#spencer reid x reader fic

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Hostage Situation | Spencer Reid x reader

Requested by anon / Summary: Spencer is protective over his team, especially you and when a rookie officer decides to test his the water with you, Spencer steps in.  

A/N: Okay so I don’t know if this was a request or if I had wrote this on my own?? I can’t find the request but i have it was requested by anon on my list. If so, i hope you enjoy x

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

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Spencer’s self doubt and self consciousness rose as he saw you’d caught the eye of who he’d say was a particular handsome specimen and was what your type had been in the past. The man was tall, broad shoulders and by the looks of how tight his uniform shirt was, he was rather fit. He was leaned against his desk chewing a piece of gum and a small note pad in his hand, ready to hear the profile you would soon deliver.

This man was the complete opposite of Spencer. Spencer glanced at his tie, running it through his fingers. Seriously Spencer? a tie? He asks himself. He mentally criticizes his wardrobe choice as the rest of the team takes their place, you taking your usual spot by his side. 

He watched as the talk dark and handsome officer whispered something to his partner, smirking at you and his partner nodded in agreement. Spencer clears his throat and slips his hands in his pocket as his thoughts swirl. He didn’t deserve someone like you. 

As you begin to give the profile to the officers, some nod, listening intently and take notes. You make it only half way before the officer speaks up, raising his hand, “I’m sorry, can you repeat what you said we should look for?” 

You give your team the side eye, “Yeah so you all-” 

“I was a bit distracted by how beautiful your voice is.” 

Spencer could tell by the look on your face, you weren’t impressed, but more annoyed than anything and growing impatient at the time even wasted on this short conversation. This was a time sensitive case and you had no time to deal with officers on their high horse. 

“This is a time sensitive case and we have been asked by your chief to help and she has given us full reign. Including over her officers. So, I’m more than capable of kicking you off this case if you decide being a bloke is more important than the 5 year old girl missing.” 

A surge of pride rolled through him. That. That was the woman he’d fallen for. You wouldn’t take any shit from anyone. You stood your ground tall and strong, even if the other side towered over you by feet. The feelings of self doubt slide off him like water over plastic. This wasn’t the type of guy you were into anymore.

He and the rest of the team had to hide their laughs with a cough. Some of the other officers let out a chuckle. Spencer cleared his throat, a smile on his lips, which he tried to cover with his fingers. 

The guy blushed a deep shade of red, full of embarrassment. He wasn’t one to be shown up; especially by a young woman. 

“Right, well, like she said, everyone has their jobs.” Rossi steps in and soon the place clears out. 

~ 

It had been a long day. The leads you all had been following were dead ends and at the moment, you were lost. No idea where to begin the search. You take a deep breath and lean against the break room counter. You and your team were exhausted and the time to save the little girl was running out. 24 hours is the usual cut off and if you haven’t found her by then, the odds decline tremendously. 

“You good?” 

You glance up to see Spencer approaching you. “Yeah,” You sighed, “Just tired.” 

“Coffee?” he motions to the coffee maker, “I’ll make some fresh.” 

You nod, “I think we’re going to need it.” You turn around and lean against your elbows, your forehead resting in your hands, “We’re running out of time.” 

“Garcia’s working on a lead now-” Before Spencer could even finish his sentence, Rossi called in everyone. There was a break in the case and a new solid lead to follow. 

“sorry about the coffee.” Spencer apologizes as he follows you out of the break room. 

“Make it up to me later?” You tease, “Maybe you could buy me a cup of coffee after this case was over?” You suggest, “I really like-”

“Brooklyn on Main, iced caramel latte. extra caramel” Spencer finishes with a small grin. He knew your order by heart. 

You nod, impressed with a small smile on your face as you enter the SUV.

When you and the team arrive at the old building, the officers are standing by, ready for the instructions. 

You and the rest of the team tighten your vests in place and instruct the officers to stay behind you and the team. They are to follow strict orders and do things your way or else it could end in disaster. 

The rookie cop was the first to speak up against the orders, “Why can’t we storm the place? Surround it, shoot the guy and save the girl.” 

“We have no confirmation the girl is even in there with him. She could be at a secondary location and killing him could put her in danger. We wouldn’t have any idea where she could be.” JJ tell him. 

You can see on his face he doesn’t approve of the orders, “He’s to be taken in a live. Everyone understand?” 

The officers agree and begin following you and your team inside. That’s when everything went wrong. There was gun fire everywhere. There was more than one person like expected and soon bullets were flying from every angle. 

Trying to escape the rookie cop trampled you, sending you flying into a room where the bullets were then aimed at you. You’d hit your head in the fall and couldn’t ground yourself as the world spun. Before you could react, someone had grabbed your foot and was dragging you across the cement floor. 

When your eyes finally adjust, standing above you is two men with very large guns aimed at you. You were in deep deep trouble. 

~ 

Spencer had seen the whole thing go down and before he could get to you, the team grabbed him and retreated out of the house, outnumbered and unprepared. “Stop! Stop! Y/n’s still in there!” He tried to protest but the ones that grabbed him had won. 

“Where is agent y/n?” Rossi asks, looking back toward the building and at Spencer. 

Spencer fills with anger and rage as he sees the Rookie cop, the one who had pushed you into the line of fire. “What the hell is wrong with you!” He stormed the man, grabbing him by his vest and throwing him against the nearby van, “You threw her into the line of fire!” 

“What? Dude are you crazy, let me go!” 

“She could be dead because of you!” Spencer yells. Rossi and JJ grab Spencer, “Spence calm down!” 

“You’re psycho man! She was shot!” The rookie tries to defend himself with a lie, “I saw her go down!” 

“no. she wasn’t, you pushed her to get out of the way, I saw it happen.” Rossi practically drags Spencer away, “Spencer, talk to us, what happened?” 

“The coward pushed her to get out of the way so he could get out of there, but he pushed her right into the line of fire. Into the room where they were” Spencer tells Rossi and JJ, and now Emily who has just approached. 

“He said she was shot, she went down.” Rossi says.

“No, Rossi. I watched it happen with my own eyes.” 

Rossi knows you’re a great agent and knows Spencer wouldn’t lie. If Spencer saw it happen, then it happened. And that’s one of his agents in there. No agent would be left behind. “Damn it.” Rossi looks to the building, knowing the situation they are now in. 

Emily catches on as well, “We now have a hostage situation.” 

Comments likes and reblogs are always appreciated Thanks for reading! xx 

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds imagine

[bisexualunicronrunningloose]

Criminal Minds - Resurrection

Reid x fem!reader (previous relationship, broke up sometime after Emily died, takes place during and after season 7 episode 1, so there will be spoilers)

Y/N POV

“Seven months ago I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her. And she was air lifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert ex filtration. Her identity was strictly need to know.” Hotch spoke to the room.

“She’s alive,” Pen asked in shock.

“But we buried her.” Spencer said confused.

“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues they should be directed towards me.”

“Any issues? Yeah I got issues” Morgan said in a mixture of shock and anger.

Just then you saw Emily walk in… alive.

“Oh my….god,” you said under your breath. You looked over at Morgan he looked just if not more shocked than you. He had been there when Emily had been attacked.

“I am so sorry. I really am. Not a day went by that I didn’t want to … Really I. You didn’t deserve that. And I’m so sorry” Emily said.

Everyone was getting up and hugging her. You briefly meet eyes with Spencer and he looked surprised. The only other person besides Hotch that didn’t look surprised was JJ… had she known? Did she help get Emily out and into hiding? You gave Emily a very tight hug.

“I missed you so much” she whispered in your ear.

“I missed you more” you whispered back.

“There’s so much I want to tell you guys, and I will I promise. But right now I really want to know what’s going on with Declan.” Emily said.

-

Your mind still was reeling from the fact that Emily was alive and with you all again. The last seven months had been an emotional rollercoaster. You had buried one of your own teammates, you had cried for what had felt like days and had to deal with the fact the team downsized. Spencer had begun to pull away about a month afterwards until one day you had enough and confronted him about it.

“Have a good evening at JJ’s?” You asked from where you were sitting on his couch not looking up from the book you had been reading.

“What are you doing here?” He asked closing the door with a thud and kicking off his shoes

“Seriously?” you asked putting a bookmark in the book before closing it and placing it on the coffee table.

“Yeah… it’s late. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” you said looking at him, had he really forgotten that the two of you had made plans to stay in tonight and watch something?

“Why?”

“Because we had plans Spencer. This is the third time you’ve bailed on me and each time it’s because you’ve been at JJ’s.” you said getting up from the couch and coming face to face with him.

“We have plans for Wednesday. Anyway JJ has been helping me with dealing with the loss of Emily”

“Today is Wednesday Spencer. I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up your phone. I was worried about you, I didn’t know where you were or if something happened to you, if you were hurt. The only reason how I knew where you were was because JJ called after you left and asked if everything was ok,because she had overheard our plans the other day. Anyway it’s late, I cooked it’s on your counter in some containers if want to heat it up.” You said grabbing your bag and heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Spencer said grabbing your wrist.

“I’m going home. Like I said it’s late, I’ll see you at work in the morning”

“Please stay. I.. I’m sorry I got the days mixed up. Just please stay the night y/n, you can borrow my old shirt from MIT. We could still watch something or I could read to you. Just please stay.” He spoke grabbing your elbow and slowing you as you opened the door, you froze he sounded so sad and tired and your heart ached whenever you heard him like that all you wanted to do was turn around and hold him in your arms. You closed the door and turned around and faced him.

“Why don’t you talk to me?” You asked trying not to sound desperate and frustrated.

“Talk to you about what?” He asked he sounded genuinely confused, for a genius he really could be an idiot at times.

“About Emily, about how her loss has affected you. I’m right here, why do you go to JJ and not me” you say with tears in your eyes. You had stood there waiting for his answer for what felt like an eternity…

He never answered your question he had just stood there looking at you as you shook your head and left his apartment saying you’d see him in the morning in a defeated tone. A week later Spencer had broken up with you, he hadn’t given you a proper excuse. All he had said was that it wasn’t working anymore and that you just didn’t understand his friendship with JJ. It had been awkward at first for you, but for Spencer, it was as if nothing had ever happened between the two of you he completely ignored your existence unless you were paired together on a case, which didn’t happen often as you would work with Rossi most of the time. But when the team downsized this was harder to do. You spent most of your time out of the office with Penelope who had taken in Emily’s cat.

“Y/N? You ok?” Garcia asked pulling you from your thoughts.

“Why wouldn’t I be Pen? Emily is alive” you said

“You’ve been staring at that paper for ages,” she said pointing to the document in front of you a list of names Doyle had given Emily. A list of names of people who Declan’s mum, Chole and McDermott might give Declan to for money. The next question was where would McDermott and Chole escape and how. You hoped Emily would be able to get the information out of Doyle.

“Right, I think I’m going to get a coffee to try and wake up a bit.” You said shaking your head and yawning “maybe the caffeine will help”. You entered the small kitchenette and saw Spencer pouring himself a mug of coffee. Even though it had been months since he had broken up with you your heart still leapt out of your chest whenever you saw him.

“There enough for one more cup?” You asked slowly walking over and grabbing a mug from the cupboard.

“Uhh… yeah here,” he said handing you the pot.

“Thanks,” you said taking it from him.

“So…” he started

“Did you know?” You asked putting the coffee pot down after filling up your mug.

“That Emily was alive? No” he interrupted

“No.. not that. Your face when she walked it made it pretty obvious that you didn’t. No I was wondering if you knew Morgan never stopped looking for Doyle and Declan” you asked opening the fridge to get some milk.

“Ohh… that. No I had no idea” he said handing you some caramel syrup that you always put in your coffee.

“How.. how have you been?” He asked nervously

“Don’t act like you suddenly care Spencer. It’s hurtful. And you are many things and hurtful is not one of them.” You reply putting the caramel syrup back.

“I do care,” he said

“Right, well you have a funny way of showing it.” You spoke a little harsher than you had intended but with the stress of the case, you didn’t care. Just then Emily came in.

“We have a lead.” Emily said.

“You’ve found where Chole is headed?” Reid asked.

“Possibly but we need to move fast. Meet down in the garage as soon as you can we are going to the airfield” Emily said leaving the two of you alone again.

Nodding your head you put your coffee mug down and began heading out of the kitchenette. Spencer grabbed your elbow.

“What!?” You snapped

“Can we talk?”

“Now? Are you serious? A kid is missing and there are at least two murderers on the run. And you think now is a good time to talk?” You speak just above a whisper

“I meant after… after we save Declan and catch Chole and McDermott. Can we talk then?” He said staring into your eyes.

“Fine. But you’re buying the coffee” you said.

“Deal,” he said letting go of your arm.

REID POV

They had just left the meeting in front of the Senate Committee to answer questions about Doyle and everyone was heading home. He was standing at the bottom of the steps outside of the building waiting for her. She was talking to Penelope about something, the light breeze causing the skirt of her dress to dance in the wind a little. He was watching her laugh at something, he missed being the one to make her laugh. He missed their late-night talks about shows, movies and books. He missed everything about her.

“Why did you break up with her Reid?” Emily said coming from his side.

“Huh?” He shook his head turning to face her.

“Y/n. I asked her what was going on between the two of you after Doyle. She said that you guys had broken up. I asked her why and she said to ask you because you were the one to end it.”

“Oh. She told you that?” He said looking back up at her and Penelope.

“Yeah, Reid look the two of you… you’re perfect together. I’ve never seen two people be a better fit, you complete each other. I just don’t understand what happened” Emily said.

“You died Em. And then she almost got shot on a case a month afterwards. Everything got too real.” Reid said

“And you broke up with her because… you didn’t want to get hurt” Emily

“Yeah.. something like that. I’ve been trying to figure out for months how to talk to her. And with you coming back. I figured now or never because…”

“It’s better to try than ponder what could have been. And what better excuse to use than the fact that someone coming back from the dead?” Emily finished for him

“Yeah.. we’re going for coffee. I just hope she will hear me out” Reid said as he saw y/n and Penelope say their goodbyes.

“I’ll leave you to it, Reid. Just… be gentle with her when explaining ok. And let her take her time digesting what you tell her.” Emily said as she left. I’ll wait for as long as I have to. She is worth waiting for. He thought to himself as she walked down the steps to meet with him.

“So.. you still good for that coffee and talk?” He asked

“Yeah. I stick to plans that I make. Unless something else comes up then I let the person know ahead of time” she replied. He knew exactly what she was referring to, he had missed three of their dates because he had gone to JJ’s because he was missing Emily and he didn’t know what to do. Thinking back he had not been that great of a boyfriend that last month.

“So which coffee shop did you want to got to then? There’s that nice one around the corner”

“The one with the book store attached to it?” She asked.

“Yeah… or we could go somewhere else if you want,” he said, knowing that had been one of their favourite places to go together when they had a day off.

“No… it’s ok. It’s been a while since I’ve been there” she smiled

With that, they headed over to the coffee shop. Once they got there y/n went to find them a table while he went and got their order. He found her sitting at one of the corner tables waiting for him. He took the seat across from her and handed her a mug and a pastry he had gotten for her.

“Thanks,” she said

“I wasn’t sure if you were hungry after all that questioning.” Reid said

“Like I could say no to a pain au chocolate” she smiled, it wasn’t the same one she used to give him but it was a start. “So you wanted to talk.” She said taking a sip of her drink.

“I owe you an apology and a better explanation,” Reid said. She placed her mug down and looked him in the eyes.

“Go on,” she said

“The explanation I gave you then… it was a shitty one.” He said

“That’s for sure. I just don’t understand why you couldn’t be honest with me if you weren’t happy with the relationship anymore or with me” she said looking down

“That’s … that’s not why. How could you even think that? Of course, I was happy.” He said slowly reaching for her hand and taking it in his. She pulled her hand away.

