black stilettos for the occasion—it was Valentine's Day, after all, and opportunities for dates were not a frequent occurrence for me. Since joining the FBI, I haven't had many opportunities to look like this. Typically reserved for pantsuits and white shirts, it was refreshing to see myself look so put-together.

What awaited me on this evening could be a mistake or, just maybe, the start of something unexpectedly wonderful. Despite the flutter of reservations in my stomach, I resolved to push through the uncertainty.

Before stepping inside, I paused at the entrance, reminding myself to take a deep breath; it was just a date after all—no need to be nervous. The restaurant, my absolute favorite, bore the name "Bella Luna," renowned for its delectable pastas. It had become my go-to spot for a delightful meal, offering a perfect blend of cozy ambiance and culinary excellence.

My friend, the mastermind behind this blind date, had given the gentleman a specific directive: reserve the table with a view of the river—my favorite spot in the house. This strategic move not only catered to my preferences but also had the practical benefit of simplifying the identification of my date.

As I stood by the entrance, lost in my thoughts, I almost jumped, caught by surprise, as someone bumped into me. "Hey, where were you goi..."

“Y/N! Hi!” His eyes were widening with surprise as he recognized me.

“Spencer! Hi! I didn't expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same thing. Didn’t you say you didn’t have plans?” He asked in an inquisitive tone.

"Yeah!" I laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I, uh, decided to give in to the Valentine's Day spirit, I suppose." Spencer chuckled softly, his warm demeanor putting me at ease.

"How are you anyway, feeling good about your blind date?" I inquired, genuinely curious about his well-being.

"To be honest," he admitted, "I'm actually kind of nervous."

"What? Why?"

He hesitated before sharing, "What if she doesn't like me?"

"Why wouldn't she like you?" The words left my mouth so fast, a testament to my incomprehension of how someone could not like the guy standing before me.

"Because I'm weird. I slouch; my hair's too long; my tie's perpetually crooked." His words were almost a whisper, revealing a vulnerability I hadn't seen before.

I smiled softly, reaching  my hands to fix his crooked tie. "Here, your tie is now straight. And Spencer, you're not weird; you look really good tonight. I think you'll do very well."

He smiled softly, thanking me, and said, "Well, you do too! You look very beautiful tonight, Y/N.” My heart skipped a beat at the unexpected compliment. He blushed slightly before adding, “I should really get going. I don't want to be late for my date.”

“Go get him, tiger,” I encouraged with a smile as I stayed behind, watching him leave.

Fuck, he looked so good; his dark blue suit fit him in all the right places. Though not a radical departure from his usual attire, the effort put into his appearance fueled my jealousy. The realization that he was heading on a date with someone else lingered in my thoughts, intensifying the sting.

To make matters worse, we´re at the same restaurant, and I would have to endure the evening watching him, attempting to engage in my own date while inwardly yearning for his company.

The challenge would be to keep my eyes from straying towards him, wishing the girl by his side was me.

Shaking my head to dispel thoughts of Spencer, I took a deep breath before entering the restaurant. I traversed the restaurant, consciously keeping my head down until I arrived at the table with the view of the river, and it was only then that I allowed myself to look around.

To my surprise, when I looked at the table, I found Spencer sitting there.

Confusion clouded my mind as I stood there, staring at Spencer, seated at the table, facing away from me. Disbelief hung in the air like a heavy fog. This had to be a misunderstanding; it couldn't be Spencer. My friend John specifically directed the blind date; he arranged for me to sit at this table, but Spencer was here.

The possibilities raced through my mind like a whirlwind of uncertainty. Did the receptionist make an error? Could there be another table with a view of the river where they seated my actual blind date? Could this guy look a lot like Spencer from behind? My thoughts spiraled into a maze of questions, each more perplexing than the last. I was caught in a web of doubt, trying to grasp the reality of the situation.

Could Spencer and John know each other? How would they even know each other? Although we all work at the FBI, they work in totally different divisions.

As I approached the table, just a few feet away, I confirmed my suspicion: it was him—Spencer. Even though he wasn't facing me, I recognized his curls, almost catching a whiff of his distinctive perfume. It was undeniably him. How did this happen?

My heels clacked on the ground, a sound that drew Spencer's attention. His gaze shifted, expecting another woman, preparing for a polite greeting. "Hi, nice to meet y…” His words now caught in his throat.

As I pulled the chair and sat down in front of him, he halted his movements, confusion etched on his face. It seemed like he was ready to stand up, perhaps shake hands, and greet another person. But as he realized it was me, his expression transformed into one of utter bewilderment.

"Y/N, what is going on?" Spencer asked, his face a mix of confusion and concern as he settled back into his chair.

I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the table. "How do you know John Watters, Jonathan Watters?" I questioned, peering at him with an intense gaze.

"What? What do you mean, Y/N?" Spencer replied, clearly confused by the sudden turn of events.

"Spencer, how do you know John?" I repeated, my eyes locked onto his, seeking an explanation for the unexpected twist in our supposed blind date.

"John Watters and I play chess in the park. We met a couple of months ago, and now we play together regularly," Spencer explained, his confusion still evident in his expression. “Y/N, what is going on?” he added, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Spencer…” I began, a faint smile creeping onto my face as it reddened, my hands immediately meeting my face. It dawned on me; John had set us both up, and it seemed he might not have known Spencer and I already knew each other.

I could see the wheels turning in his head, his eyes widening. He seemed to have a eureka moment. "Do you know him?" he asked, his tone still a little unsure. I only nodded, my faint smile hidden behind my fingers, covering how embarrassed I was.

Then Spencer fired questions left and right. "What? How do you know John?” He set you up with me. Like… did you know? You wanted to have a date with me and asked him to do it? I mean, I have talked…." He was blushing like crazy, so I decided to interrupt.

"No, No... I mean, yes, but..." I stumbled on my words as I tried to answer. "I do know John, yes, but I didn't know he set us up... But yes, I wouldn't... I wouldn’t mind a date with you." The last part slipped my tongue way too quickly, the confession escaping my lips.

"Are you serious? A date with me?" He sounded excited but mostly surprised.

"I mean, we're already here, so we might as well do it. He clearly thought we were a good pair," I offered, keeping my head down. My face felt hot, and I was smiling like a stupid little kid.

“I can't believe this; I can't believe this is happening. You don't know how long I've been trying to gather the courage to ask you out, and now this is happening." His head fell back as he inhaled deeply. “Is this real? Can you pinch me, Y/N? You look so pretty, so beautiful. I can't believe this is actually happening. I must be dreaming." His excitement was palpable, and his gaze was fixed on me with a mix of joy and disbelief.

“You're definitely awake; this is real!” I reached out my hand to him and held his hand. “See, this is real—a very strange coincidence, but undeniably real.”

The evening unfolded gracefully. Spencer took my recommendation, and we ordered the Carbonara, complemented by a shared bottle of Cabernet. I couldn't help but savor the moments when our laughter harmonized, creating a melody of shared joy. A subtle warmth spread across our faces, not just from the ambiance but also from the wine. Our laughter became a touch more carefree, perhaps a little tipsy, adding an extra layer of delight to the evening. The restaurant seemed to fade into the background as we continued to enjoy each other’s company.

As the plates were cleared away and the restaurant emptied out, Spencer's gaze remained locked on mine. We sat in silence for a little bit as a warm feeling settled, enjoying the lingering aura of the evening. Spencer smiled softly, leaning closer to me and taking my hands in his. "Let me walk you home," he suggests. "It's a beautiful night, and I'd love to spend more time with you."

As we stepped out into the crisp night air, the city lights played on the surface of the river, casting a gentle glow on our path. Spencer and I began to stroll along the riverbank towards my apartment. The soft murmur of the water provided a soothing background to our conversation, and amidst our banter, our attention was drawn to an old lady with a basket of roses.

"Hello there," the old lady said, greeting Spencer with a twinkle in her eye. "Would you like to buy a rose for your beautiful girlfriend?"

"Oh, but I'm not his girlf..." Before I could clarify, Spencer, wearing a confident smile, chimed in, "Yet..." He told the sweet lady "So yes, I would love to buy her a rose." He turned to me with a playful glint in his eyes.

The old lady chuckled warmly. "Here you go, young man, a rose for your not-yet-girlfriend. May your love bloom as beautifully as this rose," she said, handing the vibrant flower to Spencer.

I thanked him as he handed me the rose, appreciating the beautiful gesture. We then continued our walk, the soft glow of the city lights guiding our way.

"So, a rose for the 'not-yet-girlfriend'," I teased, a playful smile on my lips.

"Well," he began, "I thought a rose might be a good start, but who's to say what the future holds?"

"Fair enough," I replied, a teasing glint in my eye. "A rose is a good start but what's your plan for the rest of our 'not-yet' journey?"

"Well, I've had a lot of time to think about this," he began, a sly grin playing on his lips. "I won't disappoint you, that's for sure."

I felt a subtle warmth spread—a mixture of curiosity and excitement. "Is that so?" I replied with a playful glint in my eye. "I guess I'll have to wait and see what surprises you have in store.”

As we continued our walk to my apartment and reached my doorstep, the night seemed to invite us to linger a little longer.

"I had a lot of fun, Y/N. I regretted every moment we weren't doing this sooner," Spencer confessed.

"I loved this night too, Spencer," I began, a genuine warmth in my voice. "This is not how I imagined my night ending at all; I definitely never expected you to be my blind date."

"I just can't believe this happened. Who would have thought you would go on a date with me?" His soft hand reached for mine; his touch was warm and inviting.

"Well, Jonathan apparently did," I laughed, the surreal nature of the evening sinking in.

"Of course, he thinks I want to date you. I talk about you all the time..." Spencer shyly admitted, his gaze avoiding mine.

"Wait! You talk about me?" My voice lifted with happiness.

"Well, I just tell him about my day... and how I love being by your side. You're so understanding, always listening to me. Your attentive gaze makes my heart skip a beat, and your eyes, Y/N, they sparkle so beautifully. And your smile—oh, it's the prettiest I've ever seen." His words were tender, and his brown eyes never left mine. "Jonathan never told me he knew you; I guess he sensed I was too scared to act upon my feelings and took matters in to his own hands." He chuckled. "And now you're here, and we went on this date—a wonderful date, may I add—and you look absolutely stunning."

As Spencer's words lingered in the quiet night, I felt a soft warmth enveloping us and an unspoken connection deepening.

"I would really to kiss you." He whisperd. His gaze held a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability, mirroring the sentiments that resonated within me.

"You know what, Spence?" I began, a gentle smile playing on my lips. "I'd really like that too."

His eyes brightened with joy, and as if a shared understanding passed between us, he leaned in slowly. His hands cradled my face, creating an intimate connection as he closed the remaining space between us. The world around us faded into a soft blur as our lips finally met.

The kiss was tender, his lips warm and inviting, and the sensation sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.

As we pulled away, a shared smile painted across our faces, our foreheads pressed together in a moment of quiet closeness.

"Wow," Spencer whispered.

"Wow indeed," I replied, my heart echoing the sentiment.

"I've been waiting so long to do this," he said, kissing me again, this time with more force and desire.

The kiss deepened, his lips pressing against mine with a newfound intensity, fueled by the longing we had both harbored for so long. It was a fusion of heat and tenderness, with each movement deliberate and purposeful.

His hands, which had cradled my face so gently before, now moved with a purpose, exploring the contours of my back and waist. The taste of him was intoxicating—a blend of warmth and desire that left me breathless.

"Spencer," I began, feeling our breaths mingle. "Would you like to come in?

Spencer's eyes darkened in response, his nod signaling his agreement.

As the door shut behind us, I carefully placed the rose he gave me on a small side table by the entrance, wanting to preserve the sweet gesture. Spencer, without saying a word, pulled me against him again.

I guided us through the familiar space of my home with an urgency that spoke of unspoken desires. As we reached the bedroom, our bodies entwined again.

I laid back on the bed, letting my body sink into the softness of the mattress. Spencer's body was right above mine, and our lips met in a hot, messy kiss. It was like everything else melted away, and all that was left was us in this moment. I could feel the heat of his body on top of mine, and the rush of intimacy was palpable. I wanted this moment to last forever, clinging tight to his every touch.

Spencer's hands glided along the curves of my body, caressing me with an intimacy that left me wanting more. His lips left mine to roam lower, descending slowly towards my breasts. A shiver of anticipation ran down my spine, and my breath caught in my chest.

Spencer's voice broke through the intensity. "Are you sure?"

A smile played on my lips as I whispered, "Yes, please Spence."

The sudden touch of his finger on my skin sent a shiver down my spine as his hand slowly drifted down my shoulder and pulled the strap of my dress down. As my nipple became exposed, he kissed it gently, sending a wave of arousal through my body.

He looked so pretty like this; his smooth hand cradled my breast as his lips left soft kisses. His slow hums of satisfaction were accompanied by the thrusts of his hips against my clothed core.

Sensing the escalating desire between us, Spencer then took the initiative, smoothly pulling my dress off. I felt exposed as his hands traveled down my body, lowering himself and planting soft kisses on my stomach.

"You look so beautiful and you smell so good." His whispers of admiration filled the air. "I bet you taste even better." He placed a soft kiss where I wanted him the most. I moaned at his words, not expecting them.

He then proceeded to slide my panties to the side, slowly licking a long stripe. The warmth of his tongue against my skin sent shivers through my body, and the anticipation built with every teasing touch.

“Fuck, it's even better than I imagined." His words were muffled as he spoke from between my legs, looking into my eyes. My moans filled the room, joined by the sound of his mouth devouring my wetness. My hands met his hair as I pulled him closer by his curls.

"Spencer..." My voice caught in my throat.

"What, baby?" The enduring name leaving his lips made my heart flutter.

"I need you," I pleaded.

"Need me to what, baby?" His middle finger breached my entrance. "Use your words," he said, caressing my opening. The sensation of his finger chills of pleasure down my spine. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and I could feel a rush of arousal building inside me. "I need you inside, please," I begged, moving my body against his.

Sensing my urge, he stood, undressing me and then himself. "Since you asked so nicely," he lined up and slowly sank in, his head resting on my shoulder, and his soft moan muffled on my neck.

Our kisses were slow and passionate, our lips brushing against each other with every movement of our bodies. His hands caressed my body, sending a wave of pleasure through me that only increased with every thrust.

Each rhythmic movement brought us closer to the edge, the intensity growing with each caress and whispered word. "You feel so good, Y/N; it’s like you were made for me." Spencer's voice was laden with desire as I moaned into his lips.

The intensity grew with each passionate thrust, and we were both lost in a world of pleasure. Our bodies were tightly intertwined, pressed up against each other as we let our emotions take over. Our moans filled the room, and our breathing became shallow and fast. We both wanted this moment to last forever, clinging to each other with all the strength we could muster.

"Spencer, I can't,” I cried out.

"Can you hold it for me, just a little, pretty girl?" he said, looking into my eyes. My eyes fluttered, closing at the words.

"No, no, no, keep your eyes on me," he said. "Yes, just like that." He kept thrusting with force, and I couldn't take it anymore. “I want to see your pretty face as you cum, baby.”

"Spence... please inside." I begged him, and that was all it took. I didn't have to wait any longer. The tension in the room reached its peak, and I could feel him release, his climax echoing mine.

Our bodies trembled together in the aftermath, the shared intensity of the moment lingering in the air. The room was filled with the sounds of our rapid breaths and the soft rustle of sheets as we came down from the euphoric high.

As we lay there, a playful smile crossed Spencer's lips. "So, about that 'not-yet-girlfriend' situation..." he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I chuckled, tracing circles on his chest. "Well, it looks like we just fast-tracked that process."

Spencer grinned. "Guess we skipped a few steps."

I gave him a playful look. "Steps? Who needs steps when you have Jonathan playing cupid?”.

Spencer gave a playful shrug. "Well, I'll be sure to thank the man.”

#criminal minds #mgg x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #mgg fanfiction #mgg smut #mgg x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #Spence reid x reader smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid friends to lovers

[luveline]

Okay, I would love to see an Aaron Hotchner x anemic bombshell!reader (lmao) who gets randomly faint and Aaron freaks <3

“This is oh so difficult,” you say under your breath, a sing-song tone to your voice. You often talk in juxtapositions, unhappy words in silk, cheerful worrying. “This is… stressful.” 

“You don't look stressed,” Spencer says. 

You elbow at him affectionately. “Do I ever? Sweetheart, there's nothing ever so stressful as to wear it on your face. Now come here, you have a pen smudge on your cheek.” 

Hotch could pinch the back of your shirt to stop you, but Spencer holds out a hand to brace you away from him like a disgruntled younger sibling while you laugh and reach for him. 

“Cut it out,” Gideon says. 

“Yes, boss.” 

Hotch turns away from you both to hide his smile. The case is long (as always), difficult (as always), and getting more and more serious as days pass. There hasn't been much time to pause and take stock, and so your playfulness comes at a great time —you need moments of fun like this to stop the weight of the inevitable dragging you down hard.

Your playfulness is unfailing. “So,” you say, quieter now to avoid Gideon’s attention while you lean into Hotch's personal bubble, “what will you make me for dinner?” 

“The same thing I've made you for the last four days.” 

“Ah. Nothing, then.” You tip your head to one side. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Just feeling kinda weird. I really am hungry, handsome, and you aren't very gentlemanly in letting me starve.” You share a smile. You say everything so particularly, it only serves to endear you to him more and more. It's like… you're just sure of yourself, and in love with the world, and at least a little in love with him. Having you here with him makes the job easier. 

“You're hungry?” he asks, standing up. He expects no answer, nor for you to stand, but you clamber onto your feet quick as anything with wide eyes. 

“I was only–” You pause. 

Hotch can see the moment you lose sight of where you are, that far away gloss to your eyes, the rapid blinking that follows, and your hand thrown out to his too quickly. You grab at his arm roughly and he's crueller in his reaction, grabbing you under the arms with a startled, “Hey.” 

“Is she alright?” Spencer asks, his chair smacking the desk as he stands. 

Your lips pull down into a frown, eyes squeezed closed. He's startled —Hotch didn't even know you could frown outside of a joke. You're feeling that heavy, sudden wrongness that comes with being faint, he'd guess. 

He rides it out with you, holding you tight. After a few moments your eyes peel open, a spark of upset about you that quickly lends to sheepishness. “Oh, sorry,” you say softly. 

“Don't be.” 

You gather your bearings. Hotch moves his hands to a more amicable place on your arms, more to comfort than to hold, while Spencer stands and offers you his bottle of water. 

“She good?” Gideon asks Hotch. 

That perks you up. “I'm always good, sir,” you say, sending a smile at your boss from over your shoulder. “Just flirting with Agent Hotchner.” 

“Did you take your medication?” Hotch asks, cutting the fat of the conversation clean off. 

“Yeah, I never miss it.” 

He is admittedly more concerned about you than one coworker would be for another after a dizzy spell, but you aren't just a coworker. Hotch cups your cheek quickly in his hand to gauge your temperature and deduces from there that it isn't a sickness. 

“You weren't exaggerating about being starved,” he decides. Your iron pills do so much, and you have to do the rest. “Reid, what foods help with anaemia?” 

“Anything rich in iron. Red meat, pork, poultry, dark greens, especially spinach. All kinds of beans,” Spencer reels off. 

“Any of that sounds good to you?” Hotch asks, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. 

You meet his lowbrow with softer eyes, nodding your appreciation. Your lips part to answer him, but you're cut off. “Be quick about it,” Gideon says, glasses slipping down his nose as he turns back to his case file, “we have a lot to do.” 

Hotch buys you a burrito for the iron and a smoothie because you deserve it. You kiss his cheek, and apparently he deserves that for being ‘such a sweetheart’. He doesn't bother pretending he doesn't want it, or the second or third kiss that comes after.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

[reiderwriter]

Happily Ever After

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You have a big fat crush on Spencer Reid. And now you have to share his clothes, his hotel room and his bed for one special night.

Warnings: Day 31 of Kinktober - The End, vanilla sex, love confessions, p in v, pretty softcore compared to the other stuff. Fluff.

A/N: We did it! It's literally halfway to December, but I finally finished all of the kinktober fics! Thank you, everyone, for coning with me on this amazing journey. Thank you for all your support for thesr 31 fics, I literally wouldn't have done it without you 💖

It was hard being hopelessly in love with your coworker. This was a fact that you'd learnt upon entering the BAU and meeting Doctor Spencer Reid. 

You'd never believed in love at first sight  and to be truthful, you were still a sceptic, but there was something about him that had you leaning in, eyes sparkling as you hung on his every word. 

If you were asked what exactly it was about him that you liked so much, you'd probably tie your tongue up trying to answer. 

Maybe it was his intelligence. Maybe it was the complete obliviousness that went along with it. 

It could have been the way he made sure to check in on you regularly, made sure you were managing the transition to the BAU well, and let you know that he'd be there to support you. 

