nubecita040

[nubecita040]

Illicit affairs (Spencer x curvy! Hotch reader) part 1

An: hey guys, this is my very first pic EVER so pls lmk if I missed anything or if something is wrong, or unclear. thanks for reading! let me know if you like it and I could do a part two :)

words: 1,889 (ish)

Warnings: insecure reader, mention of death of a parent, slight age gap (like 5 years), reader is Aron's daughter, mentions of dating issues/friend issues, reader is bad at math, reader is in college lmk if I missed any warnings thx

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

"𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔪𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰"

Special agent Aaron Hotchner, or as you would call him, Dad, was never one for taking things lightly. Which, in your mind, was both a blessing and a curse, as you seemed to get the brunt end of the stick when you were in danger or in trouble, being his only daughter and all. You know your father's love for you was boundless, but growing up with an FBI agent for a dad meant little to no spontaneity in your life. 

You were not allowed to stay out late, even into your later teen years, and you were definitely not allowed to have boys around the house without your dad’s approval.

 However, dating wasn't much in the cards for you. Growing up you had always been a little chubby. After going through puberty and not quite losing all your “baby fat” as your mother used to call it, you became increasingly more self-conscious into your teenage years. Feeling dejected as your skinnier friends soon began to get boyfriends and girlfriends, while you were left alone in your room watching your latest favorite show as you internally sulked over being by yourself. 

It’s not as if you hadn't ever had boyfriends, or dated before, just that no one lasted long enough to mean anything. In your early teen years, there was Liam, he lasted approximately 74 days before your best friend at the time, Melanie, asked him out and he left you for her. 

Although it hurt at the time, you were young and had long since brushed it off. Your senior year of high school brought you Aiden, who was kind and made you feel better about yourself, or so you thought. That didn’t last long, considering he cheated on you with his ex and when you found out, you forgave him before breaking up a few months later after one of your friends had let slip what he had done to you in front of your father. Your dad was never explicitly rude or harsh about boyfriends, but after Aiden, he became far more protective of you.  

The protectiveness only grew after your mom's passing just after your 18th birthday. And ever since it's just been you, your dad, and your new half-brother, Jack. 

Now, a sophomore in college, you are as lonely as ever. All your friends are either in school themselves, or moving out with their partners. You had never been very good with making friends so, despite your efforts, you had about two people you talked to in your classes, but nothing too close to friendships. 

It was finally Saturday, which meant no school, and best of all one of your father’s only days off. He had promised to spend more time with you, feeling guilty that he was off working more than he was home. Plus, Jack spent most of his time with his mother Haley, so most of the time you were alone, and truthfully, you just missed your dad. After your mom's passing, it was you and your dad against the world as you liked to say. 

You woke up early, to surprise your dad with pancakes in the morning. He worked so hard for you and supported you through so much, you truly enjoyed helping him out when you could. 

When the pancakes were cooking your dad came down the stairs, still in his pajamas with his hair tousled slightly in the back. 

 You both had a great morning, talking about school, work, and other anecdotes throughout the week you two had experienced. 

As you guys started cleaning dishes, you heard the most irritating sound of your father's phone going off, usually meaning duty calls. 

Knowing now, you had wished that's what the call was about. 

Your dad responded to the person on the other line curtly, almost… disappointed, “Thank you, Mr. Harris, I’ll be sure to get this all sorted out by the end of the weekend,” your dad hung up the phone and gave you a stern look.

 “Well, your school counselor just called me, he said you’ve failed your last two math tests?” 

He gave you a quizzical look as if he was asking about the validity of your counselor's statement. 

“I’m sorry Dad” you began to tear up, math had always been a struggle for you, but last year you had a tutor, Mrs. Hansen, an old widowed school teacher who had lived just down the street from your house. However, over the summer she moved in with her daughter in California. So, your grades have been slipping. “Hey, it’s okay sweetie, I just want to make sure you are okay” he soothed, “Do you think we need to get you help again?” he asked, pulling you into a hug. “Y-yeah, I think that would be best” you cried into his shoulder. “Okay, let's talk about this later and have a fun day,” he said, giving you a reassuring squeeze and going to get dressed.

The following Monday you woke up and did your usual routine, getting ready for school was always hard. Seeing the new shirt you bought cling to your body in all the wrong places made you feel stressed. Looking at yourself in the mirror you pinch and pull at your clothes, seeing if they would change but, to no avail. Sighing, you changed into your go-to, big shirt, and sweats, trying to hide as much of yourself as possible. 

As you walk into the kitchen you notice a Tupperware of last night's dinner left out, you quickly realize that your father had left his lunch at home. Deciding to take it with you, you wrote him a little note and put it in a bag with an apple and a cookie that you two had made together on his day off. 

You had visited your dad's place of work quite often considering he basically lives there. However, in recent years you have tried to stay away from that place. While your dad had assumed it was due to the horrifying things they had to look at and deal with on cases, for you it was due to an entirely different and frankly scarier reason. 

Dr. Spencer Reid was that reason. 

He was around your age, a solid 27 to your 21, nearly 22. However, he was incredibly smart and, in the past few years, you had developed quite a crush on the unassuming doctor. You knew nothing would come of it, considering he was not only your father's colleague but also the fact that he was so incredibly smart and handsome and you were… well just you. He would never fall for someone who looked like you and who could barely remember the Pythagorean theorem. Let alone any of the crazy things he knew, that you probably couldn't even comprehend. 

Taking a deep breath, you flash the guard your permanent visitor badge your dad had given you when you graduated high school for “emergencies only” he had said sternly. You walk in and head straight for the Bau department. 

Entering the bau always caused a wave of nostalgia for you, as you had been coming here since before you could remember. Entering the bullpen, you were immediately greeted by Penelope (your fairy godmother, as she liked to call herself) who practically squealed when she noticed you entered. “y/n!! My sweet baby! Oh, have I missed you” She embraced you, her vanilla perfume causing a smile to spread on your face. Being around one of your favorite people was always a plus of coming here. 

“Is that the beautiful y/n?” you heard Derek come out of the kitchenette with a fresh cup of coffee. “I missed you guys” You hug them both. “I just brought my dad's lunch, then I have class, so unfortunately I won't be here long, but I'll see you guys this weekend at Uncle David's dinner” you explain to the two. SSA David Rossi and your father had been close since before you were born, and due to your parents not being married when having you, your father decided that the best person to be there for you when he wasn’t was his friend. Ever since, you have called him uncle. 

“Have you decided on a major yet?” Derek asks, he helped console you last summer when you weren’t quite sure what you wanted to major in, stating that he himself wasn’t sure what he wanted to do when he went into collage, and said that no matter how long it took,things would be alright. 

“Criminal psychology” you smirked at him, knowing he’d be impressed with you following in your makeshift family's footsteps. 

“That's my girl,” he chuckles. 

“Is that my bella (y/n)?” Detective Rossi emerges from your father's office with a smile on his face. “Hi Uncle David, just dropping off Dad's lunch,” you say walking towards the door he had just emerged from. 

After exchanging pleasantries with your godfather, and the promise of attending his dinner party that weekend, you finally entered your father's office. However, as you stepped in, you knew someone else was there, you first saw those beautiful brown curls, your breath caught in your throat, and you prepared for embarrassment. His hazel eyes lock on yours and you swear time stops. That is until your father promptly asked your reason for being at the office. “O-oh, uh, right sorry, you forgot your lunch at home I just came to bring it to you,” you said swiftly looking away from Spencer's piercing gaze. “H-hi Spencer” you stubble out, avoiding eye contact. “Hello (y/n)” he waves back.

“Alright, well I gotta get to class so, I’ll see you later” You wave to your dad goodbye. “Wait (y/n)!” your dad calls after you as your turn to leave his office. You hum and turn around, catching Spencer’s eye in the process. “Your teacher sent me the link to the study guide for your math test, I printed it out for you, so you can work on it with your tutor,” he said, ignorant to how embarrassing it was to be told that in front of THE Dr. Reid. he grabbed the packet from his desk drawer and set them onto his desk. Spencer, who had been sitting on the chair directly in front of said packet, had glanced over at it and said “Oh, I loved doing my sophomore math, did you know that the word math derives from the ancient Greek word Máthēma? Meaning something learned” Your dad looked at you, as though a cartoon light bulb had turned on over his head. “I have an idea,” he said. You stayed silent, curious as to what he was about to say. 

“Spencer, how would you like to help tutor (y/n) with their coursework?” 

Spencer's eyes widened slightly, he looked at you, then your dad, and nodded his head. “I suppose I could do that, Morgan says I need more interaction with people my age anyway, and frankly I think this could be a good learning experience for both of us, you know, studies show that interacting with people your age significantly increases-”

“Reid, that's enough.” your dad stops him. 

Meanwhile, your cheeks were heating up as the thought of Spencer Reid in your house teaching you math flooded your brain. 

You were truly and utterly fucked.

[nubecita040]

✦ very proud glasses reid stan. (i wanna hear him whimper.)

[nubecita040]

𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗔𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗛𝗶𝗺 𝗪𝗮𝘀 𝗠𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗠𝗲- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- early seasons!Spencer Reid x bombshell!Reader

Summary- You’re completely and totally enamored with Spencer Reid. When you have to flirt as part of a case, he is not happy.

Contains- not proofread we die like men, fem!reader, mention of reader's boobs and ass, the most unhinged work place flirting you've ever seen, Spencer is Horny, the case isn't rly canon compliant but fuck it we ball, nasty suspect who reader has to flirt with, Spencer gets insecure, they make-up and make out on the jet

A/N: divider from @saradika-graphics !!!

The soft, golden glow of sunlight filters through the window. The glimmer coats the BAU in an extra layer of warmth from the early spring chill. You adjust your light pink blouse as you approach the desk of your favorite coworker, Spencer Reid. You prop yourself up on his desk, your floral skirt pulling taut around your hips as you settle.

You swing your legs playfully, waiting for him to turn his attention away from his case file and on to you. A small smile curves his lips, and you know you got him. A heeled foot hooks behind his shin, running along the length of it until his gaze finally finds you. His eyes shine when they meet yours, a large hand moving to grip your ankle and bring it to his knee. He keeps it there, a soothing thumb rubbing the expanse of the skin there.

Your heart flutters at the action, his own cheeks tinting pink at his temerity. This has been a recent update between the two of you, Spencer's touch, his affection. Since you started at the bureau, only a few short months after him, you've been fascinated by the genius sitting beneath you now. At first, he was shocked by your immediate friendship, not used to such affection without having to earn it. In the past few months, though, his hands will graze your waist, his hugs lingering a moment too long. This change in behavior sparks a flicker of hope in your chest. Hope that, maybe, he sees you the way you see him.

You see him now, looking up at you with sparkling brown eyes. The early morning light highlights the caramel tone seeping through the dark brown. It captivates you. Your eyes drift down the rest of his face, it's all you can do to not get completely lost in him, in those eyes.

"Whatcha looking at, handsome?" you drawl, sweet as honey as you reach for the case file on his desk.

You can't help the small smile that forms as heat rushes into his face, deepening his complexion a deep red.

"It-" his words catch in his throat, which he clears before continuing, "it's for a potential new case. From Hotch."

His tone is clipped, as if he's forcing himself to sound casual. He does that when he's nervous, you've come to find out. You wonder if the pointed toe heel resting delicately on his knee has anything to do with that. You press the ball of your foot into him playfully, reveling in the way he flushes even deeper.

"Can I see?" you ask lightly, tilting your head and pouting your lips, "I want to see if it's the one I passed along to him on Monday. I still haven't heard back from him about it."

You hop down from his desk, grabbing the chair adjacent from his desk. Maybe you pull it a little too close to his chair, but you can't seem to care too much once his bicep grazes your own. The smallest touch sends shock waves through you, a surge of electricity pumping straight to your heart.

You hear his breath pick up as you reach across his lap to grab the file. A small smile spreads across your lips as Spencer nods his head frantically, long, deft fingers passing the file to you.

"Yeah-yeah, I think it is. The white collar case on Cape Cod, right?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yeah, he wanted you to look at it?" you look towards him with bright eyes, hopeful. "I wasn't sure he'd be okay with us picking this one up. It's not really something we normally cover, but I have a feeling about it. Something's not right..." you trail off, scanning the details once more.

"I agree," he says, and it's almost laughable how relieved you feel at his approval. "I couldn't help but notice the fraud charge. They wired the money to an account in Germany. If this crosses country lines then we might be dealing with something more than just fraud."

"That's exactly what I was thinking!" your fingers latch onto his forearm in excitement. His eyes flash to your touch, his breath catching again.

Your eyes linger on his face, tracing each freckle of his smooth skin. His eyes flit up to yours, and the contact stops time. Everything around you comes to a standstill, you and Spencer are the only ones that exist in this moment.

A tap of a manila folder snaps you out of your Spencer-induced-haze, cheeks heating as you look up to find Hotch. A knowing look glimmers in his eye, and you twist your hands in your lap.