“Then why break up with me. Why leave me to deal with the grief of losing Em alone. You broke my heart. I … thought you loved me… I thought we would be together forever, Spencer.” She said

“I did it because I love you.” Spencer said

“Clearly not enough to tell me the truth. That month between Em and you breaking up with me, it felt like your were spending more time with JJ than with me. And before you say anything, I know how close the two of you are and that she is one of your closest friends. But Spencer I was your girlfriend, I thought you would at least talk to me or say that you needed to speak with other people to get through whatever it was that you were going through. But I guess I thought more of what our relationship meant than you did.” she said wiping a tear from her eye

“That’s not fair or true” Spencer replied

“Then enlighten me Spencer. Give me a real reason why you ended things. Or why only now are you wanting to talk to me. Because for months you’ve been acting like nothing ever happened between us or that I even exist.”

“I…” Spencer looked down at his mug of coffee.

“Look you’re the one that wanted to talk. So talk because if you are just going to waste my time then I’m going to leave.” She said. A few moments passed, and he heard her sigh and push her chair back to leave.

“It was easier for me… to ignore you and not acknowledge you. Because… I didn’t think I could handle being so close to you and not being with you.” Spencer said finally looking back up. She sat back down and moved the chair back to the small table. She took another sip of her drink and took a bite of her pastry.

“Ok so you ignored me because it was to difficult to be around me. But why break up with me then. Why say it wasn’t working anymore?” She asked

“Because I thought… I thought that would be a good explanation. Just enough for you not to push for more answers and possibly angry enough to not want to talk to me for a while” Spencer said looking at his untouched coffee he took a sip before continuing. “Really it was a selfish excuse. But I felt I couldn’t tell you the real reason because then …” Spencer said his voice cracking.

“Because then what?”

“You would see how weak I was or refuse to listen and stay with me”

“Spencer you are not weak.” She replied taking another bite of her pastry.

“You don’t understand”

“I’m trying to Spencer. But you are not making sense, you still haven’t actually explained why”

“I’m trying too… I just don’t know how to explain it without sounding like an idiot” He said. He saw how she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths before returning her gaze to him, she was getting frustrated and was trying her best not to get angry and yell. He had seen her do that countless times on cases.

“Spencer, please I can’t take this anymore, the not knowing why. The questioning of everything I had ever done or said to try and figure out why you would break up with me” She said tears collecting in her eyes.

“I was scared” Reid confessed

“You were scared? Of what” she asked finishing up her drink.

“After Emily, I didn’t want to lose anyone else. It’s just that anyone who is close to me leaves, dies or gets hurt. And when you almost got shot on that case …”

“You broke up with me because you didn’t want to see me get hurt. But Spencer getting hurt is an occupational hazard with our job. You know that better than most of us”

“I know it’s not entirely rational but I just couldn’t risk loosing you.” He said looking down at his drink. She leaned forward and took his hand in hers and gave it a quick squeeze.

“Love makes us act irrationally” she smiled.

He squeezed her hand back and looked at her as she wiped the tears out of her eyes. Before she looked at her watch and frowned.

“What is it? Do you have somewhere else to be?” He asked nervously not wanting to say goodbye to her just yet when they were finally talking about everything.

“No… it’s just I hadn’t realised the time. I was planning on cooking some spaghetti bolognaise tonight and reorganise a few things. But … the reorganising can wait. But if I want to eat dinner at a decent hour I might have to head off soon.” She said looking back at him.

“You’re cooking spaghetti bolognaise tonight?” He said remembering that as one of his favourite meals she used to cook for the two of them.

“Yeah… did you… uh, want to join me? I always make too much. Unless you have other plans?” She asked biting her bottom lip nervously.

“ I would love too… I mean if that’s ok with you” he said.

“I offered Spencer. Why would I offer if I didn’t mean it. Plus this way … we can keep talking and uhh.. I don’t know figure out where we stand now?” She said nervously.

“Yeah” he nodded and they both got up and headed to her apartment

Part two will be posted in a week hopefully (depending how busy I am at work). Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

#fanfic #fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid

[lightvixxen]

Hi i keep thinking about this (also pls keep in mind im only on s6 and only just finished ep2 of criminal minds so)

Imagine flying home from a case with the rest of the BAU team, somehow Prentiss and Morgan got you and JJ to join in on their conversation about who you think is kinky within the team. Privacy invasion aside it mainly resides between the four of you, which is just a bunch of deflecting, either from embarrassment or because they weren’t into it. You weren’t satisfied though, you had a sneaking suspicion Spencer was hiding more than he was letting on, so why not bring him up? Force him into the conversation?

“You know who I think is probably the most kinky one here? Reid” Morgan laughed and so did Prentiss. But you kept your eyes trained on Reid, that seemed to be enough to pull him out of his book world.

After both sets of giggled calmed down, Emily spoke up, “Reid? No way in hell, he’s too innocent!” You smiled, “exactly! C’mon its always the innocent ones!” You had his full attention now, though the others may not have noticed it (yet) his eyes were trained on you instead of his book.

“Alright, what do you think he’s into then? Submissive or dominant?” Morgan asked you, it wasn’t unusual to talk about Reid in front of him either, assuming he was too focused on his book.

“Oh he’s definitely submissive like c’mon! Probably into like bondage or something like that, I don’t know, but definitely not dominant.” Your eyes fixated on Spencer again, not missing the way his jaw clenched slightly and the way he was gripping the poor book like it was trying to run.

After the flight ended with everyone made their way back to the bullpen to collect some things only to be on their way out the door a few seconds later. You stopped at your desk, looking over the files that had been dropped off. Spencer came up behind you, he didn’t trap you in, put he leaned forward enough just to whisper in your ear.

“You know you seemed pretty confident about me on the plane, you wanna test that hypothesis? Cause you might’ve missed a few details. You know where to find me” and with that he walked out, leaving your knees buckled and a little weak.

—/

Aaaah this might be a little ooc, but dom!spencer has me in a chokehold rn, I will get better at writing him though! ALSO PLEASE TELL ME SOMEONE ELSE GETS THE VISION AND THIS MAKES SENSE

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid x y/n #lightvixxens spencer

[moonflower-31]

Pen Pals - Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 1

Part 2!

Ongoing! (But slow updates, srry)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Talk of being used for free labor? If that's anything?

A/N: Okay, guys, I got randomly inspired for this thing. Idk for sure about updates just yet, but I promise to get working on the next one for this and for IWFY. When inspo hits, it's gonna hit hard. So enjoy this! It's a bit longer than the last, but still. You'll get Spencer's next letter reply in the next installment. I'm also gonna start putting dates on their letters so we can follow along with the passage of time. Toodles!

Tags: @thatsonezesty13, @egg-boy03, @idjitlili, @meowiemari, @meganskane, @lonelyran, @rainsong01, let me know if I missed you or if you wanna be added to the list!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I remained too much inside my own head and ended up losing my mind.” - Edgar Allen Poe 

The sun was blisteringly hot, as Ohio summers always were. This one was no different. Of course today of all days had to be the day your father had picked to start work on the farm. Leaving you no time to prepare for your incoming day of departure. 

The past week or so had been…eventful, to say the least. After you’d graduated, you had hoped that maybe your parents would let up on some of their rules on studying. You had been right, but they were hellbent on you returning to school. Med school. Despite all the preparation you’d made for it, you weren’t quite sure you wanted to go through with your original plan. After all, it was your parent's dream. Not yours. 

No matter the circumstance, the conversations you had with your parents always ended with them discussing when you would be applying for med school. Scratch that, the conversations you had with your mother, while your father just stared at you. His conversations only ever composed of farm work and how you should listen to your mother. 

Now that you’d graduated, you didn’t know what to do. You were only 23. The sky’s the limit, as your bio-lab teacher, Mr. Underwood, would say. You just have to know when to jump. 

Your only problem? You had absolutely no idea. 

You reach up to your forehead, wiping off the sheen of sweat that had accumulated there. With a grunt, you forced yourself to lift the crate of feed bags your father had tasked you with carrying to the chicken coop. All morning you’d been working. From the minute Ronny, one of your family’s roosters, had woken you at dawn, you’d been hard at work with no breaks. Your father wouldn’t allow it even if you tried to ask. 

“(Y/N)! Enough wastin’ around! That feed ain’t gonna move itself!” Abraham, your father, shouted from off in the distance. He was probably headed to his tractor to start the harvest. You internally groaned, the annoyance multiplied by the rare breeze blowing your hair into your face. This was why you usually wore your hair back, whatever the length. Your mother always insisted on having it long, though. The idea of cutting it was never up for debate. The longer your hair, the happier your mother was. Though you did dream of the day you’d escape the farm life and chop it all off. The look on your mother's face would be priceless. 

“I’m not as strong as you dad! It’s gonna take me a bit.” You call back, grimacing as some of the wooden crate dug into your palms. You rearranged your hold, hoping to carry the weight in your legs if that made any sense. 

Whatever it was you did, it helped. The burden of the crate’s weight was soon not as much an issue, and the crate was put beside the coop. The roar of the tractor made you internally wish you were something else. A fish or a bird, anything to get out of having to help your father carry the harvest to the barn where it would be put into more crates and then shipped out to be properly cleaned and made ready for people to buy at the grocery store. When the harvest day comes, you know to make yourself busy with a study group, or something. But school was not in session. 

But then, as if the universe had heard your childish plea, you heard the backdoor swing open, and your mother call out to you. “(Y/N)! Could you go get the mail for me sweetheart?” 

The task, simple and much easier than the task you knew was coming, you jumped at the chance to do something else. “Yeah! Sure Mom!” You called before your father could cry out in protest that your mother was taking away his free labor. He was already suggesting you go to med school online, so you didn’t have to move. More like he wanted you to stay so he didn’t have to cough up the money to hire farmhands. 

Considering the amount of harvest your father’s farm produced every year, you and your father managed to get it all done somehow. Your family was well off in a way only a farmer’s family could be. But you knew that was only because they didn’t have to budget in a salary for helpers. Your father had wanted a son, as all men in your small town did, but unfortunately for him, you were the one and only child he was given. His brother, on the otherhand, had at least 6 boys. You’d lost count of how many facebook posts your aunt had made announcing another new ‘bundle of joy’. At least your mother’s sister knew her worth, and had decided to travel rather than to settle down and let a man control her life. You idolized her, and her gifts of international novels and special editions were everything. 

You raced towards the mailbox, your mind soon travelling to the idea of a new package from said aunt. It had only been a month or two since her last parcel, but you could still dream! 

Then you remembered your penpal letter you’d sent a few weeks prior. You wondered if it even got to it’s destination. People moved locations all the time. You hadn’t even stopped to consider that when you’d sent the damn thing. The thought that you could have a reply hadn’t crossed your mind at all since you’d graduated. Excitement quickly filled your bones and you raced faster down the hill towards the mailbox in the front of your family’s property closest to the road. You slowed your racing feet to a halt as you approached your family’s mailbox. The red flag was up! 

An excited giggle erupted from your throat before you could catch it, making yourself pause and take a deep breath. There was no reason to get this excited over a response. Or over a present from your aunt. But the childish voice in your head quickly convinced you otherwise. You reached out with a grin, opening the box almost dramatically. To your triumph, there was indeed mail! But unfortunately, no package. 

Only slightly disheartened, you grabbed the small stack of letters and started to look at the names of to whom they were addressed to. As you began to look, you started to head back up the hill towards your house, almost forgetting to close the mailbox. 

The first envelope you looked at seemed to be an advertisement for a cruise. As if. It was addressed to your mother. Of course. She loved to dream. You put that one behind the rest and looked at the second. This one was addressed to your father, unfortunately. You then placed that one behind the previous and continued through the rest of the mail, almost losing hope that you’d be getting a response at all. Then, when all hope felt lost, and you had grabbed the handle to your front screen door, you glanced down at the last envelope. It was addressed to you! 

With a dart of your eyes you checked the sender’s name, and your heart flipped as you read the name back as Dr. Spencer Reid. 

Withholding the full extent of your excitement, you quickly opened the front door and grabbed your letter before dropping the rest on the dining room table. 

“Thank you darling-” Your mother says sweetly, blinking in bewilderment as you run up the stairs to your room with an envelope in your hand. She raises an eyebrow, intrigued. 

You close your door once you manage to slide into your room, racing over to your desk to open the small envelope. You pick up the letter opener your aunt had sent with the stationary and quite literally rip the thing open. At this action you take a brief pause. Maybe it was best that you calmed down a bit. You didn’t want your mother to get too curious. 

After a deep breath, you open your eyes and pull the neatly folded paper from the now opened envelope. You place the envelope aside and open the letter. You read happily, entirely thrilled by the contents. So he was a doctor! Not a medical one, but neither were you! Your eyes continue to scale the letter up and down, your smile growing with each new fact. His IQ was impressive! And so was his reading speed. Not mention he was extremely well educated. Three PhDs? He really earned his right to be called a doctor. 

So his address had changed. You were right. But it had somehow made it to him. 

What fascinated you even more was his similar love for reading. Especially in another language. It was like you were meeting another version of you but, genderbent. Kinda. 

Your eyes turned to the list of books the good doctor had left at the end of his letter. Your smile grew even wider, even though you already had over half of these books on your shelf already. 

Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - (One of my personal favorites)

Beyond Good and Evil - Friedrich Nietzsche 

The Illiad - Homer 

The Raven and the Monkey’s Paw - Edgar Allen Poe 

The Happiness Hypothesis - Jonathan Haidt 

You smiled, happy to see your penpal enjoyed many of the same books and stories that you did. You read it over just once more before you decided it was time to put it away before your mother came in with the news that your father was asking for you. You searched your room for a moment, unsure of where to put the letter for safe keeping. Who knows? You may want to look back on them someday. 

“I’ve gotta have something…” You mumble to yourself. 

“(Y/N)? Honey? Did you get any mail?” You heard your mother’s voice suddenly call through the door to your room while accompanying a knock. A brief jolt of nervousness runs through you, worried if your mother found out about the letter she’d forbid you from sending another reply. Then you sighed with relief. You could just say it was a copy of your diploma. 

“Yeah, just a copy of my diploma, mom.” You called back. Your mother seemed to accept it, not immediately doubting you. 

“Mind if I come in?” Your mother asked suddenly. You felt your throat grow dry as your nerves rose again. It’s fine. You can hide the letter, you tell yourself. But where?

“Honey?” Your mother asks again, the doorknob slowly turning. In a panic, you open your nightstand drawer and shoved the letter inside along with the envelope. You turned back towards your mother, who now stood in your doorway facing you who stood in front of your nightstand. She blinked a few times, confused. There was no way she wasn’t suspicious now. 

“Hey uh... Sorry. I was putting my diploma away. D-don’t need two versions of the same thing out and displayed, right?” You reply, mentally cursing your stutter. Again, your mother seems to buy your excuse, shaking her head and approaching you. 

 “I was just checking on you, honey. Did you need anything? I know you’ve been outside all day.” Your mother offered, reassuring you that she was merely curious. You hold back your sigh of relief, beginning to shake your head. 

“No I don’t think there’s…” You begin, before you remember. “Wait, mom, do you still have that old jewelry box you wanted to give me a few years ago? The one with the hidden slots?” You begin. Your mother ponders your question for a moment, probably bewildered that of all things to ask for after a day in the hot sun, you ask for a family heirloom. 