It was probably also because of how goddamn attractive he was. You swore that he was walking around like the female lead in a 00s rom com - he just didn't know how hot he was. In fact, he was so oblivious that he still didn't reconcile the fact that ‘Pretty Boy’ was less an insulting nickname and more the cold, hard truth. 

You'd accidentally reminded him of that fact about a month into being deliriously into him. 

“Pretty Boy…? Hey, Spencer? Doctor Reid? Nothing…” Morgan sat on the edge of your desk as he called over to the man just opposite him, sitting completely still bar his hand that was racing across a page as he read furiously. 

“He's busy, Morgan. I'm sure if you just call his name Louder, he'll answer.” You sighed. Watching the two men quibble had become an interesting pastime, to say the least. 

“Spencer, the office is on fire. Spencer, Hotchner, is naked in his office right now. Spencer, Rossi is naked in his office right now. Spencer, Y/N is-” 

“Okay, that's enough,” you said, standing up from your desk and clearing your throat. You thought you'd just stand up and get Spencer’s attention the same way Derek had, projecting your voice just a little bit more.

“Pretty Boy.” As soon as the words fell from your lips, the man in question bolted upright, hitting his knee on the desk as he rose, locking eyes with you. 

“Yes, Y/N?” Almost as soon as he was upright, Morgan was in fits on the floor, partly from the reaction, partly from Spencer's self injury. When he turned back to you and noticed your red face, the laughing fit only doubled. 

Spencer joined you in perpetual embarrassment as Morgan slipped off, still laughing  but seemingly no longer interested in whatever it was he wanted Spencer for in the first place. 

“Y/N, did you need something?” He asked, clearing his throat as he sat down once again. 

“No! No, actually, Morgan… it doesn't matter.” You smiled politely and sat back down, quickly pulling some paperwork together to make yourself look busy. 

“Usually only Morgan calls me pretty boy.” He murmured from the other side of the desk  

“That's because it's the truth.” 

“What?” His eyes locked with yours as you suddenly realised he'd been talking to himself, not engaging you in further conversation. 

“I… well, I mean, he wouldn't say it if you weren't actually pretty, Spencer.” He looked at you for a second, then relaxed, smiling softly as he continued his reading. 

You could've sworn you heard a tiny thank you under his breath  but you just continued your work and tried to calm your heart rate down. 

After that, you made it your mission to out an arm's length between yourself and Spencer Reid. You were polite about it, of course, but you felt an awful lot like a teenager with a crush. Or maybe a pre-teen with a crush. Sometimes, to be honest, you were probably acting like a complete child. 

Fate, or Aaron Hotchner, had other plans for you, though. 

“If you can't make it, that's okay, but it's regulation to send two agents because of some prior interviews that have turned particularly violent.” He explained after he called you into his office. 

“JJ has Henry to take care of, same for Kate and her niece. Morgan has a trial tomorrow, so he's unavailable as well, so I really only have you and Reid to ask. Can you do it?” 

You weren't sure if it was some need to please the man in front of you as if you were his child who had scored badly on a pop quiz, or his perpetual state of exhaustion that had you giving in and nodding to the man, agreeing to five hours in a car with Spencer. But you did. 

The ride wasn't all that bad, to be honest. In typical Spencer fashion, he'd bought along a few audiobooks to listen to, so most of the time was filled with The Faerie Queene and the sleep that you'd fallen into after listening to The Faerie Queene. 

You couldn't fully escape conversation, though, and in between changing tapes, he started asking questions. 

“How are you liking the unit?" He asked casually, his eyes on the road as you turned to stare at him. 

“It's been good. The only downside is all of those field work fitness tests, though.” 

“Be glad that you had to do those before you joined us. Morgan decided to be helpful and train me and Penelope.” 

“That doesn't sound too bad,” you laughed at him as an honest frown coated his face.

“Have you seen the guy? He's like a walking weightlifting advertisement, I think he could bench press me. And it turned out that we didn't even need the training anyway.” 

“Wow, and you fell for it? I thought you were a super genius, Doctor Reid.” 

“Hey, that's discrimination. I can be very stupid, too. I contain multitudes.” You laughed and relaxed into the seat some more, memorising each detail of his face as you looked at him. There was a small awkward pause as he waited for you to say something else. Just as he made to turn and look at you, you straightened again and looked away before he could catch you. 

“I'd love to see those multitudes some day.” 

“I'd love to show you them.” 

After that, you'd sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out of the window so he couldn't see the effect his words had on you. 

You were thankful that the actual interview finished shortly, the death row inmate becoming rather chatty in his final days and gracious in the details he was willing to give out. The prison still put you on edge, though, so you were glad to have your gun back on your hip and fresh air in your lungs as you moved towards the car. 

You were just waiting for Spencer to get off the phone so you could get back on the road and into your comfy bed. 

“That was Hotch,” Spencer said, walking over. “We've got a case. We're closer than they are, so they want us to drive there and stay in the hotel for the night, and they'll see us tomorrow.” He smiled in sympathy as he watched your face fall. 

The stuttering of your heart was so loud that you almost couldn't hear his words. Surely, that didn't mean you had to spend the night with Spencer Reid? You didn't know if you'd actually survive that. 

“I-I don't have my overnight bag.” You said. 

“Hotch said JJ is picking it up. She'll pass it to you tomorrow.” 

“But it's winter, what am I going to wear tonight?” You practically whispered the words as your brain finished functioning once again. 

“I have something you can change into. Of that's okay with you, of course!” You didn't trust yourself to talk, so you just nodded at the man and climbed into the car, ready for him to take you to your home for the night. 

Fate didn't stop there, though. 

“There's been some kind of mistake,” you heard Spencer mumble as you walked up to the front desk behind him. You'd been sat on a sofa in the foyer waiting for him to return with your key and his when you realised he'd been taking too long. 

“What's the problem?” You asked as he turned around to look at you, running his hands through his hair in frustration. 

“They only booked one room.” 

“Sir, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to take up the issue with your company. But there's only one room here in your name, and we're otherwise fully booked for the night. We had two weddings and an academic gathering this weekend. Guests are still trickling in and out.” 

“Okay, what about my name? Can you see if there's anything under Y/L/N?” 

“I already tried that. They have Hotchner down, but only from tomorrow.” His jaw tensed again as he turned to you. If you knew him better, you'd probably be able to recognise his nervousness. God, how you wished you knew him better. 

“It's one night?” You nodded and took the keys from the receptionist as you and Spencer walked towards the room you'd be sharing for the evening.

“Derek says I talk in my sleep, but that claim has never been substantiated with any real evidence. Also I prefer to sleep on the bed nearest to the window, is that okay?” Spencer rambled slightly awkwardly as you approached your new hotel room. 

You smiled at him and flexed your hand slightly, trying to reach out to comfort him but holding yourself back from the casual physical contact. 

“It's okay,” you said, grabbing the key card. “Let's go in.” 

If that day had taught you anything, it was to expect something else to go wrong. 

The room was wonderful, with a large window, a competent bathroom, surprisingly spacious for the usual FBI budget. There was, of course, only one bed.

“I'll take the sofa. It's right next to the window anyway.” 

“Spencer it's not a pull-out. You're never going to get any sleep on that thing.” You stood your ground, dumping Spencer’s bag and your own small purse on the sofa so he couldn't take up permanent residence there. 

You weren't sure why you were fighting so hard to get him in the same bed as you, knowing what effect it would have on you, but you didn't care to think about that right this second. 

“Okay, let's just get ready to sleep, and we can talk about it again.” He said, digging you out an old pair of sweatpants and a caltech jumper and gesturing for you to use the bathroom first. 

You quickly showered up and changed into the warm clothes. It was strange to be able to feel how much bigger than you he was since you'd never really considered it. 

Spencer was tall, but you weren't exactly petites, and yet here you were, getting swamped by his college sweatshirt. And you knew for a fact that he'd been practically a child still when he'd last graduated. 

“All yours, Spencer,” you said, walking from the bathroom and over to the bed where you'd left your phone on charge. 

He didn't say anything, but you noticed he'd stayed stuck to the spot and sat at the opposite end of the sofa reading a book. 

“Spencer? Did you hear me?” That seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and he finally diverted his eyes away from you. 

“No pretty boy this time?” He pouted under his breath, but you laughed all the same, watching him grab similar garments from his bag again and travel to the bathroom.

You must've drifted off slightly between him going in and coming out, because when you woke, there he was again on the sofa. 

“Spencer? What are you doing? Get into bed.” You blinked your eyes a few times, rubbing away the sleep in them as you sat up. Spencer had sat up on the sofa, reading his book again, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. 

“I said I'm fine here, Y/N. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.” Sighing, you pushed yourself out of bed and walked around it to where Spencer was. 

“Spencer, you're like 6’4. This sofa couldn't even sleep a five year old comfortably, let alone all of you.” You slipped the book from his hand, shutting it and placing it on the side table. 

“I'm assuming you don't need a bookmark?” When he shook his head with a resigned sigh, you grabbed his hand and pulled him up. 

“Y/N, are you sure?” 

“Spencer, you already gave up your clothes for me, I'm not letting you give up the bed, too.” 

“It's okay, I enjoyed giving up the clothes.” You couldn't really help the nervous goggle that slipped from your mouth at that statement. 

“Sorry, I just meant I'd-” 

“I know what you meant, Spencer. Let's just go to sleep now.” Grabbing his hand once again, you turned the main lights off, lamps lighting your way to the bed. 

Turning Spencer around, you gently shoved him onto the bed. Though, expecting him to let go of your hand, you'd planned that only he would land there. 

Instead, he doubled down on his grasp of your hand, and you fell with him, landing directly on top of him on the bed, mouths inches from each other. 

You paused there for a few moments, not sure what move was the right one to make. His hips shifted upward slightly, but that was all the movement you needed for you to settle over his crotch rather than his legs. 

“I'm sorry,” you whispered breathlessly as you felt every inch of him harden underneath you. 

“I'm not,” he said, eyes searching your face for god knows what. 

When he found it, though, he didn't hold back. His free hand slid up to the back of your head, slamming it down so your lips could lock together, a passionate joining that rid you of all the oxygen in your body. 

“Spencer,” you gasped between kisses as he worked his hand lower, both hands free to wrap tightly around your waist as he continued kissing you with a passion. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered as he finally pulled away again, holding you as close as he could before capturing your lips one more time.

Your head swam through the sensations blindly, both confused and considerably fused to him at the same time.

Spencer's lips, Spencer's hands, Spencer's everything pressed up against you as you sighed contentedly at his ministrations.

“Spencer… what are we doing?” 

“I don't know. I don't want to stop, though.” His lips matched yours furiously as he pushed his sweater off your body, whining slightly when he had to break contact to get it over your head.

His hands were instantly exploring your chest, grasping your body like it was his lifeline, as your hips rocked against his own. 

You knew you needed to stop this, and soon. Your body didn't agree. If you had sex with Spencer Reid right now, you knew there was no way in hell any other man would ever match up. 

“Spencer, stop.” 

To his credit, he did, hands dropping instantly as he created space between the two of you. Or as much as you'd allow, still sitting on top of him. 

“I'm sorry, I took advantage, I shouldn't have kissed you like th-” 

“I love you.” You blurted out, so desperate for him to shut up and listen to you. Which  again, to his credit, he did. 

“What?” He whispered, stars shining in his eyes.

“I told you to stop because I love you. If you don't feel the same way, that's okay, but I don't think I can do this if you don't.”

“You love me?” 

“Yes, I just said that. Aren't you supposed to have an eidetic memory?” 

“Individuals with eidetic memories often struggle with short-term memories, hanging onto older memories more vividly and recalling them faster.”

“So you want me to say it again?” 

“Over and over, preferably.” He said with a grin, flipping you over so your back was on the bed as he hovered over you. 

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your cheek. 

“Again.”

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your neck. 

“One more time,” he whispered, stroking your hair as he finally looked into your eyes. 

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your lips once again, holding nothing back as he poured all his joy into you. 

“I love you, too.” 

Your legs tangled together in a blur after that, both hopelessly breathing each other's oxygen. You were giggles and moans, whimpers, and confessions as you found yourself pushing down the covers and your pants so you could slide into bed. 

Neither of you stopped your confessions, still professing your love in each scrape of a nail, each lick, each bite. 

When he finally entered you, your eyes rolled back in pleasure, drunk on him and every reaction he was giving you. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he moaned. “I love how you feel wrapped around me.” His hips snapped softly into you, but he went deep, pushing in the entire way before even letting himself think of drawing himself out of that beautiful heat. 

“I love how reactive you are for me. I love seeing each of your emotions cross your face. I love how you called me pretty. I love how intelligent you are. I love you.” You were overcome with emotions as you finally felt pleasure wash over you, tingling through your body in ripples as he grunted into your ear, close as well. 

Wrapping your legs around him, you nuzzled into his neck and held him tight as he finally finished inside of you. 

You fell asleep like that in each others arms, clinging to each other for dear life. 

When you woke the next morning, it was with a start as you realised the sun was already awake. 

Spencer, however, wasn't, and you jolted up in a panic as you rolled him off of you. 

“Spencer, wake up, the others are going to be here any minute, it's 8:45.” 

“No, they're not,” he said, pulling you right back into his chest. 

“You said yesterday that they're coming today ready for the new case.”

“They started driving at 7am. Driving is going to take them 5 hours 34 minutes, give or take half an hour if there's an accident on the roads. We have plenty of time.”

You relaxed slightly into his hold, then feeling his warmth against you as he stirred slightly again. 

“Of course, we could always do something else to pass the time.” You opened one eye and turned back to face him as his hand traced down to the parting of your legs.

“Nice try, lover boy. If you're awake enough for that, you're awake enough to get started on the case.” 

“I preferred pretty boy,” he groaned but rolled away from you, as you both started getting ready for the day. 

Within half an hour, the two of you were up and ready to answer an incoming video call from Penelope Garcia. 

“Hello beautiful, how is upstate treating you?” She said as you picked up and beamed at her, somehow unable to control the happiness rolling off of you.

“It's been good,” you practically giggled, wiping a hand across your face as you attempted to clear away the grin there.

Spencer approached the laptop screen, too, greeting Penelope with a small squint as he looked down. 

“Hey, Penelope. Do you have the case details for us?” 

“I sent through the files to your emails, Hotch has a paper copy for you too, Reid, when he gets there. We've got a copycat or a resurfaced killer from the 80s. Rossi says the details are familiar to him, but he was going to ask you when he found you.” You both nodded and thanked her, but still, she didn't hang up. 

“So, one hotel room, how was that?” Penelope asked from the other side of the screen, eyes dancing between the both of you. 

“How did you…?” You squinted as Spencer hurriedly closed the laptop to the sounds of her laughing victoriously. Spencer's face flushed again as he brushed his hair out of his face, trying to discuss the files with you as he changed the topic almost expertly. 

“Stop. Spencer, how did she know about the hotel room?”

“Penelope books most of our hotel rooms.”

“Spencer, what aren't you telling me?” He shifted uncomfortably and looked at you in the eyes. 

“I may have asked her to book only one room.” 

“What? But the receptionist said-” 

“I slipped her a twenty before you came up.” 

“Why?” 

“I wanted to be closer to you. When Hotch said he had this interview, and he said he was sending you too, I was so excited to spend time with you, because you've been avoiding me, and I wanted to know what I did wrong so I could make it better, but I guess I didn't do anything wrong because you love me somehow, so I must have done something very very right to deserve that.” He was rambling, but you didn't stop him, smile spreading as you listened to his accidental declarations of love. 

“And then I had to beg Hotch to take this case next, because then we'd have an excuse to be alone longer if we were so close.” 

You tried to catch his attention then by calling his name, but he didn't listen, too intent on his confession. 

“I was going to tell you later today, once we were off work, I didn't want to say something in the middle of the case because that would've been unprofessional  and honestly I didn't want the others to hear because I want you all to myself.”

“I'm rambling, aren't I?” 

“Yes, God  just shut up and kiss me.” 

“You're not mad?” 

“I might have been if I weren't so damn in love with you. But lucky for you, I'm crazy for you.” He smiled at you again, pulling you in close for one more kiss. 

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid kinktober #criminal minds kinktober #kinktober 23

[strawbeerossi]

Spring Showers

Pairing: Wife!Reader x Husband!Spencer Reid

Description: In an attempt to scare you, your husband pulls back the shower curtain while you’re not expecting him and sees a sight for sore eyes

Content/Warnings: Failed attempt at a prank, masturbation (f), shower sex, oral (f rec), unprotected sex

Word Count: 1.2K

Kinktober Day Twenty Four: Shower Sex

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

Spencer was thrilled to be able to come home at a reasonable time when you were awake. The case he spent the past three days on had a happy ending, which he was so grateful for. Now he was just ready to get home to you and spend the rest of your evening together. 

He had gotten home half past six, walking into the house that was too quiet. You must’ve been cleaning or napping. As he placed his satchel down and walked deeper into the apartment, he heard the soft sounds of music coming from the direction of your shared bedroom. That’s when he realized you were in the shower. 

With a devious smile, he was gently getting his shoes off before approaching the bedroom door. His plan was to give you a good scare and have a laugh about it afterwards. As his mismatched sock-clad feet were shuffling through the house, he was slowly opening the bathroom door. The pop playlist you had on was echoing through the bathroom, so loud he couldn’t hear you in the shower whenever you had two fingers pushed deep into your soaked pussy. You’d been feeling desperate for the past few days and with Spencer away on a case, you didn’t want to bother your exhausted husband.

These past few days have been torture, unable to make yourself cum because your own fingers or your toys just couldn’t cut it. You’d had enough of feeling uncomfortably turned on, so while the sounds of Taylor Swift were filling your ears, you were leaning against the cool tile wall of the shower as you tried to bring yourself to orgasm, only having a few huffs and whines of desperation. 

Spencer was only raising an eyebrow as he’d heard a soft whine, his hand gently gripping the curtain before tugging it open. However the sudden burst of light had your eyes shooting open, your hand quickly gripping a shampoo bottle as your husband caught you by surprise. By the time you realized it was him though, you were only huffing. “Spencer! You scared the hell out of me!” You scolded, watching as the male offered a smile. “I wanted to give a good greeting but man, I think you beat me.” He teased. 

“I’m glad you liked the show but I give up.” You huffed, the sexual frustration affecting your mood. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m home then, huh? I don’t wanna brag but we both know that I am good at making you cum.” You were letting your eyes widen as the fully clothed man was stepping into the shower. “Your clothes!” You couldn’t help but laugh, watching the outfit darken as he was soaking himself. “I didn’t wanna take too long!” He admitted while laughing as he was dropping down to his knees in front of you. 

You were watching your husband sink to his knees, the hot water making his hair stick to his forehead as he was lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. Your hand was threading through the wet curls, slicking them back so they weren’t in his way. His tongue had licked a fat stripe over your slit as he relished in the way you let your head fall back.

“I’ve missed you.” You breathed as his tongue licked up your slit before letting it lap over your clit a few times. “I’ve missed you.” He spoke, voice practically muffled between your legs as he was taking your clit into his mouth while sucking lightly while he was running one hand up your body, his hand resting on your right breast before he was squeezing it, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers. This was the best welcome home he had ever received, he had to admit it.

As he was eating like you were his last meal, his tongue was lapping up every ounce of arousal oozing from your cunt as his nose was bumping against your clit in the process. You were in heaven, not getting this pleasure since a few days before he left on the case he had just arrived home from. The bathroom was filled with whatever music was in your rotation coupled with the moans and cries you were letting spill from your mouth. 

You’d been waiting days for this, so it was no surprise you were inpatient. Your hand was gently tugging his hair back, much to his dismay as he whined from being pulled away from your sweetness. “I need you so bad. Please, you can eat me out for hours later if you want to but I just..” He didn’t need another word as he was quickly pushing himself to stand and letting his mouth smash against yours. 

You could taste yourself faintly on his tongue, heightening onto the arousal pooling in your belly as you let your hands work on unbuttoning Spencer’s shirt as he was letting his hands work on his pants in order to get them off as well. When the sopping wet clothes were tossed in the bottom of the shower, you were keeping him steady as he quickly got his socks off as well. 

The minute his hands were under your thighs, you were jumping into his arms as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His hand was gripping at his cock that was standing at attention by this point, the thick head pushing into your weeping pussy as you connected your lips, both of your moans mixing within each other’s mouths. 

After days of being desperate and giving up, you were whining into his mouth as his hips were thrusting slowly, cock giving your cunt a delicious stretch that you’d been desperately craving. You relished in feeling every ridge and vein, as if you would forget after the fact and you needed to savor it while you were graced with it. Spencer’s head had dipped to your neck, his lips pressing kisses against your skin as he let out a soft groan. “I’ve missed you so much.” His breath was hot against your flesh as he let his teeth playfully nip at your skin, eliciting a little yelp. 

As his cock made an assault on your pussy, your fingers were tangling in his hair as you cried from please, hands roughly pulling at his hair as he was pistoning into the spongy spot where you needed him most. “Right there!” You gasped out, urging him to speed up with his thrusts as your body was bouncing just a bit with each thrust.