"Get ready to leave for Cape Cod," is all he says, tone definitive before he goes to brief the rest of the team.

Spencer's heart clutches in his chest as they exit the plane, right onto a coastal beach. She's dressed for the occasion, an airy, floral sundress ebbing and flowing around her gorgeous figure. He shoves his hands in his pockets, willing his gaze to focus anywhere else. He finds solace in his Converse, the way they squish against the sand deters him from the way her dress dips lower at the chest.

He shakes his head, as if to rid himself of the thought, as guilt creeps into the pit of his stomach. He's been fighting these feelings ever since she joined the bureau. The magnetic pull she has on him, the grip of want clutching his heart, his lungs, until he can barely breathe. As always, she saddles up next to him, as if she knew she's on his mind. She's always on his mind.

A mix of coconut and chemicals fill his nostrils, her sunscreen infiltrating all his senses. Her bare arm grazes against his, her proximity nearly suffocating. He'd rather die than move away from her, though.

They're assigned the same task, analyzing the letters sent to and from various money launderers. She's bent at the waist, palms flat against the white folding table set up on the beach. Hormones rage through him, he feels like a perverse teenager, but the way she pops her hip out nearly gives him a heart attack.

His arm lifts, almost involuntarily, his hand lightly grazing her elbow as he makes his presence known. He revels in the way her eyes light up as they find him, her hand finding his shoulder. He feels dizzy when she gives it a light squeeze, the prettiest smile painting her glossy lips.

"What have you found?" he ponders. She raises her brow at him.

"We've been here for not even five minutes. How do you know I've found something?" she inquires. A light chuckle escapes his lips, his eyes finding the letters she's been scanning.

"You have that crease in your brow when you know something," he mentions softly, her smile widening. "What is it?"

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, the plump flesh ever so tempting. She's so beautiful when she works, it takes his breath away.

"This. Look at this sentence, here," she points about halfway through an old, crinkled letter. It catches his eye immediately.

"'It's been handled. There's nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.' What do you make of that?" he asks, though he has some theories himself.

"A partnership. It almost seems romantic, 'pretty little head'," she repeats, "it's almost flirtatious. Like he wants to take care of the partner, man or woman."

Spencer has no idea how the perfect combination of beauty and brains found him, of all people, but God, is he thankful.

"I agree, nice work," he smiles at her, and he revels in the way she preens at his praise. The sun coats her skin, and the natural light makes her shimmer like an angel.

"Thanks, Spence," she nudges his shoulder with hers, and his cheeks heat. It's not from the sun.

An arrest is made not long after they touch down- a 25 year old manager of a local golf club. He's a broad, muscly type, the kind of guy that's always made Spencer feel smaller, less-than. He sees it. The moment he clocks her. It makes him sick.

He's handcuffed, Hotch dragging him along the beach to the interrogation space. On his way there, his eyes lock on the girl right next to him. Acidic bile rises in his throat as his eyes scan up and down, sizing her up like a lamb for slaughter.

Hotch approaches them a few minutes later, his gaze directed at her.

"He says he'll only talk to you. He wants 'the pretty one'," Hotch informs. A shiver unzips Spencer's spine at that, the sick feeling from earlier creeping up his throat once again. He can't help but link his pinkie finger through hers, a reassuring gesture that she's more than this.

Hotch leans closer, his voice a low timbre. "Between us, this guy is a bona fide creep. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

A wave of relief rushes through Spencer at this, though his stomach drops when she removes her pinkie from his. He sees her straighten her spine in his peripheral, and his head snaps up to look at her. He knows the second he sees her. She's going to do it.

"No," she says to Hotch, almost defiant, "I can do it. I want to help in any way I can."

Hotch studies her for a moment, his brow furrowing in a concern Spencer shares. He nods tersely, and Spencer knows fighting this is a lost cause.

"Alright, let's go," Hotch says lowly, letting her go before both of them.

Spencer follows. It's against his better judgement, he knows he'd probably be of better use elsewhere. He can't let her go in alone, though. Not even if he tried.

Your heart is thumping in your chest, your blood thrumming in your veins as you near the interrogation room. Spencer's behind you the whole time, you can tell. A tiny flame of hope flickers in your chest as he stands at the glass, a white knuckle grip on the table beneath him.

You make eye contact with him one last time before opening the door. You see the restraint in his big brown eyes, how badly he wants to tell you to not go in. You take a deep breath and open the door anyway.

A sickly feeling creeps its way into your stomach, acid bubbling in the deepest part of you. You watch as he sizes you up, his gaze lingering a little too long on your chest. You're used to this, to men treating you like a piece of meat. It never gets easier, but you find a small bit of comfort in the fact that you're helping your team. So, you plaster your sweetest smile, falling into the role that's expected of you.

"Hi! How are you doing? Uncomfortable?" you pout your glossy lips, tone sickly sweet as you perch on the edge of the table. His eyes linger on your ass, the fat of it emphasized by your weight on the table. You arch your back slightly. You know you look good, you decide to lean into it instead of focusing on the man in front of you.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" he asks, sarcasm lacing his tone as he rattles his cuffs. "You help, though."

Your stomach churns, but your smile never falters. Your experience with men like this isn't foreign to you. You know every button you need to push.

"Yeah?" you drawl, your manicured nails crawling to his forearm, resting gingerly there. "Anything I can get you? Food? Water?" you bat your lashes sweetly. The glint in his eye reeks of objectification, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Get me a cheeseburger and fries from Louie's. Oh- and a chocolate milkshake, cherry on top," he winks at that last line. You pity him for how proud he seems of it.

You place a hand on his forearm, leaning in so your face is parallel with his. You watch his eyes flit down to your chest, now even more exposed in your position.

"You got it," your tone is saccharine, your nails dragging lightly against his arm as you stand to leave. You make sure to sway your hips a little extra as you leave, looking over your shoulder one more time before opening the door.

You exit the interrogation room to the shocked expressions of your team members, most are impressed, others in pure shock. You catch Spencer, though, and it doesn't take a genius to see the incredulous expression on his face. His brows furrowed, a pout hanging low on his lips.

"Way to work it, honey," Morgan claps you on the back. Hotch nods his agreement.

Pride swells in your belly at their praise. You can't shake Spencer's lack of enthusiasm, though. His inability to look you in the eye sparks a flame of disappointment, blazing through the content you felt just moments before.

You weave your way through the small room, linking your fingers around Spencer's wrist and pulling him out into the precinct. He still can't look at you.

"Spencer, what's wrong?" you're not really sure where to start. You hope this gets him talking.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong," his voice is high pitched in the way that it does when he's lying. "I just- I can't watch you put yourself on display for someone that looks at you like a piece of meat! Is that just your natural state? Since it clearly comes so easily to you."

He mumbles the last part under his breath, and it shocks you into silence. Frustration flares in your chest, spreading like wildfire from head to toe.

"You don't have to watch, then, Spencer," you spit out his name, and he flinches at your tone. "I'm trying to help our team solve this case. If you can't watch, then maybe your skills would be used better somewhere else."

You stalk off, hurt piercing through every nerve in your body. You wiggle your fingers, stretching your neck side to side as you try to shake off the feeling. It finds its way back to you, no matter what you do, rising like bile up your throat.

You open the door back to the interrogation room, watching the man behind the glass eat his food without a care in the world. You stew for a moment, letting yourself sit in the hurt, the anger. You decide to let it fuel you.

You reach your hands into your dress, pushing your boobs up so they rest perkily above the neckline. You turn to Hotch, who looks like he regrets the day he was born, fire blazing in your eye.

"I can crack him," you say assuredly. Hotch nods in response, and you turn the knob to the interrogation room.

Spencer can't help but find his way back into the interrogation room. He sits in the back, behind Hotch and Morgan, back hunched, arms crossed over his chest. His brows are furrowed, the pout on his lips everlasting.

Guilt boils in his stomach as she saunters back in the room. The way his eyes light up when he sees her makes Spencer physically ill. He clears his throat uncomfortably, which causes Derek's head to cross over his shoulder, finding Spencer immediately.

Spencer shrinks into himself even more as Derek moves to join him at the back table. They sit for a moment, watching as she bends over the table at the waist, popping her hip out in a way that's sinful. Spencer bites his lip, completely giving up on hiding his feelings from Derek. He figured him out months ago.

"The way I spoke to her, Derek..." Spencer trails off shamefully. He shakes his head, unable to look at her without feeling nauseous.

"She's going to forgive you. She just needs to know you're coming from a place of concern, not judgement," Derek says, his poignancy grating Spencer's nerves even further. How dare he have such good judgement?

"How do you know she'll forgive me?" Spencer murmurs. He can't remember the last time he sounded so weak.

"Because I know," his certainty draws Spencer's gaze up to meet Morgan's. They sit in loaded silence, the only sound cutting through is her saccharine tone from the other side of the glass. It churns in Spencer's stomach like bad milk.

Derek moves back to where he was before, next to Hotch at the glass window. It's then that Spencer finally wills himself to look at her. She's got her hands on her hips, all her weight resting on one foot in a way that highlights her figure. She flips her hair, and the suspect is completely drawn to her.

"You're a smart guy, I can just tell..." she croons, moving closer towards him, "but being smart doesn't mean you can hide from me, you know?"

The suspect blushes at this, though a smug smirk paints his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about, baby. I didn't do anything."

Spencer white knuckles the table beneath him. It's all he can do to not go in there and wipe that smile right off his face.

"I know you're not used to pretty girls pushing back. Most of them just fall for that smile, huh?" her voice is lower, more intimate, as a nail traces the shape of his lip.

The suspect tenses then, turning his gaze down to his hands. Spencer sits up at this, adrenaline striking him at the suspect's discomfort.

"I...I didn't do anything. I swear," the suspect emphasizes that last part, and Spencer knows she's got him.

"You really think I'm going to let you get away with that answer, when I know the truth?" she's resting on the table now, her hip delicately perched just inches away from the suspect. "It's okay to let go, you know," a nail lightly grazes up his arm. He shivers. "You've lost control already, haven't you?"

The last question comes out as a whisper. The suspect jolts away from her, the legs of his chair scraping the floor.

"I didn't mean for it to go this far, okay?" the suspect exclaims. Spencer stands fully upright now, moving to stand in-between Hotch and Morgan.

"She's got him," Morgan mumbles, and Spencer's chest swells with pride.

"But it did go that far, didn’t it? And now you’re here. You can’t run anymore. What happened that night? I’m right here. You can tell me," she's batting her eyelashes, yet venom laces her tone.

"It was just supposed to be money laundering. They told me I'd be making seven figures if I did. That's all I wanted. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," he groans, head falling back.

Spencer, Hotch, and Morgan all exchange weary looks, brows raised in surprise. Pride blossoms in his chest like an early spring flower, his cheeks warming at the sight of his best friend. He's so, so proud of her. He was such an ass earlier. He'll spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Her head tilts to the side, a faux pout painting her lips. She pats his shoulder definitively before standing.

"Thanks, babe," her tone is sarcastic now, and she winks before leaving the room.

She's caught off guard to see Spencer there, stopping in the doorway just briefly before closing it behind her. The pride swelling in his chest dissipates to that boiling guilt from before, bubbling deep in his stomach.

"Good work," Hotch nods at her, a prideful smile on her lips, "Morgan, have Garcia research any connections to our unsub. He said 'they', we may be looking for a team."

Hotch follows Morgan out, and he's left alone with her now. It dawns on him that he's never been speechless with her before. She's always made him feel comfortable expressing whatever's on his mind. Now, as her eyes gleam with hurt, he doesn't think he's earned that right.

"You did it," he breathes. He gets a heavy scoff in response.

"I knew I would, since it comes so naturally, I thought why not lean into it?" her venomous tone pierces through his heart as she walks past him. She pats his shoulder the same way she did with the unsub, is skin aflame at the contact, even though she's mad at him.

A wine glass is perched between your fingers as you curl up on the jet. It's a celebratory drink, insisted by Morgan for your involvement in solving the case. You look out the window to the setting sun over the coast, the sparkling water. You take a deep breath before taking a long sip.

It's not soon after you take off that night falls, your teammates falling asleep in waves. One certain member hasn't, though. You feel Spencer's eyes on you as you make your way to the back of the jet, spilling out the remaining contents of your glass in the small sink at the bar.

You relent on your way back, the blaring anger you felt earlier dulled to a hum of frustration. He looks tired, vulnerable in his current state, curled up on the couch of the jet. You crouch in front of him, a delicate hand perched on his shoulder. His eyes meet yours in record time, regret flashing through them almost immediately.

Your heart aches, as if two large hands are squeezing as hard as they can. You've missed him. It doesn't feel right to celebrate your win without him. You push back a strand of hair that's fallen in front of his eye, and they gleam at your touch. You can't help but smile at his softness.

"Spence..." you start, but he cuts you off.

"I'm so, so sorry, honey," the words burst out of him. Your heart clutches at the pet name.