“I think so… why? Did you want it?” She asked, a slight tone of hope making your mother’s pitch rise. You quickly nodded, watching as your mother smiled and nodded back to you. “Alright, then I’ll go find it. Let me know if there’s anything else, okay?” Your mother walked back towards your bedroom door, making sure you knew you could ask her for anything you needed. Despite her shortcomings, she was your mother, and you loved her. Even if her views were slightly skewed. 

“I know, Mom. I’ll be sure to ask if I need anything else.” You assure her, Almost pushing her out the door via the actual door. She sighed and stepped away from the doorway, smiling back at you tiredly. 

“Alright sweetie. Just know your father is asking for you. I’ll leave the jewelry box on your desk.” Your mother informs and it takes every fiber of your being not to groan in frustration. Not getting out of it this time. 

Without another word, your mother closes your door, and you’re left in your own excitement and annoyance. At least something good came of today.

—---

“Hey, pretty boy.”

Spencer lifted his head from his desk of reports, a little annoyed that his focus had been interrupted. His hazel eyes met the brown ones of Derek Morgan, a playful grin on his face. He didn’t reply, knowing Derek would soon tell him what he wanted anyway. 

“Why don’t you come with Garcia, Prentiss, and me tonight? We’re celebrating a win.” Derek suggests. Spencer raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, a smile quickly finding its place on his face. As a side note, he did notice the lack of hair swinging into his face now that he’d gotten his hair cut. He didn’t hate it. 

“I’ve worked with the three of you long enough to know that an ‘outing’ always leads to trouble. Largely, because it more than likely involves copious amounts of alcohol.” Reid replies, turning his focus back to his reports. He’d already almost finished them, as was his usual. Derek still had at least half the stack Reid had started with to get done. It gave Spencer a small twinge of pride. 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. You never wanna go out with us. Are we no fun for you?” Derek teased. 

“No, it’s actually the fact that I have done the research and calculated the statistics to know that when alcohol is involved alongside you, the night will more than likely end with me in a back alley with sharpie on my face.” Spencer, without looking up from his reports, quickly fired back. 

“Woah, when did this happen?” Emily’s voice suddenly entered the conversation, her figure taking a seat at her desk. Her voice hinted with amusement, alerting Reid to the fact that she was also teasing. He wasn’t going to risk misunderstanding verbal and nonverbal cues again.

Spencer lifted his head, himself slightly amused. “October 23rd of last year Morgan had the brilliant idea to take me out as a ‘birthday present’ rather than just buying a book as he’d done before. I woke up in the middle of the night with sharpie drawn on my face and ditched in the back alley behind the bar. Morgan had already gone home!” Spencer regaled, pulling a smile from the man in question as he slightly spun in his chair while twirling his pen. Emily widened her eyes and huffed out a laugh. 

“Okay, that’s a pretty valid reason,” Emily says, laughing as she turns to her reports to begin working. “Though we should hang out sometime soon. Even if it isn’t a bar to make sure our resident genius doesn’t have to scrub his face raw.” Emily’s smile grows as she jokes. Spencer rolls his eyes as Morgan lets out an extended ‘Ooohh’. 

“See I didn’t ask for this abuse? Okay? Someone tell me it’s 8 o’clock.” Spencer retorted in protest, pulling a laugh from both of his co-workers. His smile is obvious though, amused by his co-workers and their teasing after years of growing used to it. 

“What's the rush? You got a date waiting for you?” Morgan teased. Spencer rolled his eyes again. 

“Not everyone is as entertained by the thought of a relationship as you, Morgan.” Spencer insisted. “No, I do not have a date. I actually have a ‘date’ with coffee and my bed. See, I can do metaphors.” Spencer insisted, turning again to his reports and writing a few lines. 

“That…I’m not even gonna attempt it.” Emily spoke, laughing with Morgan at Spencer’s lack of understanding of references and sayings. 

Unfortunately, that was where the conversation quickly died down and the three were left in silence. It irked Spencer greatly, especially since these ‘abandoned’ conversations had been a frequent occurrence since JJ had been whisked away to the Pentagon. It was like there was a piece of them missing. The team had run so smoothly that to take away one of their members was like taking away the main power source of a machine. Leaving him and the remaining members scrambling to figure out how to compensate. 

Finally, a few minutes later, Spencer finished his last report and closed it triumphantly. He briefly checked his watch, happy to see the shorthand pointing at the 8.  “See you guys tomorrow.” He says as he stands up and picks up his messenger bag and slings it on his left shoulder to rest against his right hip, waving goodbye to Morgan and to Emily. 

“Don’t party too hard.” Derek called, pulling a smile back onto Spencer’s face as he carried his reports to Hotch’s desk. 

—----

Exhaustion was starting to feel heavy as Spencer stepped into his apartment, the dim lights certainly not helping his case. He yawned tiredly, placing his go bag by the door as usual. He opened his messenger bag, remembering he’d grabbed his mail before heading upstairs. He places his messenger bag on his dining table, taking a seat to look at his probably over-due bills and mail. 

Unsurprisingly, Spencer found his water and electric bill in the stack, setting them aside to get done tomorrow morning before he heads into work. Then, what catches his eye, is the slightly smaller envelope with the hesitant and light penmanship. He chuckles to himself, happy to see he hadn’t scared his pen pal away with his detailed account of his academic achievements. However, upon second glance at the sender’s name and address, Spencer is slightly taken aback at the new addition beside the name. Dr. (Y/N) (L/N).  

Spencer smiles wider. So she’s graduated?

Spencer turns the envelope over, laughing to himself as he sees the envelope had not been sealed, and the seal had been folded into the envelope once again. He pulls the seal out and then the letter on the familiar blue stationary. Spencer then turns the delicate paper over, and began to read. 

18/09/2010

Hello again, Dr. Reid!  (How old are you by the way?)  

It is so good to hear from you! I was almost sure you were going to throw my letter away. Like, who uses Penpalsrus.com anymore besides ten-year-olds? I’m glad I got you though. You seem interesting! I love Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, by the way. I’ve read more things than you could probably guess. Though with your Eidetic memory you might.

I love poetry too. I have a whole book of Edgar Allen Poe’s poems on my bookshelf. My aunt sends me all kinds of books from her library every few months. I think I have a Greek version of the Illiad somewhere. I could loan it to you if you wanted. Though my mother might not like the amount of money I’d be spending to send it. 

So, you could probably read it already, but I finally graduated and I have my doctorate. I’m supposed to apply for med school this fall. My dad wants me to do it online so I can stay here on our family farm. Like I don’t do enough work already! I guess I don’t know what I want to do. My parents were the ones wanting me to go to med school. If I had any say I’d probably stick with biology and work in a lab. Or go back to school for Chem. Not that I don’t wanna learn about human behavior. It still fascinates me how people work. I study the brain in my free time for goodness sake!

What would you do? If you were in my shoes? I wanna make them happy, but this is my life. I can’t cater to them for the rest of my existence. 

You don’t have to give me an answer, by the way. I guess I’m just venting? It’s not like you could somehow tell my parents that I’m secretly planning to move out when I go back to college. 

What do you do for work, if you don’t mind my asking? A job that requires you to read people sounds amazing. Though I’d probably be happier in a lab. 

What are your PhDs and BAs? Maybe you can help me with my next doctorate. 

I should probably close this here. It’s getting kinda late. I hope to hear from you soon! 

Sincerely, 

(Y/N) (L/N)

Spencer found himself smiling warmly at the letter, not at all annoyed as he had been the first time he’d found out about his mother’s attempt to get him to socialize as a child. He felt he already knew (Y/N) better just from this one letter. The feelings she’d put into it were all over the blue paper. Not just in the words, but the lettering itself. The graphite wasn’t as light as it was the first time, however, it was still delicately written. The upper left hand corner had drops of wax on it, indicating she’d been writing by candlelight. 

Spencer folded the letter back up, leaving the rest of his mail on the table, forgotten. He headed to his bedroom, placing the letter among the first in his nightstand. He reached up and loosened his tie, shedding his sweater vest as his mind swarmed with ideas on how he wanted to reply. He didn’t at first think he’d find a friend in this little endeavor. But he’d clearly been wrong. 

She was into the books that he was. At the very least, Spencer had found a friend that he could discuss his favorite books with. But, secretly he hoped to create something he hadn’t had in some time outside the team or his childhood friend and rival, Ethan; a friend. Someone outside the team he could talk to without risk of putting anyone in danger as well as having an excuse to forget his current predicaments to talk with someone out of the loop. 

Spencer sighed to himself, wandering to his desk and taking his seat once again. His mind was too active to rest. He couldn’t recall when he’d last felt as excited as a child to simply write to someone. 

So, once he’d picked up a sheet of notebook paper and a pen, he began to write. And before long, he’d finished with a smile on his face and an ache in his wrist. Spencer yawned, stretching his arms out and rotating his wrist to soothe the ache. He stood up from his chair, resolving to make sure he put his reply in an envelope and mail it in the morning, along with sending his bill payments. 

Finally, Spencer felt his mind begin to rest, and with it, the rest of his body. He slowly removed his work clothes and climbed into bed, reminding himself of the poem left at the end of (Y/N)’s reply. He said it aloud to himself as he felt sleep quickly reach him, carrying the poem with him into sleep. 

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice. 

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice, 

I think I know enough of hate

To know that for destruction ice 

Is also great

And would suffice. 

-Robert Frost

#spencer #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #derek morgan #emily prentiss #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer x reader fanfic #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer x reader #spencer fanfic #criminal minds family #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fandom

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[reidiot]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

#× reader #fan fiction #tumblr writing community #tumblr writers #fics #fanfic #wattpad #stories #fandom #booklr #reading #fangirling #spencer reid x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #rafe cameron x reader #spencer reid #stiles stilinski #rafe cameron #imagine #short story #one shot #author #ao3 #recommend me stuff #female hysteria #girlblogging #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #girl interrupted #x reader #writers on tumblr

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

part two

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues. 

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong. 

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs. 

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface. 

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more. 

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment. 

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable. 

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness. 

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak. 

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you. 

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down. 

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!” 

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time. 

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.” 

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could. 

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs. 

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips. 

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade. 

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin. 

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh. 

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles. 

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg. 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. 

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs. 

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases. 

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents. 

Almost. 

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed. 

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention. 

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him. 

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm. 

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him. 

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back. 

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them. 

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again. 

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him. 

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good. 

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice. 

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

 He hums contemplatively. 

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum. 

“About what?” 

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine. 

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?” 

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?” 

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again. 

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you. 

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away. 

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet. 

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes. 

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it. 

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message. 

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky. 

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort. 

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh. 

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly. 

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile. 

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily. 

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck. 

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly. 

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy. 

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids. 

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin. 

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum. 

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you. 

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you

I love you. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

[reiderwriter]

Isn't She Pretty, Daddy?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Teacher f!Reader

Summary: You're a little bit worried about one of your brightest students recently, so you call her Dad to come in for a meeting. Her absolutely adorable - and single - Dad.

Warnings: the birds and the bees as explained by a kindergardener. Some angst about being a single parent.

A/N: Here's another entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Kid Fic Challenge! Dad Spencer has my heart, and I've been in a really fluff forward mood this weekend, evidently! I think I have one more Kid Fic left to go before the end of the challenge, but we'll see what the will of the fanfiction gods is...

Masterlist

If you were to be asked what the hardest part of being a teacher was, you would, without question or even a second to think, have an answer. Parents. The worst part of teaching is talking to parents. 

Little kids were easy to talk to. They asked questions if they didn't understand things clearly, and they didn't typically say things they didn't mean. Adults were the opposite, and it just so happened that all of your kids' parents were adults. 

Including your most recent problem  child. 

You were used to the kids in your class having some behavior issues - for one, they were kids, it was to be expected that their little bodies couldn't quite handle all of the emotions they were feeling at once. But you were doubly struck by your school area being close to Quantico, meaning half the kids in your care had families with law enforcement backgrounds. 

Absent parents plus growing bodies plus normal kid stress equalled attachment issues, and your problem child Harper Reid was one of your more worrying cases. 

You really hoped everything was okay in the Reid household, so you'd called the little girls parents. She was lovely - honest to god - one of the sweetest little kids you'd ever met. 

Every day she came to school with some older kids and their mom, carpooling on the way in, so you had yet to meet her parents, but you thought that anyone who could produce something that sweet and cute and brilliant couldn't possibly be a bad person. 

You didn't know what to expect, so when her little pigtails peaked around the corner and she came running in, you were momentarily filled with anxiety. 

“MOMMY!” The little girl yelled, launching herself into your arms as soon as she spotted you behind your desk. 

“Hi, Harper! Hi, you must be, Mr. Reid-”

“Doctor, actually, um, but that doesn't really matter. I'm so sorry about this, Harper doesn't usually tackle people.” 

The 3ft tall ball of energy had managed to crawl into your lap and wrap her arms around your neck, so you had to pick her up when you stood to greet her dad. 

“Will your wife be joining us for the meeting today?” You asked, already used to Harper's hugs and general closeness. 

“Oh, no. No, she's not coming. She, uh, doesn't exist. Single father.” 

“Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume, it's just not on my files-” 

“It's okay, it's a …bit complicated.” 

You took your seat at the desk and gestured to the man to do the same. Finally, looking at him for the first time now that some of your anxiety had died down, you couldn't help but think that Doctor Reid was incredibly attractive. It wasn't one part of his face that stuck out to you as being particularly pretty, just the entire ensemble of it together that took your breath away. Either that of Harper was gripping you so tight she was restricting your ability to breathe, and considering a five year old is not a boa constrictor, this was all dad's fault. 

“So, you said on the phone Harper's been having some problems at school?” 

You snapped your attention back to the issue at hand, searching for the relevant files and pictures you wanted to show the man. Harper turned herself around in your lap and looped her arms around your arm, pulling it in close to use as a pillow. 

“Isn't Miss Y/N so pretty, Daddy?” You froze and flushed in an instant, suddenly so aware of the man's eyes on you. You weren't sure if you were thankful or even more embarrassed that Harper's dad seemed to be even more flushed than you. 

“Daddy? Isn't she pretty?” Harper insisted, and you realized that you both weren't going to get out of this without him answering. 

“Yes, angel. Miss Y/N is very pretty.” The little girl smiled in triumph and nuzzled into your arm even more, happily curled up into your lap like a cat. 

“Hey, Harper. We got a new puzzle delivered yesterday. It's got My Melody and Cinnamaroll on it. They're your favorites, right?” 

The little girl nodded in glee, eyes shining as she hung on your every word. 

“How about you go over to the play area and get it started, and then me and your daddy will come over and help you finish it?” 

In a flash, she'd hopped up out of your lap and wriggled away, shouting a quick “You promised, right?” behind her as she went. 

“I'm so sorry about that, I don't know what's gotten into her, she's usually very shy and-”

“Doctor Reid, it's fine. That's just why I called you in today. Teachers and parents are a team, right, we work together to make sure the kids grow up well, you don't need to apologize to me for that.” 

The man seemed to take a deep breath and nod, to regain his wits about him for a second. 

“Is she… this attached in her regular classes?” 

“Well honestly, she was a bit like that at the beginning of the semester, but she grew out of it after a while. In the last week or so, she fell back into it, and now she's calling me ‘Mommy,’ too. I was wondering if anything happened recently at home that could've led her in this direction, or…”

The man looked a little bashful, but there was a twinge of sadness in his expression that you recognised all too well. 

“Harper, uh, doesn't have a Mom. I adopted her, and it's a long story, but... She's been asking me to get her one recently, because she doesn't really understand all that well? I'm sorry, I didn't know she'd do something like this. I should've done a better job at home-” 

“Doctor Reid, raising a child is hard. It's so hard that humans usually do it in communities, or at least in couples. You're doing it alone, and Harper is already one of the smartest and most empathetic little girls I know. You're doing your job as Dad just fine.” 