Your hands fell to his shoulders as your walls were spasming around his shaft, clenching around him as your greedy pussy tried taking more of him even though it wasn’t possible. You didn’t have much of a chance to warn him as you could feel the familiar warmth spreading through your body, however judging by his cock twitching inside of you, he was close too.

After a few sloppy pumps, it wasn’t long until you were tightly gripping onto one another as you both were hitting your peaks, his cum filling your desperate cunt and making your body shiver as you could feel the combined arousal dripping down your thighs.

“Best welcome home ever.’ Spencer laughed, attaching his lips to yours.

#spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #strawbeerossi kinktober 2023

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

You Are Not Him

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: talk of abusive father (nothing explicit), angst

Request by @ashleighhelner: maybe reader has had a bad childhood relationship with their father and is struggling with the fact that they look like their father (strong genes or dna or something) and reid helps them through it a bit? or advice?

Summary: Your father has been released from prison and has reached out to you. No one on the team knows what he did to you and your mom, and Spencer is there for you no matter what.

Square Filled: "it's not an addiction. it's a coping mechanism." for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

“Coffee order? I’m making a run,” Spencer offers his best friend.

“Yeah, get me a hazelnut latte, triple shot.”

“Half-caf extra shot venti with two pumps of non-fat creamer and hold the whip caramel macchiato,” Penelope says after Derek.

“You got it.” Spencer moves to the bullpen where JJ and Emilg are gossiping. “Coffee run. Anything?”

“White with one splenda,” Emily says.

“Same but with no sugar.”

Spencer nods twice and leaves the two girls to go to Hotch’s office where Hotch and Rossi are. He knocks twice and opens it after he is given permission.

“Coffee run. Do you want anything?”

“Black is fine,” Hotch says.

“Espresso with two sugars. Thank you,” Rossi smiles.

“You’re welcome. Have you guys seen Y/N?”

“Last I saw she was headed to the file room.”

“Thanks.” Spencer heads in the direction where the file room is, passing by a couple of empty offices. He halts when he hears someone crying in one of the offices. He checks to make sure he is alone before knowing once. He opens the door to see you quickly wipe the tears from your face. “Are you okay?”

“What did you need?” you sniffle.

“I’m going on a coffee run. I got everyone’s orders but yours. Have you been crying?”

You quickly give him your order. “Thank you.”

“Y/N—”

“Spencer, I’m fine. I appreciate you getting us coffee. I just want to be alone right now. You understand, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll come find you when I get back,” he says reluctantly.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Spencer is a lot of things and persistent is one of them. You’ll have to have a better excuse for when he comes back because you know this isn’t going to be the first time he asks about this.

When Spencer returns, he finds you with a heap of files in your hands. You couldn’t think of a good excuse as to why you were crying so you decided to be so busy he can’t ask you about it. Spencer has given everyone else their orders so you’re the last one.

“Hey, Spence, you can drop it off at my desk. Thank you.”

“Wait, Y/N--”

“I can’t talk right now, Spencer. I have work to do.”

Spencer watches you leave with a sigh. You keep yourself busy all day just so you don’t have to talk to him, and you’re one of the first ones to leave at the end of the day when you’re usually one of the last. Spencer can’t take this anymore so he immediately heads over to your place since he’s the only one who has a key.

He tries knocking to be polite but you don’t get the door. He can hear you crying inside so he uses the key and walks in. You’re sitting on the couch with a bottle of alcohol in your hands. You shouldn’t have gotten into the hard liquor but after the day you’ve had, it’s understandable. You baely register that he’s here due to how much you’re crying.

“Be careful with that. You don’t want to end up addicted,” he says and sets his coat down on the chair.

“It’s not an addiction. It’s a coping mechanism,” you scoff and take another swig.

“What’s wrong? Don’t say nothing because it’s obviously something. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so upset.”

The waterworks come again, and you look at your best friend who sits next to you on the couch.

“I got a message from my dad this morning. That piece of shit. He asked me if he could see me. God, he was such a shitty dad. He was angry all the time, he hit me and my mom, and it’s how I got these.” You show him the small circular scars on your arms that was caused by his cigarettes. “He was in jail but got out and asked to see me as if he didn’t make my life a living hell.”

“On top of all that, I’m really struggling with my self image because I look just like him,” you cry. “Sometimes I hate what I see in the mirror. I hate that I see his face. I fucking hate him.”

Spencer takes the alcohol bottle from your hands gently and sets it on the table. He moves closer to you and pulls you into him to give you physical comfort.

“You are not your father. You are so good and you’re the light where he is the darkness.” You look up at him and he wipes your tears away. “What he did to you was terrible but you are not him.”

“How do you know?” you whisper.

“Because you’re worried about turning into him. The fact that you recognize that is the beginning of why you’re not him. You don’t have to see him but if you do, I will go with you. You’re not alone.”

You snuggle closer to Spencer and place your head on his chest.

“Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.”

Spencer kicks off his shoes and gets comfortable on the couch with you practically on top of him. He rubs your back gently and waits until you fall asleep, allowing him to fall asleep right after you.

x

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[queerpumpkinnn]

is this how u request? anyways! i was wondering if u could do like a spencer reid w like a girl best friend, but like he has feelings for her

she does all these little things for him like bring him coffee and food and let him ramble and stuff

i was thinking of writing it myself but id love to see someone else’s take <3

This is typically how people send in requests (either via inbox or comments) so you're good! So sorry this took so long to write, my inspiration was down for a long time. I had so much fun writing this, thank you for sending it in!

Loverboy

1.6k words

Summary: Spencer's got a big fat crush on his best friend.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bestfriend!reader

Warnings: Morgan makes a few innuendos, food/drink, feelings ew gross, sweet lovesick Spencer <3 as always, let me know if I missed something!

While reading, I recommend you listen to valentine's day - a Spotify playlist by me!

~

Everyone in the office that morning knew that it was far too early to be there. Spencer, more than most, relied heavily on the power of caffeine to get his day going. It was not uncommon for folks to be carrying around a mug even in the late hours of the night.

And as always you, like a gift from God, would always saunter through the meeting room door with two steaming cups of coffee and a weary smile.

Spencer adored you. Although everyone on the team had a place in his heart, you were always the one closest to him. You were the one who had taken the time to get to know him, who listened to anything he had to say and got to know him as more than a coworker, an agent, a "resident genius" like he was some kind of appliance.

It was rocky at first, no doubt. Spencer was not the most perceptive when it came to reading social cues (or giving them to others), so his stiff and awkward nature took a while to see past. Eventually, you managed to break down the walls of caution around him, and over the span of a few years the two of you became more accustomed to being around each other more than anyone else. Even though you spent practically days together at a time, the two of you found solace in each other's presence, often heading back to someone's apartment and ordering takeout to wind down after the case with a movie.

To Spencer's embarrassment and yours, it had become the group's joke to refer to you two as The Soulmates. The first time Morgan made the joke, Spencer's entire face went a deep shade of red and he couldn't look at anything other than his feet for the rest of the hour. Eventually the two of you became accustomed to the running joke, brushing it off with a sarcastic laugh and roll of the eyes.

To be fair, Morgan wasn't entirely wrong. The two of you were joined at the hip, but you were just friends. It saddened Spencer to think about it sometimes, really. But he was content with having you so close, to be able to work with you and come home with you. To get to bring each other coffee and let you rest your head on his shoulder when you fell asleep was a closeness he granted to few people, and so he was, for the most part, satisfied with having you as you did.

That morning was no different. The sun had just barely risen, and Spencer was stifling a yawn as sugar poured into his cup like water. This morning was odd- a thought had struck him in the car, a comment Prentiss had made saying you and him were like a married couple. Was that true? Spencer knew plenty of married people but he didn't see them in action very often.

Would you even want to marry him? No, Spencer thought. You were just his friend. Sure, you did all sorts of favors for him and hugged him, but that was surely just a mark of close friendship.

"Morning, pretty boy." Morgan came up beside him, bringing a mug down from the shelf.

"Morning." Spencer replied, sipping from his coffee.

"So have you proposed yet?"

Spencer nearly choked on his coffee, replying with a "what?!" once he stopped spluttering that might have been a tad bit too incredulous.

"Jesus, Reid, I was kidding." Morgan held his hands up, but he still wore an amused grin.

""We're just friends, Morgan." Spencer said defensively, moving to prepare another cup.

"You're making her morning coffee right now, pretty boy. You know who does that?" Morgan gestured his mug in Spencer's direction. "Married couples."

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and coworkers."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, Reid." Morgan gave him a pat on the shoulder, sauntering back over to his desk with his free hand in his pocket.

Spencer heaved a relieved sigh, taking both cups over towards your desk. You beamed at him when the smell hit your nose.

"Well thank you, Spencer." You squeezed his wrist affectionately, and Spencer thought he might die. He turned his head to hide the stupid smile on his face, mumbling a "welcome", but the other direction didn't help him much. Morgan's desk shared a divider wall with yours, so the man in question simply raised his brow, a knowing smirk surely hidden behind his coffee cup.

Spencer rolled his eyes, turning back towards you. Your head was tilted in concern. "You alright, Spencer? You seem a bit jittery."

To strangers, Spencer might always seem jittery, like a nervous cat. But you could tell the difference.

Spencer cleared his throat. "I'm alright. Too much coffee, maybe."

Spencer nearly slapped himself when he realized his mug was still full. He prayed you didn't notice, tilting the rim so you couldn't see its contents.

"Alright kidlets, let's get this party started." Garcia called from the meeting room door, a stack of envelopes tucked under her arm.

You pushed off from your chair, nudging Spencer's shoulder. "Let's get this party started," you chuckled.

Spencer lightly touched his arm where you'd nudged him, watching you make your way across the office.

"Let's get this party started, Loverboy," Morgan, seemingly coming from nowhere, rubbed his shoulder against Spencer's dramatically, voice risen in pitch.

"Shut up!" Spencer pushed the man off of him, but couldn't help the laugh that came with it.

. . .

Four days later the team was right back where it started, making coffee and wrapping up paperwork- only this time there was a silent agreement that everyone wanted to get home.

Even in these low-energy moments Spencer still stayed by you, sitting with his legs folded on the large table nearest your desk, scribbling away.

His head perked up when he heard your chair wheeling over to him. "So, yours or mine?"

Spencer tried to ignore the way your arms folded over his knee to rest your chin atop them. "Uh- I was actually hoping yours?"

He definitely liked your place better than his. As much as he wanted to make it home, his apartment really was just a place for him to sleep at night and keep all of his stuff. Your apartment reminded him of you- but he wouldn't admit that that's the real reason he preferred your apartment to his.

You hummed. "Chinese?"

"Sounds good." Spencer was actually in a mood for Indian cuisine, but when you suggested Chinese it suddenly sounded like the best idea ever.

Work passed by fast, something that could rarely be said about Spencer's job. He was just excited to be going home, he told himself, even though he was headed to yours after this.

Although Spencer had to admit, your apartment was practically his. You both had a few items belonging to the other that you always forgot to take back. Spencer even had a travel toothbrush that sat in the cup on your sink. He knew where all your dishes were, knew your DVD collection by heart. He never lingered at the doorway like he might do at a new friend's place, he kicked his shoes off and made himself at home, because really, he was.

Tonight was no different. Spencer was sprawled out on your couch, half-empty foam box of chow mein sitting on the coffee table, and you under his arm. When you'd made yourself comfortable next to him, Spencer felt butterflies in his stomach, he thought. It was a marvel to him, hearing a phrase like that so often but not knowing what it really meant until now.

The time was nearing one in the morning, and while Spencer was still engrossed in whatever film you'd picked out this time, you were fast asleep, head heavy on his chest.

Spencer glanced over at you, smiling softly to himself.

"You know, you're not making this any easier for me." Spencer whispered, stroking your arm. "I mean, I'm not complaining, you know, but it's kind of hard to suppress a crush when you're falling asleep on me."

Spencer knew you couldn't hear him, which is why he felt a breath of relief leave him when the words came out. He attempted, with slow and careful movements, to adjust you to sleep on the couch. Spencer thanked whatever god might be out there that you'd purchased a sleep-worthy couch- he knew, he'd tested it personally.

"Good night," Spencer murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline and giving you one last glance from the doorway.

Maybe someday.

. . .

It was mornings like these that tested Spencer's willpower.

It had not even been six hours since he'd left your home that he was being called in on another case. So here he was. Five days later, doing the exact same thing: making two cups of coffee.

But as always, you made it better.

"Spencer!"

He didn't have to turn to know who was calling him, but he did anyways, just to look at you. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah, I had a pretty nice pillow," you teased, and Spencer's ears turned red. "Hey, are you free Saturday?"

"Yeah, if Hotch doesn't call us in at the crack of dawn." Spencer snorts.

"Great. There's an art exhibit I wanted to see and it wouldn't be as boring if I went alone." You grinned, gratefully taking the mug he offered you.

"Can't imagine a better way to spend a Saturday." Spencer agreed.

"It's a date then."

Spencer's eyes went as wide as saucers at your response, mouth falling open a little. You giggled at his reaction.

"C'mon, Hotch is waiting." You turned, not waiting for a reply.

Spencer shook his head as if to clear it, a stupid grin plastered across his face as he trailed behind you.

It's a date.

~

Spencer Reid Masterlist

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert

[cometkenji]

the warm spot at the bottom of the stairs

Pairing: Ghost!Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!Reader CW: Fluff, Mild Angst, Soulmate AU, reader has dreams, mentions of sex/masturbation, mentions of death, cursing, reader feels like she knows him but they've never met, let me know if I missed anything please! Summary: After inheriting your grandfather's estate, you fall in love with the man from your dreams. He just so happens to be in your house, too. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but in this she's literally not described aside from the fact that she has hips, a stomach, and legs on her body. WC: 9k (this is what happens when you let a man cook) This fic is genuinely my baby. I love soulmate aus with all my heart and soul and also love the dynamic of falling in love with a ghost. Enjoy this please, I tried <3

You swore the heat radiating off the sidewalk was enough to melt the soles of your shoes down to liquid. The sun was unforgivably angry today, glaring down at the world like it had a score to settle. You were less than thankful, as the death of your grandfather had stolen any desire you once held for warmth. The brutal dichotomy of the cold pit sitting in your stomach and the burning heat of the day only added to the sour taste in your mouth.

This house was fucking huge. 

You had no idea how your grandfather managed to hide such an enormous investment from everyone in his life but he’d managed the task seamlessly. Nobody even knew what he was giving you at first. The reading of the will and testimony left nothing but confused relatives until they had found the address that marked the estate. Some were jealous of you, some were confused, some even asked if they could come live with you once you got settled in. You had been absolutely floored when you learned he’d given you a house. Being fresh out of university, you were moving on to grad school while simultaneously preparing yourself to live with your mother until you could afford anything besides student debt payments. 

Now though, you had a castle, with no clue why a house this big was given to you of all people. You were your grandpa’s only grandchild and were by far one of the least deserving of such a generosity. Sure, you were close, but never abnormally close. You talked once a week on the phone and were glued to his side at family gatherings - but he saw your aunt everyday, and spoke with your mother much more than he ever did you. Was it pity? Maybe he saw this as the only plausible way of you escaping the fate of leeching off your mother. Hopefully he didn’t think of you so lowly. 

You mentally cursed at the dull ache in your legs that persisted even after stretching. You had been driving all day with a car packed full of stuff that needed to be hauled into the house, and only yourself to move said stuff. You said a short plea in your head to not let the pain hinder your speed and began walking into the house to view the inside. The estate was isolated, huge fences of greenery surrounded the place, adding to the pleasant sight of budding flowers throughout the front yard. Even without the towering hedges, though, the nearest neighbor was miles away. Great, you thought. Any concerns of your car being robbed while you were gone were extinguished as quick as they came, but you locked the car regardless. Force of habit. 

The heat was only lessened slightly when you reached the interior. You made a mental note to get the A.C. turned on, no way a temperature like this was a liveable one. You’re sure the numerous floor-to-ceiling windows were the culprit. They were excessive. Beautiful - of course - and you were thrilled at the amount of light they let in, but you could basically see the heatwaves permeating through the stained glass. Your eyes caught on the odd choice. The slightly colored glass making the mansion feel mildly like a church, the thought coming to you quickly and stripping any of the minimal comfort you held moments prior. That’s weird, you thought. Your grandpa had never been particularly religious. He was a man of faith - said grace before dinner and thanked Jesus for every day he lived, but never to this extent. He was rather progressive for a man his age.

The kitchen could have easily fit a team of 12 and you wondered if there had been staff at one point. There was no sign of any employees, and you prayed there weren’t any left working. The last thing you wanted was more responsibility in your life. You took your time walking the house, marveling at every painting and polished chandelier that was now an asset of yours. The house was gorgeous, you’d give at least that much to the old man. The centerpiece, of course, was the large spiral staircase leading to the second floor. As large as the house was, it held only two stories. Getting it’s square footage from length, rather than width. It was equally as glamorous as the house it resided in, however it filled you with a certain devastation you couldn’t place. As though your most primal self rejected the idea of it. That’s silly, you thought. You wanted to go upstairs, you were definitely not avoiding half of your house because a couple of your neck hairs stood at attention. The only real peculiarity was the heat pooling at the very bottom of the staircase. The kind of heat that seemed to thread itself into you, intertwine itself with your very being. The rest of the house was cold and accusatory, if your grandfather ever did live here, any of his warmth was flushed out by his death. This was the only spot in the whole house you felt calm, cared for. You could bask in it, weirdly fascinated with the little pocket of humanity that sat there. 

It was more difficult than you’d expected to pull yourself out of it, and you could have sworn you felt arms trying to pull you back in. Ten minutes into your new life and you were already on edge. Negative feelings didn’t seem to penetrate the spot at the bottom of the stairs, so you physically felt the wave of unease when it struck you upon exiting. The upstairs was creepy. The abundance of windows was apparently only a trend on the first floor, as the second floor held dark, dim hallways. The whole thing, it seemed, was lit up by ancient lamps that lined the walls. It reminded you of the Shining, and you wondered briefly if maybe your mother would let you move back in. There was a bedroom right near the staircase, and you decided it would be yours. It could have been the smallest one for all you knew, the only thing you cared about was a quick escape if such a thing was needed. Something about the house put thoughts like that at the front of your mind. 

You don’t recall ever being a paranoid person, nor a believer in the supernatural, but this house was watching you. The feeling of eyes on you was simply too strong to write off. What a warm welcome. 

—

It had been a week, but the nights so far had been sleepless ones. The people you called on day one were just now getting around to starting the A.C. so you were hoping for a decent rest tonight. The fridge was stocked, your things mainly unpacked, and the house started feeling a little more like you with each day. Although, your friends were more or less convinced there was a ghost living with you. You spoke of the feelings you had, plus the fact it was an old and mildly creepy house, and they were off and running with theories. One of the tamer ones consisted of the house being an old church - given the windows - and that the eyes you were feeling were perhaps an old priest who died here. You were less than fond of that idea, but you would take it any day to the other propositions of old mental hospitals and certain death. You made a mental note to never again let your friends speculate on situations you couldn’t get out of.

You argued that a malevolent spirit wouldn’t invoke such a comforting sense within you. You felt watched - yes - but it wasn’t as though you felt stalked. It was much worse, actually, you felt lonely. Loneliness was never a battle you fought very hard in. You had hobbies, and you had friends. The desire for a romantic companion usually took the back burner if it was even a thought at all. People questioned the topic - you were pretty, smart, capable - what more could somebody want? They asked if you were insecure, if you liked girls, told you that you were wasting your “prime years” and needed to find someone - but it was never that simple. You just didn’t get it. The feelings others spoke of were unfamiliar ones to you. You held your breath for a long time before realizing that it probably just wasn’t for you, that you were built a little differently.

Needless to say, you were uncomfortable with the sudden sensation. It felt like seeing the moon in a glass jar - something unfathomably beautiful but something you were unable to hold. Lord knows it wasn’t from a lack of desire, though. You’re sure you reeked of longing, able to suppress the lot of it but unable to stop some from slipping through the cracks of your fingers. And with no obvious direction to cast it, it just clung to you and seeped back into your skin. 

–

“No, dude, I’m telling you shit’s fucking weird.” You shoveled popcorn into your mouth as you spoke with your friend. This was the third call since you moved in. “Every night I wake up at like two in the morning and just for a split second I feel it. It’s like I'm lying on someone’s shoulder or something. And - oh my god - the amount of times I get stuck in that fucking warm spot on the stairs is gonna drive me crazy.” 

You could hear her laughing at your frustration on the other end. “What do you mean you get stuck? Y/n I'm getting worried about your mental state.” 

“No I’m telling you, I walk in this one - like - warm spot and I enter some kind of trance. Like I want to leave but I can’t - Jesus!”

“Are you alright?” Your friend was quick to ask, hearing you cut yourself off mid sentence. 

“No! This shit is haunted I swear. My kitchen lights just turned off for no reason. If I die here I’m blaming you and Kelly for not getting me out.” You were being dramatic, you knew that, but it was starting to feel justified. You don’t remember a time in the last week you felt truly by yourself.