"It's okay," you smile meekly, but your acceptance is sincere all the same.

"No. No, it's not," he says as he sits up, facing you properly now. "I should have never said what I did, it was-it was awful of me. I never want to make you feel like that again."

"Why did you say it, Spencer?" you inquire, the breath robbed from your lungs, "it was so unlike you. It hurt, but it caught me by surprise more than anything."

His eyes squeeze shut at the confirmation that he'd hurt you, and you rest a delicate palm on his forearm. A sincere gesture now, compared to the hollow touches you'd doled out earlier.

"Spencer, I want you to talk to me," you whisper, and he shudders at the softness in your voice. You know he thinks he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

"That guy, the way he looked at you, his broad shoulders and muscles..." he trails off, and it clicks in your brain.

He wasn't mad at you for flirting, he was scared you were leading him on. That he wasn't as important as a guy who looked like that.

"Oh, Spence..." you can't help yourself, you plop right in his lap. You pull his neck into your shoulder, a deep hug as he breathes shakily.

"You're just so beautiful, any guy like that could have you. Yet you pay attention to me. Why?" he pulls back and looks up at you, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

"Spencer, for one, that guy is being charged with fraud and murder in the first degree. Don't compare yourself to him," a teasing lilt laces your tone, and he groans playfully into your neck.

You cradle him for a moment, and can't help but notice how normal this feels, how right it is to be with him in this way. You're so in love with him. You have been ever since you first met him, and you need him to know.

"Spencer, you don't give yourself enough credit for how hot you really are," you smirk. He scoffs at that, an involuntary noise that almost wakes up the whole jet.

"Shhh!" you giggle, nails scraping the back of his scalp. You watch the way he shudders at the action, you give him another little scratch before continuing.

"You're so beautiful, Spencer," you cup his cheeks, pressing your forehead into his. "I'm sorry you don't see it."

"Do you see it?" he asks, and you know what he really means. Do you really love me? Or are you just being kind?

"Of course I do, Spencer. I see your kind eyes, your full lips, your hands..." you trail off, finding his hand splayed on your back. You grab it, putting your palm flat against his.

"My-my hands?" he laughs out in disbelief. His cheeks are tinted pink, and you don't think you've ever wanted anyone this bad in your entire life.

You nod. "Yeah, your hands, Spence. They're huge," you lace your fingers together then, and he shudders at the touch.

"But it's not only what's on the outside, though I do enjoy it so very much," he blushes even more profusely. You never want him to stop. "Your heart, Spence. It's so kind, and loving, and forgiving, I'm sorry you don't see yourself as enough. I'll spend as much time as you'll let me proving you wrong."

He looks you in the eye, then. His brows furrowed, lips pouted. The air between you thickens in the silence, your chests move up and down in time together.

"I love you," you whisper, and the shuddering breath that leaves Spencer's lips makes you want to cry.

He buries his face in your neck once more, the heat from his still-red cheeks radiating off of him.

"Oh, angel. I love you, too. I'm so sorry. I love you, I don't deserve you-"

You cut his rambling off with the sweetest kiss to his lips. He groans into it, pulling you closer into him with his hands.

"This dress, honey. I haven't been able to keep my eyes off you all day," he whispers in between kisses.

You let out the smallest whimper at that, the thought of driving him crazy just from your outfit giving you a confidence boost for the ages.

"Yeah?" you ask playfully, moving his hand to rest against a bare spot on your thigh. He looks up at you, submission gleaming in his eye as he nods.

You could just destroy him.

"If you guys start to hook up on this jet, I'm snitching," you and Spencer both jump at the voice coming from behind.

It's Morgan, sitting awake amongst the rest of the sleeping team. Your heart pounds from the shock, though a smile still splays across your face. Spencer looks the same, flushed but content, his cheeks bunching up around his eyes.

"It is about time. We've had a running pool throughout the whole office over who was gonna cave first. Looks like I'm getting a cut, thanks, pretty girl," Derek ruffles your hair as he walks past, going to make himself a coffee at the bar.

"Morgan!" Spencer whines, his head falling back against the couch.

You giggle, too in love to care that you were caught. You snake your arms around his neck, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"We'll finish what we started when we get home," you're seductive in your tone, and you can tell you're successful from the goosebumps rising on his flesh.

He shivers as you move off his lap, settling into his side as you begin to descend on Quantico. A flight home has never felt so long.

[nubecita040]

(Not) A Jinx

S7! Spencer Reid x Clumsy!Barista!Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Spencer has been going to a new coffee shop recently and that’s where he finds you — a clumsy barista who screws up orders and asks for help all of the time. After a confrontation with a customer, Spencer sees you and assures to you that you’re not a jinx like you seem to think you are.

Category: Fluff, with a hint of angst

Warnings: reader is a barista at a coffee shop (not a very good one) i love projecting, based on a semi-real situation, reader is overwhelmed/has a breakdown, spencer being a comforting softie, crying, cute nickname used (cutie), i think that’s it- otherwise fluffy

Author’s Note: i love projecting into all my fics hehehe/ divider belongs to bestie erika @esote-rika (as all cute dividers i use are) i hope you enjoy this, it’s based on a semi-real situation i go through at my new job lmao (i hate making drinks)

Spencer had just recently started frequenting this new coffee shop a few blocks from Quantico. It was quaint, the pastries were delicious, coffee was self-served and usually very busy around the time he’d go. And though it’d be busy, he still enjoyed it.

By now, all of the workers knew his name as well as his order. A large coffee with a lot of sugar and a blueberry muffin. He’d even indulge in a warm croissant for Garcia every now and again.

To say that he found his new favorite place was an understatement. A quiet place he even decided to gate-keep from the rest of the team so they wouldn’t hog all over what he’d created for himself. It was also the place where he’d met you.

Not that long ago, you’d started working at the coffee shop. You’d taken his order a few times and spoke shyly to him whenever he’d show up, he found it endearing about how timid you were, it reminded him of himself when he was in his early twenties.

The one thing he’d noticed whenever frequenting this coffee shop was how much you’d been on the registers as a cashier. Specifically on Mondays and Tuesdays, not that he was keeping track or anything. He’d never seen you in the kitchen, prepping food or even prepping the long list of ingredients for an iced latte. And when he did, your coworkers were quick to send you to the registers to take orders. He’d figured that maybe you were just always set to cashier whenever you’d come in or maybe you already had enough people handling drinks.

And then he’d come to the realization to why he didn’t see you working on drinks that often. He’d had gone in to get his regular coffee and blueberry muffin this morning during a rush hour. He was actually still waiting on the blueberry muffin when he saw you.

You’d been moving a million miles per hour anxiously as you looked on your screen, frantically muttering to yourself — “How the hell do I make an iced caramel macchiato again?” “What the hell is an americano?” “Wait, was that four or five pumps for the large cups?” People had been watching and waiting for their orders, staring hard— even glaring at you as you tried making four orders at a time.

There was then a point where you eventually gave up trying yourself and asked for help. You said sorry for bothering them and your co-worker had just given you a deep sigh and helped you anyways.

As you tried your best to help her without getting in her way, a man who obviously wasn’t patient enough to wait any longer quickly chided in, saying he’d been waiting for his iced coffee for nearly fifteen minutes now. You politely tell him you’re working on it and you’ll get it out in no time. The man rolls his eyes but nonetheless waits.

And then once you got him his order with shaky hands. Once he was gone, you’d returned to the other orders and within a minute, the man marched right back in towards your area and shouted something about how the drink was disgusting and how badly can you screw up a simple iced coffee?

He could see the defeat in your eyes as he called you ‘stupid’ and decided to chime in with a firm grip on his coffee cup. “Sir, I don’t mean to cut in but I happened to overhear and as much as I understand your frustration, she’s new and maybe you could… I don’t know, give her a break? She’s just learning.” Spencer was never one to speak up. He hated to, but for you? He’d felt the need to. Especially when he saw you working very hard and even shaking to the point where he worried he may need to call a doctor before you pass out on the floor.

“Listen, pipecleaner,” The man scoffs at Spencer. “Why don’t you just back off? This doesn’t concern you.”

Spencer ever rarely pulls this card, but again, for you — he pulls out his badge out from his pocket and flashes it towards the man. “Actually, sir, I’m with the FBI and since I am with law enforcement, I can report and say you’re causing a disturbance to the store and verbally harassing an employee to her face. That could get you banned from the store, maybe even the police will be involved. And you don’t want to risk that over a simple iced coffee incident, do you?” The man looks at him dumbfounded and slack-jawed and when Spencer turns to you, your cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as you stare back, a little frazzled at the fact that he’d stood up to a customer for you. Sure, you had disgruntled customers in your life every now and then, but rarely did anyone stand up for you.

The man grumbles something under his breath and inevitably decides to leave the store and you look at Spencer, grateful and eyes widened, “Thank you.” Spencer nods, with a tight-lipped smile. “Of course, he was being a jerk.”

And the conversation ends there, you go back to trying to make drinks and Spencer finally gets his muffin but before he can leave, there’s a large clatter heard and he turns over to see you looking at the ground at the three coffees you’d just made and you frown, almost as if you’re on the verge of tears.

Your co-worker, who looks like she’s ready to wring your neck out, speaks to you calmly and tells you that she will handle the drinks and to just go on your break. You figure that’s the best thing you can do at the moment, without screwing anything else up. So, you walk out from behind the counter with your head in your hands.

And Spencer watches the whole thing and decides to follow you outside. He doesn’t know what it is that draws him outside to you, he was ready to leave. He got what he needed and didn’t need to be there any longer. But he was willing to spare a moment or two when he saw how distressed you were.

Once he entered outside, he saw you kick a chair over and quickly flinch when you kicked the chair too far towards the table and the umbrella outside had fallen on the cement and you quickly picked up the umbrella before anyone else witnessed you kick it over and you shut your eyes as you squat down and Spencer frowns as you let out a heart-wrenching sob that aches inside him. And you cry and cry and cry.

He doesn’t really know what to do, but he knows you’re upset. He stands there awkwardly, contemplating on going to bother you when you clearly don’t want to be bothered. But he musters up enough courage to walk towards you and clears his throat as he simply says — “Hi.”

You gasp and look to him before quickly wiping away your tears that cascaded and stained your cheeks. You take a moment to calm yourself down before wiping your hands on your apron. “I’m fine. Sorry.” You say, still looking at the ground and avoiding his eyes as you stand from where you’re sitting.

“I didn’t mean to just… invade your—” Spencer pauses, not knowing exactly how to refer your current breakdown. Would it be offensive to you if he did call it a breakdown? “Are you okay?” He manages a more simple approach, a friendly approach.

You exhale, hands on hips as you look up at him— “I’m normally not this bad, I swear. I just… today’s just been really overwhelming and I hate making the drinks, which is very ironic considering I work in a coffee shop and literally all they have me do is just be on the registers since that is the only thing I can’t manage to screw up and I really need this job because I need the money and I’m just so so tired all of the time since I work two jobs and I’m just… ugh.” You cover your eyes with the palms of your hands and look at the man and sigh more, “I’m so sorry, I’m very prone to ramble and to drone on and on and on, feel free to tell me shut up any time.”

Never, Spencer wants to say. I, too, am prone to rambling. And it’s refreshing to be on the opposite end of a good ramble.

“It’s okay,” He tells. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day.” You sigh, “It’s not your fault. I really do appreciate you sticking up for me, you really didn’t have to.” Spencer shrugs a bit, “It’s really no problem. And he was being a jerk.”

“I kinda deserved it, though,” You say and Spencer furrows his brows in confusion because why would you think that? “I’m not that good at my job, if you haven’t noticed.”

“That’s ridiculous—” Spencer tries but you shake your head, disregarding his input. “No, I’m not. Every time I’m alone on drinks, I always have to ask for help. I always ask for help when I shouldn’t have to. I’ve been here two months, I should know all of this stuff by now. Why do you think I’m always on the register? I’m just a big fat jinx. I get in the way.”

It then clicked to him now. Your co-workers decided to continuously put you on cashier because they didn’t want you in the way. And when you tried, it ended up going awry. Spencer frowned, he believed you’d tried. No matter what, you were still trying to do your job. He pitied you, you didn’t deserve to feel like this about yourself. Because as far as he was concerned, you were trying. And not a lot of people did that. They often admitted defeat before they even had the chance to try.

You turn away from him so as not to look him in the face. You’d just poured your whole heart out to the man about how you felt about your job and he was a complete stranger. Somehow, it’d felt a little embarrassing but it was easier opening up to a total stranger than to someone you already know, at least to you.

“I don’t think you’re a jinx,” Spencer spoke up. “You’re still learning. It’s not your fault. Everyone works in different ways. You know, working styles typically fall into four unique types — idea oriented, logical, detail oriented and supportive.”

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, “And what type do you think I fit?” You wonder with a cross of your arms, intrigued by the conversation. He gawks at you for a moment before thinking to himself. “I think you’re the supportive type. You’re empathetic and people oriented. At least from what I’ve seen when you take my order. You really do try, even if you don’t think you do. You are. At least you’re trying. That’s more than what other people do.”