The man smiled at you and looked down, quickly wiping away a tear as you gave him a moment of privacy. 

“So. If nothing at home set Harper off, we should probably go and ask her why she's calling me mommy, right?” 

You stood, and he stood with you, leaving his satchel next to his chair and unbuttoning his jacket. 

“Great. Sure, let's go see.”

Walking to the back of the room, you both smiled quietly, looking at the small girl. The 100 piece puzzle you'd guided her to was neatly arranged on the desk, pieces split into edges and centre pieces as she slowly looked at each one with a quietly focused face. Each time she found the piece she was looking for, her smile was bright as she connected it to the small part she was working on. 

“Mommy! Daddy! I can't find the melody's face, can you help me?” 

“Sure, Harper, we'll help you.” You moved to sit beside her at the tiny desks, giggling when the older Reid on Harper's other side struggled to fit himself in the toddler sized chairs. 

Harper assigned you roles, and you all started quietly doing your jobs, waiting for Harper to focus again so you could ask her questions without agitating her. 

“Harper, can you tell your Daddy why you call me Mommy?” 

“Sure! You're Mommy because I want you to marry with Daddy.” 

If you weren't already still flushed from her earlier comments, you certainly were lightheaded with embarrassment now. 

“Harper, that's not how it works-” 

“Yes, it is, Daddy! Henry said so. He said his mommy and daddy were sad one day, but then they were together again and they had a big party called a wedding and now they're happy, and that's why we have Michael.” You didn't quite follow from all the names and the story events, but it was evident that Reid did, so you waited quietly for his explanation. 

“My friend. Her son was at her wedding a few years back. They have another son who is a couple years older than Harper, they come to school together?” 

Your mouth made a small ‘o’ as you slowly filled in the blanks. 

“Harper, you want daddy to have a wedding so he isn't sad anymore?” 

The little girl gave a big nod and a smile, like she was so happy that she was finally being understood. 

“Miss Y/N should marry daddy because he thinks she's pretty. Henry said that was important for a wedding, your mommy has to look beautiful.” You made eye contact with Doctor Reid awkwardly as she spoke, both of you looking away for fear of seeing the embarrassment on each others faces. 

“And Miss Y/N wants a baby. So I will be Miss Y/N's baby, so everyone can be happy!” Harper's kid logic was a little hard to find fault with, but you still had to push back a little. 

“Harper, why do you think I want a baby?” 

“Angie asked you, and you said," the girl pouted, almost frustrated woth habing to answer all these silly questions.

"She asked you why you don't have a baby, and you said that you can only have a baby if you're married and that you wanted to have a baby when you were married. So marry my dad, and I'll be your baby!” 

Harper's smile was so happy and content that you really didn't want to spoil her dream just yet. You continued putting the puzzle together for a few minutes in silence, the full picture nearly being complete now. Harper seemed to fidget a little in her seat next to you, pushing closer and closer to you before tugging on your sleeve. 

You leaned down and she whispered in your ear - though you didn't doubt that her dad heard every word. 

“If you really want, I'm sure we can get another baby like Henry got Michael. I'll ask my dad, but I think it's allowed.” 

The poor man on the other side of the desk had to cover his face with his hands to stop the blush from showing, devolving to just straight up resting his head on the desk when his daughter kept going. 

“A boy is okay, but my dad doesn't really know about boy stuff. Uncle Derek says that my daddy is just a pretty boy with a book brain. We should get another girl, so daddy can be not worry.” 

The more you listened to Harper's adorable family plan, the more you just wanted to squeeze her tight and say yes and give her everything she wanted. 

“Miss Y/N, once again, I'm so sorry for everything, I'll talk with Harper at home about this.” 

“It's okay, I actually find it all very sweet,” you laughed a little and smiled back at him. 

“No, I'm sure your boyfriend would be so uncomfortable if he knew that she was trying to marry you off-” 

“Doctor Reid, are you trying to ask me if I'm single?” 

The small grin that quirked his lips up was nothing if not unfair. He really was a very pretty boy. 

“It was that obvious?” 

“Yep.” You made sure the ‘p’ popped a lot as you both shared a small laugh. Harper looked up between you and smiled, too. 

“So, can you get married now? Henry said you can do it really quickly, like in Grandpa Rossi's garden, and then you can go and do the secret part at home while Auntie Penny looks after me.” 

“Secret part?” 

“To make the other baby, silly!” 

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid kid fic

[incognit0slut]

Beyond the limit

>> Part two: the breaking point

Spencer is hesitant when you ask him to be rough, but when he realizes how much you enjoy it, he wonders just how far he can push your limit.

warnings: (MDNI, 18+) dom spence, guided/mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation (use of slut), orgasm control, hairpulling, choking, overstimulation, creampie, cumplay, squirting, rough sex, so many body fluids

a/n: 4k words for 4k followers! Thank you all so much, consider this as a token of my appreciation. This one is for you, I love you all ♡

Spencer considered himself as someone with a strong sense of self-control... until he found himself on top of you, right between your legs. How could he resist when your body felt so soft against his? When all his restraint seemed to vanish into thin air?

He had you pinned against the bed, his palms tracing your hips before moving to your breast. You moaned out his name as your nipples hardened against the thin material of your shirt—his shirt, to be exact. After all, it was how it all started.

The moment he was greeted by the view of your perfect ass when he came home from work, barely covered by his shirt you were wearing, something in him snapped. You looked so damn good, so damn tempting, practically begging to be touched.

It didn’t take long for him to discard his bag onto the floor before scooping you in his arms. You simply giggled, amused at his sudden urgency yet eagerly welcoming it as he led you into your shared bedroom.

Now he was right between your thighs, pressing his hard erection right against your panties. You could feel yourself getting wet by the friction and you found yourself parting your legs even further, grinding your hips along with his as his mouth continued to suck on the spot right below your ear.

Anytime you whimpered, he gripped you tighter, and your shaky hands clutched onto button-down shirt. There was something about him still dressed in his work clothes while you were nearly half-naked, his shirt bunched around your waist, leaving your lower half exposed. And you liked it. It made you feel vulnerable being pressed under him like this, sparking a strange desire to submit to him completely.

And now you craved more. You wanted to surrender to him, to let him take the lead. But to your dismay, his movements suddenly slowed down, leaving you momentarily confused because you could feel the way he was holding back. His hands were trembling against your body as if he was consciously avoiding being rough.

You slid your hands up to his chest, lightly pushing him away and he quickly drew back. His brows furrowed as he gazed down at you. "What is it? Did I do something wrong?"

Shaking your head, you reassured him. "No," you replied softly. "But... you don't have to hold yourself back for my sake, you know.”

His eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "I mean, I know you're trying to be careful, but... I want you to take control, without holding back. I want... more.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his features. "You want me to... be rough?" he asked cautiously.

You nodded, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I do."

"But I- I don't want to hurt you."

You reached out, cupping his cheek tenderly. "I trust you, Spence. I trust us. And I want you to trust yourself too."

His expression softened under your touch. You took it as enough of a sign to push forward as your thumb swept back and forth across his jaw.

"If it's too much I'll tell you," you assured him.

He searched your eyes for a moment, uncertainty flickering within his gaze. "What if I hurt you?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You bit your lip, studying his face for a moment before responding. "I think I'll like it if you do," you confessed, your cheeks flushing slightly. "But we don't have to do anything crazy you're not comfortable with. We don't necessarily have to do something you don't want to."

Spencer swallowed hard, processing your words. "So what do you want then?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand slid up the length of his jaw until your fingers slipped into his hair. Very carefully you gripped a handful of his curly strands in your fist. "Do whatever you want, baby," you answered. "Mark my skin. Pull my hair. Talk me through it."

You noticed the way his lips twitched at your words and you smiled.

"Fuck me hard," you demanded boldly.

His breath hitched as he searched your eyes. He definitely wanted to do those things, too. When he finally relaxed into your touch, a rush of anticipation surged through you, your heart beating rapidly.

"Are you sure?" he asked slowly.

You nodded, gripping his hair a bit harder, enjoying the way his breathing grew shallower. "Please," you whispered, your voice filled with desire.

With a barely audible groan, Spencer gave in to your request, his resolve melting away as his lips crashed against yours. Your pulse sped up excitedly in your chest in response—this was exactly what you wanted. That pure, raw desire that was too strong for him to contain. When he finally pulled away, he was breathing even heavier now, his shoulders heaving with each audible inhale.

"If we're going to do this, we'll do it my way," he declared firmly. "You will listen to me, understood?"

You nodded, feeling a shiver of anticipation run down your spine at the commanding tone of his voice. "Yes," you replied breathlessly.

And just when you thought he was about to delve into another kiss, he surprised you by pulling away. He sat back, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you. "Sit up and lean back on the pillow," he commanded.

Your heart raced as you complied, eagerly following his lead.

"Take off the shirt... leave your panties on."

You followed, leaning forward, your fingers grabbing the hem of your shirt before pulling it off your body, revealing your soft-looking skin to his eyes. His predatory gaze was locked on your breasts, noticing the way your nipples hardened as the cold air brushed your skin. When you leaned back again, he dragged the tips of his fingers up your thighs, gripping your waist for a moment before another demand left his lips.

"Spread your pretty legs," his soothing voice told you, staring intently between your thighs. You did as you were told, parting your knees, your feet propped up on the bed as you waited with bated breath for his next instruction, feeling yourself throb behind the drenched fabric.

"Now touch yourself." You gulped at his tone, sliding your fingers inside your panties. He suddenly called out your name in a warning, his voice alone stopping your hand in its tracks. "Over your panties, I'll tell you when to touch yourself directly."

You nodded, letting your fingers hover over the fabric of your panties. You let out a gasp when you felt how drenched you were before you found your clit. You were hyperaware of every movement you were making, you realized, and it turned you on way more than it should. You choked on your next moan, squeezing your eyes shut as felt the sensation growing along your body.

You suddenly felt a hand gripping your jaw and you quickly opened your eyes, greeted by him staring down at you. "Keep your eyes on me."

There was nothing else for you to do but to oblige. Your fingers continued to press down your clit, swirling around the sensitive bud desperately as he released his hold on your jaw before trailing down your chest, teasing your aching nipples. You whimpered and watched as his eyes traveled down your body.

Spencer hungrily took in the way your legs were spread apart before him, the way you were touching yourself so eagerly. Your fingers moved rapidly over your panties, the material now too drenched as it slipped between your folds every time you moved. Your pussy was barely covered and he could see your arousal dripping down your legs.

"Look at you," he mused, his hand traveling down your body, resting slightly at the inner part of your thigh. "You like putting on a little show, don't you?"

Your breaths came out in shallow, eager gasps, but when you attempted to increase your pace, he quickly shook his head. "Slower. We don't want to rush."

You complied, adjusting your movements to match his pace, and he rewarded you with a smile. "That's it. Nice and slow," he praised, his gaze locked on yours with intensity.

Through hooded eyes, you watched as he began to undress, each deliberate movement teasingly slow. His tie came first, followed by his shirt which he discarded carelessly onto the floor. His pants followed suit, and when he was completely naked, your eyes hungrily drank in the sight of his exposed body.

Your fingers on your own body slowed down as you took in the sight before you, the way he slowly gripped the base of his cock before squeezing it hard.

"Don't you stop, I didn't tell you to stop," he reminded you, his voice firm.

With a sharp inhale, you resumed your movements, the urgency returning as you focused on pleasuring yourself under his watchful gaze. Then as if to taunt you, he began pumping his length slow and steady as your eyes focused in on the motions.

"S-Spence," you whined, pushing your hips faster against your hand, trying to keep your rhythm in check though the sight of him pleasuring himself had you so weak in the moment. "I- I wanna take my panties off."

He gripped his cock tighter, working his fist quicker along the length as his breaths deepened. "Yeah? You wanna see how wet you are?"

His words sent a surge of warmth through your body, spreading from between your thighs to your cheeks as your fingers quickened in pace and your legs spread further for him to see. "Yes-yes- please," you begged.

"Such a desperate slut," he muttered. His crude words shouldn't have brought you pleasure, but they did, and your tight walls clenched around nothing. He noticed the effect it had on you and smiled. "You liked that, huh? You liked being called a slut?"

You gulped, your fingers moving faster. "Y-Yes."

He simply hummed in response, snaking his hands between you, finally slipping off your panties down your legs. His fingers then gripped the soft plush of your thigh, spreading you open for him, exposing your cunt to the open air as he massaged soothing shapes into your skin.

He sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, taking in the mess between your legs. His gaze traveled your stomach, up to your perky breasts, before meeting your half-lidded eyes. He then slowly took your hand and your jaw slacked open when he abruptly sucked your fingers into his mouth.

His tongue felt hot, searingly so, as he laves over the pads of your middle and ring fingers, then dipped between them to caress your knuckles down to where they meet. A wave of heat traveled through you as he held your gaze, licking off your fingers one last time before guiding them back between your thighs.

"Keep going," he instructed, and you wasted no time in rubbing your clit feverishly. Your face twisted with pleasure, brow wrinkled, body tense, and each circle around your sensitive flesh brought you closer to the edge. The bedroom was filled with the sounds of crisp, rustling sheets underneath you and the slick motions of your fingers roaming your folds.

"Do you hear that? You're getting so loud. So wet," he gritted out. His eyes flickered up to your face, observing the delicate scrunch of your nose and your parted lips. "You're close, aren't you?"

You looked over to him. The view of his hand gripping his cock drew you so close to the edge you were balancing on, all the while attempting to feign control to give him the show he requested.

"Y- Yes," you admitted breathlessly, your body trembling with need.

He hummed a reply, soothing your thigh with his other hand. "Be a good girl and beg for it."

A choked whine escaped your lips.

"P-Please, let me come," you pleaded, the desperation evident in your voice as you sought his permission to release the tension coiling in your stomach.

"Ask nicely," he said, his tone firm yet encouraging. "Can I what?"

"Can I... I-I come?" you stammered, your eyes fluttering close, fingers moving rapidly on your clit.

"Look at me. Ask again."

Your eyes flickered open, meeting his intense gaze. "Can I-I come?" you begged, the desperation in your voice echoing your urgent desire.

"I can't hear you."

A moan ripped out of you, your body shaking uncontrollably under his gaze. Tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes as you struggled to hold on. "P-Please," you pleaded, your voice trembling with need. "Please let me come, I-I can't hold on much longer..."

"Louder," he demanded, his voice cutting through the haze of your desire, and that was when everything snapped. It was no longer a plea; instead, you were babbling incoherent words, unable to contain the overwhelming need coursing through your body.

"I-I'm s-sorry, I-I can't—" you cried, your voice strained with the effort of holding back.

But it was too late. Your resolve shattered, overwhelmed by the intensity of your desire. With a tear falling down your cheek, you locked eyes with him desperately as your climax crashed over you, consuming you entirely in its wave of ecstasy. It crept up on you, a gentle crescendo that abruptly peaked before slamming right into you.

Something in him snapped. Spencer never imagined he would enjoy having this much control over your body, but in this moment, he did. It was twisted, and although a hint of remorse flickered within him, his desire overpowered any sense of guilt.

Even as your body trembled uncontrollably from the intensity of your orgasm, he acted on impulse, flipping you over to lie on your stomach. The shift in position only fueled his desire further, igniting a primal need to dominate and possess you completely.

A moment later his hand came down on your ass with a sharp smack that drew a gasp out of you. He then crawled over you as his knees landed on either side of your thighs, the mattress bowing under his weight. Both of his hands dropped roughly down onto your ass, kneading the soft flesh.