“Hey don’t blame us for your own choi-” She started speaking, but you lost her. 

“Hello? You there?” You tried calling her again but the usual buzz of the dial tone was dead silent, the lamps that were illuminating the house followed soon after. Phone lines were the first to go in a power outing. No fucking way the power just went out. You felt around in the dark for the drawer of the end table. There had been a flashlight on the counter when you’d first arrived. You threw it in the end table because you had no clue why it was there - you were thanking God you’d done so while also praying the thing had batteries in it. You wrapped your hand around the object and said one more plea to the stars you wouldn’t have to be without light until tomorrow. Somebody must have been listening, as the room lit up when you hit the ‘on’ switch of the flashlight. 

You’d seen the fuse box towards the south end of the upstairs hallway, sitting between a Da Vinci replica and a mirror taken straight from a movie star's wet dream. I’m gonna die was the only thing you could think at a moment like this. You were for sure going to see glowing red eyes at the end of the hall and die a horrific and bloody death. Thanks grandpa. The warm spot was a welcome refuge from your journey to certain death, and you embraced the sense of  peace it brought you at a time when your heart was surely beating too fast. You held the light in front of you as you ventured up the stairs. The top of them seemed cartoonishly haunting, you thought momentarily that you would fit perfectly into a Scooby Doo episode. It was vast and dark, having multiple pathways you could walk down, but you set your sights on the south hall and did your best to disable your peripheral vision. It was right there. You just had to reset the power and you’d have your precious light back. Who puts a fucking mirror above a fuse box? 

You held the flashlight between your teeth as you focused on your task. Open and reset. Open and reset. It was truly as simple as that and then you could be done. Go watch a midnight rerun on TV and pray that the spirits would leave you alone. Open and reset. The switches were flipped off - you didn’t think that was normal but what did you know - so you flipped them back on and heard the hum of life returning to the house. Thank God. Your nerves dissipated almost immediately. You were alright, no ghost had it out for you. It’s an old house, and would probably experience things like this a lot. You could do that again if you had to. You looked up, though, and ate your words. There was definitely a man behind you. If you had been trying to look at him, you would have seen he was young, tall. You probably would have thought he was attractive, but you had no time for that. You whirled around, yelping at the sight of him and mentally preparing to defend your life. It proved futile though, he was gone as quickly as he came. There was nowhere he could have gone that fast, so as much as you were certain he was there, you settled for him being imaginary. It was dark upstairs, and you were scared out of your mind. Surely your eyes were overcompensating for the paranoia that was racing through you. You walked back to the couch on guard and decided to call your friend back tomorrow. It was nearly twelve, and you knew she had work tomorrow. You could cope using TV and proper lighting to comfort you until sunrise. What’s one more sleepless night?

“You boys let me know if you need anything.” You heard the words in your own voice as if listening to a stranger. 

“Sure thing, doll.” All the men were in uniform. Gray fabric covered their bodies, adorned with hats of the same color. Soldiers.

You walked back behind the front counter as the bell above the door continuously chimed at the arrival of new guests. Orders were being shouted to the cooks. You stared at the bold letters painted on the large graffiti piece decorating the wall, “Cathy’s Cooking.” A greasy apron covered the light blue dress beneath it - waitress attire. The smell of fried eggs clashed hard with the scent of sanitizer you were using to wipe down the counter. Bells rang to signal orders were ready to be taken out to guests, and you discarded the rag you used to mop up spilled coffee. 

“Thanks, Benny.” You nodded to the chef as you took the food plates to table two. He nodded back at you before returning to flipping bacon. 

“L/N!” Your manager barked at you. “Take your break. Be back in thirty.” He was a friendly man, though he got a bit hostile under pressure. 

You couldn’t be more thankful for the break. It was hour 6 of your shift and you were beginning to think he might never let you off. You removed the apron as quick as possible and excused yourself out the back entrance to cool off in the alley way. It got hot as hell during rush hour, so the way the slight breeze nipped your cheeks felt like heaven. 

“Tough shift?”

“Jesus!”

He started laughing as you startled, turning to face him. “‘Fraid it’s just me, honey.” He walked towards you as you grinned at him.

“You scared me, Spence.” 

He shook his head, mocking you. “I’m so sorry.” Drama queen. “How ever will I make it up to you?”

You giggled at that, and wrapped your arms around his neck as he got closer. He put his hands on your hips, leaning you against the brick wall of the alley. You could feel your lungs open up when he kissed you, always feeling like you could breathe better when his lips were on yours. He was your God given destresser. He still donned his uniform but had opted for taking the hat off, he knew you hated when his hair was hidden.

“That’s not very nice, Reid. I thought you were a gentleman. What would your boys think of you being so mean to a lady?”

He smiled a bit at that. “You like when I’m a little mean, Y/N.” 

Fuck. He had you there. 

You looked to the side for a second to snuff out some of the tension. “How long are you here for?”

“We’re in town for two weeks. Gotta catch a boat up to base 14 on the 20th. Supposedly they’re preparing for a big fight.”

You frowned as you made eye contact with him.“I get so worried about you. About all of you. I don’t know what I’d do if - you know if something happened.” He’d been a soldier for a little while now, joining when he turned 18. He’d kept his hands on your hips, and you started to run your hands through his hair, a nervous habit you picked up when the two of you first got together.

“I know, honey. But by the time it’s done I’ll be off my leash. I do this and we can run away together.”

You looked at him the way you always did - with such admiration and love that he often had to look away before it went to his head. He swore he looked at you the same, but you knew deep down nobody could love anyone as much as you loved him. You laughed a bit at the elation you got from just his presence. 

“I got lucky with you, Reid.”

He just shook his head. “Give yourself more credit, L/n.”

Your consciousness hit you like a truck and you realized before long that sun was shining through the windows. You’d fallen asleep sometime between ultimate terror and fleeting hope of your survival. And that dream - dear lord what the fuck was that dream. It was more vivid than you thought possible. You always forget most of your dreams when you wake up, but this time it felt like forgetting would be a betrayal. You could recall word for word every single thing about that dream. It was as though you saw a movie of your own life. A feeling so familiar you could taste it but just far enough to escape your grasp - and boy were you reaching. Not to mention the man. You didn’t know if this was some sort of coping mechanism you were inventing in your head but that was definitely the same man from the mirror last night. An imaginary friend. You had an imaginary friend as a grown woman. Terrific. 

–

“You’re never going to attract a suiter with such a tragic expression, my dear.” This had to be the third time your mother had roused this point in the past hour. 

“These dances are dreadful, idiotic nights of captivity that do nothing but mock the existence of genuine companionship.” The irony of you saying this while patting your cheeks with rose pigment was not lost on you. “Let me scrub myself raw and willingly restrain myself in hopes a man will see me and fall in love.” You spat out the last word with enough vitriol to hopefully drown yourself in. “Maybe he’ll like me so much he’ll lay claim and I can live on to be his housewife and half a person. How I've always dreamed of letting a man decide how much value I have.” You were flustered by the end of your spiel, looking at your mother through the large vanity with the tentative hope of a child asking for sweets. 

“You read too much, darling. Those little romance books of yours are nothing but nonsense.” She was a professional at writing you off by now. “You know plenty of women who are perfectly satisfied with their lives. This is how we do things, Y/n. I don’t understand why you insist on fighting it so intently.” 

She was never truly angry at your defiance, only tired. You could never tell if she was tired of you complaining or if she, like you, was tired of living this way. Your mother had married young - even for the times - and you knew your father left much to be desired in her life. They were basically repulsed by each other, only joining in union to produce a child. Your mother had been thrilled to have a daughter. Your father would trade you if he could, but he made do. The ultimate lack of affection between the two of them made you ill. You weren’t much older than your mother had been, you could very well end up trapped and child-bound in a loveless marriage.

“I would rather die alone than end up with my father.” You spoke, she sighed. 

“I know.”

You stared at her through the mirror for a moment longer, then you rose from your chair. Your makeup was done, your look now complete. You noticed your mother’s eyes start to well up at the sight of you and she started to walk closer. 

“My beautiful girl.” She smiled, forbidding the tears to venture down her cheeks, and held your shoulders. “You deserve a man who will worship you. Your future husband will be the luckiest man on planet Earth.” A gentle prompt, but a prompt nonetheless. You knew she loved you, but she carried more shame as you got older. Having only a daughter was something frowned upon, but having only a daughter hellbent on avoiding marriage was something that weighed on her. 

“I’ll see you in the carriage.” Then she was gone, kissing your cheek and taking her exit to go talk with the director of the communal ride. Carriage was being generous, it was more like a one-way wagon to the local suiter’s ball. You watched her leave with a sense of grief so intense it nearly toppled you. She deserved a man like that too. 

-

This was your third ball of the month. The pool of potential partners diminished with each one. People would often take whatever they could get, meaning less and less people even needed these nights anymore. You walked in with your mother, hand resting gently in the crook of her extended elbow. Your father stopped attending with the two of you a while ago. You believed he’d given up hope of a man ever choosing you - Lord knows he wouldn’t. Scanning the crowd, you saw little to look forward to. The music was pleasant, you would dance with a couple men who seemed bearable at best and criminal at worst, indulge in some of the enticing pastries and teas, and then you would leave. Back home until your mother dragged you out the following week for another one. With your current rate, you assumed you would end up marrying the vagabond that perused your neighboring streets. Taking another look around, you thought you might prefer that. 

You made your temporary home in a corner chair, letting your mother excitedly drag prospects up to you and watch dejectedly as they ruled you out as an option. You felt bad for her, considered caving in and finding a man to give you a child, but you remember swiftly how long the years take to pass when you’re miserable. The chair gave you a good view of the room, you could see the entrance and the dancefloor filled with enticing women waiting for men to notice them. You could feel the sweat start slicking your skin beneath the corset you wore. It was too hot in here. 

If you hadn’t been so determined to ignore the occasional advances of bored men, you would have missed the small group entering the area. Two women and two men, you wondered briefly if it was two couples, but discarded that thought. This wasn’t a place for couples. You felt your heart physically lurch at the sight of the last man in the row of four, as though your heart was running to greet an old friend. Had you seen him before? Surely you would have remembered such a visceral reaction. You averted your eyes before he could notice you. You don’t remember ever wanting to be noticed by a man - especially not this badly. You allowed yourself the escape of your own thoughts, getting lost in your head to pass the time and focus on anything other than what was probably the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

You looked up, he was standing above you. The chair next to you had been taken all night, the same woman had been sulking in her seat, and you found comfort in the fact someone else was unhappy to be here. She was gone now. Someone was definitely messing with you. 

“Not at all.”

Your mouth was drier than it had ever been. You wondered if your lips remained stained from the color you applied earlier. You’d done nothing but sit all night and yet you were praying nothing had happened to your makeup. 

“Why are you alone in a corner?” 

“Men tend to be repulsed by my pessimism. I also happen to hate it here. Serves for a less than desirable combination.” You refused to let your sudden attraction diminish your stubbornness. You hated the self-consciousness racing through you, no man had the right to take your assurance in yourself. 

“Why do you hate it here?” He wasn’t being mocking. He seemed - genuinely - a little sad at the thought of you being unhappy. 

“Well, sir, I am of the belief that these dances are nothing but congregations of people settling for lives that won’t make them happy. They trade excitement for safety as though the presence of security has to mean the presence of misery. I don’t think anyone can know the true meaning of love in our current state as a society.” You didn’t look at him as you spoke, instead staring out at the people dancing. “I hold no desire to settle. I am capable of making happiness on my own. Most men don’t like the thought of me not needing them.” 

You were almost positive you lost him. You were betting on him not being there when you looked, preparing yourself to bite the bullet and cope with tonight’s losses. Maybe your mother would agree to leave early. 

You heard him chuckle softly. “Sir.” He repeated your words, finding humor in the formality. “My name’s Spencer.” He added. “And I also happen to hate the purpose of these events. I’ve never actually been to one before, but I’m new to the city, and something about tonight was begging me to come out.” 

You were absolutely bewitched by him. “I’m Y/n.”

“Fitting.” He smiled, a smile directed at his own thoughts, as though something in his mind had clicked. “Will you dance with me?”

The music had slowed severely. You scoffed at his proposal, but you were taking his hand as if you’d been waiting on this. Maybe you had been. You were grateful for the ballad that was playing, never having been one for upbeat dancing. He led you gracefully, and for once you felt yourself relinquish power. With a mind like yours, a man’s company was almost never wanted. With this one, though, you laid your heart at his feet as if you’d done so a dozen times before. The heat of his hands was seeping through your dress, and his eyes were locked with yours. 

“I feel like I know you.” A confession. He had an effect like that.  

“Maybe you do.” 

–

Two in the morning. Everyday you’d woken up at two in the morning from a different dream involving the mysterious ‘Spencer Reid’. You friends had kindly dubbed him the “Man of your dreams” following the stories you told them. You’d been a housewife, trying to welcome him home from work before he laid you down and made an altar of your dining table.You’d been the daughter of a king, at one point, falling in love with his favored knight. Shamefully, that one haunted you. Reappearing in your mind during intimate times when you needed a spark. You’d never been one for desire either. When your friends started preaching the wonders of sex to you during your highschool days, you felt no pull towards the act. Just another it you didn’t understand. Now, though, this house served as an aphrodisiac. You lost count of your streak by day 13, and were now just begging whoever put this apparition in your home for the strength to keep your hand out of your pants. 

Spencer had become more like a roommate rather than an unwanted guest. You saw him in most reflective surfaces around the house. You felt him everywhere. He sat at the table with you, watched TV with you, he would wait by the door when you got home from work. Sometimes, your hand or your shoulder would run hot. Physically hot, like he was putting his hands on you. You wondered if he was around during those times, but if he was there he made sure you didn’t know it. You were gaining a sort of intuition for him. The thought Spencer would like that struck you numerous times when you were window shopping or when you tried on an outfit. You were starting to think maybe you were just crazy. Perhaps a ghost who seemed to be your soulmate and made you incredibly horny was how all psychotic breaks started. 

Weirdly, through your bizarre dreams and inconsistent sleeping patterns, this was the most well rested you’d felt in a while. Waking up at two am was routine now, sometimes you managed to fall back asleep afterwards but most times you were up dwelling on the images your mind had shown you that night. You thought maybe your body was just adjusting - surely it was nothing supernatural giving you energy - just the adaptivity of the human brain. One persistent thing you couldn’t adapt to, though, was how much you missed him. The increasing number of times you woke up to being the only occupant of your bed was starting to wear you down. You feel like you’d spent lifetimes with this man and yet he was someone you never knew. You'd seen the two of you fall in love countless different ways except the one that actually counted - the present. 

“I genuinely don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Another phone call, another conversation about your rapidly declining mental state. “I have fallen in love with a figment of my own imagination. Surely this is some demented form of narcissism.”

“I don’t think it works like that, Y/n.” Your friend was terrible at comforting people. It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t been fully honest with her about the severity of your situation. From where she was standing, you had learned to lucid dream and now that was bleeding mildly into your real life. Not the biggest deal, maybe you were just lonely. 

“It’s a ghost, dude, I’m fucking telling you. There’s no way I’m imaginative enough to conjure all this shit up.” 

“You know his name right? Go down to the library and look him up. If he’s a ghost then surely there’ll be something to find.”

Holy shit. She was a genius. “Oh my God you’re so smart. I love you. You just saved my life. You’re God’s gift to the planet. Who would I be witho-”

“Jesus Christ will you just go? Stop kissing my ass and start driving. I want details when you get back.” 

You don’t know if you’ve ever been so eager to get to the library of all places. If you could snag a computer spot then you could put an end to all of this. He wasn’t real, realistically you knew that, but you had a fool-proof way to check. If he was real you were going to have to come to terms with the fact you could see dead people. Well, a dead person. You had never seen any before Spencer. You’d never seen Spencer either, not before the house at least. They say you can’t make up faces, that if you see someone in a dream then you’ve seen them in real life but you were incredibly doubtful of that by now.

Spencer Reid. Thankfully the man didn’t have a particularly common name. You hoped there would be limited matches, less to look through. Pretty soon you could accept your own mental insanity and maybe ask your mother to spot you for some therapy. Well, moment of truth. You watched each letter be typed in with baited breath until his full name was in the search bar. Even just looking at his name brought that sense of calm. You were hopeless. Until, apparently, you weren’t. 

Brilliant Dr. Reid dead at 26

Former FBI agent Spencer Reid found dead in his home

Spencer Reid co-workers speak out on his legacy. Where to go from here?

You scoured every article you could find, analyzing every pixel of every image available. This was your guy. Same Spencer Reid from your dreams. Same Spencer Reid that stands behind you in every mirror of the house. Holy shit who was this guy? He was a little older than you, died last year in the summertime. Each article painted a brutal picture of his death, speculating on how the doctor died but never comfirming anything. Only that he was dead when paramedics got there, the sight of his covered body being extracted from his home was one that would stick with you. His home. It was the same house you were living in. It’s possible your grandfather was renting it out. That’s probably why nobody ever knew about it - he wasn’t living there. You didn’t know when water started pooling in your eyes, you only realized them as they started falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know him. You didn’t even know him but you felt like someone just sucker punched you and were about 60% sure your lunch was coming back up. Jesus. 

There was no way you could tell your friends about this. The majority of your brain was pleading with you to rationalize this. Maybe you’d seen one of the articles before. Maybe your grandpa talked about him. Holy shit he had known your grandpa. Every individual thought you had was identifiable and that was far too overwhelming for your brain to handle. You signed out of the computer and went to go sit in your car. Could you even drive like this? Your hands were shaking so bad there was a good chance you’d crash the car before you got home. It’s twenty minutes, you thought. You had to go back. Staying away from the house any longer felt like a punishment. You can make it twenty minutes.

–

“No, no. Like I said it was just some old guy who wrote a book. No sign of my Spencer.” You were lying straight through your teeth. You figured it didn’t truly matter. If you sat here and told the entire story of finding exactly who you were looking for online, you think she’d have checked you into a facility. 

“Maybe if you believe hard enough you can manifest him.” 

“Wow you’re hilarious. Remind me again how I ever lived my life without such a humorous presence.”

“I question that same thing everyday, Y/n.” You could hear the smile embedded in her words.

“I’ll let you go. I know Dylan is probably waiting on you. Thanks for checking up on the Spencer chronicles.” You felt slightly bad. She was on her honeymoon currently, and instead of spending time with her new husband, she was listening to your stories of fraternizing with a ghost. 

“I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m sure it’s weird as hell. Call me up if you need to, yeah? Hotel has unlimited calls so I can talk all night if you need to.” She was an angel in this world.

“Thanks, same goes here. If you get sick of your husband you know where to find me. Remember to use protection.” 

“Alright, nevermind. You may suffer by yourself for all I care.” She laughed while she threatened you.

“Bye, honey. Love you.” You should have felt alone, but you never did. He was most likely here with you. 

The exhaustion had well and truly crept up on you. You planned on getting home and calling your friend immediately, but you ended up needing a good few hours to cry and pace around the house. You weren’t scared - it was essentially the opposite. The complete lack of fear bred so much confusion that you didn’t know how to cope with the amount of frustration on your shoulders. You paced the house hoping to find him. You wanted to be near him. You harbored the immature hope that knowing who he was would grant you the ability to see him. Did you even know who he was? He was a doctor, an agent, but who was he to you? Is that what you needed to know in order to see him?

Now, sitting on your bed, you felt like you’d been through the ringer. The mental gymnastics of the day weighing heavily on your body. You needed to go to sleep. You wanted to go to sleep. In the last week or so you’d noticed a certain excitement regarding the promise of another tale, another dream. They were so extravagant, not even in the details of them, just in the consistency of pure emotion. You could have been fighting dragons or sitting on the porch in rocking chairs. If he was by your side, there was always this certain euphoria surrounding the two of you. A feeling reserved just for you and him. God you missed him.

– 

You woke up slowly to a familiar bed beneath you, this was your house. The window was open, curtains blowing cautiously as the mild chill of the Fall breeze wafted in and dusted over your collarbones. It wasn’t this cold last night. You felt the breeze again on your whole body, and realized you were lying naked on top of the ruffled comforter. Had he pulled the blanket off you?

“Are you cold? I didn’t think to shut the window when I got up. I was kind of rushing to get my stuff.” You noticed then that he was sat behind a canvas, angled so he could glance between you and the task at hand with ease. He noticed you furrow your eyebrows, and even managed to catch the minuscule tense of your muscles as you prepared to sit up.

“Stay still for me, honey. I’m almost done.” He was adding feather-light brushstrokes to the piece, a finishing touch of his you now recognized from watching him paint so much. 

“This isn’t a very good pose, Spence. You know I’m not the most photogenic.” You referred to the fact you had been sleeping as he painted, limbs not organized and environment chaotic. Notoriously unfavored things by the man. Maybe he was hoping to capture a candid version of you. 