You stare at the man interestingly, studying him almost. He was nice to you, you were just as much a stranger to him as he was to you. “Thanks.” You smile. You stare at each other for a minute before Spencer pauses — “So you said you’ve only been working here a few months?”

“Yeah, I can’t really afford living in this economy nowadays. Had to get two jobs to live.” You reply and Spencer nods, “Yeah, I’ve only seen you a handful of times, so I… I just happened to notice.”

He wasn’t going to add onto the fact that he watches every time that you do work, he notices when you scrunch up your nose when you’re focused, he notices that you sing to yourself every once in a while or that you walk around like you’re on a mission.

“Really?” You ask.

Spencer nods, “Yeah, trust me, you’re not an easy person to forget. That and I do have an eidetic memory, so it’s easy not to forget.”

“So, like… a photographic memory?” You ask and Spencer winces as he corrects— “It’s not quite the same, considering eidetic memory is a more short-term form of memory while photographic memory, on the other hand, is thought to be a more long-term form of memory.” You chuckle a bit, already admiring little quirks you’ve never seen before. Especially not in a man as delicious as him.

“S-Sorry, I… I tend to ramble.” Now, he was the one apologizing.

“Hey, I’m not judging. I just poured my heart out to you not that long ago.” You chuckle again and look around. “I should, uh, probably get back to work. I only get ten minutes.”

Spencer nods with wide eyes, “Yeah, uh, I should go, too. I… I work, too. At the BAU in Quantico, in fact.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, another interesting thing to mark down in your mental note. “FBI?” Spencer nods, “Yes, I, uh—” Before he can even go into detail about what he does for a living, someone calls your name and informs you to come back in since you’re ten minute break was now up.

Man, time flies when you’re speaking with a handsome stranger that doesn’t think you’re a jinx.

You turn back to Spencer with an awkward chuckle, “Well, I should get back. Maybe I’ll see you around again soon?” Spencer nods, “Yes, I hope to see you again soon, too.”

You wave at him goodbye and begin to walk back towards the doors. “Uh,” You hear Spencer and whip your head back around to see his gears turning in his head. “If you ever… want to, uh, go get coffee— at another place, that is… sometime, would-would you… be up for that? S-Sometime?”

You smirk at him and his attempt of asking you out. “Yeah, I’d like that.” You say and Spencer gives you a crooked smile. You go to push the door open, only then realizing it’s a fucking pull door and pull it open and walk back in without another word, leaving Spencer with a large smile on his face the rest of the day.

He’d gone back to the coffee shop the very next morning and ordered the usual. Only this time, he’d saw a little message written on the side of his cup. Your phone number etched with a heart and your name right next to it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

ㅤ♡ Y/n

call me sometime, cutie!

Needless to say, Spencer kept going to the coffee shop. And it wasn’t just for the coffee anymore.

[nubecita040]

SIP AND STAND • SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: Navigating caffeine cravings and chaos, Reid finds himself drawn into a tense standoff, discovering that even in a coffee shop, unexpected alliances can brew.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer reid

a/n: this is my first time posting on here so pls be nice and lie to me even if it sucks cause i’m sensitive

this isn’t an actual reader x spencer fic cause i struggle with writing in first person and not writing a specific character so bare with me while i learn!

tysm to @g4rvez-r3id @dearlenore and @cerisereids for helping me navigate through this super overwhelming new process! <3

w/c: 2.2k

══════════════════

The fluorescent lights of the coffee shop hummed, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Reid's mind. The case they'd just wrapped up had left him feeling hollow. A six-year-old boy, missing for three days, found just in time – but Morgan had taken a bullet to the shoulder during the takedown. His teammate would be fine, just restricted from field assignments for a while, but the image of blood seeping through Morgan's shirt kept replaying in Reid's mind. He needed caffeine, and he needed it now.

He shuffled toward the counter, already calculating the amount of sugar he'd need to counteract the bitterness of the black coffee. Three packets? Four? He usually went for five. He knew it wasn't healthy, but right now, he craved the jolt of pure, unadulterated sweetness. He reached for a handful of packets, tearing them open and pouring them into his cup with abandon.

The bell above the door chimed, and a laugh cut through the ambient noise – warm and genuine, like honey over gravel.

A young woman walked in, her yellow sundress flowing down to her ankles, making her look like a ray of sunshine against the coffee shop's muted tones. Her brown hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and there was something gentle about the way she moved.

"I know, Mom, I know," she said into her phone, her voice edged with frustration as she joined the line, running her free hand through her hair. "I wish I could visit this weekend, but this paper on evolutionary psychology is killing me. Like, I get the basic premise of cognitive adaptations, but trying to explain how modern behavioral patterns evolved from ancient survival mechanisms? I'm completely stuck."

Reid's ears perked up. He found himself unconsciously leaning closer, stirring his coffee slower than necessary.

"The professor wants us to focus specifically on mate selection theories," she continued, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I've got three days to figure this out, and I just... I don't know. It's overwhelming."

Her mom's voice on the other end must have been comforting because she let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I know Dad would say it's all a bunch of hooey. But you know how he is with anything that doesn't have a clear-cut answer."

As she listened to her mom's response, her eyes caught the movement at the door. A man in an expensive suit walked in, took one look at the line that wrapped around the counter, and headed straight for the front. He brushed past several waiting customers, ignoring their pointed stares and muttered complaints.

"Mom, something just came up," she said, her voice shifting to a more serious tone. "I'll call you back in a little bit, okay? Love you."

She slipped her phone into her purse and stepped directly into the guy's path.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice firm but polite. "There's a line."

The guy paused, looking at her with a patronizing smile. "Ah, but rules are for those without charm, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart," she replied, her voice cooling several degrees. "And you can wait in line like everyone else."

The guy stopped, turning to face her fully. "Look, I'm in a hurry," he said, his tone impatient. "I don't have time for this."

"Well, that's unfortunate," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, the kind that could cut like ice. "The line starts back there."

The guy's face flushed with anger. He took a step closer, invading her personal space. "You need to learn to stay out of people's way," he said, his voice low and aggressive.

She didn't back down, though Reid noticed her fists clench at her sides. "And you need to learn basic manners," she retorted, her voice slightly less steady than before.

"Listen here, you little—" the guy sneered, leaning in closer.

Reid abandoned his half-empty coffee cup on the table. The statistics on public harassment flashed through his mind – how often these situations escalated, how many victims never reported. He calculated the probable outcomes and decided it was time to intervene.

"Is there a problem here?" Reid's voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward.

The guy turned, irritation flashing across his face. "Mind your own business," he snapped.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Reid replied, his voice calm. "You see, social dynamics in public spaces can be quite fascinating. Did you know that intervention by a third party decreases the likelihood of escalation by 50%?"

"Who the hell are you?" the guy challenged, turning to face Reid fully.

"FBI Special Agent Dr Reid," he said, pulling out his badge. "And harassing people in public spaces is very much my business."

The guy scoffed, though Reid noticed him take a small step back. "You expect me to believe you're FBI? Looking like that?"

"Would you like to verify my credentials with the local field office?" Reid offered calmly. "Or perhaps we should discuss the legal definition of harassment in public spaces. The statutes are quite specific about—"

"This is ridiculous," the guy cut in, but his confidence was clearly shaken. He looked between Reid and the woman, jaw clenching. As he turned to leave, he muttered, "I don't have time for this shit," before shooting one last look at the woman. "You got lucky this time."

Once he was gone, Reid turned to her. "Are you okay?"

She let out a long breath, her shoulders finally relaxing. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Just a bit shaken, I guess. That was..." She ran a hand through her hair. "Thank you for stepping in. I was trying to act tough, but he was starting to scare me a little. I really don't like entitled jerks."

"Most people wouldn't have said anything in the first place," Reid offered.

"I usually don't," she admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. "But something about his attitude just... I don't know. I couldn't help myself." She shook her head slightly. "I should probably learn to pick my battles better, huh?"

"Actually, speaking up against threatening behavior can help prevent future incidents. Though perhaps with backup next time," he added with a small smile.

She laughed softly. "Yeah, well, thankfully my backup today came with a badge." She gestured to the counter. "Let me buy you a coffee? As a thank you?"

Reid glanced at his abandoned coffee cup, already forgotten in the whirlwind of the encounter. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"Please, I insist," she interrupted. "It's the least I can do for my knight in..." she paused, glancing at his mismatched socks and cardigan, "...academic armor?"

He nodded, intrigued. "Sure, I'd like that."

They moved to the counter together, and as they waited for their drinks, she seemed to relax more, the color returning to her cheeks. Her eyes caught on the book tucked under his arm. "Wait, is that 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'?"

"It is," Reid replied, suddenly aware that his heart was beating faster than usual. "Though I find Wilde's short stories more psychologically complex, particularly 'The Happy Prince.'" He paused, then added, "I couldn't help but overhear – you're writing about evolutionary psychology?"

"Oh god, yes," she groaned. "And completely drowning in it. I thought I understood the basics, but trying to connect everything together..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"I actually have BAs in Psychology and Sociology, along with PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering and I've done extensive study in evolutionary psychology for my work with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," Reid said, then hesitated for a moment. "If you'd like, I wouldn't mind helping you work through some of the concepts?"

Her eyes lit up. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Reid took both their coffee cups before gesturing to an empty table by the window. "Not at all. Actually, the evolutionary basis for altruistic behavior is fascinating. Did you know that reciprocal altruism was first mathematically modeled by Robert Trivers in 1971?"

She smiled, following him to the table. "I have a feeling I'm about to learn a lot more than just that."

══════════════════

The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky as their conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through topics of evolutionary psychology, literature, and the quirks of human behavior. Reid's explanations were met with keen interest, and her questions were insightful, sparking lively debates between them.

"You know, the way you explained the evolutionary basis for altruism really helped me see the connections," she said, jotting down notes in her notebook. "I never thought about how reciprocal altruism could be mathematically modeled."

Reid nodded, clearly in his element. "It's fascinating, isn't it? Trivers' model from 1971 really opened up a new way of understanding social behaviors."

Just as she was about to respond, Reid's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it and saw Garcia's name flashing on the screen. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, stepping aside to take the call. His demeanor shifted immediately, becoming serious as he listened.

When he returned, he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. There's a case."

She nodded, understanding. "Duty calls, huh? You know, for a moment there, I almost forgot you were an FBI agent."

Reid chuckled softly, appreciating her light-hearted approach. "It was nice to forget for a bit."

As they gathered their things, Reid courteously opened the door for her. He noticed for the first time how petite she was compared to him, her presence both delicate and confident in contrast to his taller frame. "Thank you. It's nice to share what I've learned with someone who's genuinely interested," he added, feeling a bit flustered by the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

She stepped out into the cool evening air, the bell chiming softly behind them. "I have a feeling my professor is going to be impressed too. Thanks to you, I'm actually looking forward to tackling this paper."

Reid hesitated for a moment before speaking. "If you get stuck on any more complex theories," he offered, trying to sound casual, "I'd be happy to help. You know, for the sake of academic rigor."

She smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Is that your way of saying you'd like to see me again, Dr. Reid?"

Reid's cheeks flushed slightly, but he met her gaze with a shy smile. "Maybe it is."

"Then I suppose I'll have to take you up on that," she replied. They exchanged numbers, and she gave him one last wave. "Thanks again. For everything."

Before she could turn to leave, Reid hesitated, a hint of his usual earnestness returning. "Are you sure you'll be okay walking home? Statistically speaking, the probability of encountering a dangerous situation increases by approximately 30% when walking alone compared to walking with someone."

She grinned, appreciating his concern. "I'll be fine, Reid. But thanks for the stats lesson. And don't worry, I'll keep my phone handy."

══════════════════

Back at the office, Reid walked in with an unusually cheerful demeanor, his steps lighter than usual. Morgan noticed immediately and exchanged a bemused glance with Emily. They both observed him for a moment, enjoying the rare sight of a visibly happy Reid.

Emily raised an eyebrow, sharing a knowing smile with Morgan. Without saying a word, they both seemed to agree: something was definitely up.

Finally, Morgan couldn't resist breaking the silence. "Reid, you look like you're on cloud nine. What's going on?"

Reid glanced over, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

Emily chimed in with a teasing tone. "Come on, Reid. You can't fool profilers. You're practically glowing."

Morgan leaned in, pressing a bit more. "Yeah, pretty boy, you look like you just won the lottery."

Reid smirked, opting for a classic comeback. "You know, the odds of winning the lottery are approximately 1 in 292 million. Statistically speaking, I'm more likely to be struck by lightning."

Emily laughed, shaking her head. "Nice try, Reid. You're trying to change the subject."

Reid shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "I just had an interesting conversation this afternoon."

Morgan's curiosity was piqued. "Interesting enough to put that smile on your face?"