You felt him lining his cock up with your entrance, your eyes closing in anticipation of him filling you. And then he plunged himself into you in one swift, sharp thrust which had your head dropping down into your pillow, burying your face in it as you tried to muffle the cry of pleasure that flew out of you.

He began pumping into you, his pace was slow at first, long strokes of drawing his cock out and back in earning quiet whimpers from you against the pillow. One of his hands released your hip before you felt him grabbing a fistful of your hair, just at the base of your skull, and sharply pulling.

"Stop burying yourself," he grunted. "Let me hear those pretty sounds."

You let out a moan, body shaking with every thrust of his hips, the room spinning as he picked up his pace. You felt the slow withdrawal of his cock as his hips drew back from you, but you weren't prepared for the way he rammed himself swiftly forward into you seconds after while tightening his grip on your hair.

A high-pitched, breathy noise of pleasure tore out of you at the feel of it. Encouraged, he repeated the gesture, the tug on your hair even rougher. You moaned loudly in response, your hips beginning to eagerly press backward into him as he brutally fucked you into the mattress.

"That's my girl," he praised. "Just like that, let me hear how good my cock makes you feel."

Your eyelids grew heavy under the weight of his words, your mouth going slack. Spencer was as loud as you as he repeatedly buried his cock in you over and over again. It didn't take long before his vicious thrusts had your eyes rolling back behind closed lids, your mind going entirely blank to everything but this very moment.

He then lowered onto his left forearm as his front molded over your back. The hard, solid feel of him behind you had you pressing back up into him, teeth gritting together as his cock buried itself somehow further inside of you. He released his grip on your hair, his hand swiftly moving to encircle your throat.

A moan escaped your lips as you felt the slight pressure of his grip, a surge of arousal coursing through you. His hand slid up further, encircling the bottom of your jaw as he carefully pulled your head backward, drawing it towards his shoulder until his mouth was beside your ear.

"Is this what you wanted?" Your breath hitched at his proximity, the heat of his body searing against your back as you struggled to form a coherent response. You could only manage a breathless nod in response.

"Let's see how far I can ruin you," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that sent a thrill through you despite the underlying threat in his words.

As his grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly, you couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips, surrendering completely as he picked up his pace, his hips rocking more rapidly into you. You were panting hard, your head tilted back against his shoulder.

His lips pressed onto the sensitive spot just between your shoulder and your neck, sucking on the skin while he mercilessly fucked you, his sweat-slicked body still flush to the back of you as he continued his fast, relentless pace. You were vaguely aware of his ragged, drawn-out groan and you could tell he was close.

It was evident in the way he was starting to lose control, his grip tightening around your throat as his breath grew hot and heavy against you. He was on the brink of spiraling, and you welcomed it, giving yourself over completely to please him.

"T-That's it, baby," you moaned. "You fuck me so good."

It was enough to make him come undone. He released inside of you, panting and huffing as he gave into the bliss. His motions slowed but he continued spilling inside your drenched walls, sweat beading against his forehead, lips parted, and face flushed. You squeezed yourself around him just to hear him suck in a sharp breath, gulping and exhaling with his brow wrinkled before he pulled out.

But when you thought he was done with you, he flipped you onto your back again. You were so wonderfully disheveled, your cunt clenching around nothing, gleaming with your arousal and his own release. He ran his fingers over your outer lips, spreading you open to have a better view of the white liquid trickling down your ass. He was quick to collect it with his fingers, tracing it up your folds so he could messily rub it over your clit.

"S-Spence..."

Spencer was known for his aversion to getting dirty, yet he didn't mind the mess he made between your legs. "You should see yourself," he muttered. "You're so pretty like this."

And then to your surprise, he positioned the tip of his cock right at your entrance again. You gasped, prompting yourself on your elbows as you looked down between your legs, wondering how on earth he was still so hard. Then a moan left your lips as you watched him slowly sinking into you again.

"Look at how I'm stretching you," he murmured, pushing his hips further. Both of your eyes were locked on the way your pussy stretched so wide around his girth. His previous release slipped back inside you every time his cock disappeared into your wet cunt, white cream coating around his length.

He moaned when your walls clenched around him, his eyes flickering between your face and the way his cock was stretching you. Spencer should have stopped. You were both too tired and too sensitive to continue further. Even his body ached with exhaustion, but he couldn't stop himself from thrusting forward as your walls swallowed his cock eagerly, practically begging for more.

The rational part of his brain urged him to pause, but the primal, carnal desire within him overrode any sense of restraint. Ignoring the way your body shook with exhaustion and the tension in his own muscles, he focused solely on the intense heat between your legs. So he continued to fuck you.

He was fucking you to the point where you couldn't even moan anymore, your voice caught in your throat with each thrust. He was fucking you so good there were tears in your eyes but you couldn't whimper or blink, you were just staring up at him, wordless and in awe, nails digging in his arms while your knees brushed up close to your shoulders.

He was fucking you roughly, dipping down every so often to press his lips to yours, the times he was not whispering encouragement, telling you how pretty you look, how wet you were, how much of a slut you were, and good you felt wrapped around him. And you could feel it, you could feel how good you were as your walls clamped down, sucking him in.

He thrust into you ruthlessly, consumed by a primal need to push you to your limits, to explore just how much you could take of him. Then when you felt that coil spreading along your limbs, you finally came without saying a word. But he didn't stop, continuing to fuck you into your next orgasm, and even when the sensation began to feel too overwhelming, he abused your clit with his thumb.

That was when everything blurred. The overwhelming pleasure finally consumed you entirely, rendering rational thought as a surge of liquid gushed out between your legs. He moaned in surprise at the sensation, his desire only fueled further by your response.

"Do that again," he begged, his voice husky with need as he continued to roll his hips into you. And you did, another wave of pleasure crashing over you as you drenched everything around you—his body, the sheets, every surface within reach. He moaned again, acutely aware of the mess you created.

Your grip on him slowly loosened and a pang of guilt hit him as he realized your body was already exhausted. Yet he couldn't resist the urge to use you once more. Your silence urged him to continue, thrusting into you relentlessly, your slicked-sweat skin sliding against his as he chased his second orgasm of the night.

He finally came with a grunt, his hips pumping into you with desperation, once, twice, before finally stilling. You cried out at the sensation, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all—the quickening of his breath, the hard grip of his hand on your skin, the throbbing ache between your legs.

Your vision suddenly became a hazy blur, and you gasped for breath, struggling to anchor yourself amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. Despite your shaking form, Spencer managed to pull you into his embrace.

“I-I got you," he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of emotions as the rush of dominance that had driven him moments ago was replaced by a wave of panic. He continued to hold you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively as he whispered soothing words into your ear.

You focused on controlling your breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly as you sought to regain your composure. Gradually, the haze began to lift, and after a moment passed, you found yourself able to see clearly once again. Your eyes traveled to him, and with a tired and sleepy smile, you leaned into his touch.

Spencer released a breath he wasn't aware of holding. "We are never doing that again."

"What? Why?" you asked, confusion evident in your voice.

"You scared me!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with both relief and exasperation. "What if you passed out? What if I had to take you to the hospital and—and explain that—"

"That I passed out because your dick was too good?"

He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're impossible," he teased, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You grinned up at him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his affectionate gesture. "But you love me anyway."

His smile softened as he gazed down at you. "I do."

"And I love you," you assured him. "Don't worry, I'm alright. And be honest with me, you seriously don't want to do that again? Wasn't that hot?"

His cheeks flushed slightly at your question, and he hesitated for a moment before meeting your gaze. "It was..." he began, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words. "Intense," he finally admitted, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. "But maybe we should take it slow next time."

"Spencer, you were the one that kept going."

He gave you a sheepish smile. "I guess I got carried away a little," he admitted, a touch of embarrassment coloring his tone.

“A little?”

“Fine, more than a little,” he confessed. “But you didn't stop me either."

"That's because I was enjoying myself."

His embarrassment faded into amusement. "You're going to be the death of me one day, you know that?"

You grinned playfully at his remark. "Only if you're lucky," you teased, a mischievous twinkle in your eye.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head fondly as he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. He studied you, taking in the warmth in your eyes and the happy but serene smile that graced your lips as a surge of affection washed over him. "Then I must be the luckiest man alive."

#gifwriting #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #Fanfiction

[ddejavvu]

Can you do a spencer reid with a bau reader who is younger and very atractive and when the bau are coming to see him at his apartment for whatever reason and use the key (derek probably has one ngl) they just find a mess of clothes everywhere and them just asleep together

When they wake up they are like:👀😶

Bau: 😏😏

They're not snooping, per se, but the BAU are profilers by nature, and it's not hard to spot the neon pink bra that's abandoned by the side of Spencer's recliner.

"Uh, I think pretty boy's mom has kinda aged outta stuff like this," Derek holds up the bra by one single strap, indicating the lacy cutouts that leave very little to the imagination, "Unless she's got a boyfriend we don't know about, and Spence let her have his place for the night?"

"Oh, come on, is it so hard to believe Spence has a woman here?" JJ pleads, but when she gets several 'subtle' glances from the rest of her team, she relents with a sigh, "Oh, fine. Maybe it accidentally fell into his basket at the laundromat."

"Spencer doesn't go to the laundromat," Emily recites, "Because he has 'no way to realistically verify that their machines are sanitized within proper health regulations'."

"Oh, dude, that man is a wet blanket," Derek scoffs, "But don't tell him I said that- he'll probably start on a tangent about mildew."

"We should leave," Hotch proposes, standing by the door where he'd been trying to keep up an air of polite disinterest despite his intent glances around the apartment, "His keys are hung up by the door, so I'm sure we're just not getting a response from him because he's sleeping. And if he woke up he'd kill you all for wearing shoes on his carpet, so it's in everyone's best interest to leave."

"Hold on!" Penelope gushes, "I just want to check!"

She creeps towards Spencer's bedroom, but at JJ's insistent, 'Shoes!', she chucks her heels back towards the door. One hits its intended blonde target, but the other whacks Derek in the arm, and Hotch is surprised that the dramatics that ensue don't wake Spencer from where he's presumably sleeping. He's sure Penelope will offer to kiss it better.

Penelope tiptoes towards the bedroom door, peering inside the small gap that he'd left before laying down, and finding a Spencer-sized lump under the covers. She nearly turns when she notices that it's larger than just Spencer-sized, and-

"Ooooh, guys," She rushes back to the living room, voice barely hushed enough not to wake you, "He's got a girl in there!"

Derek's victory fist-pump is accompanied by a whispered, 'My man!', but Emily reaches for a pen that's resting in the breast pocket of her blazer. She takes the bra from where Derek had set it on the arm of the couch, rooting around for a post-it in Spencer's drawer and finding a stack of them neatly tucked into the front-right corner. Typical. Just the way he does it at work.

While Penelope describes how close the two of you were sleeping beside each other- 'not an inch apart, guys, they were totally spooning!' - Emily scrawls a neat message on the post-it, dotting the I with a heart.

'Congratulations, Spencer and Mystery Girl!' She writes, leaving the sticky note over the lingerie that she sets on his countertop, 'Tell him to bring you around the office sometime soon - your bra is gorgeous, I need to know where you got it ~ Prentiss <3'

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer reid smut

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Shots Fired | Spencer Reid x reader

Requested by anon / Summary: After a heated argument, you and the BAU are called into the field, where shots are fired and you get injured. Will Spencer have the chance to apologize? 

A/N: Hope you like it! x Thank you for requesting xx

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“I told you to stay put!” Spencer enters the conference room, hot headed and ready for an argument. 

The two of you had went to talk to a potential suspect and when you arrive, there wasn’t anyone home. Or so you thought. Spencer had told you to stay on the porch while he entered the home, however you weren’t going to let him enter the home without backup and followed in after hearing the commotion. 

“He had you pinned, you’re lucky I came in when I did!” You sit down, continuing to hold pressure on the small wound on your head. 

You’d tackled the guy and he’d gotten the upper hand, throwing you into the nearby furniture. It was only a small knick, nothing needed stitches and it would probably bruise but Spencer made it sound like you’d just been shot in front of him. 

“Yeah you handled it well.” he motions to your head, “I told you to stay put and you didn’t follow orders. You work under me. You listen to me.” 

“No Spencer I don’t work under you.” You pop open the first aid kit, “We both work at the same level. You went into that home without knowing what you were walking into. I heard the commotion and came to your aid. Technically, I did listen to you.” 

“You’re a risky agent. You never listen to orders and in the end thats going to get you or one of your team members killed.” He walks out of the room with a slam. 

You didn’t understand his anger, why he’d gone in on you like that. You did listen to orders. You stayed and kept watch until you heard his commotion and came to his aid. Was it a pride thing? Because you had to help him? 

The two of you had dated for a short period and decided it wasn’t the right time. However, that seemed to cause tension between you and Spencer. You had no idea why but Spencer would start arguments with you, pick fights over little things. Little things like this. 

Rossi thought it would be best to get this out of your system, learn to work together again and sent the two of you to talk to the suspect. Well, you see how that turned out. 

You were frustrated. Why had he’d changed toward you? Why did he have to be hostile? It was a mutual separation. You did regret your decision at first and missed Spencer dearly, but soon he became angry at you, like he despised you. It made you wonder if there was even a chance for you two in the future. So, you started moving on, which unbeknownst to you, only drove Spencer even more mad. 

He didn’t know how to deal with his feelings. Yes, the two of you had a mutual separation, but now he was frustrated. He missed you and he wanted you back, but it seemed you were moving on just fine. On to the next guy. Date after date. He decided to bury his feelings, which also meant pushing you away. 

“You okay?” Emily asks softly as she enters the conference room after hearing the conversation. She even felt the hate and anger in spencer’s voice. 

You sniffle, deciding to put on a tough front. “I’m fine.” Digging through the first aid you find a band aid and the antiseptic. 

“He’s going through a lot at the moment.” Emily takes a seat next to you, “His mom’s treatment isn’t working and she’s only worsened.” 

You perked up at that, “What? When did this happen?” You hadn’t known this about his mom and soon his anger began to make sense. He truly wasn’t frustrated at you. 

“He didn’t tell you?” She takes over the first aid care, gathering the ointment on a small q-tip before applying it softly. 

You shook your head, “He doesn’t.. he won’t talk to me anymore.” 

She mumbles an apology as you wince, but finishes quickly and sticks a bandaid over the cut. “Ever since the whole prison ordeal, Spencer doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions. It’s like 0-100 with everything. It sounds like he’s under a lot of pressure and is taking it out on you.” 

“That would make a lot of sense..” You lean back against the chair, “Emily, it’s like he repulses me. I didn’t even do anything wrong.” 

“I know,” She sighs softly, discarding the trash and placing the first aid kit back where you found it, “Boys.. can be stupid. They’d rather hold everything in than show emotions.” 

“We have a new lead, we’re being called out into the field. Time to suit up.” JJ says at the doorway, but notices your bandaid, “What the heck happened?” She heads toward you as you and Emily stand from the table. 

“That suspect me and Spencer went to interrogate. He got the upper hand.” You sigh, “I’m fine though.” 

“Are you sure you don’t need to sit out?” JJ asks. 

“I’m sure, JJ. It’s really just a small cut. Didn’t even need stitches.” 

She sighs and nods, “Alright, well lets go.” 

~ 

When the team arrives at the abandoned building, the team gets prepared and briefed on what you’re going to do. 

As you and the team make your way inside, you were unprepared for the smoke bomb the three suspects tossed at the door. Grey smoke filled the air and you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. 

Soon gunshots rang through the empty building, ricocheting off everything. Someone grabbed your vest and yanked you back behind a shelf; the smoke had cleared enough and you could see if was Emily. 