He exhaled a laugh. “How rich coming from you.” His lips quirked upward as he continued adding touch-ups to his art. “Something about you this morning…I don’t know.” He shook his head like he was talking to himself rather than you. “You just looked…mesmerizing.” He shrugged, brushing off the sentiment. “Felt wrong to just look at you.”

Dumbfounded was the only word you could think to describe yourself. He’d painted you before, mainly from the neck up for practice with faces, but this was different terrain. You were nervous to see the piece. You thought of your hips, your stomach, your legs. A silhouette he’d sworn time and time again was worthy of worship. One he wanted to treasure. You hoped you’d see a glimpse of yourself through his lens, hoped all that adoration would show on the canvas. Once he was finished with it, he turned it so you could see. It was breathtaking. His talent never failed to leave you speechless. 

“I feel like I should be paying for this.” You joked, but still felt as though something should be given in return. He stood from his stool and joined you on the bed.

“I assure you, I’m well compensated.” Your face ran hot. “Can I hang it?”

“Spence, I’m naked-”

“Not downstairs, Y/n.” He chuckled. “I’d put it there.” He nodded to a vacant wall space on the right side of the room, entirely visible from his side of the bed. 

“You want me watching you sleep, Reid?” 

He grinned at you, shaking his head slightly at your remark. “Just wanna be able to see you.” He held your eyes. “I’m hoping looking at you before I go to sleep will give me good dreams.” You hummed in sarcastic agreement, your gaze falling soft a moment later.

“You can if you want to.” He looked relieved. 

“Thanks, honey.” He looked stunning in the morning light. The sun hadn’t risen too long ago, and he was only covered partially by a pair of joggers. He was practically luminous, the bare skin of his chest looking golden in the sunlight. You stuck your hands out to feel him, and you felt as though you were trying to touch heaven itself. He leaned down to be closer to you, he always said you felt magnetic. 

“You should let me paint you like this more often.” 

“Is that right?”

“Mhm”

And, just like before, you could breathe again when he kissed you. Truly breathe. It was times like these when he felt like your oxygen, like pulling away should be sin. Lord knows you would suffer any version of Hell for him. 

–

Your frustration seemed to have doubled in your sleep. Two am. You were gonna find that fucking painting. It wasn’t in the spot he left it - you would have noticed a giant painting of yourself naked on the walls, but you double checked to be sure. You threw up every light switch you came across and started scavenging through the upstairs. There was a certain tug in your body - when you didn’t find it in a room, you knew it wasn’t there, something internal telling you to look elsewhere. It was only when you were halfway done with the downstairs raid that you remembered the storage room. You’d found it when you first moved in, a room full of dust and white tarps covering furniture and other indecipherable shapes. It had to be in there.

You wrecked havoc on the tiny room. Tearing off layers of fabric quickly, leaving little thought to where you were throwing them, completely tunnel visioned on finding the painting. You came across a covered square the same size as the canvas had been. It was coated in so much dust that the covering looked ancient, and you were begging any conceivable being to be merciful, to let you have at least this if you couldn’t have him. You unveiled the shape to find the same vibrant pigments you’d seen just hours before. It was you, draped over the comforter and basking in the hue of the morning. This was it, you thought. Holy shit this is real. You had no grounds to deny this anymore. Spencer was a real guy, clearly he’d died in this house and clearly the two of you had lived enough lives together to fill months of sleepless nights with. 

What did this mean for you? Were you a clone? Were you and Spencer both clones? Were you living in a simulated reality and all of this was actually a ruse calculated to induce reactions in the brain that could then be studied? Oh my god - were you a ghost too? Had you died and were now stuck in some form of purgatory?

You felt sick with it. You didn’t know you were capable of bearing such intense metaphorical weight. You needed to see him. Maybe if you went to sleep, you would realize you were having a dream and could figure some things out. That’s so stupid. You mentally scolded yourself for even thinking of such a dumb idea. You needed to speak with him. You needed him to tell you what was going on. Of course him and everyone in your life who could have known him were six feet deep. A seance, maybe? Perhaps  just buy a ouija board and wing it. You’d seen the most of him when you were asleep, that had to be the key to figuring this out. Please dear god let it be the key to figuring this out. You took the painting and headed back upstairs. Maybe it could serve as a medium, you thought. That’s a thing, right?

You don’t think your bed had ever seemed so uninviting. You remember how grateful you’d been to finally sleep on your first day here. It was a pain in the ass hauling a mattress up a spiral staircase and the moment you realized you were done was a relief to say the least. Now you stared at it and your mouth ran dry. What if this didn’t work? What did you even want to happen? Were you going to rummage through your dreams and play detective to piece together what might have happened in your past? No degree of mental antagonizing could push you off course by now. He was real. You know he’d been a real man, and surely the painting of you meant you’d known him as something other than a ghost. You were simply praying this would work out how you wanted. You needed a semblance of closure, even just a small one.

–

The room was dark, making you double check if you opened your eyes in the first place. You hadn’t had a dream. This was the first time in months you had fallen asleep and woken up without having lived a different life. You felt tears forming in your eyes. The disappointment you felt was so immeasurable that your brain practically short circuited trying to find a way to process it. You knew it was a long shot for everything to be fixed overnight, but you’d expected something. Like he was reading your mind, the bed dipped down, him now occupying the space next to you in bed. 

You were worried your head might fall off your neck with how quickly you turned to look at him. The moonlight came beaming in through the window, like she was your secret ally, giving you enough light to finish your battle. It lit him up, practically shining through him like it would a crystal. He was ethereal. You stared into the same brown eyes you’d been looking into for months and felt your resolve give way from within you. You could have looked at him forever, you wanted to look at him forever, but you crashed hard into him. You would have fused your soul to his at that very moment if you were able to. Nobody had ever drawn out such a reaction - you needed to feel him. It was the proof you had been begging for, he was here, he was tangible. You could finally know what it all meant. 

You felt his chest jolt as he chuckled at you. “I missed you.” You could hear the smile in his words. 

Choking on a sob, you spoke your response so quietly you could barely hear yourself. “What the fuck is going on?” You knew tears were probably soaking through his shirt but he just held you against him. “Please tell me you know what’s happening.” You were muttering your words quickly, sharply inhaling between your sentences as air refused to stay in your lungs.

He ran his hand up and down the length of your forearm, a motion so familiar and so comforting you’re sure your knees would have buckled if you weren’t lying down. “Just relax, honey. I can explain everything, ok? I just need you to breathe right now.”

It was hard to maintain your oxygen through the sobs begging to get out of your chest but you were nothing if not stubborn. You needed an explanation. If that was his condition then so be it. You took a deep breath, regaining your ability to inhale and exhale at a regular pace. You could see the room better now having been awake in the dark for a while, so you tried to focus on anything that might help. The painting. You stared holes into that thing and forced your breathing to even out. 

“I was really proud of that one.” His words held an instinctual twinge of fondness, still smiling as he spoke. Like now that he had you, he could describe any horror of the world and still be happy with you in his arms. He looked back at you, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “You seem to get prettier with every lifetime.”

Even as the overwhelming confusion wrecked your brain, your body was completely in tune with him. Warmth seemed to spring to life in your stomach, his words bypassing any guards you had to root themselves within you. He regarded the situation so lightly, so casually. He wasn’t worried about slipping away, or running out of time. He would have given you a decade to calm down if you needed it. He seemed content with just calling you pretty, as though he’d waited a century to touch you again. 

“My dreams, were they -” You paused. You didn’t even know what to ask him. “What were my dreams?” Were they real?

He took a moment to just stare at you. The smallest, knowing smile on his face and a look of pure adoration in his eyes. He knew what you were asking. “They were us.” Fucking obviously. If you were any more on the edge of your seat you would fall off. “All the lives we’ve lived together.” Jesus.

“How long ago-”

“Two thousand years, 5 months, 27 days, and-” he leaned up slightly to check the clock “14 hours.” Giving you the cutest tight-lipped smile when he finished talking like he didn’t just say you’d been in love for two millennia. 

“So we’re soul mates?”

“Essentially.” He nodded. ‘Soulmates’ was close enough. 

“But - is everyone like this, then?” Did all your friends have this too? Everyone in the world? “Everyone has a soulmate?” Your friend’s on her honeymoon right now. 

He laughed a little and shook his head. “No, no. It’s just us.” What was so special about the two of you? “For all I know of at least. Your uh…your husband-” He hesitated for just a second, fingers digging into your skin just a fraction harder. “He found out about us. Had his mother cast a spell. He thought he was punishing us, I think. Figured we’d get sick of it after a while. Poor guy, all he did was condemn us to eternity together.” He held no genuine pity for the guy, more amusement at the thought of his plan actually succeeding. 

“How long have you been here?” You hadn’t bothered to check when the articles were from, too busy trying to keep your head on straight to look for the publication date. 

“A year.” A year of him alone in this house. God, you couldn’t even imagine. “I started having dreams of you. Everyday I just felt, like, something pulling me away from where I was. I knew your grandfather from an old case I worked and everything just seemed to happen.” He reminisced fondly, like the memory didn’t hurt him. “I don’t even really know how I died. I just remember having a party one night, and how the hallway looked from the bottom of the stairs.” Oh my God the warm spot.

“When you moved in I was thrilled but - fuck, honey, it was torture.” He delivered the line like it was a joke but his eyes were watering. “I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t help you - I couldn’t fucking touch you and it was unbearable.” His hands hadn’t left you since you woke up. Making up for lost time, you guessed. There was one question you were brutally aware of, something that persisted in your head even as you tried to enjoy the moment. 

“Why can I see you now, then?”

He sighed, so full of devastation that it was clear he’d been preparing for this. “You can’t.”

“What?”

“You’ve seen all our lives, Y/n. This is the only one left.” He was so delicate in his explanations. His palms soothing over your face as if trying to physically soothe the sting of his words.

“Wait what does that-” What was he talking about? “I don’t understand.”

“To be honest, I don’t really understand it either.” He exhaled at his own ignorance, the words unfamiliar in his mouth. “For the first time, I don’t know what’s gonna happen when you wake up.”

“Wake up? What do you mean wake up - Spence I’m awake.” You held onto his wrist that was near your face for emphasis, his hand still caressing your face. “I’m awake.” 

His eyes were definitely watering. “No, Y/n, you’re not.”

“Spencer.” You’d never said it so sadly before. Tears were in your eyes for the second time that night. You would have done anything to carve this moment into stone. Sit here in his arms until time forced you into your next life. 

“It’s ok, honey.” He was always reassuring, always safe. “We’ve done this for two thousand years, Y/n. You’re bound to get a little unlucky sometimes.” His optimism in the face of such a crushing development almost made you sick. Some things never change. “I finally have you back, alright? Just lay with me for a while. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. We’ve got plenty more lives to live.”

You halted the tears in your eyes, sniffling once to reign yourself in. “Ok.” You laughed, a little tearfully, and kissed him with all the love you had to give. 

Plenty more lives to live.

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[tlou-reid]

All of You ❤︎ Spencer Reid

♡ SUMMARY: There is not a single part of you Spencer doesn't want to worship. Fat!reader x Spencer

♡ WARNINGS: smut, unprotected piv (be safe!) , oral (fem receiving), mild breeding kink?, body worship, porn with very little plot, reader is fat! 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

♡ NOTE: this is entirely self-indulgent and i am not sorry about it. i hope my fellow big bitches enjoy <3

—♡

The lack of hesitancy in your movements was new to you. The way you let your hands pull Spencer closer, and the way you guided him to where you needed him most. Having sex with someone wasn’t new, but having sex with someone who didn’t make you feel like you had to question every movement, every kiss, every noise, due to your size was. Just like everything else in your relationship, you felt comfortable doing this with him. Spencer had always been the most loving and considerate partner. He made you beautiful, even on your worst days. Even now, a few days without shaving, comfortable underwear, and day three hair, after a full day of not leaving the bed, he made you feel like you were a goddess. He truly worshipped the ground you walked on.

He reminded you of this by pressing deep, wet kisses into your jawline and pulling you closer to his body. Even straddling him didn’t scare you anymore. You could feel the spit from his kisses against your neck, but not even that could bother you right now. All you could focus on was Spencer. His hair tickled your shoulder, and his cold nose was cooling off your neck with every single kiss he was giving you. Your mind was screaming “Spencer, Spencer, Spencer,” as you dragged your covered core over the bulge in his grey sweats.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer was enjoying himself just as much. Your thick thighs had his legs trapped underneath you as he kissed, sucked, and bit on your neck. The noises you were making were like music to his ears, even better than his favorite baroque symphony. His long, slender fingers were pressing deep indents into your plush hips as he tried to pull you closer. He would mumble “come ‘ere” every so often, as he did so.

“Spence-” you let out a whimper as his teeth slid across where he had been sucking, “Spence,” you called again trying to get his attention. It took a decently strong tug of his hair to get him to stop his actions. “I need more,” you whined out. Spencer let out a chuckle at your desperate state. “I know, honey,” he smiled at you, “‘m just enjoying you a little bit.” Spencer had such a lovey-dovey side he reserved only for you. It made the butterflies in your stomach start to flutter and your heart turn to goo inside your chest. Despite these sweet feelings, you let out a frustrated moan.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said sincerely, moving to press a kiss on your forehead, “I just love this face,” a kiss on your nose, “this nose,” a kiss on your lips, “these lips,” a kiss on the tender spot of your neck, “really love this neck,” a kiss on your shoulder, “these shoulders,” a kiss on the bit of your chest that was sticking out from your pajama shirt, “and this chest.” With that, he was reaching to pull your shirt over your head. You lifted your arms to help him out. Having gone without a bra on your lazy day, he had easy access to your tits. “These boobs,” he continued, pressing a kiss to the top of each of your breasts.

However, he stopped his words there and moved down slightly, pulling your left nipple into his mouth. His right hand moved from the spot on your waist to toy with your right nipple. You let out a loud groan as he sucked the supple skin. Your underwear was growing unbearably between your bodies as he loved on your body. Your hips were moving at a faster pace along him, and he welcomed it with soft whines against your nipple. He was in his personal heaven. Every one of his senses was being consumed with you, and he fucking loved it.

“Spencer,” you whined out again, forcefully pulling his head away from your chest. He looked at you with wide, lust-blown eyes. There was a little bit of spit running out of the corner of his mouth from where he was sucking on your tit. He was, quite literally, drooling over you. “Spencer,” you repeated with a stronger tone, watching him with careful eyes, “please.”

He nodded, tapping the side of your hip as a signal for you to get off of his lap. It didn’t take long for you to be on your back, with him in between your thick thighs. Spencer was immediately on them, sucking, kissing and biting. He only allowed himself to enjoy the feeling for a little bit, then he was reaching up to pull your underwear off of you. You lifted your hips to help him slide them down your legs, discarding them somewhere in the room. He wasted no time.

Spencer licked between your folds, basking in the taste of your sweet pussy. Your hands were quickly tangling themselves in his long locks. Spencer ate your pussy like that was what he was put on Earth to do. You felt his lips curling around your clit, causing you to arch your back off the couch. His mouth didn’t leave your core as your hips came up. Spencer’s lips turned up in a grin, you could feel it against your inner thigh, at the moans you were letting out. He threw his arm across the pouch of your lower stomach. His hand rubbed at the fat there, before pressing down onto you, getting you level with the bed again.

“Really love this pussy,” he rushed out when he took his mouth off of you briefly, just long enough to slip two fingers into you. His long, slender fingers pumped in and out of you as he sucked on your clit again. You were taken back by his filthy mouth. He went from calling your tits “boobies” to talking about loving your pussy in just a few minutes. Spencer could feel your thoughts changing, not liking the way your body slowed down its reactions to him. He pressed his fingers against the spongy spot inside of you, bringing you back to him. The moan you let out reverberated across the room, making Spencer smile against you again.

It didn’t take long for you to cum on Spencer’s face. He licked up as much of you as he could before you were pushing him away due to overstimulation. He used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth before pressing his lips against yours. Your tongue slipped inside his, enjoying the mix of spit and your slick that escaped out the side of his mouth. He pulled away, wiped his mouth again, and mumbled, “Can I fuck you now?” You giggled at him, nodding yes.

He pulled away, just for a second, to pull his sweatpants and underwear down, throwing them near where your panties lay. He held his length, making eye contact with you as he slid into you. You let out matching sighs of contentment as he bottomed out. He began to thrust out, and you quickly missed the stretch of his length inside of you. Maintaining eye contact, he picked up his speed, hitting all of the right spots inside of you. He let out a moan as you pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his hip. With the way you were squeezing and the noises you were letting out, Spencer knew he wasn’t going to last long.

“Fuck, Spence” you whined as he leaned into you to suck another deep mark into your neck. Your back was arching into his body again, and he used the opportunity to pull you close to him, slipping his arms around you, as if he was bear-hugging you. You didn’t have the chance to be insecure about your weight on his arms as he used the new grasp to pound you deeper. “I’m gonna cum,” he warned. “Cum,” you rushed out, “cum inside me, Spence.”

And he did, quite quickly with your words of encouragement. He let out a whine as he did, continuing to fuck you through it. He pulled his right hand from beneath you, moving to rub quick circles around your clit. With your last orgasm, it didn’t take long for you to finish on his dick. Your fingers dug into his back, surely leaving deep, crescent marks. 

“Fuck,” you gasped, rubbing over where your nails had dug into him. You could feel his smile against your neck this time. “I love you, honey.” You nodded, letting him know you love him too without any words. You laid there in the afterglow for a while, before the weight of him inside you became too much and you were pushing him away. As he stood, his eyes racked your fucked-out body lounging on the bed. “You’re so beautiful.” With the way he said it, you weren’t sure if he even meant to. He sounded almost breathless, in awe of you. He gave you one last, bright smile, as he asked, “Shower with me?” You nodded, forcing yourself to leave the bed to follow the love of your life into the bathroom.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble #criminal minds blurb #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

You asked for Spencer Reid and Reader requests, particularly plus size, and I am so down bad for that man! Especially later seasons him.

Could I have one where he and the reader are intellectual peers but also enemies? Like she's on the team and just as wicked smart as him and into old literature and languages but they constantly butt heads? And the team knows they really just have feelings for each other, but they'll never admit it. Maybe the reader admits it to Penelope or someone one night drinking that he's hot but she never thought he'd actually sleep with her bc she's fat, but she'll take his attention any way she can get it. Maybe Spencer overhears and proceeds to show her just how hot he finds her arguing with him? 👀 Thank you in advance, girlie!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader

— summary: you and spencer hate each other, that much is obvious... right?

— warnings: very surprisingly crude language in this, self-doubt, implied insecurities, misunderstandings, e2l, they're in love and everyone else knows besides them, i made them dorks i don't apologize, mentions of wet dreams, mentions of male masturbation, dirty thoughts, kissing, stripping, vaginal fingering, spencer's dirty mouth, lots of reassurance 'cause i'm a sap, spencer reid #1 consent king, missionary, unprotected sex, sex god spencer?!?! (he does his research), pleasure dom!spencer, switch r & spencer, heavy praise, and a fluffy ending to tie this all up in a nice little bow!

— wc: 3136

⋆ a/n: okay i do admit that this is RIDICULOUSLY long, but i knew exactly what i was getting into writing this and honestly i had so much fun! i don't think i've ever created such characters that have so much chemistry with each other, so cheers to that! (unedited unfortunately :[)

masterlist | AO3

As soon as you hear Spencer’s voice, you make a point to groan obnoxiously loud.

“And just to think I would be able to go home without a headache today.” 

You could feel the glare from said man burning a hole in the back of your head, so you swivel your chair around in order to face the music – in a pleasurable masochist kind of way. His annoyingly handsome face was twisted up in irritation – much to your glee – his eyebrows turned down, and his perfect, plush lips pulled into a deep frown. 

You could tell you had interrupted him saying something that he deemed important, most likely a fact that you and him would go back and forth on, and you couldn’t be more pleased with yourself.

“Funny you mention that seeing as though your voice is the cause of mine.” He bit back, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Aw, you think of my voice?” You tease. “Only in my nightmares.” You wink at him. “You still think about me.”.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Luke piped up from his own desk, drawing the attention from your other intrigued co-workers in the bullpen. “Oh here we go.” Tara said in amusement at Luke’s rambling.

“Back when I was a kid there was this girl that I went to school with, and I would always tug on her hair or try to trip her,” His voice was almost reminiscent. “Everyone thought I hated her, when in reality I was just trying to get her attention.”

“Ah,” Matt said with a smile, “The classic ‘boy bullying the girl he likes,’ or in this case, it’s the girl this time.” Your cheeks began to heat and your eyes went wide, Spencer’s own face and the tips of his ears turning an admirable pink hue.

“Absolutely not -”

“What? No -”

Both Spencer and you stumbled over each other to try and defend yourself, but you didn’t have a chance because Emily’s voice cut through whatever was about to be said next, the woman making haste from her office and into the room with the round table.

“Alright you guys, enough. We’ve got a case.”

“To a job well done!” Penelope cheered as she held up her citrusy alcoholic beverage in the air, signaling she wanted to toast.