Reid nodded, keeping things light. "Met someone at the coffee shop. We talked about evolutionary psychology—altruism, reciprocal behavior, the usual."

Emily's curiosity was piqued. "That sounds like quite the conversation."

Reid offered a noncommittal smile, allowing a hint of mystery to linger. "It was... engaging."

As they were about to head to the conference room, Garcia intercepted them, noticing Reid's flustered demeanor. "Hey, what's going on with our boy genius? He looks like he just solved world peace."

Morgan chuckled, sharing a knowing glance with Emily. "Just a little coffee shop chat, babygirl."

Emily grinned, offering Garcia a playful shrug. "Yeah, he's had a... stimulating afternoon."

Garcia gave Reid a teasing smile, then turned her attention to Morgan with a flirtatious tone. "Well, sugar, you can fill me in on all the juicy details later."

Morgan grinned back, clearly enjoying the banter. "You know it, gorgeous. I'll bring the popcorn."

With that, they all headed to the conference room, the air filled with the warmth and camaraderie that defined their team.

══════════════════

If you liked this, please don’t hesitate to tell me because I’m about to throw up out of nervousness!

If you didn’t, pretend you didn’t read it !

[nubecita040]

If you gave Spencer your diary to read he would keep that thing ON him he will literally keep it forever if you let him he has the passages memorized, it’s in his little satchel or on his bedside constantly, it goes with him on cases so he can read it when he misses you, he traces the stickers and the lipstick kisses and is so gentle with the pressed flowers and the ribbons and the receipts and the concert tickets, he would annotate it if he could, he falls asleep thinking about your words, he loves when he walks into the room and sees you writing in your new journal because you don’t even know it but you’re creating the sequel to his favorite book ever!!!

[nubecita040]

Hii,

Saw you wanted some requests and I love your writing sooo…

Would you write a Spencer x wife!reader where there’s a case somewhere cold and an unsub has taken a little girl. The BAU chase the unsub to a big icy lake and reader goes to save the little girl. Just as she reaches them the ice breaks and they fall in. You can decide the rest. Angst with fluff at the end and worried Spencer!

Would love if you wrote this, thank you!!!

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐜𝐞

Spencer Reid x Wife!Reader

w/c: 10k+

a/n: I hope when you requested this you wanted a long story and not a short one because I saw this prompt and like ran with it 😝 i'm so excited to be getting requests now and hopefully you like this!! also, did you notice that I switched the colors from pink to blue cause like icyyy 🤭

The cold was relentless. It seeped through your layers, through the thick FBI-issued tactical jacket, biting into your skin as the wind howled through the trees. The snow was fresh, untouched in some places but disturbed in others—jagged footprints cut through the frost-covered ground, a desperate path leading deeper into the forest.

You weren’t far behind.

Your breath came in heavy puffs, curling in the freezing air as you ran. Your boots crunched against the hardened snow, but the sound barely registered over the pounding of your heart.

“Y/N, wait—damn it, slow down!” Spencer’s voice crackled in your earpiece, tight with worry. “You’re too far ahead!”

You ignored him, gripping your gun tighter as you weaved between towering trees. There wasn’t time to slow down. The unsub was getting away, dragging a terrified seven-year-old girl with him.

Sophie Miller.

She had been missing for seventy-two hours.

You had memorized her picture the moment Garcia pulled it up on the jet—a bright, smiling face framed by golden curls, her blue eyes wide with innocence. The kind of child who loved bedtime stories and left crayon doodles on the walls, the kind of child who should have been safe in her home, not stolen from her bed in the dead of night.

Your team had been hunting this man for days, piecing together the horror of what he had done to his previous victims. Two children taken. Two found frozen, discarded in the woods like they were nothing more than broken toys.

You weren’t going to let Sophie be the third.

“JJ, give me an update,” Hotch’s voice came through, steady despite the urgency.

“I’ve got footprints leading northeast—fresh,” JJ responded, breathing hard. “He’s heading for the lake.”

Your gut clenched.

A frozen lake in the middle of nowhere.

A last-ditch escape route.

Or a death trap.

Your earpiece crackled again. “Y/N, wait for backup,” Spencer urged, his voice edged with frustration. “If the ice isn’t stable—”

You tuned him out, eyes locking on the dark figure moving just ahead. He was close—thirty yards, maybe less. Sophie stumbled as he yanked her forward, her tiny arms flailing, her cries swallowed by the wind.

Your stomach twisted at the sight.

“FBI!” you shouted, leveling your gun. “Stop right there!”

The unsub whipped around, his wild eyes meeting yours. He was breathing hard, his clothes disheveled, his grip on Sophie iron-tight. He looked like a cornered animal.

Desperate. Dangerous.

For a second, you thought he might surrender.

Then—he ran.

Straight onto the ice.

“Shit,” you hissed, breaking into a sprint. “He’s on the lake—he’s trying to cross!”

Your pulse hammered as you reached the lake’s edge. The ice stretched out before you, smooth and pale beneath the overcast sky. Cracks ran through parts of it, thin, dark lines spidering across the surface. It wasn’t safe.

But Sophie was still out there.

“Y/N, don’t!” Spencer’s voice was sharp now, a mix of panic and authority. “The ice won’t hold—wait for us!”

You didn’t listen.

You stepped onto the ice.

The moment your foot made contact, you felt it—a slight shift beneath you, a groan so faint it could have been the wind. But you didn’t stop.

Sophie was crying now, her little body shaking as she struggled against the unsub’s grip.

“Let her go!” you ordered, gun trained on his back.

He ignored you, stumbling forward. Each step sent ripples through the ice, the cracks widening.

Your heart pounded.

He was going to get them both killed.

“Stop moving!” you shouted. “If you take another step, the ice will—”

A deafening crack split the air.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze.

Then—the ice shattered beneath them.

Sophie screamed. The unsub’s eyes went wide with horror as the frozen ground gave way, swallowing them whole.

And then—they were gone.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The water was dark and violent, swallowing everything in seconds. Jagged chunks of ice bobbed in the freezing depths, the hole gaping like an open wound in the lake’s surface.

Cold fear slammed into your chest.

“Sophie!”

There was no hesitation. No second-guessing.

You ran forward—

And the ice gave way beneath your feet.

The world tilted. The breath was ripped from your lungs as the freezing water consumed you, dragging you under.

The cold was unbearable. It burned, stealing the air from your chest, wrapping around you like an icy fist. Your limbs felt sluggish, your body already fighting against the shock.

But you didn’t stop.

You forced your arms to move, kicking hard, pushing through the numbing water. You could barely see—the world was a blur of darkness and white, ice and air mixing in a chaotic swirl.

Then—you saw her.

Sophie.

Her tiny body was flailing just a few feet away, her movements slowing. Her lips were blue, her wide eyes filled with terror.

You reached for her, fingers grazing the fabric of her coat—

Something yanked you back.

The unsub.

His grip was iron-tight, his frozen fingers clawing at you as he fought to pull himself up. His weight dragged you downward, the icy depths swallowing you both.

Panic flared in your chest.

You struggled, twisting in his grasp, your lungs screaming for air. He was drowning, and he was going to take you with him.

But you weren’t going to die here.

And you weren’t going to let Sophie die, either.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you drove your elbow back—hard. It connected with his face, and his grip loosened just enough for you to break free.

You surged upward, breaking through the surface with a gasp.

The cold was unbearable, but you didn’t let it stop you. You lunged for Sophie, grabbing her by the arm, pulling her against you.

She wasn’t moving.

No, no, no—

“Hold on,” you choked out, gripping her tightly. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You tried to swim, but your limbs were sluggish, heavy. The cold was seeping in, your body betraying you.

Then—

A hand.

Strong, warm fingers wrapped around your wrist.

Spencer.

His face was pale with fear, his eyes wide as he reached for you, his own body half sprawled on the cracking ice.

“I’ve got you,” he gasped, voice breaking. “Hold on to me.”

You used the last of your strength to push Sophie into his arms. His grip on her was firm, secure, and within seconds, Morgan was there, pulling her to solid ground.

Spencer didn’t hesitate—he reached for you next.

“Y/N,” he breathed, voice shaking. “Come on, take my hand.”

You tried.

But the ice beneath him groaned.

His weight shifted, the cracks spreading.

If he leaned out any further—

The ice was going to break again.

“Spencer,” you rasped. “You have to move back.”

His grip tightened. “Not without you.”

The darkness was pulling at you, the weight of the cold pressing down. Your body wanted to sink, to let go.

But Spencer was still holding on.

And you weren’t going to make him watch you drown.

With the last of your strength, you gritted your teeth and reached—fingers brushing his.

He caught you.

And then—

He pulled.

———

The ice cracked.

It happened in an instant—a sharp, splintering sound that cut through the frigid air like a gunshot. Spencer’s heart stopped.

He watched in horror as the frozen lake gave way beneath your feet.

One second, you were reaching for the little girl, your arms outstretched, eyes wide with determination. The next—

You were gone.

The icy water swallowed you whole.

“No!”

The scream ripped from Spencer’s throat before he could even think. His body moved on instinct, every ounce of logic drowned beneath sheer panic.

His knees slammed against the ice as he threw himself forward, fingers desperately clawing at the jagged edges of the hole where you had disappeared. His vision blurred, his breath came in sharp, ragged gasps.

Where were you?

Seconds stretched into an eternity.

Then—movement.

A hand.

Your hand.

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, fingers closing around your wrist, gripping so tightly his knuckles went white. The water around you was dark and churning, but he could see your face now—pale, eyes wide with terror, lips already turning blue.

“You’re okay,” he gasped, tightening his grip. “I’ve got you.”

The ice groaned beneath his weight.

“Reid, don’t!” Morgan’s voice cut through the chaos. “You’re too close!”

Spencer ignored him.

Your body jerked as the freezing water pulled at you, trying to drag you back under.

“No,” Spencer choked out, panic clawing at his chest. “No, no, no, just hold on—”

Your fingers trembled in his grasp, so cold, too cold.

“Spence,” you gasped, voice barely above a whisper. “I— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted, desperation bleeding into his voice. His eyes darted frantically to the ice beneath him. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from where he knelt, groaning under the pressure.

If he wasn’t careful, he was going in after you.

He didn’t care.

All he cared about was getting you out.

“Reid, stay put!” Morgan was closer now, inching toward them, his body low against the ice. “I’ll get her. Just don’t move.”

Spencer’s grip tightened.

“She’s slipping,” he gasped, voice shaking. “I can’t— I can’t let go—”

He felt it then—your fingers weakening in his grasp, your body going limp.

You were fading.

The cold was winning.

A sickening fear twisted in his gut. He was losing you.

“No,” he whispered, sheer terror making his voice break.

A firm grip on his shoulder yanked him back.

Morgan.

“I’ve got her,” Morgan said, voice steady, unshakable. “Reid, you have to let me do this.”

Spencer’s whole body tensed. His grip on your wrist was ironclad, unyielding.

“I can’t,” he admitted, voice raw.

Morgan’s eyes met his—serious, steady.

“You can.”

For a moment, Spencer hesitated. Then, with every ounce of trust he had, he loosened his grip—just enough for Morgan to take hold of your arm.

Morgan moved fast, pulling you upward with sheer strength.

You barely made a sound as your body was dragged onto the ice.

The moment you were clear, Spencer lunged forward, gathering you into his arms. His hands skimmed over your frozen skin, searching for injuries, grounding himself in the fact that you were still here.

But you were barely moving.

You were shaking violently, teeth chattering, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“She’s going into shock,” JJ’s voice cut through the wind. “We need to warm her up—now.”

Emily was already beside him, wrapping a thick thermal blanket around your shivering frame.

“Sophie—” you croaked, barely able to form the word.

“The girl’s safe,” Morgan reassured you, his voice softer than usual. “She’s with the paramedics.”

Relief washed over your face, but your body continued to tremble.

Spencer pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice cracking.

You tried to respond, but your lips were too numb, your body wracked with tremors.

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your icy cheeks.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, like saying it would make it true.

But you weren’t okay.

Your skin was cold—too cold. Your breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, and your eyes kept fluttering shut, as if you were slipping away.

Spencer’s heart clenched.

“No, no, stay with me,” he begged, shaking you gently.

“So tired,” you mumbled.

“No,” Spencer whispered, panic rising in his chest. “Don’t close your eyes.”

You forced them open, just for him.

“I’m here,” you whispered.

Something inside Spencer broke.

He surged forward, pressing his lips to yours.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was desperate, raw, a silent plea. A promise that he was here, that he wasn’t letting go.

When he pulled back, his hands never left you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got you.”

Then, finally, the paramedics reached them.

Spencer didn’t let go—not as they wrapped you in more blankets, not as they strapped you to the stretcher, not as they rushed toward the ambulance.

He held your hand the entire way.

And he didn’t let go.

———

Warmth.

It was the first thing you felt.

Not the biting, numbing cold of the ice, nor the sharp sting of wind against your skin. This warmth was different—gentle, constant, like a fire burning low in the hearth.