You nod a thank you at Emily. As you and the team fought against the gunfire, y’all were able to take down the two, but the other ran free and you took off after him.

“What the hell are you doing!” JJ yelled out. 

“We can’t let him get away!” You knew this man needed to be taken alive, he had the known location of the one you were looking for. 

You chased after him and ducked behind cover when he turned to shoot blindly at you. You fought back, trying to aim at his legs to take him down, but soon his gunfire stopped and he took off running down an alleyway. What you didn’t see was the other two men waiting and walked right into the line of fire. 

It was like the earth moved in slow motion. You felt the burning and the rush igniting through your body. You’d been hit by one of the men’s bullets. 

Spencer had chanced after you and had seen the men before you, but he was too late in his warnings and watched the scene unfold. 

You could see the men retreating, skidding off as quickly as they could. Someone was calling your name, but you were focused on your hand. You touched the tender side where the bullet had pierced you, blood staining your hands. 

“Y/n!” 

You turned around at the voice, your hand hovering over the wound. Spencer’s panicked face was nearing yours. “Y/n!” 

“spence?” You said softly, your voice shaking with fright. You’d been shot before, but nothing of this nature. It was usually a graze, a few stitches there and done but this, this felt different. your whole body burned. 

He approached you just in time to catch you as you fell, dropping to his knees with you in his arms, “Oh god, okay.” usually his mind was sharp, ready for anything but his mind was foggy. He needed to call an ambulance. He needed to alert the team. He needed to stop the bleeding. 

“Stay with me,” his shaky hands struggled to un velcro your vest, the useless vest. “damn it!” He finally ripped it lose, throwing it nearby. 

“spence, it hurts.” 

If his heart hadn’t broke yet, it did now, seeing the terrified look on your face. The “I’m going to die” look.

“I know doll, I know it hurts.” He presses hard against the wound, sending a jolt of pain through you. His free hand fumbles with his phone, smearing the phone with your blood as he dials Rossi. 

He holds the phone between his shoulder and ear, tapping softly on your face, “you have to stay awake, okay? eyes on me.” 

“I don’t want to die,” you sob. 

Spence yells over the phone about needing an ambulance, an agent is down and then his attention is on you. “shh shh..” he tries to comfort, “You are not going to die, you hear me? You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Spence,” You gasp, feeling the world fading fast. You reach up to touch his cheek with your hand, “I-” The world fades away before you can finish your sentence. 

~ 

Spencer’s hands shook as he tried to clean the blood off his hands in the bathroom. He could see his reflection in the mirror and you’d thought he’d been injured as well. Blood soaked his shirt and blood on his face and neck. His mind kept flashing back to the moment you’d passed out. It had terrified him to no end. 

He hadn’t even heard Rossi open the door, “She’s out of surgery.” 

Spencer followed Rossi numbly through the hospital corridor and to the waiting room where the rest of his team sat. The doctor stood in front of them, explaining the extent of the surgery and that you would be expected to make a full recovery. 

You were going to be okay; the next thought was seeing you. “Can we see her?” 

The doctor shook her head, “She’s in recovery at the moment. When we bring her to her room and get her settled in I will send a nurse for you.” 

So, Spencer and the rest of the team had to wait another agonizing two hours before finally getting to see you. 

The team sent Spencer first, knowing he needed to see you. 

Spencer was quiet as he entered your room, wondering what he would say to you. He wanted to apologize for everything, for being an asshole. He wanted to tell you how much he loved and miss you. How he couldn’t do this without you. 

He edged himself closer to the bed and you stirred, relief when you see it is him. “Spence.” 

“Hi,” His voice cracks and he looked pained, taking a seat next to you, “y/n-” He chokes up, his hand shaking as he takes yours in his. What were the words he wanted to tell you? 

He’s overwhelmed with emotion and breaks down in a sob, bringing your hand to his lips. 

“Oh spence,” you say softly, your own eyes stinging with tears. 

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know why I.. I love you, with all my heart and I miss you and-and-” He struggles to even find the words to explain himself. 

Your hand cups his cheek, “I know,” His eyes meet yours and you nod, “It’s okay.” 

He leans into your touch, “I thought I lost you.” 

“I thought so too..” Your hand moves up into his hair, softly running your fingers through his hair, “I didn’t get to finish what I wanted to tell you, but I love you Spencer.” 

He wipes a falling tear from your cheek, “god, I’ve missed you.” 

side note, i hate writing reunions because I have this grand scene in my mind and when I write it, it’s shitty. I also hate ending fics because I suck at them, but comments likes and reblogs are always appreciated and thanks for reading! x 

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x female!reader #spencer reid x female!reader fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic

[tinyluvs]

imagine dating spencer and you come to visit or something and make him so distracted that he literally can’t info dump on something and the rest of the team is just shocked

yes yes, a hundred times yes 🤭 thank you so much!

catching a glimpse of yourself in the elevator mirror was the last thing you needed right now. you were covered in paint, your dungarees showing up every coloured streak and hand print against the light denim. you're sure there's paint in your hair but you don't have time to dwell on it, you're late

you'd got stressed, painting your boyfriends apartment on your own, lost track of time and then didn't have the time to change before running out of the apartment, just about managing to remember to grab yours and spencer's lunch on the way

"i'm so sorry i'm late," you sigh and frown as you rush through the bullpen to the collection of desks you're oh so familiar with, "please excuse the state of me,"

spencer turns at the sound of your voice, "hi sweetheart," he hums, looking up at you just as you dip to kiss him quickly before pushing the bag of food onto his lap

"hey," you smile softly at your boyfriend before turning to his colleagues, "hey guys, how are we all?" you ask, getting a mixed bunch of replies back

"how's painting?" derek laughs, looking at your appearance and the state of your clothes

you slide onto spencer's desk, pulling your legs up to sit cross legged, "standing six feet up a ladder trying to hold a tray of paint and a brush is hard, i've nearly fallen off twice," you huff,

spencer hands you the sandwich he knows is yours and then seemingly looks at you properly for the first time since you've been there, "hey," he says, almost breathlessly

"hello?" you question, head tilting slightly, "you've already said hi," you say, looking at emily and jj who just snicker and shrug their shoulders but spencer doesn't reply, "oh before i forget!"

your boyfriend watches you carefully as you produce a piece of paper from the tiny pocket on the front of your dungarees, flapping it around to unfold it, your other hand busy clutching your food

"the living room is next, i need to know how much paint to buy," you explain, handing the paper to him, "the cans are one litre or five litres, i can't figure it out"

truth be told you hadn't bothered to try and work it out, knowing spencer would be able to reel off the answer like it's nothing, naturally, he knew the exact measurements of every wall in his house

the boy stares up at you blankly, big brown eyes soft and sparkly. your cheeks heat up under his gaze, your eyebrows raising slightly, "spence?" you nudge him with your knee

he jumps ever so slightly, his head shaking a bit, "hmm?" he asks before only just registering you've handed him something, his eyes scan over it, "oh!" he blushes, turning his chair to face his desk

"what colour are you doing the living room?" jj asks while she stabs at her salad like it's offending her. you'd consulted the girls with all of the decorating developments.

"a light brown i think, we have so much to hang on the walls," you pause to swallow, "so something neutral," you finish with a slight nod

a door opening to your side grabs your attention, aaron coming out of his office with his lunch. he comes down into the bullpen, sitting on the edge of emily's desk, "the paint fighting back?" he asks you, slight smile creeping over his face

you roll your eyes at him, playfully, while the other laugh at your expense, "very funny but i don't see any of you offering to help"

penelope scoffs, "actually, i did" and she was right, however her idea of getting wine drunk and decorating had been quickly shut down by spencer, the only input he's actually offered up in the whole process

giggling, you turn back to your boyfriend who's been far too quiet, "boy wonder?" you say gently, pushing your fingers through his hair, "got an answer for me?"

usually he would have an answer within seconds, his minutes of silence making you frown, he turns to you with the same frown painted across his face, "i don't know," he says

people around you gasp, loudly too, "what do you mean, you don't know?" emily almost chokes on her lunch, sitting forward to gawp at the boy

"i do not know how much paint we need" he confirms

derek scrambles, pulling his phone out of his pocket, "say it again, i need record of this moment" he pleads while garcia smacks him

"well there's a first," david says, wandering over after hearing spencer say i don't know for possibly the first time, ever

your boy stares at the paper in his hand and then up at you, confused, "i have to go and work it out, excuse me" he says, rushed, as he stands and takes off towards circle table room

after a moment of shocked silence you turn to the team who are all staring directly at you, "i'll go check on him, i wonder what's wrong?" you say to no one in particular as you hop off of the desk

"i think i know," jj sing songs and the others hum in agreement as you hop up the stairs and along the walkway into the room.

when you get into the room spencer is stood in front of the biggest whiteboard you've possibly ever seen, marker in hand though the board is still empty of his handwriting

"spence? angel?" you say quietly, staring at his back as he starts to write the measurements of the walls in his living room, "everything alright?"

he hums, not turning to look at you as he continues to work through the problem, "yeah, fine, just can't think properly when you're around," he admits, "not when you look like that," he turns slightly to look at you

"oh, do you want me to leave?" you're sad, its obvious in your voice. nervously you start fiddling with the sleeves of your sweatshirt

your boyfriend gasps, "no, no, honey that's not what i meant!" he says, holding his arm out. you slide into the space, head resting on his shoulder, "you're so beautiful and i love you so much, so so much, my brain just switches off when you’re around"

"really?" you giggle, looking up at him. he hums and nods his head, a light blush rushes up his neck before taking over his cheeks, "i love you too,"

he's taller than you, forcing you onto your tip toes to kiss him, not caring when someone, emily, whoops from the bullpen. gentle hands squeeze at your waist, while you hold his face with one hand, the other resting on his shoulder

"three litres," spencer mumbles against your mouth, you pull away with a sight hum, forgetting what you'd asked of him, "you need three but it's cheaper to just buy five and have left over, now come back" he huffs, his arm wrapping tighter around you to pull you back in for another kiss

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily!! send prompts to my ask box!

❥ spencer reid masterlist !!

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[forhappysake]

We're Okay

A/N - Guys idk where this came from. I guess I'm just feeling emotional and inspired.

Content - After JJ admits her decade-long love for Spencer, you and your boyfriend have to have a conversation to calm both of your doubts and fears.

Warnings: spencer reid x fem!reader, season 14 spoilers, anxiety, mentions of typical BAU-level crime stuff, fluff at the end

You walked in the door slowly, cautionary even; afraid the smallest noise would bring reality crashing down on you. The car ride home had been completely silent, as neither of you bothered to turn on the radio. Spencer shuffled in behind you, the click of the lock making you wince as you did your best to avoid his gaze. You stripped off your coat, throwing it over the couch before walking straight into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind you. 

As you started the shower and stripped off your clothes, the evening’s events rushed back into your mind. Being involved in a hostage situation with an unstable unsub was one thing. JJ being held at gunpoint was worse. However, as if all that wasn’t enough, JJ admitting her decade-long hidden love for Spencer was the final nail in the coffin. As you climbed into the shower, you did your best to let the water wash away the thoughts running through your head. 

Unfortunately, your attempt was unsuccessful. As you dried off and wrapped yourself in a towel, your mind raced. You’d been dating Spencer for nearly a year and a half. The two of you had just recently moved in together. Having known him and JJ for at least half a decade, you knew they were close, but you never would have guessed this was coming. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way she did. If so, what did this mean for your relationship?

After stalling in the bathroom for so long that goosebumps dotted your freshly dried body, you mustered up the courage to slip out of the bathroom and into the bedroom that you shared with Spencer. As you walked across the hallway, you could see his silhouette sitting on the living room couch, head bent forward. You couldn’t tell if he was reading or in deep thought, but you decided that either option was better than the alternative: trying to have a conversation. 

You snuck into the bedroom, gently turning on the bedroom light and letting your eyes adjust to the warm glow of your room. You meandered to the closet, pulling out a simple t-shirt and shorts to sleep in. Slipping into your pajamas and stealing a glance at yourself in the vanity mirror, you noticed one of the many images covering the tabletop. 

A framed photograph from less than a year ago of JJ, Will, Spencer, and yourself with the boys on a weekend hiking trip. You felt a pang of guilt in your chest and wondered if Will had any idea what was going on in JJ’s head. You shook the thought away, reminding yourself that you had bigger problems of your own to deal with. You turned back to the bed, sliding under the covers and turning off the light. Despite your distress, you were exhausted and you found yourself losing track of time and drifting off to sleep in mere minutes. 

*  *  *

You awoke to the sound of the bedroom door latching shut. You rolled over, blinking your eyes open in an attempt to sneak a peak at your bedside alarm clock. You’d already been asleep for three hours and Spencer was just now coming to bed. It was well after midnight, and you knew that meant he had been up thinking about something. You figured it would be best not to push the subject after everything that had happened. 

With your eyes shut, you waited to feel the familiar sensation of Spencer climbing into bed. Instead, you felt his weight at the foot of the bed, as if he had perched himself on the end. You tried not to think much of this and did your best to fake sleep. However, it soon became apparent that Spencer was on to you. 

“I know you’re awake,” he said gently. His voice was gruff from the hours he’d spent in silence. Spencer waited before speaking again, “I think we should talk about what happened.” 

There it is, you thought. Your stomach sank as your eyes fluttered open. You rolled over to face him, leaning up on your arms. It was then you noticed that he was still in his suit. His unkempt hair fell over his eyes and you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the disheveled man in front of you. “Alright,” you relented, still refusing to meet his eyes, “what do you want to talk about?”

Spencer rolled his neck, tension evident in his movements. “I want to know how you feel about what was said earlier,” he said. For the first time in hours, you met his eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity. You found no signs of dishonesty, so you fell back on the bed, letting out a dramatic sigh. 

“I don’t know, Spencer,” you groaned. “I definitely was surprised. I definitely wasn’t thrilled.” Spencer nodded, moving some hair away from his eyes as you spoke. “But,” you started again, “it’s not like we can go back and change it now.” 

He reached an arm out, putting a hand over the covers on top of your knee. “I know,” he whispered, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

You scoffed a bit at his sincerity and his innocence, meeting his eyes once more. “And how do you feel about it?” you asked. 

Spencer bit his lip in thought. You could tell you had caught him off guard with the question, and he seemed to be calculating his response. “Can I be honest with you?” he said. 

You raised your eyebrows, the nervous feeling in your stomach intensifying. Is this where he tells you he feels the same way and leaves for good? You pushed your thoughts to the side. “Always,” you whispered.

He sighed, laying back on the bed so he was next to you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you wanted nothing more than to curl into his warmth. You knew this wasn’t the time, so you held yourself back and held your breath, awaiting his response. 

“First, I was confused,” Spencer explained, eyes locked on the ceiling. “I haven’t thought about JJ like that in over ten years. Frankly, I never knew she thought of me that way, so I was caught off-guard.” 

So he did have a crush on her at one time, you thought. You were ready to close your eyes in defeat, to slip off the bed and out of the apartment and never come back when he cleared his throat. 

“But then,” he started once more, “I had a quick epiphany of all the moments she’d gone out of her way for me, and I could understand where she was coming from.” You turned to look at him, watching his eyes scan the ceiling as he tried to come up with his next statements. 

“And?” you asked, prompting him to continue. 

“And then,” he continued your previous statement, “I was terribly appalled.” 

Your head, which had turned to the ceiling, snapped back in his direction. You felt your eyebrows raise and your jaw drop open a bit in surprise. “Appalled?” you asked, confusion evident in your expression. 

“Appalled,” Spencer echoed, sitting up on the edge of the bed once more and looking back at you. 

“Why?” you asked. 