You smiled indulgently at the woman sitting next to you, clinking your glass with hers noisily and flickering your eyes over to where a disheveled Spencer Reid sat. You didn’t say anything to him though, because you’re a big ol’ softie and like to let the boy wonder rest before you have him back on his toes.

His eyes met yours the same time your glasses collided. You wish you could say that the vibrations from the clinking was the cause of the shiver that forced its way down your spine, but you knew better. 

It was like the rest of the bar disappeared, the sound of the others joining in on your rejoicing fell on deaf ears. You could have sworn his dark brown puppy-dog eyes drank you in before he looked away and cleared his throat, taking a rather comically large gulp of his water.

Your eyelashes fluttered like a thousand butterflies wings as you rushed to drink your own beverage.

“Okay, what was that!?” You felt Penelope’s finger poke at your ribs before you actually heard her. 

“Ow - fuck! What was what?” You yelped quietly, your hand reaching down to bat away her stabbing digits. “The - the -” She fought to portray her words before her face lit up when she found the correct ones, “The eyefucking!” 

Your stomach erupted in butterflies, “Eyefucking? What eyefucking?” You asked with a scoff, hiding your blush behind the rim of your mug. 

“Oh, please, don’t give me that.” It was Penelope’s turn to scoff at you. “Everybody knows that you and Spencer like each other.” She said it almost like it was a fact, leaning forward to take a smug sip of her drink through the miniature black straw.

Spencer knew listening in on Penelope and your conversation was inappropriate; but in his defense, you guys weren’t really quiet about what you were talking about.

“I -” He heard you begin, “It’s one-sided.” Was all you said before draining your beer. “So you admit it!” Penelope exclaimed with a gasp.

Spencer felt his eyes go wide at her words, but there was this desperate feeling that spread throughout his body; one that caused his fingers to twitch and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“When you put it like that it sounds childish!” You complained slightly, biting at the meat of your lip. “I… I’m just not his type you know? Like - you know better than anyone that guys don’t pay attention to girls like us, so you have to learn to improvise.” You were cringing at your own words, but the liquid in your cup was enough to loosen your tongue and lower your inhibitions.

“Was me choosing to constantly argue with him the smartest way to try and peak his interest? No, but I knew he liked a challenge and well… it definitely wasn’t the proudest conclusion I ever came to, but what was I supposed to do? It isn’t like Spencer would date me let alone actually want to sleep with me.”

Spencer wanted to argue with you about how wrong you were, to tell you about every thought he’d ever had about you.

He wanted to tell you about how much you frustrate him, how at first, he thought he hated you and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize he hated how badly he wanted you; hated how many dirty dreams he had included you and that plush body of yours. He’d wondered how soft you were, how you smelled and tasted. 

Did your moans and whines sound as enchanting as your laugh? Did your eyes twinkle the same way when you were about to cum? 

Those thoughts kept him up at night and his hands in his pants, stroking himself to his unlimited imagination all revolved around you. Those were the days that he was more prone to pick fights with you, mostly because he was embarrassed, ashamed, and quite frankly plain ol’ horny.

Spencer thought you were just so sexy, especially when he had managed to light that fire under your ass that really got you going. He wasn’t a sadist or a masochist by any means, but he loved when you yelled at him. So, for you to think so lowly of yourself it almost drove him mad because you didn’t know.

But you were going to.

You were going to kill whoever was bothering you on your day off.

The knocking was unexpected, but so was who was responsible for the noise.

“Spencer?” You asked in surprise. 

Usually you were prepared for your exchanges with the man, but if your pajamas were anything to go by, you were anything but. Spencer felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your tits sitting braless in a thin undershirt, your soft tummy slightly straining against the cotton material and a pair of shorts that look like they were practically strangling your thighs.

The only thing he could really say was… “Do you know how infuriating you are?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest, and little did you know the action pressed the tops of your breasts over the hemline. “Excuse me?” You almost scoffed, “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to argue with me.”

“No I - fuck just let me finish.” This was not how he wanted this to go. You looked like you wanted to say something but your curiosity made you choose to stay silent.

“Do you know why you’re so infuriating?” He asked, taking a tentative but careful step towards you. “Because you haunt my every living thought. I see you when I’m awake, I see you when I’m asleep. I can’t… I can’t escape you! I can’t escape how I feel about you.”

Your eyes were wide and your brows were furrowed; it looked like you almost couldn’t breathe.

“But you want to know the worst part?” His hand lands on your cheek and his thumb gently caresses the skin there. “You have the audacity to think that I wouldn’t want you.” 

“You want me?” You asked in disbelief. “But I… but I thought you hated me? I mean - I haven’t been all that nice to you.” You attempt to joke weakly, but your body is on fire; your stomach is tangled up in knots. You were trembling in excitement at his words but in disbelief too.

“Do you have any idea how much I love arguing with you?”

You laughed at his words, your lips slipping into a small smirk as you threw your arms around his neck in an act of boldness. “Oh yeah?” You hummed seductively. “You wanna show me how much?”

“Yeah,” He replied breathlessly. “I do.”

And just like that his mouth was on yours and a long leg shot out behind him to shut your front door. The slam made you yelp, but it quickly melted into a giggle against his lips when he reconnected them.

Spencer tugged you closer to him, and God the feeling of your body was so much better than anything his subconscious could have conjured up. You felt so soft and the front part of your torso pressed against his chest in a way that if he didn’t have you naked under him soon he was going to go crazy.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He didn’t want to pull away from you, but he wanted to do this right.

“I didn’t know you were a gentleman, Reid.” You teased with a dazed smile on your face. “There’s a lot of things that you don’t know about me.” You quirked a brow. “Oh really? How about you tell me?”

“Later,” He said with a lazy shake of his head, “Later.”

His hand reached down to cup your ass, your crotch rubbing on the large boner restrained by his pants. You moaned quietly at the feeling, and found yourself saying, “Down the hall and to the left.”

When you arrived, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; they grabbed at your back, ass, waist, hips. There was so much of you that he had no idea where to start. All he knew is that he wanted all of you right now.

“Can I take your shirt off, please?” His words almost came out as a whine and it welcomed a fresh wave of arousal in your panties. “Take off whatever you want, I’m yours.” A reassuring confession that Spencer had no idea he needed to hear. 

His lithe, veiny hands tugged at your top first, dragging it over your head and throwing it somewhere random. Your pants and panties were next to go and you couldn’t help but shiver at Spencer's intense stare.

“I’m uh- feeling a little vulnerable here, could you lose a layer or two?” 

The man blinked rapidly, his fingers shooting to undo the buttons on his cardigan. “Yes, yeah of course, sorry I -'' You grabbed the shaky digits. “Calm down, take it slow. I’m not going anywhere.” It was a light jab meant to ease his nerves. For a moment he looked unsure but you gave an encouraging smile.

After his clothes disappeared he held you by your waist, walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed. You quickly hurried to scale the mattress until your head hit the pillows.

“God,” Spencer gulped. “This is so much better than what I imagined.” You giggled slightly. “As much as I appreciate your flattery, I want you to fuck me. Now.” You said it with such simplicity that his eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets at your crudeness.

He swallowed his shock. “Whatever the lady wants.”

He hurried to crawl over your leaning body; you cup his cheek in an act of haste, dragging him down to lay on top of you. His own hands didn’t stop their determined trail, tracing the soft planes of your plush body until he reached your wet cunt.

You whine loudly at the feeling of Spencer’s fingers stroking your damp slit.

“So responsive.” He murmured with delighted smirk. You go to say something snarky but you’re quickly cut off when he begins to rub tight circles on your clit. “‘M sensitive.” You gasp against his lips, your back arching and pressing further into him.

His body falls to the side, laying next to your naked one with a cheek balanced on his fist. “I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers first,” Spencer whispers into your ear. His ring finger entered your warmth slowly and he felt himself choke on his words. You mewled, a hand shooting up to tangle in his long, curly hair, the other grabbed at his wrist.

“Then, I’m gonna make you cum on my cock.” After a few experimental twists of his wrist, his middle finger joins the first. Your breathing speeds up with every movement of his digits. 

“Afterwards, ‘m gonna clean you up and take you out to eat.” Your brain could barely process what he was saying, but every word that left his mouth added to the swarming butterflies in your gut – which felt so juvenile seeing as though he was already knuckle deep inside you.

“And when we get home, I’m gonna eat this sweet pussy for dessert.” 

Your eyelashes were fluttering rapidly, your hips moving frantically on his fingers in an attempt to try and get him deeper. Spencer must have sensed what you needed, because with a few firm swipes on your sensitive clit sent you spiraling over the edge.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer… I - I -” Your gummy walls squeezed his digits, and the only thing keeping you grounded was the heat coming from his body.

“Wow.” You laughed breathlessly. “Wow indeed.” He mimics with the same amount of amusement.

“Are you okay to keep going?” He asks. 

“Are you kidding?” The look on his face was almost laughable, and you gave his naked chest an encouraging pat. “Hell yeah I’m good, how about you?”

“If I told you I could cum just from watching you, would you believe me?” You roll your eyes and snort. “We’ll find out later, loverboy. Get up here.”

He scrambles to get on top of you, but then stops. “Wait, wait,” He reaches behind your head and grabs a pillow. “Lift your hips up for me.” Your eyes go wide, because who in the fuck taught him that? Though you move a bit slowly through your surprise, he manages to get the soft thing under you, your lower back now elevated.

But all excitement dies out when he realizes there might be no protection, he looks like he could almost cry.

“It’s cool, Spence. I’m on the pill and I… I haven’t had sex with anyone in an embarrassingly long time.” You admit shyly, your eyes casting to the side nervously. “I’m clean too. I don’t really remember the last time I’ve had sex either.” 

You guys make eye contact and erupt into a fit of giggles, “To relearning the art of sexual intercourse then.” Spencer scrunches his nose up at your wording, but you don’t give him any time to retort because you’ve already placed two hands on his face, tugging his head down to kiss your smile-split lips.

He takes the time to kiss you for a moment before reaching down to line his dick up to your entrance. You both shiver at the sensation. You guys disconnect your lips to watch him enter you, your foreheads pressed together and breaths mingled in anticipation.

You moaned in unison when he slowly but surely seethed himself in you fully, and your body tensed at the long awaited intrusion. “Gimme a sec.” You gulped. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He panted.

You allowed yourself a moment to relax, brushing your fingers through his curls as a way to comfort Spencer as well. After taking a few more seconds to enjoy the raw, intimate moment between the two of you, you said, “Okay. Okay, I’m good.” 

Spencer licked his lips and rolled his hips tentatively, and your breath hitched. A string of whimpers were soon to follow with every drag of his cock against your sensitive inner walls, the leftovers of your previous orgasm leaving your body feeling electric.

Your mouth drops open into an ‘o’ shape when his tip brushes your g-spot.

“Right - right there Spence…good boy - fuck - good fucking boy.” 

The term of endearment was an accidental slip of the tongue, but it had frayed some nerve in his body, because the groan that left him was guttural and hungry.

“Say -” He huffs. “Say it again, please.” The pace of his thrusts speed up as he begs, and your nails drag down his back. “You’re my good boy, Spencie.” His eyes flutter shut at the praise and he doesn’t bother to be gentle anymore.

“Mphm! More - I need more.”

“Okay, okay.” He rushed to balance on his elbow so that his other arm could slip between the two of your bodies to rub at your clit. Your back arched, and Spencer all but throbbed inside of you, his balls tightening and threatening to cum right then and there; but ever the gentleman, he waited, his stomach sucked in tightly and his body jolting quivering.

“I - I’m gonna cum.” 

It didn’t take much to pull you into a kiss. It was sloppy, and messy, and lewd and all of those other wonderful synonyms. Spit dribbled down your chins and with one last hard thrust that almost sent you up the bed, you gripped onto the older man for dear life.

Everything went white as you came; your hearing, your vision, every single cognitive thought you had pretty much flew out the window.

It was Spencer gently wiping the sweat off of your brow that brought you back down to reality, your lungs finally opening up and expanding for that much needed air.

“Hey,” He cooed. “There you are.”

“Hi,” You sighed with a ditzy smile on your face.

There was a moment of silence before you said, “How about we save the oral for breakfast?” Spencer laughed, but nonetheless nodded in agreement. “That sounds perfect.”

“So, what’s for dessert then?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Hm…” You pondered for a moment. 

“How about ice cream?”

“I like ice cream.” But then he added, “But I like you more.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” You groaned, covering your eyes, but your grin gave you away. “I like you too, I guess.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

#✰ ― meau's inbox ! #♡ ― nsfmeau ! #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x plus size reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size!reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader #fanfiction #smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid blurb #spencer cm #spencer reid cm #spencer criminal minds #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #cm fanfiction

[hotchs-big-hands]

The Slaughterhouse

Aaron Hotchner x plus-size fem!reader part 1 5.3k words

Minors dni please

Warning(s): VERY DARK, graphic murder description, injury, gore, blood, fatphobia, extreme angst (with a happy ending), sort-of enemies to lovers, kidnapping, torture, references to SA, derogatory nsfw comments. Oh and I use the word fat because I personally reclaimed it to not rly insult me as it is merely a descriptive word. I do not use it in an insulting way even once in the series.

Please heed the warnings, this series is going to be dark asf. No smut in this series tho.

An escalating string of gruesomely murdered fat women begin to stack up with no end in sight. What started as an unfortunate routine case for the BAU team, takes a disturbing turn as you become entangled in the unsub's web, danger approaching closer and closer. It's only a matter of time before it's too late to bring the madness to an end.

Hiiiii everyone! I'm really happy to start my new series! It's a vast departure from my previous series lol but I hope you all enjoy regardless! As stated tho in the warnings it's gonna get dark so feel free to skip if you're not comfortable! But if you'd like to be tagged then please let me know! Happy reading 💖💖💖

A thin trail of red tinged water trickled down into the drain, not quite blending together more so than the red slowly spread out in the clear liquid like drops of crimson ink.

"Has Pen got a cute bandaid I could use, you think?" You asked the woman beside you as you rinsed a papercut you'd gained from the insultingly tall stack of paperwork on your desk. The woman, Emily Prentiss, shrugged slightly, tussling her silky, black hair.

"Maybe. I'll text her and ask."

"Thanks."

It didn't take long for the door to the women's restroom to burst open, almost slamming into the wall as a frantic Penelope Garcia rushed over to you, a pink first aid kit in her bejewelled hands.

"I'm here, I'm here! Nurse Garcia to the rescue!!" She cried, her blonde curls bouncing with every step. You chuckled at her as Emily stepped out of the way.

"Thank goodness, I was really starting to have second thoughts about my survival rate here."

Penelope was quick to spring into action, setting the kit down and upon opening it she retrieved an antiseptic wipe.

"Give me your hand, I'm going to clean the area." She instructed, eyes a little narrowed as she began to concentrate. You winced slightly when the antiseptic stung a little, but soon you were sporting an adorable pink bandaid with a Hello Kitty pattern on it. You held your hand out to admire it with a grin.

"Thanks so much, Pen!"

The ditzy blonde woman smiled.

"You are so welcome, my lovely."

"Come on, we need to head back to the bullpen before somebody notices we disappeared." Emily said pointedly, glancing at Penelope who returned the look. You grimaced slightly and took the empty bandaid wrapper to shove in the trashcan under your desk.

"Yeah true, we should go before I end up with another stack of paperwork." You muttered, heading towards the door and pulling it towards you. That somebody was none other than your up-tight, impersonal boss and unit chief Aaron Hotchner. Well, impersonal with you that is.

 Your time in the BAU had only been a mere year, but it was long enough to form relationships with your coworkers. Whenever possible, you attended ladies' nights with Penelope, Emily and the only other woman in the BAU; Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau, spent time with the ever charmer Derek Morgan whilst he worked on his house projects and happily listened to the young Doctor Spencer Reid as he spoke extensively about chemistry or some sort of engineering related topic. Hell, sometimes you even offered an ear to the oldest member of the team; David Rossi, discussing his passion for cooking and other such things from his life.

But no matter what you tried, there was no breaking down the walls around Aaron Hotchner and at this point you'd begun to stop trying. And it hurt like hell. Not because he was your boss, you didn't care so much about that, but because you happened to like him very much. Probably too much even. He was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. Even now you couldn't stop yourself from letting your eyes wander over to glance at him, to take in his tall stature and handsomely seasoned features. And you knew he had a kind and loving side to him as well from the interactions you'd witnessed between him and your coworkers. But the same couldn't be said for you. He never offered that olive branch to you, never spoke to you besides work related discussion when on cases. Hell, you basically knew nothing of his son besides the snippets the others had told you of the elusive boy. Not from Agent Hotchner, but from Emily, Derek, Penny...

There was no way of saying it didn't sting, because it did very much so. And it had been this way right from when you walked through the door per section chief Erin Strauss' recommendation. Your interview was tense between yourself, Hotchner and Rossi with the two of them seemingly being in disagreement about you. Rossi, on one hand, was adamant about your capabilities and of what you would bring to the team, whereas your now boss was reluctant. Nitpicky. Wanting to find something to use to keep you from the position in the team. And when he realised you were officially in the team on your first day, walking into the bullpen with your slightly busted brown box of desk essentials and trinkets, was when the walls were raised to impenetrable heights.

Sighing quietly, you returned to the bullpen, fingers of your uninjured hand fiddling with the balled up wrapper. Your eyes flicked to the familiar windowed office above the main desk area. The blinds were open. He no doubt knew yourself and Emily had disappeared for a short while. You scowled a little to yourself. What did it matter? As long as you got your work completed all the same then it didn't matter if you were at your desk the whole day or not. And it didn't matter what he thought, or if he even did take notice of your absence or if he knew why you were gone. Or if he worried over you. It didn't matter, you told yourself.

"Hey sweet thing, what's that frown for, huh?" You blinked as you were brought to the present by the voice of your friend Derek Morgan. You turned in your chair to face him with a sheepish grin.

"Oh, I'm just annoyed I got a papercut. Like are you kidding me?" You said humourously and the dark skinned man laughed, his teeth gleaming under the artificial office lights.

"Aww I'm sorry, did you accidentally touch these abs or something?" His eyes were shining mischievously now and you rolled your own with a scoff.

"Yeah yeah, you wish. The culprit was this pile of paperwork though."

In response, Derek formed a heart shape with his hands, only to break it when he moved his hands away from one another, pouting sadly as he slumped back in his chair. You giggled quietly and rolled your eyes before you returned your attention to the casefiles on your desk. But it wasn't long before you spotted the colourfully dressed Penny again as she rushed towards your unit chief's office, meaning there was a case about to unfold. You eyed your coworkers, who returned the glance, then automatically made a move to close the casefile you had open on your desk and added it to the paper tower. You rose from your seat just as the office door swung open again and Penny reappeared with Hotch behind her. As she made her way to the conference room the tall man leaned over the walkway in the direction of your colleagues and yourself.

"We have a case. Be in the conference room in 2 minutes." He said curtly, eyes flicking between each face. They lingered on you for a moment, brows pulled together in a deep frown, then moved away as he followed the blonde woman. Over time you'd come to understand that look; this case was bad. Very bad.

JJ was already in the conference room when you trailed in behind Reid, Rossi following behind you and closing the door as the last person in the room. You took a seat near the far side of the round table from the doorway, Emily moving to sit on your left. Your eyes drifted around the room, brows furrowing very slightly when you couldn't find the unit chief in his usual position at the table. The chair beside you made a sound as it was pulled out and to your horror you realised none other than Derek Morgan had taken Hotch's seat, which meant...

You heard Aaron Hotchner clear his throat to your right as he shifted to get comfortable in the chair, the leather squeaking beneath his weight. You didn't dare look his way, instead turning your head to Emily with a slightly skittish look in your eyes. To your horror she was already looking at you, a devilish smirk battling its way on her face.

"You okay there, (L/n)?" She asked sweetly. You scoffed.

"Always am."

You could have sworn you heard the man beside you draw in a sharp breath.

"Let's get started." He said in his smooth, deep voice.

JJ had laid out the casefiles for everyone to look at, but as you reached forward to grab your copy a tanned, hairy hand gently grasped your wrist. You flinched, body turning to the culprit as none other than your boss. He stared back, brows furrowed deeply and his emotions guarded.

"Careful."

You knew all eyes were on the two of you, the burn of the stares was almost unbearable, like fire ants crawling all over you. And then Penelope cleared her throat, ending the moment. Hotch retracted his hand from your wrist carefully and you turned your attention to the two blonde women about to present the case.

It became very apparent almost immediately why your boss was hesitant for you to open your casefile.

You had seen all manner of depravity in this field of work. And while you didn't exactly enjoy seeing the bodies of victims, even the most gruesome crimes didn't really affect you as much as they used to. But what you didn't expect was seeing the horribly mutilated corpses of women, women who had a common similarity with you. Every single one was fat like you. Well, as best as you could tell through the extent of the mutilations to the bodies. With the side-by-side comparison of the photos of the victims as they were alive and happy, their cheerful smiles besides the butchered bodies was... difficult. Hell, you could effortlessly imagine a photo of yourself alongside theirs with how similar their bodies were to yours.