The weight of thick blankets pressed against your body, cocooning you in layers of soft heat. The steady, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor echoed in the quiet space around you. The faint scent of antiseptic and something familiar—Spencer—lingered in the air.

You were safe.

You tried to open your eyes, but they felt heavy, as if the exhaustion had settled into your bones, unwilling to let go. You managed a small inhale, and the moment you stirred, a hand—warm, shaking—tightened around yours.

“Sweetheart?”

Spencer.

His voice was hoarse, cracked at the edges, as if he’d been speaking—pleading—for hours.

You forced your eyes open, blinking sluggishly against the dim light of the hospital room.

And there he was.

Spencer sat hunched over the bed, his fingers curled tightly around yours, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. His hair was a mess, wild and disheveled, his normally neat curls tangled from where he’d clearly run his fingers through them too many times. Dark circles lined his eyes, and his lips were slightly chapped, as if he hadn’t had a sip of water in far too long.

But none of that compared to the raw emotion written all over his face.

Relief. Fear. Love.

He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days, like the weight of the world had been sitting on his chest.

You swallowed, your throat dry.

“…Hey.”

The word barely made it past your lips, but Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, like it physically hurt him to hear how weak you sounded.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, his grip tightening. “You’re awake.”

You tried to nod, but even that small movement made your body protest. Your limbs felt sluggish, as if you were moving through molasses.

Spencer must have noticed, because he was already adjusting the blanket around you, tucking it in carefully, like he could shield you from even the faintest chill.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, his voice laced with quiet urgency. “You need to rest. Your body’s still recovering from the hypothermia. The doctors said—” His voice wavered, and he shook his head, as if the memory of whatever they had said was too much. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You blinked at him, trying to push past the fog in your mind.

“How long?” you rasped.

Spencer swallowed, his throat bobbing.

“Two days.”

Your heart clenched.

Two days.

Spencer had been sitting here, in this exact spot, for two whole days.

Waiting.

Worrying.

Loving you through it.

“Spence,” you whispered, trying to squeeze his hand.

He let out a breathless, broken laugh.

“You almost died,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You almost—” He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut. “I thought I lost you.”

Tears burned at the edges of your vision.

You hated seeing him like this—so wrecked, so shaken, like he had been forced to watch his worst nightmare unfold in front of him.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, then lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against your cold skin.

“You almost weren’t,” he murmured.

Your chest ached—not from the cold, not from the exhaustion, but from the sheer emotion in his voice.

“I had to save her,” you said, barely audible. “The little girl…”

Spencer nodded, his eyes searching yours.

“You did,” he whispered. “You saved her, sweetheart. She’s okay. Because of you.”

A soft breath of relief escaped your lips, but Spencer’s grip never loosened.

“You could’ve died,” he said, his voice breaking. “I watched you fall through the ice. I saw the way the water swallowed you whole, and for a second—” He stopped, inhaling sharply. “For a second, I thought I’d never see you again.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks.

“Spence,” you whispered, your heart shattering.

His own eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw tight as he fought against the storm of emotions threatening to swallow him whole.

“I can’t lose you,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “I don’t know what I’d do. I— I can’t—”

You didn’t let him finish.

With every ounce of strength you had left, you tugged weakly on his hand, pulling him closer.

He understood immediately.

Spencer surged forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

You just breathed together.

“I’m here,” you whispered again, this time for him.

Spencer exhaled shakily, then—without hesitation—he kissed you.

It was slow, soft, his lips feather-light against yours, like he was afraid you might break.

But you kissed him back, pouring every ounce of love, every unspoken word, into the press of your lips.

When he pulled away, his hand never left your face, his fingers tracing over your skin as if memorizing every inch.

“I love you,” he whispered, raw and unfiltered.

You smiled, despite the exhaustion tugging at your body.

“I love you too.”

Spencer exhaled, relief washing over his face.

For the first time in days, he looked like he could finally breathe.

And with him by your side, so did you.

———

[nubecita040]

Omg I love the hot bombshell bau reader x Spencer!! Could you write a scenario with them when the team is out drinking and she’s flirting with him even more & she can take it a lil further because they’re not in work? Thank you🥰

thank you for your request! this isn't a perfect fit of what you asked for but I hope you like it! fem!reader, 1k

"Psst! Psst!" Your perfume floats his way. "Spencer!" 

Spencer turns to your whisper shouting, much less whisper than you probably mean it to be. You're as in his personal space as you can manage without falling into his lap. Luckily, the rest of the team seem to be more interested in the previously unheard story Emily's deigned to tell about a Sin to Win weekend in Atlanta, and no one turns to investigate your secret.

"What?" he asks.

"Can you get me another drink?" you whisper. You insisted on sitting next to him, your breath sharp with cherry liqueur. If you hadn't, he would've tried to make it this way anyhow.

It's not fair. You've drunk enough to get cut off and still you look so pretty, bombshell through and through —there's no other word for it. Your eyes are glittering and unsmudged despite an evening of laughter and a pitcher's worth of bourbon bombs, and they're looking at him with this weird pinching pleading that makes his stomach twist. 

"I don't think you should have anything else." 

"Spence…" You put your hand on his thigh. Not cupping it, nowhere inappropriate, just your fingertips pressed to the fabric of his pants as you twist in your seat to beg. "Please, Spencer. Please." 

He really likes you, and this tone you're using threatens to haunt him forever. Resigned, he moves your hand off of his leg and grabs your empty glasses. "A spritzer," he says, standing up from the booth. "That's it." 

"Hey, no," JJ says, her thin brows pinching as she smiles, perplexed. "She's cut off." 

"That's why Spencer's going to get it for me. He's my angel," you brag, words tipping, tumbling all over the place. 

Spencer looks at the disapproving expressions on their faces, Hotch, Emily, Derek and JJ all looking as though they learned how to frown from the same place. Only Penelope and Rossi seem encouraging. Penelope tipsy herself, and Rossi a self-professed believer in, "Living life to the fullest. Get the girl another drink, Reid." 

"A spritzer," Spencer says again. 

You smile gleefully and follow him out of your seats toward the bar. The barkeep gives Spencer a knowing look when he orders your drink but doesn't say anything when Spencer puts the change in the tip jar, which is questionable. Spencer secures your cold beverage and hands it to you, fully intending on walking you back to the booth. 

You pull him off course. He has little power in the situation, a yelp and a yank and you're dragging him toward the bar jukebox. Your spritzer paints your hand as you put it down, lips wet with it as you beam at him from over your shoulder. 

"Pick a song?" you ask. 

"I don't know if they'll have anything I like." 

"Pick one anyways." 

Spencer has to stand directly behind you to read the titles. "Why don't you pick one?" he asks gently. 

You sway. He doesn't know if it's down to the alcohol or the five seconds of music that plays as you scroll through songs. "I don't have a dollar."

Spencer laughs and gets his wallet out, handing you two dollars from the fold. "There. Pick two." 

"You're such a nice guy, Spencer, and I don't mean it like, oh, you're a nice guy, you don't mess girls around, I mean…" You fold the dollars he gave you mindlessly. "I mean, you're just nice. In the best sense of the word. You're gentle, kind…" 

You gasp, sounding pained. Spencer's hand leaps to the small of your back, "What? What's wrong?" 

"They have Out of Touch by Hall and Oates. Hold my spritzer, handsome, I need to put this on before I die." 

Derek comes looking for you both somewhere in the second play of the same song. Spencer's cheeks are bright pink, people staring in confusion at the repeat and the pretty drunk woman speaking the words. Spencer tries to flag Derek for saving, but when Derek sees the way you've wrapped your arms around Spencer's bicep, he chuckles and waves goodbye. 

You look up to Spencer eagerly. You're close enough to kiss him. "You know how to play nine ball?" 

"In theory," he says weakly. 

"Good! If I win you can buy me another spritzer, and if you win, I'll let you take me home." 

Spencer was always going to be taking you home tonight, but for a distinctly different reason. "If you win," he says, licking his lips, "I'll give you another dollar for the jukebox." 

"And if you win?" you ask.

"I'll take you home," he says slowly. "But only to take you home." 

"That's cute." 

No matter what drunken delusion you're under, Spencer does end up taking you home after a third round of Hall and Oates. You're not so drunk as to need help standing, and you manage to get to bed without help. He just wants to make sure you lock the door. 

You kiss him on the cheek, your hand behind his neck like you might turn his lips to yours. Spencer turns his face away. 

"I'm not gonna try anything, Spence," you say, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. "Just wanted to say thanks. You'll stay, right? Don't get the train." 

Spencer sleeps on your couch. In the morning he wakes to the smell of eggs fried in sesame oil and the heavy scent of hot chocolate. Oh, and you in your tiny pyjama shorts at the helm, completely untouched by the copious booze intake of the night before. "Loverboy," you sing-song. "Come on! I'm gonna sit in your lap and feed you like a Grecian emperor. It'll be fun." 

It'll definitely be something. 

[nubecita040]

Licking my screen

Spencer Reid in every episode of Criminal Minds:

Season 4, Episode 5, ‘Catching Out’

Masterlist ✰

[nubecita040]

request!

fem!reader who's just so so enamoured with how pretty Spencer is and she often just stares at him for long periods of time (not in a weird creepy way, like she zones out and doesn't realize how long she's staring). Spencer notices when she does this and he gets all flustered every time. like to the point where he can't focus on whatever he's doing. Then when they're alone Spencer let's her just look at him and like, trace his facial features and stuff? like they're having a conversation on the couch and r is just tracing Spencer's jawline or the bridge of his nose with her fingers?

apologies if this isn't a very good idea, if i was dating Spencer I'd be doing this all the time!! he's so pretty omg.

-🪲

𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

w/c: 5.2k

a/n: AHHHH THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST EVERR!! Im actually so happy y'all dont understand 🤭 thank you so much 🪲! This req was literally perfect and was a dream to writee i actually like love u so much and I hope I did what you wanted with this prompt!!

———

Spencer Reid had the kind of beauty that made my heart ache.

Not in a fleeting, superficial way—but in a way that settled deep in my bones, in a way that made everything else in the world seem dull in comparison. It was unfair, really, how effortlessly stunning he was.

I didn’t think he realized it, which only made it worse.

It was everything—the soft, golden curls that always seemed to fall perfectly into place no matter how often he raked a hand through them. The sharp lines of his cheekbones, the way they caught the light when he turned his head just so. His hazel eyes, warm and thoughtful, always filled with something unreadable yet captivating.

I was enamored. Absolutely, irreversibly enamored.

And I had a habit.

A terrible, unbreakable habit.

I stared at Spencer Reid. A lot.

Not in a creepy, overbearing way—I didn’t gawk or leer. It wasn’t intentional, either. I just… got lost in him sometimes.

It happened when he was deep in thought, tapping his fingers against his chin while reading some obscure book that no one else in the team could decipher. Or when he was talking, completely oblivious to how mesmerizing he looked while explaining quantum physics or behavioral patterns.

It was never on purpose.

But Spencer noticed.

Every single time.

———

I was supposed to be working.

I really was.

But Spencer was sitting across from me, brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped through a case file. His glasses—those damn glasses—were perched on the bridge of his nose, the thin gold frame complementing the warm undertones of his skin.

I was done for.

I didn’t realize how long I’d been staring until Spencer suddenly stopped moving.

I blinked, snapping back to reality. His hazel eyes met mine, slightly wide, as if I’d caught him off guard—though, in reality, he had caught me.

Again.

The air between us shifted, crackling with something unspoken. Spencer’s fingers twitched against the pages of his file, but he didn’t turn away.

Instead, his blush started to rise.

I knew the pattern by now—the way it crept up his neck, painting his cheeks a soft, rosy hue. The way his lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite form the words.

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “Spence?”

He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact far too quickly.

“You’re—uh—” He gestured vaguely, struggling. “You’re doing it again.”

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “Doing what?”

His jaw clenched slightly, and he let out a breath through his nose.

“You know what.”

A small laugh escaped me.

Before I could tease him further, Hotch’s voice cut through the moment.

“You two.”

I jumped, realizing that everyone was staring at us. Emily raised a knowing brow, JJ bit back a smirk, and Derek—of course—was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

Spencer, on the other hand, looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“We’re moving forward with the profile,” Hotch continued, eyes narrowing slightly. “Unless, of course, you’re both too… distracted.”

Spencer made a noise in his throat—something between a cough and a strangled squeak—and immediately buried himself in his notes.

I felt the warmth of amusement bloom in my chest.

I really needed to get better at hiding my staring.

———

It wasn’t until later that night that I got the chance to properly admire Spencer without the weight of an audience.

The two of us were curled up on my couch, the soft glow of my reading lamp casting a golden hue over everything. A book lay open in his lap—something about classical philosophy—but neither of us were really focused on it.

Spencer was talking, his voice low and soothing as he explained something about Socratic irony. I was listening—really, I was—but my hands had a mind of their own.

Without thinking, I reached out, my fingertips ghosting over the sharp line of his jaw.