Spencer shook his head, looking around the room. “I’ve been thinking about that for the last couple hours, and I’ve come up with a lot of reasons,” he mused. “I know she was in a tight place, but Will deserves better than that. The boys deserve better than that. But aside from them,” he leaned over on the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you must have thought. I was so afraid of your reaction and of losing you.”

Despite your evident emotional state as tears pooled in your eyes, you tried to play it off. “Spencer, this isn’t about me,” you reminded him. 

“Yes,” he said, lying next to you, “it is.” Spencer ran a hand through his hair, pulling some curls out of his eyes. “Everyone knows how much I love you. I know how scary something like this can be. But you have to know that I have no idea where this came from and that anything JJ and I had died, on my end, long before I ever met you.” 

You glanced over at him, the sincerity in his voice had moved you to believe him. For a moment, you forgot about JJ and Will, the boys, and the implications of her words. You offered his fingers a small squeeze. “So we’re okay?” you asked in a tiny voice. 

“More than,” Spencer whispered. 

He rolled on his side to face you and you mirrored his actions. He wrapped his arms tight around your body, the textured material of his suit jacket pressed against your cheek. A gentle kiss was pressed to your forehead and you found yourself falling back into sleep. After several minutes passed, you felt Spencer’s voice rumble through his chest for a final time before he succumbed to sleep: “Ever since I met you,” he mumbled, smoothing some stray hairs away from your face, “it’s always been you.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #bau x reader #jennifer jj jareau #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau fanfiction #jeid #doctor spencer reid #doctor reid #agent reid #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds fic #bau x female reader #bau fic #bau #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine

[lightvixxen]

Imagine dating Spencer Reid(specifically dom!spencer) , and also being apart of the BAU team…he’ll grab stuff for you from a top shelf as an excuse to push his crotch against your ass…grabbing your hip so you stay there. Whispering everything he wants to do to you in the small kitchen while subtly forcing you to grind against him….of course this is mainly just slow days in the office, when no one is really around or he wouldn’t be so bold.

Probably ooc but i CANNOT get this out of my head w/him…just him using a height difference to his advantage….

#spencer reid x reader fic #spencer read imagine #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader imagine #spencer reid smut

[moonflower-31]

Pen Pals - Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 2

Part 3

Ongoing!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, normal stuff

Tags: @thatsonezesty13 , @egg-boy03 , @idjitlili , @meowiemari , @meganskane , @lonelyran , @rainsong01 , let me know if I missed you or if you wanna be added to the list!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” - Confucius

“Alright, that should be the last of the paperwork. I’ll get this processed by my superior and then you’ll get to fly out to Stafford and move in.” The man in front of you spoke. His hair was slicked back and his eyes were kind. Making it easier to go through with the simple betrayal you had settled upon. You were moving out. Out of state and away from the farm. And you were taking at least half a year off before going to med school. If you even went at all.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Yarborough,” You spoke as professionally as you could manage, despite your legs shaking with anxiety. You hadn’t gone out to do something like this on your own since you’d had to apply for college through a computer at the library. Your parents were somewhat anti-tech in your house. The phones were one thing. But to have a computer in the house? Anything beyond basic cable? The devil.

“Of course. Since you’ll be applying to school again within the next year, your monthly rent will be lessened along with your agreement for one to two roomates.” Mr. Yarborough restated, reminding you of the agreement you’d just made. You hardly had any friends, being the loser that you’d been in both highschool and college. So, maybe some forced interaction would bring about something good.

“Thank you again for coming out here. I wish I had reliable internet access but unfortunately, I don’t.” You thank Mr. Yarborough, reaching out and offering him your hand to shake. The man smiled, stood up, and took your hand and shook it firmly.

“Why of course. As your agent I have contacts all across the country for real estate opportunities. Even out in Stafford Virginia.” Yarborough laughed, letting your hand go after a brief moment. “Though I assume that this will be our last meeting, since you’ll be moving in within the next two weeks or so. I wish you luck.”

You smiled warmly, awkwardly fixing your slid blouse sleeve back onto your shoulder as you tried to make it through this seemingly simple interaction. It was uncomfortable, the blouse was too. All the clothes your mother often picked out for you were overly feminine and were supposed to be ‘modest’.

Nevertheless, you let your hand return to your side and fixed the bit of your hair that had fallen into your face. You say your goodbyes as quickly as you could, heading back out to your borrowed car. You put your key into the slot and turn the car on. The engine roars to life, starting the familiar shaking the car always managed to do despite your father’s best attempts to fix it. It was semi calming, allowing you to finally take a deep breath.

You carefully backed out of the line of stores and rumbled onto the road. There was no point in starting the air conditioner or the radio, as neither worked. So you were stuck in the old car, waiting for the light to change. Stuck alone with your thoughts.

Part of you felt absolutely terrible for plotting your move behind your parents’ backs. But the other part of you knew it was necessary. If you didn’t leave the house, let alone the state, you would never have a life of your own. Your parents would control it until they died. Which meant whomever you married had to be a man who was good with his hands. They wouldn’t except anyone else. Gender or otherwise, despite your constant pleadings.

You’d barely even managed to get out of your chores this morning. Your father had been hellbent on you helping with yet another day of harvest, but you’d managed to convince them you were meeting with a guidance counselor for a medical school nearby. That was enough to keep them off your back and allow you to take the family car. Well, the only other car besides your father’s pick up. But that thing was untouchable.

At least you had the good news of your departure to Virginia in a couple of weeks. Soon, you’d be out of the nest and on your own. Finally. With enough allowance and odd-end job money saved up, you were sure you could afford a used car that was big enough to hold all your boxes in one trip. Which wouldn’t be hard since most of what you were taking was going to be books and clothes.

The reality hadn’t set in yet, but you knew it was coming. With your down-payment set in stone for Cresent Pointe Apartments, along with your appointment with a nearby used car dealership within the next week, you’d have a completely different life within the next month.

As the cars in front of you began to move, you took a deep breath, letting your mind wander to other areas of your life. You tried to think of anything you might miss. Anything you might long for once you’d left for good. But the daunting realization hit you with almost a feed-bag’s weight of force: There was nothing you were going to miss here. Nothing. You had no friends. You had no job that was going to miss you. No connections that meant much of anything. Just a college doctorate that you’d be taking with you regardless. It hit you even harder when you realized you weren’t going to miss your parents. You wanted to. But the thought of leaving them didn’t fill you with remorse or brief feelings of doubt for having to go so far. It filled you with dread that they’d find out you’d moved farther than you’d told them and they’d demand that you come home.

You blinked for a moment, mindlessly watching the road and soon turning to drive down the gravel road that would lead you back to your parent’s house within a mile or so. It was noon, meaning the mail would be showing up soon. You’d been trying your hardest to withhold your excitement for the past few days when the mail would arrive. Any hint that you had someone you were talking to that your parents hadn’t met, and you would be instantly grounded and told never to contact him again. They’d probably make you send a goodbye letter too.

But never the less, each day brought the exciting prospect that you could have a new letter to add to your other one. You wondered what he’d say. If he’d answered your questions about what to do. Where he worked. Even if he hadn’t, it was all very exciting.

It was with this excitement that you found yourself driving just a bit faster than you should be, quickly correcting yourself as you turned into your parent’s driveway and parked in the garage. You should’ve checked the mailbox when you’d been at the bottom of the hill, but you had a feeling your mother had the mail. Which slightly made you nervous. But maybe Spencer’s doctor title would ease their concerns. They could assume he was a doctor that worked with the med school you were supposed to be applying to.

You quickly turned the rumbling car off and exited it, heading inside through the garage door. You took your shoes off and placed them beside the door, craning your neck to look for any sign of your mother or the mail. Unluckily for you, you found your mother standing at the dining room table with the mail on said table.

“(Y/N), darling, you’ve got a letter.” Your mother’s voice called, seeming to already know it was you who had just arrived back. So you had gotten a letter, but your mother had it. Shit.

“I did? Oh, well thank you.” You said, hoping your excitement wasn’t bleeding into your voice as you approached her. “Can I have it?” You ask, growing worried when your mother didn’t immediately hand it over.

“It’s from some doctor. His name is Spencer Reid. Have you heard of him?” Your mother asked. “It might be spam mail. I want to be certain before I give it to you, dear.”

You cursed mentally. You knew this would happen. Your little story of Spencer being a teacher or doctor working with some university would have to work.

“Yes I have. H-he’s actually an admissions counselor. He works for OSU.” You say, lying through your teeth. Your mother’s brow furrows, not completely buying your story.

“How is he a counselor for OSU? His address is from Virginia.” Your mother asks, growing wary and suspicious. You had to fix this now. Or otherwise your letter would end up in the trash. And you’d end up grounded for lying.

“W-well, you can be an admissions counselor even if you don’t live in a state where that university resides. All he has to do is send letters and emails. P-promise.” You insist, praying that she’d take the false story and leave it alone.

Your mother looked back at the letter and sighed, shaking her head. “Technology these days. At least this man has the decency to still write hand-written letters.” Your mother scoffed, handing the envelope to you. “If it’s an acceptance letter, let your father and I know.” She then disappeared into the living room with the rest of the mail, leaving you to let out a sigh of relief.

That was way too close.

You stifled a giggle of excitement before you began to head up the stairs to your room. You headed into your room with the letter pressed to your chest, finally letting out a soft giggle as you closed your bedroom door. You rushed to your desk, taking a frenzied seat. You grabbed your letter opener, quickly ripping the envelope open and pulling out the letter that laid inside.

You took a deep breath, wanting to ensure you didn't rip the paper. Gently, you unfolded it and began to read with a smile cemented onto your face.

Hello again. It is a pleasure to hear from you. 26/09/2010

I was worried that my vast education had scared you away. Not many people find geniuses easy to talk to.

To answer your question, I am 28. I will be 29 this coming October. I suppose that should be enough proof that I am indeed not a ten year old. I hope I'm not crossing any boundaries, but may I know when your birthday is?

I am also very happy to have received your letters, however annoying it was at first. My mother signed me up for the penpal program when I was young. Somehow my name wasn’t given to anyone until you. In complete honesty, I’m glad it was you.

It is exciting to receive your first doctorate. Mine was Mathematics, an exciting course in my opinion. However, the more I received, the excitement dwindled. But I suppose that’s what happens when you go through something enough times. It becomes second nature. But don’t let that discourage you from taking another round of classes. It is important to keep learning, even if that information doesn’t come from hour long lectures.

I have an impeccable taste for any old literature from at least before the 20th century. The least technologically advanced, the better. No one seems to understand that, not even my friends. But at least I have my books to keep me company. I’m both surprised and happy to know we both share a love for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It’s hard to find anyone who loves him beyond his obvious works on Sherlock Holmes, however amazing they may be.

I have an impeccable taste for any old literature from at least before the 20th century. The least technologically advanced, the better. No one seems to understand that, not even my friends. But at least I have my books to keep me company. I’m both surprised and happy to know we both share a love for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It’s hard to find anyone who loves him beyond his obvious works on Sherlock Holmes, however amazing they may be.

I work for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, or BAU for short. I’m what we call a profiler. We take studied cases of people and behavior clusters to catch serial killers. That, would be how I could figure out how many of Doyle’s books you’ve read, not my memory.

My PhD’s are Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering. Furthermore, my BA’s are in Psychology, Sociology, and most recently, Philosophy. Scared of me yet?

I can’t tell you whether or not to go to med school. It’s a good opportunity, but you shouldn’t do something you don’t want to do. Studies show that choosing a career path that is unfufilling can lead to cases of depression and mental illness later in life. Often causing what people tend to call a ‘Mid-life Crisis’.

My advice is to do what you enjoy. If med school isn’t for you, find another topic or major that interests you. I hear that Chemistry is an easier course than medical school. I do believe you’d be in lab more than you would be if you enrolled in med school. Chemistry, in my opinion, was one of my easier doctorates. So I can most definitely help you, should you go that far.

I can’t give much advice on whether or not to move out of your parents residence. I moved out at 18, although unwillingly. Moving out, early or otherwise, is shown to promote independence, ensure privacy if you choose to live alone, As well as ensure you can talk to and be who you want. You may miss your parents, but it is your life. You should get a say in how it goes.

I wrote a little too much for this one page, so I will have to close for now. I hope to hear from you soon. Don’t take too long to write, I’m eager to find out your decision on your next adventure. :)