The voices of your colleagues around you seemed distant as your eyes read the current details of the case. Over the course of 4 months, seven women of varied ethnicities, between the ages of 19 and 25, had all been found dumped naked in a variety of locations in a large town in Texas. Their bodies were butchered and there was evidence of violent sexual assault. A chilling detail was each victim had had their blood drained entirely. You couldn't stop your eyes from drifting back to the photos of their faces.

"(L/n)?"

You blinked, looking up to see who had spoken. All eyes were on you, causing you to wince slightly.

"Yeah?"

Beside you, Emily placed her hand on your arm.

"You alright?" She asked quietly. You were quiet for a moment.

"Oh, yeah I'm... fine. I was just reading the details." You managed to murmur.

"Any thoughts so far?" Rossi cut in, staring at you intently.

"Mhm, this killer holds a lot of resentment towards fat women from the way they've sliced and butchered their bodies. The blood draining is a bit unusual, however I don't think it's for ritualistic purposes."

"What do you suspect it to be about?" JJ spoke. You narrowed your eyes a little as you thought about it.

"I'm... not sure. Maybe there isn't a purpose other than to get rid of the mess."

Beside you, the leather of the chair Hotch sat on creaked under his movement when he closed his copy of the casefile and pushed away from the table.

"We'll continue to discuss theories on the plane. For now, get yourselves ready to go. Wheels up in thirty." He concluded and stood up from his seat, everyone else following along. You closed your file and made a move to follow behind Emily, when the familiar touch of Hotch's hand grasped your wrist gently again. "(L/n), a word."

Helplessly, you watched everyone file out of the room and you sighed gently. His hand dropped away and as you glanced down at your feet you could feel his scrutinizing stare.

"I need you to remain by my side for this case." He said bluntly.

"Huh?"

You frowned at him. This certainly wasn't what you thought he was going to say. You watched as his brow creased.

"I want to keep an eye on you."

What? You blinked at him.

"Why's that, sir? I don't quite follow."

"I don't want to be insensitive but you have seen the victims the unsub targeted. I just want to make sure you're safe." Hotch explained in as gentle of a way he had ever spoken to you. Oh... You swallowed thickly and nodded once.

"I see. Uh, well I appreciate it, sir. I should be okay though, I have you all around me after all."

It was your boss' turn to frown now, evidently displeased with your response. But he didn't push it, picking his casefile off the table and fixing his watch around his wrist.

"If you insist. But I don't approve of this though."

You nodded and cleared your throat, following him as he stalked out of the conference room. As he made a right turn towards his office, you continued forward until you were with the others again. JJ was the first to break the air of curiosity.

"What did Hotch want?" She asked you as she checked she had everything she needed in her go bag. You sighed and crossed over to your desk.

"Said he wants me to stay by his side, given the nature of what we're dealing with."

"And are you doing that?" Derek asked, eyeing you pointedly. You shook your head.

"I don't really want to have to hang back from working on this case as much as I intend on doing so."

Emily lightly nudged you when she approached your desk, her bag slung over one shoulder.

"Maybe he has a point though." She offered but you scrunched your nose up.

"I also don't really feel like spending the whole time with someone who acts like I'm as worthy of their time as a plank of rotting wood would be." You muttered to yourself as you shoved the casefile in your bag, missing the uncomfortable shared glances of your team mates when the subject of your conversation approached the group.

You felt Emily nudge you again and you straightened up, sealing your bag shut.

"Alright, alright I'm ready to go n..ow..." she wasn't looking at you, you realised, and your body tensed when you heard him speak.

"Let's head out." Agent Hotchner said roughly and turned to leave, face sour. Damn, you strongly hoped he hadn't heard you just now but judging from his expression you knew he must have done. Sighing softly, you picked your bag up and swung it over your shoulder. And followed behind the others to head to the airport. It was never a good idea to start a case off with conflict.

Work began immediately when the team met up with the Police department in Memphis, with everyone splitting up to take care of different tasks. Much to your relief, Hotch had teamed you up with Derek to visit the bar the latest victim had been last seen before her disappearance and murder. Despite the time in the day it was rowdy inside, a significant hum of conversation ever present as the two of you navigated around to interview staff and patrons. So far, there had been no luck though with finding any information on whoever was responsible for the crimes.

As your eyes drifted around the room they settled on a young woman who had just entered the bar. She stood around five feet six inches tall with dyed red curls which ended around her shoulders and her figure was similar to your own, albeit slightly bigger. Someone the unsub would target, you thought to yourself bitterly. Her eyes found you and she nervously approached you, gaze darting around. Nudging Derek subtly, you met the girl halfway across the bar. She was shaking.

"Hey, I'm agent (Y/n) (L/n) and this is agent Derek Morgan of the FBI. Are you alright?" You asked her gently and she cleared her throat.

"You're... you're investigating the murders, aren't you?" Her voice was quiet. You nodded and brought your hands up to take hold of her arms.

"I understand it's very frightening right now, but we're here to do whatever we can to find this person."

Derek eyed the young woman, gaze sincere but analysing.

"Do you have anyone of note who could be a person of interest?" He questioned her. Her eyes flitted to him.

"I... I'm not sure. There's a lot of people who treat us badly," She shifted around, folding her arms close to her body. "J-just five months ago there was a girl who got- um, assaulted because she rejected someone. She was like us, a bigger woman."

Derek's frown deepened.

"Is there records of the assault?"

She shook her head.

"Only of her initial report and visit to the hospital. She was um, too scared to say who it was." She scrunched her eyes shut for a second and shuddered. "H-her name was Amelia Dougherty."

A coldness sunk deep within your abdomen and you fought off the twitch of your lower lip. That was the first victim found dead four months ago. You offered a gentle squeeze of her arms.

"What's your name, lovey?" You said sweetly, feeling the young woman relax under your touch slightly.

"Carla. Carla Reynolds, ma'am."

Your thumbs soothingly brushed against her arms, hopeful she took it as encouragement.

"Well, Carla. I want to thank you for talking to us today. Right now though I need you to head home, protect yourself. Try your best not to go out and about alone if you can help it, yeah?" You instructed her and she nodded.

"Okay..."

With one last squeeze, you let go of her and smiled faintly. Beside you, Derek slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small rectangle of card.

"If you think of anything or see anything suspicious, call my number. Thank you for your time, Miss Reynolds." He said politely, but not unkindly and you both watched as she quickly left the bar. You exhaled softly and turned to the man beside you.

"We certainly know the possible trigger that started this whole murder spree." You murmured. The man beside you nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket with the intention to make a call.

"We'll head back to the station with what we know. I'm gonna ask Garcia for any files on assault reports within the last few months before the murders." He said as he pressed his phone to his ear.

"Sure, I'll just have one last sweep around."

As the man turned to make a call, you let your eyes drift around the room again to analyse everyone. None seemed to stand out, nor were there any other larger women around at this point. Distantly, you could hear Derek chatting lightly to Penny on the other end of the line but you paid little mind to it. But as you turned around to make your way outside a flurry of people entered the bar and, as a consequence, someone bumped into you and caused you to stumble.

"Hey! Watch it, man!" You heard your companion snap, but whoever it was had long since disappeared into the crowd. You sighed and fixed your clothing.

"It's fine, Der. We have more important things to focus on right now anyway." 

You could tell from the expression on Derek's face that he was reluctant to let this drop, but he didn't challenge you. And at this point he had finished the call anyway, so without any further delay the two of you headed outside to drive back to the station.

There were no patterns between any of the assault victims from before the murders. All were a much wider range of women, a wider age range, varying body types and there was a multitude of perpetrators committing these assaults as opposed to one, who was suspected to be acting alone committing the murders. And this didn't even include male victims either. The first day of the case was chalking up to being a frustrating dead-end.

Standing in front of the whiteboard that was covered in tacked on pictures and scrawled out notes, you rubbed a hand over your face as you felt your brain turn into cotton in your skull. It was then you felt a presence beside you, causing you to stiffen slightly.

"Got anything?" You heard the soft, deep rumble of Hotch's voice. You exhaled. As you glanced to your side you realised how close to one another you were and the scent of his cologne hit your senses. It made your head feel a bit fuzzy.

"Other than what we already have, no. Maybe just theories on why the unsub picked out these women in particular." You murmured.

"Let's talk about them."

You turned to him with a slight nod, eyes reluctant to leave the board.

"Well, the photographs; the body language suggests a lot of discomfort. The women don't really like being the centre of attention. They're insecure." You began, motioning to the pictures of the victims from when they were still alive. "The unsub will have taken advantage of this, approaching the women in clubs and bars to flirt with them."

Hotch hummed, his focus entirely on you.

"It would seem likely, yes."

"But why go with the guy if they were so insecure?" A different voice chimed into the conversation, causing the two of you to turn. Behind you, Spencer stared with a furrowed brow and you sighed gently.

"If you're in a position where you've never had anyone show interest in you, or at least never seem genuine about it, it really messes with your self esteem. So having someone spend time with you flirting with you will inevitably cause you to drop your defense a bit. Because, well, you've never experienced this before." You turned to the board again and grabbed one of the markers to write some notes down. "With this I can only imagine the unsub is definitely above average in attractiveness but not so much to the point where the victims wouldn't trust their supposed interest."

"Most likely in the late twenties to early thirties. But we'll continue the profile with fresh eyes in the morning." Hotch said and he motioned to address the others. "We should stop for the night and check in to the hotel. We'll be up early in the morning."

There was a mutual sound of agreement from your colleagues but before you could say anything more to your unit chief, he was walking away briskly and pulling his phone out of his pocket to seemingly make a call. He never seemed to linger around you more than what was required of him. You puffed out a breath and capped the pen in your hand again before setting it down. To your left, you were aware of Emily approaching you.

"Sooo..." She began and you huffed.

"Oh, don't start."

"I didn't say anything!"

With a scowl you turned to her, noting the grin she was trying desperately to fend off. You folded your arms.

"Don't be sly with me, dumbass." You spat and she chuckled.

"You know I don't mean any ill-will. Just wondering how you're getting on."

You scoffed.

"Yeah, yeah sure you are."

"Well, I'm sure it's not easy working beside the man you're definitely not interested in!"

A tired grumble left you as you crossed the room to grab your casefile.

“Girl, we are literally trying to solve a serial murder case right now. I got no time to be thinking about anything but this.”

Emily chuckled and leaned her weight onto her hand braced on the table in the centre of the room.

“I know you’re struggling hard not to think about him though.”

You jabbed her with your elbow and scowled at her.

“That’s enough out of you. Now come on, we’re done for the day.” You said and tucked the manila folder under your arm, not missing the little chuckle from the raven haired woman. Once everyone was ready to depart, you found yourself in the same car as the girls and Reid, sitting in the back as you scrolled through your phone. There was a group chat you all used, originally created for strictly case related situations, but with Garcia around there was no way it was going to remain professional for long. And so now it was a mix of light-hearted conversation and sharing as well as more serious messages. The aforementioned had sent a series of messages in response to knowing you were all retiring for the night and you idly sent your own, typically the one to try and send things that would bring a smile to everyone’s faces. The lights from distant buildings and streetlamps would occasionally light up the interior of the car, illuminating your grip on your phone and the face of Reid sitting beside you in the back seat.

Before long, you had reached your destination following behind the car Derek, Rossi and Hotch were in. After parking up, you all grabbed your bags and trailed in behind the two eldest members of the team as they strode towards the reception desk. After a few minutes, the remainder of you decided to take up the couches in the foyer, realising Hotch and Rossi were taking longer than you thought to sort out the rooms. This was not a good sign, only further proven when they turned to the group, mild agitation on their faces. You sighed.

“Oh no, they don’t look too happy, do they?” You mumbled to Derek, leaning towards him. He chuckled.

“No, they do not. I can only imagine what that means.”

And soon enough the situation was brought to light.

“There was a mishap with the booking and there’s no longer enough rooms for one each,” Hotch said flatly, his shoulders slumped and his jaw clenched. “We’ll have to double up.”

Shit. Your eyes flicked to Emily immediately and your heart jolted upon realising she was staring at you with a widening grin. Oh no.

She pushed up off the couch and grabbed her bag, throwing the strap over her shoulder.

“Let’s go, JJ.” She declared and the blonde woman’s head shot up, gaze switching between the two of you. And much to your dismay, she too stood up and followed Emily to grab their room keys.

“Sure.”

Your eyes drifted towards Derek and Reid, feeling slightly hopeful knowing Derek didn’t often enjoy sharing with the young doctor. It startled you when he winked at you, then dragged the wild-haired man to stand up with him.

“C’mon, pretty boy. It’s you and me now.”

Reid seemingly had nothing to say, his brow crooked as slight confusion settled in. Now all that remained was the last two eldest members. Slowly, you turned to look at the eldest.

“...Rossi?”

“Actually, you’ll be sharing with me.” the man beside him spoke, drawing your attention. Hotch eyed you carefully, his brows pulled together slightly. You swallowed.

“I could always take the single room..?” you offered weakly.

“No, I would feel more at ease if you were sharing.”

Rossi raised his brows as he sniffed loudly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“And I need my peace and quiet, so I will take the single.” he said and before you could protest the seasoned agent spun on his heel and retreated towards the elevators.

You sighed gently, slowly rising to your feet and awkwardly approaching Hotch.

“Okay… I guess that leaves us then.”

“Yes. If you don’t mind.” he said, brows pulled together. You held your tongue.

“I don’t.”

With a slight nod, he turned away to find the elevators and you quickly followed, pattering after him with your go-bag held at your side. Hotch reached the elevators quickly, holding the doors open for you then pressing the number for your floor. The ride up was silent, painfully so and despite being less than a minute long it felt as though the seconds had been dragged out to an hour long. Tiredly, you dumped your bag in front of you, eyes wandering around the steel walls around you the longer the ride took. Should you speak? You had no idea, unsure what to even say to the man. As though feeling the same discomfort, Hotch cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to another in the empty space the both of you were in. The chime of the elevator stopping to open its doors startled you, blinking a few times at the sound.

As you turned your attention to your bag, Hotch’s hand appeared in view and briskly grabbed the handles of your bag and picked it up. You gasped, looking up at him and realising he was watching you. You drew in a sharp breath.

“Um, thanks.”

“Mhm.”

Once again, he held the elevator door open with his elbow, his hands full with your bag and his. You didn’t comment on it, instead smiling sheepishly and uttering another ‘thank you’ as you passed him. He led the way again, stalking down the carpeted corridor until he stopped in front of a random door. He placed the bags down and made a move to unlock the door, the keys jangling being the only noise in that moment. You both heard the click of the lock coming loose and, after picking the bags up again, Hotch pushed the door open to step inside. But as you followed, you bumped into his solid form and earned a quiet grunt from him, not expecting him to have stopped so suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” you wondered aloud, inching around him to see the problem- oh. Hm.

One king-sized bed sat in the centre of the room against the left wall, not the two beds you were both expecting. Fuck.

“I’ll return to the front desk and see if there’s anything they can do to change this.” Hotch said and you turned to look back at him.

“You know there isn’t anything available, though. Let’s just, um, head in and sort out in the morning.”

The longer you stared at the seeming displeasure on his face, the worse you began to feel about sharing with him. Great, he probably was regretting this now.

“Are you certain?”

It made you frown.

“I’m tired, sir. I just want to have a shower and get some rest.” you muttered. He let out a heavy sigh, deepening the uncomfortable feeling in your lower abdomen, but relented by following you inside the room and closing the door when he had deposited the bags onto the bed.

“You can take the first shower.” he offered quietly and your face twitched into a miniature smile.

“Thanks. Won’t be long. You can choose which side to sleep on.”

Unpacking your toiletries and your (regretful choice) of pyjamas, you tiptoed towards the shower room after kicking your shoes off. Hotch had already made claim of the table in the room, spreading out his work across the surface. You closed the door behind you quickly when he shrugged his suit jacket off and loosened his tie, electing to restrict yourself from seeing him in anything less than his standard clothing for your own wellbeing.

You began to undress, untucking your shirt from your trousers, when you finally noticed something truly off.

Your FBI ID was gone. With one brow quirked, you searched through your pockets and in your toiletry bag, expecting to have maybe misplaced it in a sleepy state. But no… You swallowed thickly and opened the shower room door again. Automatically, Hotch’s head moved to your direction from where he was seated on the side of the bed nearest the hotel room door and he tilted his head.

“What is it?”

You cleared your throat.

“U-uhm… My ID; it’s gone.”

Wooooooo spooooky idk idk I HOPE PPL ENJOYED THIS FIRST PART it's not gonna be jolly from here on out until the end 🥴 if you'd like to be tagged let me know!

Taglist:

@southernraven, @deludedfruitcake , @tgskitten , @zaddyhotch , @cm-slvts-31 , @dins-cyarika @midnghtprentiss

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x plus size!reader #aaron hotchner x plus size reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #hotch x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader

[mrs-weasley-reid]

One Dance

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Summary: One dance, that's all it took for Aaron Hotchner to lose control.

Warning: smut, unprotected (piv), curse word(s), use of y/n and l/n, first person pov, a bit of betrayal? (not serious), tell me if I missed anything

A/N: not my gif, ctto! This is one of my hidden drafts that was originally for a different character, but YOLO.

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

A smile ran over my lips as my hips swayed at the heart-pounding beat of the music. My hands slid down my figure slowly as I let my eyes close to devour the rhythm.

Nothing ever beats Friday nights after a long grueling case. Especially when Penelope and Emily force the entire BAU team for a night out.

"Y/N, let me get us drinks! I'm going to pass out! I'll tell Spencer to keep an eye on you!" Emily shouted through the music with a chuckle as her support on my sides retracted.

I hummed softly, nodded without the care of opening my eyes, letting the rhythm take over my entire body on such a daze that I loved.

My body swayed and rolled, all while my hands traced my curves in a sensual and seductive way. I was not aiming for anything. I just really loved letting my body get lost in the melody.

Different sets of hands lay atop mine, keeping the grip on my waist as it hit the beat from side to side. I smiled as our bodies clashed with a type of warmth I so loved, friction sparking as my back kissed their chest.

It tasted so lustrously devouring. The way every movement felt so close, so passionate. Whatever drink Spencer — I assumed — had, I would love to get a sip. It seemed to give him a lot more energy to match my rhythm.

"Freaking finally, Spence! Get those sneakers moving!" I shouted in a teasing tone. "Admit it! You love dancing too!" I laughed, running my hands up to my chest, past my shoulders, and on his — toned? — pectorals, aiming farther to slide up on his neck.

Spencer wasn't this toned from what I remembered, but I had no complaints. I loved the way he moved on my lead, and he has never done such a thing, especially with me. I wanted to savor the moment and question it later.

He traced my figure, giving me chills and little temptation to gasp. And so I did. My head was thrown back on his chest. Spencer was my best friend. I'm very comfortable with whatever we do together. Besides, I had already tried playfully seducing him once, never worked. I wasn't his type, and nor was he mine.

I felt him squeeze my flesh sensually, "I don't know, sweetheart. Shall I?" He whispered hoarsely close to my ear. My eyes darted open, and my body froze.

My hands that traveled up his neck passed through the line where I usually felt Spencer's long curly hair intertwine with my fingers. Instead, I felt short soft strands stubbornly escape my grip.

I turned around too swiftly that the man behind me placed a hand on the small of my back for me not to fall, my hands landing on his chest.

My heart skipped a beat as I met Aaron eye to eye. A sly smirk covered his handsome face: sharp jaw, pointy nose, earthy eyes, and pinkish lips.

Brows furrowing, "What are you doing?" I asked, pushing a gap between us. I was very much flustered at the fact that it was Aaron all along. And more so that he was my boss.

Aaron kept me close with his strong, rough hands wrapped around my waist. They were so big that it felt like he could hold me like a sandwich if he wanted. "Dancing," He answered nonchalantly, beginning to sway my body once more on his lead.

"Yeah, I know, but you can't dance with me," I said, slowly retracting my hands at such a pace that made me feel the structure of his body.

"And why is that?" He curiously asked, an eyebrow raised in so much interest. "You seem fine rolling your body on Prentiss and Reid. How am I any different?" Aaron squeezed my sides again, earning a satisfying small gasp from me.

My eyes widened. Oh no. I couldn't possibly tell Aaron that I couldn't be seen this close and intimate with him because one of my best friends had a big fat crush on him, and I didn't want to ruin my friendship with Emily.

I looked down, changing my line of sight on his chest. "Fine," I said in full confidence. "One dance." I added sternly.

He gently pinched my chin with his index and thumb and tilted my head up to meet his gaze one more time. "Deal, but you have to actually dance." Aaron had a mischievous grin.

I have to admit how handsome he was, especially with the lights flickering in so much pace. It highlighted the sharpness of his beautiful visage.

But I couldn't be attracted. Emily liked him. I couldn't do that to my best friend.