Spencer inhaled sharply, his words cutting off mid-sentence.

His gaze snapped to mine, hazel eyes wide and unreadable.

I didn’t stop.

I traced the curve of his cheekbone, my touch feather-light, barely there. His skin was warm beneath my fingertips, and I could feel the way his jaw tensed slightly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to lean into my touch or pull away.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, he swallowed, throat bobbing slightly.

“You—” His voice was barely a whisper. “You do this a lot.”

I smiled, letting my fingers trail along the bridge of his nose, then down to the corner of his lips.

“I know.”

Spencer’s breath hitched.

His hands clenched slightly against his lap, as if he was holding himself back. His blush deepened, spreading across his cheeks like wildfire.

I leaned in slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want me to stop?”

For a moment, I thought he might say yes.

But then—slowly, hesitantly—he exhaled and shook his head.

“No,” he murmured.

That was all the permission I needed.

I took my time, memorizing him the way I always wanted to. My fingers traced the sharp planes of his face, following the path of freckles that dusted his nose. He stayed perfectly still, his breath uneven, his lips parting slightly at my touch.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered.

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment, his lashes fluttering against his cheek. When he opened them again, there was something raw in his gaze—something vulnerable and breathtaking.

“You really think that?” he asked softly.

I let my thumb brush against his cheek.

“I know that.”

Spencer exhaled shakily, his hands finally moving. One of them lifted, hesitating before resting over mine. He held it there, pressing my palm against his cheek, as if grounding himself in the moment.

And then, in the softest voice I’d ever heard from him, he whispered, “I like it when you look at me.”

My heart clenched.

I smiled, leaning in just a little closer. “Good.”

Because I wasn’t going to stop.

Not now. Not ever.

———

Spencer Reid didn’t need words to be poetry.

He was poetry in the way he blushed, in the way he stammered when I caught him off guard. He was poetry in the way he let me trace my fingers over his skin, in the way he closed his eyes and melted into my touch.

He was poetry in the way he let me look at him.

And I never wanted to stop reading.

———

Tyy 🪲 for requesting this!!!

[nubecita040]

‘𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝑰'𝒎 𝒂 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓.

Spencer eating you for your dear life, ‘cause baby, he’s a giver.

wc: 2.4k | F!Reader (Established Relationship) | cw: explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, fingering, vibrator use, overstimulation, sleepy sex?, mild power dynamics, teasing, implied age gap

A/N: Spencer is absolutely a giver in my mind, and I hope you all enjoy this! This is my first one-shot and my first time writing smut, so please feel free to share any feedback—I’d really appreciate it! My asks are always open.

Spencer is a giver—there's no doubt about it. He has studied you with a scholar's precision, but his devotion is deeper, almost reverent. He knows where to touch, how to kiss—his mouth slow and consuming, savoring every second, unraveling you with the deliberate slide of his tongue against yours. His teeth scrape over your bottom lip, a teasing sting that he soothes with a lingering press, a soft contrast to the hunger simmering beneath his touch.

And his hands—God, his hands. They move over you like he’s composing something exquisite, mapping each curve, each tremor, each stuttered breath with an intimacy that feels instinctual. He knows how to dismantle you, how to wind you so tightly in pleasure that you shatter in his grasp. His words pour into your ear, dark and teasing, igniting a heat that pools low and aching, leaving you breathless beneath him.

Sleep clings to you in slow waves, pulling you under, weaving you into something intoxicating, something inevitable. His hands find you first—fingertips gliding over your skin like a whisper of possession, tracing your curves, teasing, promising. The heat of his breath spills against your neck, the hushed murmur of your name curling like smoke in the thick air.

Then, his mouth—God, his mouth—claims yours, slow and insistent. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip before his teeth catch, a bite of sharp, deliberate hunger.

You’re not in bed anymore. You’re pressed against the bookshelf, trembling under his touch, the rough wood biting into your spine, grounding you in the feverish haze. A book slips from your hands, forgotten the moment his lips trail lower, marking their path with slow, open-mouthed kisses.

He hums against your skin, his voice dark, indulgent. "Keep reading for me."

The command slithers down your spine, igniting something helplessly wanton inside you. You try—God, you try—to obey, lips parting, voice trembling, but the second his fingers sink deep, curling just right, the words unravel, lost in a gasp as he drags you under.

A sharp inhale rips you from the dream, the ghost of his touch still imprinted on your skin, heat curling deep and insatiable. Your thighs clench in a feeble attempt at relief, but it isn’t enough. It’s never enough—not when you wake up to find him lying beside you, lips parted, his breathing slow and steady, a cruel reminder that the hands you crave are just beyond reach.

Biting your lip, you slip a hand toward the nightstand, fingers grazing the smooth edge before you pull the drawer open just enough to reach inside. Your fingers find the well-worn spine of your favorite spicy book first—the one Spencer pretends to roll his eyes at but listens to whenever you read aloud in bed.

Beneath it, tucked away like a secret, is the small vibrator you keep for nights just like this—when Spencer is working late, when the ache refuses to fade, when his absence leaves you restless and wanting. You know better. You should just use your fingers—quieter, safer—but this? This is too good to resist. The way it hums against you, the way it sends pleasure curling through your veins in thick, decadent waves.

It’s never been a replacement for Spencer, not really, but God, it’s close enough to take the edge off when you need it most. Your pulse quickens as you wrap your fingers around it, the cool plastic a stark contrast to the heat pooling low in your belly. You hesitate, casting a glance at him—his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, lips parted slightly in sleep—before exhaling softly, determination settling in your bones.

You start slow, pressing the toy against your clit through your panties, barely turning it on, letting the low hum tease you like the ghost of his touch. A quiet gasp escapes, your hips tilting into the sensation, but even this—God, even this—isn’t him.

Frustration coils tighter in your belly, the need for more gnawing at you, demanding. With a shaky exhale, you lift your hips, sliding your panties down, the cool air a stark contrast against the heat between your thighs. The vibrator follows, gliding against slick, sensitive skin, sending pleasure rolling through you in slow, deliberate waves.

Your breath stutters, fingers tightening around the toy as you sink into the feeling, chasing the edge, knowing it won’t ever feel as good as Spencer but unable to stop yourself from trying. The quiet hum of the vibrator is nearly drowned out by your own heavy breaths, the way your body trembles beneath the weight of your own need. Maybe if you just keep quiet, if you move slow—

But then—a shift. The bed dips. A sharp inhale from beside you.

Before panic can settle, warmth floods your senses—a heavy hand pressing against your stomach, grounding you in the moment. His touch is slow, deliberate, fingers splayed, sliding lower until they brush against yours, still gripping the toy. He hums low in his throat, voice thick with sleep yet unmistakably amused.

"Couldn't wait for me, could you?"

Spencer’s fingers curl over yours, his grip firm as he slowly pries the vibrator from your grasp. The moment it’s in his control, the pressure changes—subtly, precise, his touch calculated in a way that makes your breath catch. The sudden shift sends a sharp jolt of pleasure spiraling through you, tearing a gasp from your lips.

"Spencer—" It’s barely a whimper, swallowed by the way his body shifts closer, his breath hot against your neck.

"Shh," he soothes, his lips brushing your temple before trailing down to your jaw, soft and teasing. "Let me help."

His focus is singular. Unwavering.

"Besides," he murmured, pressing another kiss higher, teeth grazing sensitive skin just enough to make you shiver, "it’s only 5:17 a.m." Another pause, another deliberate press of his mouth. "I don’t have to get ready until six." His breath is warm, teasing, wicked. "Plenty of time to enjoy myself."

You let out a breathless laugh, fingers weakly carding through his hair. "You are such a giver, Spence."

His lips curve against your skin, and without missing a beat, he hums, "I do pride myself on my generosity."

Before you can reply, the aftershocks of your last orgasm still making your thighs tremble, he licks a slow, teasing stripe up your center. A full-body shudder ripples through you, your nerves still alight with oversensitivity. His hands tighten around your thighs, thumbs pressing into your skin, keeping you spread open, fully at his mercy. His mouth is warm and relentless, his tongue flicking, circling, pressing just right—like he’s savoring every tiny whimper and every shuddered breath.

He hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spike of pleasure through your overstimulated body. "Still shaking," he muses, voice muffled against your slick skin. "So sensitive, but I think you can take just a little more, don’t you?"

He shifts, sealing his lips around your clit, sucking with slow, deliberate pressure, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you from squirming away. Your breath stutters, hips twitching involuntarily as pleasure coils hot and sharp in your stomach, overwhelming, dizzying. It’s too much and yet not nearly enough.

"Fuck—Spencer—"

He groans against you, the vibration sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves. "Mmm. Say my name like that again."

His tongue presses deeper, his pace unrelenting, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you from squirming away. He’s thorough and determined, making sure every flick and swirl sends you hurtling toward that inevitable edge. And just when you think you might catch a break, his fingers join in—sliding inside you, curling just right, stroking in rhythm with his mouth.

You gasp, arching into him, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. "Spencer, oh my—"

"That’s it," he coaxed between teasing licks. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, keeping you in place. His mouth never wavers, his fingers never falter, dragging another sharp cry from your throat as another orgasm crashes over you, leaving you breathless and shivering. You’re still gasping for air when he pulls back just enough to murmur, "Still with me?"

You manage a weak, trembling nod, half-lost in the afterglow, and for a second, you think he might give you a reprieve.

But then he moves again—this time, slower, more deliberate. His fingers stroke along your inner thigh, coaxing, teasing. His breath is warm as he presses a kiss just above your knee, then another, trailing higher, the anticipation making your skin prickle.

"Spence—" you whimper, voice barely above a breath. "Sensitive."

He hums, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. "I know. That’s what makes it fun."

Then, without warning, his mouth is on you again, softer this time, but no less devastating. His tongue moves with careful precision, his fingers pressing deeper, curving just right. You writhe beneath him, overwhelmed, and when your hand weakly pushes at his head, he merely chuckles against you.

"That’s not our safeword, sweetheart."

You whimper, unable to do anything but surrender as he drags you to the edge again, slow and thorough, relentless in his devotion. The pressure builds again, unbearable, and when you finally shatter beneath him for the third time, he groans, swallowing every broken sound that spills from your lips.

You barely have time to recover before you feel him again—his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, "One more. Just one more."

You shake your head weakly, though your body betrays you, already arching into his touch. Your mind is hazy, barely clinging to the waking world, but Spencer? He’s focused, singular in his intent.

His mouth is on you again, lazy and indulgent, his tongue dragging slow, torturous circles that make your stomach tighten. His fingers press inside, stretching, teasing, working you open with practiced ease. You whimper, toes curling, every nerve alight.

"Almost there," he murmurs, voice frayed, breathless. "Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me."

Your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, pulling you under with no hope of resurfacing. Your body trembles, shuddering apart beneath him, and this time—even Spencer groans, his breath hitching as if he’s feeling it just as intensely as you are. His hands flex against your hips, tightening like he’s holding himself back, resisting the urge to take even more.

He presses one last, lingering kiss to your thigh before letting his head drop against you, exhaling a shaking breath.

Your vision wavers, the edges smudging into deep, inky black as the pleasure crests and breaks. The last thing you register is the warmth of Spencer’s mouth, the reverberation of his voice against your skin—low, coaxing, reverent.

Then, everything fades.

You resurface gradually—like wading through molasses, every inch of you weighted, sore in the most indulgent, well-earned way. The sheets are a tangled wreck around you, clinging to your overheated skin, undeniable evidence of everything Spencer just did to you. Your limbs are useless, your thoughts thick and sluggish, your body still humming with the aftershocks of him.

And yet.

Spencer is already awake.

“It’s 6:37 AM,” he announces smugly, from somewhere near the foot of the bed. “In case you were wondering.”

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. “Oh my God.”

“No, just Spencer,” he corrects, voice warm and teasing. “But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

When you manage to blink your eyes open, the sight that greets you almost makes you laugh—if you had the energy. Spencer stands there, utterly unbothered, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers covered in tiny owls. His curls are a disaster, sticking up wildly, and his lips are still pink from pressing them against every inch of your body.

He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“Are you—” You swallow, voice hoarse. “Are you gloating?”

Spencer tilts his head, considering. “I’d say it’s more of a… reasonable acknowledgment of my achievements.”

You make a weak sound of protest. He grins.

The mattress shifts as he crawls back toward you, his hands finding your waist with practiced ease. He presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your shoulder—sweet, affectionate, in direct contrast to the way he ruined you not even thirty minutes ago.

Then, with an absolutely insufferable level of satisfaction, he murmurs, “Four times.”

You let out a wheezy breath, still not recovered enough to fight him on this. “I know, Spencer.”

He hums, trailing his lips up the side of your neck. “Just making sure it’s fully processed.”

You blindly shove at his shoulder, but it’s weak. He barely moves.

Instead, he settles beside you, tucking you against his chest, fingers idly stroking along your spine. He’s quiet for a moment—until he glances at the clock. And then, you see it. The exact moment he realizes his mistake.