Regards,

Spencer Reid

~~~

Since you’ve read his most popular works, Here’s some of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s lesser known works I think you would enjoy.

-The Tragedy of the Korosko

-The Maracot Deep

-Tales of Unease

-The Poison Belt

You giggle with an even bigger burst of excitement. He had written on both sides of the paper! He really got into his advice. It made you wonder if he felt deprived of that ability elsewhere in his life.

But an FBI profiler? Who would’ve thought! No wonder he could guess how you’d snuck a bit of research when you’d visited the library a few days ago. What? You were curious. You thought that he had been the doctor that had been the first name to pop up upon Googling his name and title based on his vocabulary. How lucky were you that you’d gotten a fricking genius as a penpal?!

You smiled at the list of books that Spencer had penned at the very end of his letter. Somehow, he’d managed to pick out the ones you hadn’t read as of yet. Though something told you that was his profiling at work.

His words seemed to resonate with you, reminding you that this life was yours. That no one could dictate what you do. (Other than the law, but some people disregarded that. You guess that’s where Spencer steps in.)

You didn’t have to listen to your parents. Whether they liked it or not you were going to move out. You were 23! Almost 24. It was time you left and started your life. They can’t hold you back anymore. You were no longer a child. The moment you stopped living under their roof was the moment your life would begin. The only reason you’d studied Biology for so long was because you wanted to prolong your time before your parents would expect you to enroll in med school. If that wasn’t any indication that you didn’t want this, then what was?

“(Y/N)? Honey? You’ve been up there a long time. Is it an acceptance letter?”

You jumped at your mother’s sudden voice, taking a slow breath. Maybe it was time you told them. Better to come clean now, than to drop the bomb on them later. You didn’t know what you were going to go back to school for, but it was definitely not going to be med school.

—-----

The jet’s engine had a slow hum that was easy to ignore, but calming to focus on. Spencer leaned his head back against the familiar seat, a book on the table in front of him now long forgotten. The genius had closed his eyes just a moment before, sleep heavy in his eyes. Within the last weeks, the team had been on two back to back cases. One in Atlanta Georgia, and then one in ‘their own backyard’, or Bristol Virginia. The only reason they were even flying back to Quantico was because it would be a five hour drive if they didn’t. A drive Spencer was glad they didn’t take. He hated driving.

The jet’s engine, something Reid had never tried to listen to before, he suddenly found himself analyzing what the different sounds might mean. Whether sounds meant differing movement, or turbulence. Despite his ability to read as quickly as he did, his eyes were tired and the letters had begun to swirl on the page. That had been enough to make him put the book down. No need to get vertigo from a book page, however good the book might've been.

“So, you ever gonna tell us why you’ve been rushing to get home after every case? You got a special friend?” Derek’s voice started up, pulling an subconscious groan from Spencer’s lips. He lifted his head, suddenly realizing with the way the light began to strain at his eyes that he was having one of his headaches. The headache was probably why he couldn’t read without the words doing cartwheels on the pages.

“I don’t have to inform you on every new person in my life, Morgan. I don’t recall you telling me every time you went home with a girl.” Spencer points out with a bit of an edge to his voice. Reid grumbled under his breath as he tried to convince himself to be present, rubbing his eyes free from the sleep that had tried to creep up on him. He grimaced as the throbbing in his head grew sharper, sending a heavy wave of dizziness washing over him. He hung his head lower, hoping to chase away any indications that something was wrong.

“Oh don’t do that, man. I just wanna know if our resident genius has a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. I won’t judge.” Derek spoke again. Spencer held back a groan, although glad to know he had support should he ever find a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend.

If he didn’t look up at Morgan in the next few seconds he’d ask what’s wrong. Then he’d have to formulate a lie to get him to back off. And currently, Spencer did not have the mental capacity to do so after how draining his headaches were.

Slowly, he lifted his head and forced himself to open his eyes, although he immediately squinted upon the introduction of the jet's bright light. “For your information, I don’t. I’m allowed to hang out with friends and it not be a date.” Spencer grumbles, squinting at Morgan. Why must they keep the jet so brightly lit? Especially at night? Couldn't they just dim the lights a little bit?

Morgan’s playful smile slightly fell at Spencer’s squinting, blinking in concern. “Well, I feel a little hurt you didn’t invite me to this 'hang out' of yours. I mean, I invited you out but you turned me down, kid. Brushing me off for somebody else? Kinda makes me think you got a partner.” Derek says, adjusting his seat closest to the window so that he could lay back a bit. He took his headphones in his hands, getting ready to place them around his neck.

“I don’t–” Spencer hissed, biting back the rest of his reply, as he realized the rest of the team had caught wind of their conversation. Seems like whenever it concerned him and his personal life, it was everybody’s business. He sighed, rolling his eyes. He leaned closer to Derek and lowered his voice. “I don’t have a partner, Derek. I didn’t invite you because there wasn’t a hang out to begin with. Some people still write, you know.” Spencer hissed, adding an edge to his voice to give some sort of hint that he was not a fan of this investigation into his personal life.

Derek raised an eyebrow, pausing in his attempt to put his headphones back around his neck. “Write? Like, letters?” He asked curiously. Spencer widened his eyes and closed them with the sudden realization of what he’d just admitted.

"Shit…" Spencer whispered under his breath. Derek’s smile returned brighter than ever, knowing and cheeky, Spencer put his face in his hands, groaning at both the pain and the annoyance that he’d just let his secret out in front of the team.

“Who’s writing letters?” Hotch suddenly asked, turning to look at them from his seat across from them.

“Apparently this ‘friend’ of Reid’s. They communicate through snail mail. That’s like, perfect for you, isn’t it pretty boy?” Morgan answered and teased. Reid let out another soft groan.

“Come on Morgan! I’m allowed to like simple things! It’s refreshing to actually write letters to someone other than my mom.” Reid insisted in a slightly higher pitched tone, his eyes wide as he quickly grew tired of Morgan’s meddling.

“Yeah, but it’s cute, man. So who are they? If they ain’t your partner?” Morgan asked, his teasing only slight. Spencer rolled his eyes, glancing to the other side of the jet to see if he had any back-up. To his dismay, he instead had two interested parties staring back at him in hopes he would figuratively ‘Spill the Beans’. They even had Garcia on the monitor, eyes filled with intrigue.

Spencer looked out the window for a moment and sighed. There was no getting them to let it go. Especially Garcia. “Okay well,” He started, causing everyone to lean closer. “I didn’t plan on it, but apparently my mom signed me up for this… penpal program thing when I was younger. They didn’t give my name out until a few weeks ago. Apparently switching to digital mixed up a few things. They gave it to a woman named (Y/N) (L/N). She contacted me, and I replied. We’ve been exchanging letters since.” Spencer explained, looking between the team for their reactions.

“That… has to be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Emily spoke, looking from Reid to Rossi.

“You don’t get experiences like that every day. Did you thank your mom?” Rossi asked, his arms resting on his knees as he tries to face the rest of the team.

“Yeah I did.” Spencer replied.

“What’s she like? Is she just as nerdy as you?” Garcia asked, smiling. Suddenly, she gasps and her smile grows even bigger. “Did you want me to look her up for you? I’ll uncover everything! Right down to her favorite color-”

A brief wave of panic runs through him. “No!” He exclaimed suddenly. The team looks at him bewildered, causing a pit of anxiety to slowly form in his stomach.

“I-I want to find out more through her letters, Garcia. Not by an internet search.” He paused, taking a deep breath, finding himself smiling. “I don’t know her favorite color yet. Maybe that’s what I should ask next.”

Morgan smiled. “Atta boy. Takin’ it slow.” Spencer smiled back, relieved Morgan didn’t say more. Although he was slightly miffed that Morgan insinuated that they were actually long distance lovers.

“Alright, Junior G Man. Just know she’s just a click away.” Garcia reminds, her face lit up with a mischievous wonder. Reid turned his face away, finding himself unable to hide his smile.

“Does that mean you’re not gonna tell us about her?” Rossi spoke, looking back at the genius. Reid looked back towards the team with a smirk forming on his face that he tried to fight. He waits a long moment, making a face of consideration.

“Well? Come on kid, don’t leave us hanging.” Morgan spoke up. Reid further held back a knowing smile as he finally opened his mouth to reply.

“Sure, I'll tell you everything–" Spencer teased, rolling his eyes playfully. "No! Did you really think I was going to share her information with you when you just offered to snoop into her life for me? Heck no!” Spencer laughed again. “I’m allowed some secrets of my own, you guys.” Reid teased, causing the rest of the team to collectively groan in disappointment.

Hotch smiled softly for a moment, laughing. “I think it’s safe to say he’s not going to tell us any time soon.”

"Though there is room to hope you'll tell us one day, right Reid?" Emily asked.

Spencer chuckled. "One day, key word."

Spencer’s laugh slowly dies, his eyes still creased with joy as the team turns back to their activities. His smile remained on his face, glad to have finally gotten some payback for the years of playful teasing.

As Reid felt his laughter settle, he found that the thought of (Y/N) still left him with a fondness that he couldn’t quite explain. It couldn’t be what Morgan was insinuating.

Sure, Reid had partners before. Mostly girlfriends, but either way they didn’t last long. The relationships often ended on the other end, and often due to elements of his life. His job, education, PhDs, etc. Some of it was too daunting. Some of it was too time consuming. So he had closed off the idea of a partner, man or woman. If the opportunity arose, then he’d consider it. He found himself comfortable in his single life.

But this feeling… This feeling was different.

Reid decided to look back to his book, surprising himself when he didn’t feel his headache anymore. Scratch that, he did feel it, but not as strongly as before.

Guess that’s why distraction can be seen as a treatment, Spencer thought to himself. But it still doesn’t treat the base problem.

Reid let himself take a deep breath, feeling his chest rise and fall. They would be landing soon. Probably within the next hour or so. Maybe when he returned, he’d have a letter waiting for him in his mailbox. At least, he hoped so.

A jolt of excitement hit his chest. Only, it felt like it was something more. Then he suddenly felt a pang of panic follow suit.

No. He didn’t feel any sort of attraction to (Y/N). He just saw her as a friend. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d ever see her in person. The odds of that happening with (Y/N) living in Ohio, and him in Virginia, were slim.

Better to douse the embers now, before it erupts into an all-consuming fire that he can no longer control. Feelings were a territory unknown to Spencer. And they terrified him.

—-----

Once again, Reid found himself groggily walking up his stairs rather than taking the elevator. However tired he was, he’d always take the stairs if he could help it. Not that he was afraid of elevators… He just preferred to avoid them after his and Morgan’s instance with the malfunctioning elevator.

Nevertheless, Reid managed to arrive at his door with exhaustion as his only company. He had his mail gripped in his hand in a tight hold while he carried his messenger bag on his shoulder. He carried his go-bag in his other hand, setting it down momentarily to unlock the door. He hadn’t even stopped to check the stack for the familiar envelope.

Once the door was open, Reid picked his bag up off the floor and carried it inside. He began his nightly routine with locking the door behind him, and setting his mail on the table. Then, with unrelenting curiosity, he searched his stack of mail for the familiar gentle penmanship.

His heart jumped only slightly when he found the envelope tucked between an ad and a piece of junk mail.

Quickly, Reid picked the envelope up and turned it over. He pulled the seal out of the envelope with a smile, followed by the blue stationary. He laid the envelope on his dining table and sat back in his chair, unfolding the baby blue paper.

Greetings, Dr. Reid! 10/04/2010

No need to worry. No amount of education you have will scare away the likes of me. In fact, I prefer talking to people of higher IQ. Makes me feel understood.

Ooh! Three PhDs and three BAs and you’re still in your twenties? That’s amazing! You have to be a genius to manage that. I graduated on time like a boring person. But hey, who can say they finished their doctorate program in 3 years other than you? I’m sure it’s not that many people.

By the way, you don’t just ask a lady for her birthday. That’s like, rule number 2. Number one is to never ask a girl her age. They kind of go hand in hand.

That’s kinda cute that your mom signed you up. Maybe I can send you a thank you card along with my next reply so I can thank her. I just joined because I guess I needed a friend. Not that the college advice isn’t EXTREMELY helpful. I’m glad I got you too. I guess this means we’re friends now? Or are we stuck to ‘pals’?

I am so glad you agree on old literature. Anything after the 20th century is biased, although you can still find some rare gems. Like Sherlock Holmes and Edgar Allen Poe. But I guess you already knew that. You already profiled what I’ve already read of Doyle, so I wouldn’t put it past you to be able to guess what kind of literature is my favorite.

So you’re an FBI agent, huh? Tell me, do you guys really have a branch that watches search engines all day long for suspicious activity? That job sounds boring. I bet yours is way more exciting. Catching criminals based on science and behavior? Dream come true. Though I do wonder what you’d do if you weren’t FBI. I bet you get that question all the time.

I thought about what you said, and you should be proud. I took your advice and I’m deciding to go for a Chemistry doctorate this time. This way I can catch up to you one day. But I don’t know what I’d get if I went for a third round.

My parents aren’t… happy that I’m moving out. I expected that. They had complete polar opposite reactions too. My mother cried and begged me to stay while my father got mad and demanded that I change my mind. Like I’m going to just call up my realtor, who’s already in the process of getting my new apartment figured out, and say ‘Oops, nevermind.’

But you’re right. I need to do what I want to do. It’s my life.

One last question before I close this out, extremely important:

What is, your favorite ice cream flavor? Mine’s (F/I/C/F).

Hope to hear from you soon!

(Y/N) (L/N)

Spencer closes the blue paper, and discovers that his cheeks have begun to hurt from smiling for so long. He rubs one of them mindlessly, staring back down at the blue stationary he’d just closed. Maybe this is what it’s like having someone you can openly obsess over your favorite things with. Yeah. That’s probably what it is. It’s not like Spencer knew (Y/N) all that well yet. They’d only sent 5 letters in total. 2 being his own. He can’t fall in love with someone he’ll never meet. It was just destined for heartbreak.

This wasn’t going to be a problem. Spencer was sure he wasn’t crushing. It’s just admiration.

Spencer swallowed a gulp in his throat, standing up and stretching his worn out limbs. He glanced to his sink, sighing as he remembered that yes, he may have a day off, but that also meant dishes needed to be done. As well as laundry.

“Sometimes I wish I could blind myself to my own stupidity.” He grumbled to himself, resigning to leave the chores for tomorrow. For right now, he needed sleep. And lots of it.

What would he be doing if he wasn’t at the BAU? The question had been so innocent when asked, but it made Reid think. He knew he wanted to stay in the bureau. There was almost no doubt in his mind that this was where he belonged. But he’d never stopped to ponder what he’d be doing if he’d gone a different direction. If the FBI hadn’t been an option. He’d thought about it, but never in complete seriousness. The only time he’d actually considered something else had been when Gideon had left. Now? He wasn’t so sure.

Reid remained occupied in his mind as he continued his routine with brushing his teeth and changing for bed, thinking over the questions he’d been asked. It had been a long time since someone had asked him questions like that. Even silly ones, like the last one (Y/N) had cutely squeezed in between a serious topic and her closing. Maybe those were the kinds of questions he should be asking. To get to know her better.

Spencer sat down on his bed, picking up the blue paper he had laid gently on his nightstand. He laid back in his bed, resting his head on his pillow, and read it again. This time, he found himself staring at the poem left at the bottom. He smiled warmly, finally realizing the connection between his penpal’s emotions and the poems she picks. He folds up the letter once more, and places it back on top of his nightstand for him to read again in the morning in order to reply. For now, he read over the poem again in his mind. The poem sent to him by his newest friend.

Hold fast to dreams, For if dreams die,

Life is a broken-winged bird, That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams, For when dreams go,

Life is a barren field, Frozen with snow.

– Langston Hughes

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[luveline]

i NEED anything with glasses reid or munch reid i’m literally frothing at the mouth 🙏

ty for ur request :D fem!reader

"Emily," you say weakly. "What is that?" 

Emily looks up from her desk, clearly desperate for a distraction, the lip of her coffee mug against painted lips. "What's what?" 

"That." You point. You feel sick to your stomach. "That right there." 

"Oh," Emily says happily. "You finally noticed. Yeah, Spence forgot to renew his contact prescription. He has to wear glasses for two weeks." 

Spencer stands by the photocopier with a perturbed frown, clicking a button, then another. His brow is furrowed and his hair is falling into his eyes. He has the stupidest, dorkiest, prettiest face, and practically every expression he makes has you weak in the knees.

"That long?" you ask. 

Derek looks up in concern at your pained tone, following the line of your eyes. When he realises what it is that's hurt you so, he skirts around the desk to shake your shoulder. "You could always tell him how you feel. I'm sure he'd keep the lenses forever if he knew you liked them." 

"I don't like them," you say. You sound faraway to your own ears. You hate them. They're gonna be your demise. 

Spencer runs a fingertip across the photocopier's screen, in his own world as the machine finally begins to chug out whatever it is he'd been wanting a duplicate of. The frames of his glasses sit snug on his nose. You can tell from even this distance that the lenses make his eyes look a tiny bit smaller. You could probably point out a misplaced freckle if he asked you to.

"Don't be cruel, he looks cute," Emily teases. 

Spencer collects his papers, shuffling them into a straight line as he makes his way back to the bullpen. You pretend to take interest in Emily's things. She sips her coffee too nonchalantly. Derek doesn't even bother pretending. 

"What?" Spencer asks, swift to spot your suspicious behaviours. "Is it the glasses?" 

You wince. "Of course not. You look… you look really nice, Spence." 

"You know he used to wear 'em every day?" Derek asks.

You would've died. "Before I joined?" 

"For a few years," Spencer says, looking you over. "You're unhappy. Is something wrong?" 

He looks to Derek and Emily for confirmation. Emily stutters for an answer while Derek laughs in the background, "She– you know. She just– She missed breakfast!" 

Spencer pushes his glasses up his nose by the leg and drops his copies onto the desk. "I have dried apricot in my bag. Two seconds." 

He bends over his chair to retrieve his bag from under the desk. Your eyes blow wide at his position, the sudden demonstration of well-fitted pants. Derek's laugh echoes up to the eaves. 

"And he has that twenty four seven," Emily says against the rim of her coffee. 

You scrunch your eyes closed and tilt your head back. After a few seconds, a hand touches your elbow gently, a hesitance that comes with only one member of the BAU. "You okay?" Spencer asks. 

"I'm okay. Headache," you lie. 

Spencer presses the apricot into your hands. "Maybe you should see an optician. You know they can tell if you have a brain tumour from one photo of your sclera?" He smiles morbidly, his glasses slipping down his nose. "They measure the size of your optic disk. It takes less than a minute. I can give you the name of my doctor, if you want. She's nice. Not as nice as you." 

Your throat is so dry you can't form words to answer him. He doesn't judge your rigid nodding. 

"I'll write down the number for you. And, Y/N?" 

"Yeah?" you choke out. 

"You look really nice today, too." 

Emily has to kick you in the leg to bring you back to earth. Stupid Spencer. Stupid lovely glasses. 

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