Aaron raised an eyebrow. He squeezed my waist to snap me out of my trance. I jumped a little, and I glared at him. "Stop doing that." I subtly pouted, a habit I always had and hated at the moment.

He let out a very seductive chuckle, leaning close to me. "Then dance, L/N. Grind that body on me again." Aaron's voice was utterly electrifying. So authoritative and gently alluring.

I felt a shiver shot down my spine to my cunt, and I had to shut my thighs together. My body began to sway again, but not much of the friction I emitted minutes ago.

It was so awkward. So fucking awkward that I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Aaron made me tense. Us being breathlessly close made my body stiff.

And then the music began to switch, the fade of the last song filled with hundred beats that synced with my heart.

I raised my head to listen to the song in awe. I could feel my blood pump ten times faster. "Oh my gosh!" I looked at Aaron with sparkly eyes. "I love this song!" I exclaimed, and as soon as the beat dropped, my body took over.

I was jumping, swaying, tracing my own body. I did that. I always always loved feeling myself in a way that was both appropriate in public and lustrous enough to satisfy my building desire.

Lights flashed, flickering neon colors. I wrapped an arm on Aaron—not caring that he was my boss anymore—and ground my body, whipping my head as my other arm pumped up.

I was biting my bottom lip. And then I felt Aaron hold my raised hand and turn me around without his other hand leaving my waist.

Aaron's hold went lower, now aligned under the small of my back, getting a little feel of my ass cheeks. His grip got tighter when I ran my palms on his chest down. "You know that's a dangerous game you're playing, L/N." He whispered close. His breath was ragged, probably from dancing.

I laughed hysterically, "Dangerous? Well, isn't that your forte," I fluttered my lashes as I looked up at him. "Hotchner?" I challenged, giving an emphasis to his last name.

Tongue pushed the inner side of his cheek. Lips were slightly parted as he looked at me amusedly. I stumbled when he pulled me closer, eyes widened when I felt something hard poke just above where my abdomen.

Was I dreaming? What type of fuckery was this?

Aaron trailed his hand to my back and down to my ass, giving it a tight squeeze. My face heated up, no doubt turning red. My throat felt blocked, a lump forming quickly inside.

The song finished, transitioning to another. I was more than happy to push away, but Aaron never gave me the chance to. "I said just one dance." I pointed out, struggling to get out of his grip.

"Oh, but we're playing a game now." Aaron rubbed circles on my ass, and all I could think was how his huge handprint would look good tattooed on my skin.

He pulled me tighter. Now I was certain that it was a bulge that I had felt earlier as it pressed on my body. I gulped at the throb of my now wetting cunt.

I opened my mouth, blinking at the difficulty of my situation. "I-I can't." I stammered, panicking about how to get out of his touch without crumbling and hoping that Emily hadn't seen us.

His eyebrows narrowed, jaw clenching. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the dancing sea to a more quiet part of the club.

Aaron led us into the alleyway behind the building, and stopped next to the huge trash bin. I was like a lasso flicked once when he made me turn to face him. His hand still gripped my thin boned wrist, and it felt like it would snap any moment.

"Why the hell not?" Aaron growled. Such tension vibrated down my wet folds. He was heaving, eyes roaming up and down my body.

I still wore my work clothes, except I didn't have my blazer and just left my white buttoned-up long-sleeved shirt with a few buttons off.

I bit my lower lip, looking straight on his chest to avoid his blazing eyes. It felt like I was to melt. "Stop it." My eyes went back up on him.

My brows now creased. Stop what? I wasn't doing anything. I kept my words silent. This man is delusional. I swore to every psych test we had to take.

As if I was thinking out loud, Aaron cupped my chin, and the base of his wrist wrapped around my neck. "Stop that." He demanded, pulping my cheeks together and my bitten bottom lip set free.

I was blinking hard, trying to process the tension inside of me that swiftly craved for him and more of his throat lumping touch.

"You didn't answer me, L/N. I'm still waiting."

My chest heaved, and I only looked at him, his dark, messy hair that made my cunt drool. I only noticed the silver chain on his neck that looked so tempting to brush over my skin while he feasted on my breasts.

I knew Aaron knew how my mind ran, and I wanted him to. I wanted him to know how tempted I was to get him to use me as his little toy for the rest of the night. But I wasn't allowed to drill first.

I didn't realize how hard my free hand was gripping the arm he stretched to squeeze my pipe or when I did that, but I saw how his eyes darkened.

So quick. It was so quick I didn't have time to react. Aaron pulled my face up to meet him. Our lips crashed, following the beat that pounded inside the wall that grazed my back.

His kisses were rough, searing, yet caressed. I moaned when he let go of my wrist and gripped my waist.

It only encouraged him more, trailing down my jaw and under my ear. "Hotch," I rasped, and I was irritated when he pulled away. My mouth flung open, "Why'd you stop?" I entreated breathlessly.

As if my uncoordinated gasps weren't enough proof of lack of air in my lungs, Aaron knocked my breath away by swooping me off the ground.

He connected our lips again, craving for more as he walked us to his SUV. My arms wrapped around his neck to keep him as close as possible.

My legs dangled over his grip, toes curling inside my shoes. I loved how he tasted. How bitter yet so sweet his lips tasted.

Aaron opened the door to the backseat, setting me down carefully. Although the gentleness subsided quickly, he pinned me on the door across, making my back arch from the uneven surface.

"Fuck, you looked so hot." He went down on my jaw again, fiddling with my buttons until it was all unhooked. Aaron paused, eyes filled with adoration as he moved back to get a look at me. He bit his lower lip in hunger, shaking his head with a grin. "You look so much hotter now." He exclaimed and feasted on me again.

I tilted my head to give him more access to my neck. The sting of sucked blood left remarkable hues on my skin. "On top of me," He rasped, lifting me up by the waist in one grip.

I did as I was told, straddling his hips. His face now aligned with my breasts, my bra not so useful as it let my mountains spill, which Aaron didn't seem to mind.

He dove into the middle of my cleavage, licking it with a searing tongue. Biting, nibbling, sucking, he adored me with so much lust. Like my fantasy, his necklace brushed on my skin with cold tickles.

Below my waist was a lot more intimate, a hand squeezing and supporting my ass, and the other snaked up under my pencil skirt, giving my cunt the attention it craved. I yelped at the coldness I felt from one of his fingers, I didn't even know he wore rings for fun, nor did I see what color it was.

I moaned aloud when he began to circle my clit, throwing my head back in pleasure. My hands, contrary, unbuttoned his shirt with no problem. And when I reached his waistline, I unbuckled his belt with eagerness.

Aaron pinned me down on his suffocated bulge. He maneuvered to pull down his dress pants and boxers. His cock sprung free, the tip kissing the thin fabric on my wet cunt.

"Hotch," I moaned, asking for more friction. I needed him inside of me. I wouldn't last any longer. I wanted him to break me.

He hummed on my collarbone, the vibrations spreading all over my body, throbbing my cunt to more wetness I've ever felt.

My eyes shut tight when he set my underwear aside and pushed his tip in. "No one can find out," I whispered. My lips parted as vapor of searing air escaped me.

Aaron groaned in pleasure as he inched deeper, my walls tightening around his throbbing cock. It was so good. He felt so good inside of me.

"Oh, I do love the thrill," He said lovingly. "Don't worry. I'll keep it to myself as long as you're just mine."

My hips jolted, and I moaned at his promise. Aaron kissed my jaw gently, "They'll never know I'm the reason you won't be walking properly to work tomorrow." He mumbled with heat.

He placed a kiss on my lips, "No one would know who gave you all these brands." Aaron looked at me, wrapping a hand on my neck with the finger that had a ring, the cold causing a vein of mine to tremble. "As long as you promise only to be mine, I'll keep my word." He added and let go of my neck to give me attention elsewhere.

I heaved, "Move. Fast. Break me, please." I begged in broken words. My lips quivered in so much need.

Then he snapped. He pounded on me relentlessly, pupils dilated, eyes raven-ly dark. He pressed our bodies closer, the heat burning my skin in such pleasure.

"Mmm," I hummed breathlessly. I was digging my nails down his muscular biceps. He was so good. "Faster, Aaron." His name slipped out of my lips.

It seemed to fuel his lust even more as he thrust a lot faster than what I asked, but exactly what I needed. "Fuck, I'm not going to last longer with you feeling this good around my cock." Aaron growled, biting on my skin to emit a loud cry from me.

And he got what he wanted. I screamed his name, each clashing of our hips. My hands deeply tangled with his dark hair. He filled me to the hilt, filled my hunger so well.

I felt my high approach. I knew he felt it, too, by the way he mumbled my name like a prayer. I tugged his hair for his head to pull away from my hued skin and smashed our lips to heighten the intimacy I've felt.

Not long when my body tightened even more, "I'm going to cum—fuck," I shuddered, pulling on his roots even harder.

"Cum for me then, Y/N. Do it." Aaron rested his forehead on mine, watching how his cock disappeared in me.

His words were sacred, like a rule I was set to abide by. I crumbled in a pleasurable cry for his name. Hammered down my zenith as my essence spilled all over him.

"Fuck—" Aaron groaned, burying his face in my nook. I felt his thrusts turn sappy, cock twitched inside of me in such painful stimulation. He came in me with a cunt throbbing growl.

We stayed in the same position, panting. Only then did I notice the fog that masked the windows.

I looked at his blissed face. I didn't know when he started to adore me. I didn't care whether the alcohol was the only proof of his feelings for me, either. It was the most amazing minutes of my life. I wasn't willing to change any of it.

And speaking of care. Hell to Emily —bless her heart and our friendship— but I'd love to own the man who fucked me this good.

#criminal minds #cm #aaron hotch imagine #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotch fanfiction #criminalminds #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch #aaron hotch fluff #x reader #character x reader #x fem!reader #x female y/n #x female reader #fem!reader

[milla984]

And in the Beginning...

Summary: after spending a day at D.C.’s most renowned multifandom convention Spencer and Garcia stop for a coffee. Spoiler alert - our fave Resident Genius dumps their order on Reader.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader (Reader is a sci-fi buff)

Category: fluff

TW/CW: swearing, mentions of food, some Star Wars-related talk

Word Count: 2k

Once again, a ginormous THANK YOU to @drgenius-reid for taking the time to beta-read the first draft (aka witnessing the horror)!

The following work is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins' CM Meet Cute (or not) Challenge and is also part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“Highlight of the day?! Jamie Hewlett signing my copy of The Cream of Tank Girl! In you face, Mr. 'Superman Can Fly'...!”

The woman carrying a Chinese paper umbrella rummaged through her purse to retrieve a wallet and pay at the coffee truck parked outside the convention center; stylish two-tone glasses matched the army green jumpsuit with a teddy bear patch on her right leg and the blue mandarin collar button-down shirt she was wearing, and her blond hair was tied up in a pair of small side buns.

The tall man beside her chuckled as he picked up two cups. “I don’t know if I should be more impressed or worried.”

“Why?! We made a deal and it’s perfect: he can have Sci-Fi-Gate, I’m keeping WashCon.”

“Sci-Fi-Gate has amazing Star Trek guests, though…”

A long and colorful scarf was wrapped around his neck and a deep red cravat necktie peeked out of the hem of a plaid design vest, combined with a single-breasted brown coat and a pair of grey pants. 

“I can't believe you would really choose the Captains of the Enterprise panel over my emotional stability,” she frowned, paying zero attention to the cosplayer in a trenchcoat with a pair of black wings attached to their back she was about to brush past.

When the feathers smacked her cheek she pulled back, the tips of her umbrella almost poking the tall guy dressed as Doctor Who in the eye; the sudden movement startled the cosplayer and a rapid swing of their dark wings created a commotion in the crowd of people waiting for their turn to order. In the confusion that followed, a random shoulder bumped into yours and pushed you out of the line and off the sidewalk, right in front of the Fourth Doctor - who was struggling to maintain his Fedora in place and watch where he was going at the same time.

Needless to say, he ended up failing at both.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” the blond woman asked. 

“I’m so sorry, SO SO SORRY—” the tall guy apologized simultaneously and she cut him off, rushing to your side.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

The frantic exchange prompted your brain to whoosh into light speed mode to elaborate and discharge the ‘Ah, shit!!’ and ‘wait… is this iced macchiato?!?!’ inputs in favor of a more suitable reaction at the sight of the considerable amount of caffeine soaking your hoodie.

“... I think I’m okay.”  

“First-aid manuals suggest removing all clothes or jewelry near the affected area within moments after the spillage of a hot liquid,” the tall guy said, and the woman gasped in shock. 

“Please tell me you didn’t get burned! Once I got this non-fat steamed white chocolate vani—”

“I’m fine,” you growled a bit. 

Someone behind you was snickering and, despite the relief of not having sustained serious injuries, the attention was already making you feel uncomfortable.

“Scalds are caused by sources of humid heat and certain types of fibers retain the water, which can be responsible for additional damage to the skin,” the tall guy explained again, speaking faster than anyone you had ever heard.

You tucked your shirt in your jeans and raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Let me guess: you’re a doctor.” 

“Well… uhm, yes, this is my…” he faltered, unable to tell if you were referencing his costume as a pun or not. “I am, actually.”

“Not that kind of doctor,” the woman added.

She sighed as soon as she realized you were standing there speechless, drenched in coffee, your gaze wandering back and forth between them. “I’m so sorry…”

“They should be more careful with the lids. I think I got lucky,” you muttered through gritted teeth as you pulled the zip down.

Thanks to the decision to splurge some money on yourself, earlier on, you had something to replace your soiled hoodie with. The Fourth Doctor looked away and focused his attention on the cups he was still holding in his hands; before he threw them in the nearest trashcan he inspected their content, confirming he’d fortunately spilled on you a combination of 98% half-caf iced caramel macchiato and just 2% regular hot americano.

The woman was still clasping the handle of her umbrella. “Listen, we were about to check out this itsy-bitsy lovely Indian place ‘round the corner, maybe you should come with us. You know… to try and get cleaned up a little.” 

You dug into the shopping bag at your feet, taking a sealed package out to rip the plastic film wrapped around a brown sweatshirt with a stylized front print of the panoramic view of the desert, Jabba the Hutt’s palace and twin suns on Tatooine, and put it on. 

“No offense, but my parents taught me to never follow strangers.” 

“None taken,” the tall guy replied, “they were absolutely right. According to the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, about 90,000 individuals are reported missing in the U.S. every year and the National Institute of Justice estimates that approximately 4,400 unidentified bodies are recovered annually.”  

For the second time in less than five minutes, you considered the possibility he could truly be from Gallifrey. You also wondered if he was aware of his perfect facial structure: everything about his demeanor indicated he wasn’t too skilled in the art of charming people using his sculpted jawline and lean figure. 

“... do you always quote statistics about murders and kidnappings like it’s a casual topic of conversation?”  

His eyes got even bigger, showing a hint of gold on the inside. “It was merely an observation—”

“Yeah, he… does that,” the woman came to his rescue, “and even if it sounds bad, trust me it’s- it's part of his job. Our job. Except, I don’t deal with the scary, disturbing, yucky stuff.”

Your question wasn’t meant to come out in such a sarcastic tone. “You’re cops?!”

“FBI. Tech Analyst and Behavioral Analysis Unit,” she explained, and the tall guy waved a silent greeting at you. 

Even though the chance of running into the Bureau personnel stationed in D.C., at some point, wasn’t unreasonable, ‘two FBI agents walk into a multifandom convention dressed as characters from sci-fi TV shows’ could have easily been the beginning of a bad joke. 

Plus, it was hard to picture the Fourth Doctor as a G-Man. “What’s your Ph.D. in, exactly?”

“I have a Ph.D. in Mathematics. And Chemistry, and Engineering. And I hold BAs in Psychology, Sociology and Philosophy.”

“Google him. Spencer Reid, B-A-U,” the woman suggested after a short pause, in response to your skeptical expression.

Judging by her tone she was daring you to, as if the situation wasn’t already giving off major The Twilight Zone vibes… and yet, instead of bidding them an unenthusiastic farewell, you pulled out your phone to type his name. 

A plethora of results popped on the screen seconds later, so you first clicked on the link titled BAU’s newest member. 

“With three doctorate degrees from Caltech already, and a staggering IQ of 187 as well as an eidetic memory there is no psychological exam or test the FBI could put in front of him he could not ace,” the piece said about newly-recruited Spencer Reid.

“When I ask why he chose Caltech over MIT and Stanford, he quickly runs down a list of Professors he had a desire to study with. He makes no mention of the weather or girls,” an older article reported.

You skipped through at least a dozen mentions of SSA Reid’s outstanding performances in the field, then a PDF document, property of the California Institute of Technology, caught your interest and you read the title aloud. 

“Identifying non-obvious relationship—” 

“Non-obvious relationship factors using cluster-weighted modeling and geographic regression,” he recited by heart, “that's my Engineering dissertation.”

He was too prepared on the subject and too adorably peculiar to be an impostor posing as a genius FBI agent for kicks, during the weekend; you picked his Fedora off the ground as a peace offering. 

“Seems like you’re a wunderkind, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer lowered his chin so he could mask the rush of blood to his cheeks and his friend giggled, gently linking arms with you. 

“Now, there’s something relevant we need to discuss, pronto… how do you feel about veg biryani?”

An hour and a half proved to be all the time you needed to form a solid conviction that Spencer Reid going on a spiel about the original blueprints of a fictional space station was the best thing since sliced bread.

“It’s part of the iconic imagery Lucas wanted to establish, there’s no health and safety. And don’t forget it was originally designed by the Geonosians.”

You snorted at the mention of the classic ‘designed by a flying alien species’ argument. “That’s not an excuse! Even if the Geonosians designed it, they knew it was meant to be used by humanoid creatures.”

After leaving the restaurant, where you had insisted on paying for your share - much to Garcia's dismay, you’d walked back to the convention center’s parking lot and now you were waiting by your car for Penelope to get hers. As you had recently discovered, she loved mugs, old Italian movies and playing the ukulele; Spencer wasn’t as outgoing and chatty, especially about his private life, but Star Wars was for sure one of his numerous areas of expertise.

“TIE fighters don’t have a proper defense system and the original prototype even lacked structural integrity to support atmospheric flight. The Empire doesn't care about casualties, it’s safe to think they never bothered to install a guardrail or other appropriate safety measures because to them the Death Star technicians are expendable.”

“Okay… solid theory,” you admitted, making him smile as he wiped his forehead to get rid of a lock of curly hair.

“Thank you. It’s nice to have a discussion with someone who knows about the Geonosians. Or the Death Star. It only happened twice but I’ve had people asking me what that was.”

When the convertible Cadillac with a plastic Hawaiian lei tied to the rear-view mirror stopped inches from you, Garcia - behind the steering wheel - proudly gestured at the extension of her eccentric personality.

“Meet Esther. Isn’t she fab?”

You wolf whistled your appreciation, gliding your fingertips over the leather upholstery and orange body paint. “Quick question: how much do you think I’d get if I sued two FBI agents for… damages, let’s say?!”

Penelope produced a fluffy pen out of the glove compartment and scribbled something on the back of a PetMAC receipt she handed it to you. 

“Sweet pea, if I were you I'd settle for a lifetime of free IT support.”

“I’ll take it,” you said, “I’m kind of tired of being bullied by my own laptop.”

She stared at you for a moment before her face lit up, like a girl on a trip to a four-story candy shop. “... have you ever been to Baltimore ComicCon?!” she asked out of the blue while Spencer plopped himself down on the passenger seat.

You shook your head. “Do you guys—”

“We should totally go together!!” Garcia proposed. Or rather, declared.

In all honesty, the prospect of attending another convention on your own was depressing and you’d given up on the one in Maryland for that specific reason; you turned to Spencer for his approval, too, and he nodded, maybe because he knew there was no way of stopping Garcia if she had her mind set on a specific goal.  

“Baltimore it is, then…?!”

Penelope shot you a smug grin. “Keep in touch. We still owe you a nice dinner and ComicCon’s not up until September, I’d hate to run a background check on your license plate to find you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea and saluted them goodbye as they drove off, Esther’s taillights shining bright red.

What a weird Saturday. Meeting a real life genius and the quirkiest FBI agent ever came with a price, and one of your favorite hoodies was most likely beyond salvaging. You needed to know if Spencer Reid was well worth it.

Garcia’s words then echoed in your ears, so you sat in your car and unlocked your phone, scrolling through the most recent Google searches: you had a lot of reading to do. 

@matthew-gray-gubler-lover, @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid, @pretty-boys-book-club, @spookydrreid, @f-me-reid, @foxy-eva, @scorpiofangirl1109, @a-potato-wearing-plaid, @cynbx, @reidsbookclub, @nagemasstuff, @hotchsdharma, @reidmainbitch, @lizzylynch1, @will-grahams-eyes, @padawancat97

»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid x reader #my gifs #milla writes stuff #mentioningmargins #there are references from a couple of other tv shows hidden in this work #feel free to let me know if you can find them #quot “i understood that reference”