His smirk flickers.

A pause. Then, lightly:

“I may have miscalculated.”

You snort. “You think?”

Spencer lets out a thoughtful hum, completely unrepentant as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your forehead. “In my defense, I failed to account for… the lingering effects.” He shifts, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. “Or my own overwhelming enthusiasm.”

You lift your arm just enough to glare at him. “You have work in an hour.”

He nods solemnly. “I’m aware.”

“I have work in two.”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“You owe me.”

Something flickers in his expression—thoughtful, determined. Then, without a word, he slips out of bed.

You frown. “Spencer?”

“Fixing it,” he calls, already halfway to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he returns with a steaming cup of your favorite coffee and a plate with a perfectly toasted bagel. He sets them on the nightstand with the precision of a man delivering an official peace offering before climbing back into bed and wrapping himself around you again.

You eye him suspiciously. “This is your plan?”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your hair. “It’s called positive reinforcement.”

You sigh, taking a sip. It’s perfect. Of course, it is.

“You’re still in trouble,” you mumble, though the warmth of his body and the way he’s lazily stroking your back suggest otherwise.

Spencer just grins against your skin, utterly unbothered. “That’s fair.” A beat of silence. Then, far too pleased with himself, he murmurs, “But just so you’re aware… I already have a plan for making it up to you.”

You groan. Spencer just tucks you closer, and you don’t even have the energy to argue.

Then, after a moment of quiet, his voice comes soft and smug against your ear:

“You know, I am a giver.”

You huff a laugh, exhausted and hopelessly fond. “Shut up, Spencer.”

But all he does is press another kiss to your temple, grinning against your skin.

[nubecita040]

Escort

Summary: Spencer was supposed to meet an escort in a bar. When you start flirting with him, he’s completely unaware that you're not the woman he hired. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Fluff, Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) misunderstanding, miscommunication, awkwardness, mentions of sex work, heavy make-out, allusions to sex, fade to black sex

Word count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient challenge (I know I’m super late whoops)

Masterlist

The hotel bar still seemed quiet when you stepped in and took a look around. A lonely feeling had overcome you on this business trip, so you decided you wanted to meet someone new today. 

Lucky for you, the handsome man sitting at the bar looked like he wanted some company, too. With an unusual surge of confidence you approached him, relieved when you found him smiling at you. 

With a saccharine smile painted over your face, you sat down beside him and cooed, “Hi stranger.”

“Hi,” he almost whispered. “I have been expecting you.” 

That certainly was a pick-up line you hadn't heard before. You decided to play along. 

“Yeah? I’m glad we finally met. I was looking forward to spending time with someone so handsome.” 

A wonderful rosy shade spread over his cheeks at your words and it let your heart jump. It was almost unreal how beautiful this man was and he seemed to be completely unaware of that. 

For just a split second your eyes glanced over his hands, expecting to find a wedding ring but there was none. 

“I’m obviously not married,” he said, completely catching you by surprise. You hadn’t expected him to notice. “Or seeing anyone, for that matter,” he added.

“I don't think that was obvious but it’s good to know.”

He raised his eyebrows at your words. “Yeah no, I’m not like that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I know other men do it but I personally would not talk to uhm… a woman like you if I was in a relationship.”

“A woman like me?” His choice of words was a little odd.

He cleared his voice and shifted in his seat, making his discomfort obvious. “Yeah uhm.. I mean someone…”

“Someone as beautiful and radiant as me?” You laughed as you attempted to save this poor man from embarrassing himself any further. 

“Exactly,” he chuckled as the pink color on his cheeks turned a shade darker. 

Conversation between the two of you flowed easily after that as you began telling him a little bit about yourself and he let you in on some details about his life. 

“So, Spencer, if you live in DC, what brings you all the way here?” 

“My cousin’s wedding tomorrow. That’s actually why I’m here, in this bar I mean. I know it sounds pathetic but when I responded to the invite a few months ago, I checked the box for plus one. I was really optimistic that I would have someone to go to the wedding with by now,” he sighed as his sight dropped down to his glass. 

“That didn’t work out, huh?” 

Spencer shook his head. His whole demeanor gave away a certain feeling of loneliness you were very familiar with. Instinctively you reached for his hand and gently brushed over his skin. 

His eyes found yours once more. Then, after a short moment of silence, he said something you didn’t expect. “I would really like it if you went to the wedding with me.” 

His words were bold, almost contradicting his entire demeanor. You felt surprised yet flattered by his invitation. 

“I love weddings,” you chirped. “And I don’t have any other plans tomorrow.” 

A wonderful smile spread over his face. “Then it’s a date.”

The straightforwardness of his invitation boosted your confidence, too. There was an undeniable connection between you two and the more you talked, the more attracted you became to him. You were sure that this aching inside your chest could only be soothed by his nearness. 

The soft curve of his lips looked so kissable. His smirk gave away that he must have noticed you staring at his mouth. You found his eyes again and almost drowned in the wild honey of his irises. 

“So, profiler,” you playfully purred as you leaned closer. “What does my body language tell you?”

You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed and his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick his lips. “I’m not entirely sure,” he muttered. 

Taking his hand in yours, you got up from your seat and snickered, “Why don’t you follow me and find out?” 

There was no resistance from him when you led him to the elevator. As soon as the door opened, you stepped in, leaned against a wall and pulled him closer. He stared at you with pupils blown wide and his mouth agape. He stood close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“I’m not a profiler but I’m pretty sure you’d like to kiss me right now,” you cooed as you pushed your chest against his. 

“You’re right,” he breathed as he leaned down. “Can I?”

Right when you wanted to close the gap, the elevator got to your floor and interrupted you with a loud ding. Spencer almost jumped at the sound. You grabbed his hand once more and dragged him all the way down the hall to your room. 

There was no time to be wasted once you stepped inside your hotel room. His lips were on yours in an instant while he pushed you against the closest wall, making you gasp into the kiss. He deepened the kiss as his tongue met yours, melting into you as if you had done that a million times before. When he pressed his body against yours, you noticed his hardness straining against the confines of his pants. 

“Someone’s excited,” you whispered as you let your hand wander down his body with a clear goal in mind. Once you reached his belt, Spencer suddenly stepped back. 

“No, wait,” he mumbled and looked at you almost in shock.

“I’m very sorry if I overstepped,” you sincerely apologized. 

“No, no, that’s not it. We just uh… should talk about this before,” he said. 

Not entirely sure what he meant, you said, “Okay?”

“You uhm… only agreed to go to the wedding with me. So I’m not sure about the uh.. conditions of this… encounter,” Spencer stuttered. 

His words only confused you more. With raised eyebrows you looked at him. “What conditions?”

“Your uhm… rate and what that includes exactly.”

It took you a few seconds to understand what he was talking about. Suddenly the things he said earlier made a lot more sense. 

Your voice was laced with disbelief when you said, “Wait, you think I’m a hooker?”

This situation was so absurd that you weren’t entirely sure if you should laugh or cry about it. 

“I mean… I think the website used the word ‘escort’?”

It was still hard to believe what was happening. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt instead of getting angry at him. “Spencer, I’m not an escort. How could you think that?” 

Spencer stepped back until his legs hit the bed. He sat down and shook his head, clearly unable to fully grasp what was happening. “Why else would you want to have sex with me?”

His words made you laugh. “Because you’re cute and sweet and very attractive!”

“And apparently very stupid,” he sighed. Regret was written all over his face when he said, “I’m very sorry I offended you. I really thought you were the woman I hired for the wedding tomorrow. We were supposed to meet in the bar to talk about the details.” 

“That wasn’t me,” you clarified.

“Yeah, clearly.” 

“I’ll still go to the wedding with you, if you want,” you said as you sat down beside him. “And you don’t even have to pay me.” 

Your words made him smile. “Yeah?” 

Nodding your head, you climbed into his lap. He seemed a little caught off guard but welcomed you on top of him nonetheless. Your mouth gently brushed over his neck when you breathed, “And guess what?”

“Hm?” You felt his throat rumble under your lips. 

“You don’t have to pay for this either.” 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @hits-different-cause-its-you @spensreid @silversprings-mp3 @person-005 @kittyisick @siriuslyval03 @sleepysongbirdsings @brownbunnyb

[nubecita040]

KISS ME TWICE CAUSE IT'S GONNA BE ALRIGHT ! s. reid x f!reader

𝓢ynopsis: kiss & make up.

𝓦arnings: not proofread. grammatical errors. ooc.

𝓝otes:

001. READER WEARS MAKE UPPPP

002. ily spencer reid 💘💘

003. synopsis iz notz rlly a synopsis im osrry😭 im jsjsjs in a rushrushrush

004. idk much ab make uploll

you’re facing the mirror, blending out the last bit of concealer, making sure everything looks just right. the small lamp by your side casts this warm, golden light over the table, making all your brushes & powders glow like something out of a movie. the song kiss me by sixpence none the richer plays on your phone.

& behind you, spencer sits on the bed. staring.(he prefers the term admiring.)

he's subtle, but not really. sometimes, you hear a rustling of clothes as he moves, or the hitch of his breath as you swipe to a bolder shade. it's kind of silly how non━subtle he is. you feel his gaze on you, following your every move like you're the most fascinating thing on the planet.

so, naturally, you take your time.

curl your lashes. dust on blush. highlighter swipe. whenever you sneak a peek in the mirror, he's still watching▰head tilted, eyes soft, utterly absorbed.

finally, you pick up your lip balm, rolling it up slowly, stretching out the moment. when you run it across your bottom lip, you don't catch the way spencer shifts again.

you catch his eyes in the mirror.

"you're staring."

he blinks as if caught doing something illegal. "i▰i am not."

"mnm." you hum, you finish. "sure."

he opens his mouth to protest, but you twirl around in your chair & are across the room in two swift strides. he doesn't have time to process before you palm his face & kiss him.

it's fast. just a gentle touch of your lips on his. but you don't stop.

you kiss his cheek, & then the other, & then his nose.

"wait▰" spencer begins, & you silence him with a kiss.

"do you▰" kiss!

"there's actually a study▰" kiss!

"about the chemical properties of▰" … silly guy. kiss!

he drops out with a laughter━filled gasp, hands falling onto your hips as you continue on, bestowing kisses everywhere on his face. his cheeks are red as a cherry now━either from the teasing,the kisses or something, you don't know, but it's so cute either way.

when you finally draw away, smiling, you lean to one side. "hmm. perfect."

spencer exhales, put━upon━looking but grinning. "i'm smeared with lip balm."

"yeah," you say smugly, running your thumb over the small, shiny mark on his cheek. "but you pull it off so well."

“& you look cute.”

he groans, but he's smiling, & you can tell. he doesn't really mind.

“now, about this study of chemical properties something, talk..”

© minorlyatfault, 2025

[nubecita040]

hello mae!!!

if inspiration strikes i'd love to request either a bruise in the shape of a boot print or blood seeping through clothes with spencer x bau!reader? thank you in advance, i hope your weekend was lovely! <3

Hi, thank you sweetness I hope your weekend was lovely too! <3

cw: injury? I'm not sure how to put it exactly but bau!reader gets moderately hurt while working basically. Oh also a squatter is taken into police custody for basically nothing but don't worry he's going to be questioned and released he's okay

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 579 words

You hold your breath as Spencer brushes his fingertips over the discoloration on your ribs. You hold your breath, but you don’t wince. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs anyway, eyes scanning you over. He wants to flick on his flashlight to see better, but he knows you’d run away before he could really look. Or hobble away, whatever you’re capable of right now. “I think he broke your rib.” 

You’re sitting on the curb a few meters away from your crime scene. It’s dark out, early morning, but an anonymous call brought the BAU out to check out a body that may be the latest victim in their case. 

There wasn’t supposed to be anybody around. The squatter caught you all by surprise and you him, Spencer and JJ chasing him down from the second floor. You’d been at the bottom of the stairs. Hadn’t even drawn your weapon before he kicked you down like a door to get you out of his path. 

“Just one rib?” you ask, wry. 

Spencer tilts his head, inspecting the bruising. “Maybe a few.” 

“Ah.” You lean your head back. You’re far enough into the country that you can see the stars, fading one by one as the sky lightens. “Perfect.” 

Spencer wants to reach out his hand more intimately, to touch you, to pull you closer, but he knows better than to make you look like you need taking care of. Not with your team so nearby, not with the reputation you’ve worked so hard to earn for yourself. Instead, he says in a soft voice, “Breathe.” 

You inhale. It looks like it hurts. 

Spencer’s chest aches faintly. He wonders whether it’s due to sympathy pains or something else. “This never should have happened.” 

Now you wince. “I know. I’m sorry, I should have been prepared.” 

“No.” He frowns. “You weren’t supposed to be prepared. JJ and I should have caught him before he got to you.” 

After the squatter knocked you down, Hotch caught him on the way out the door. They’re taking him in for questioning because he was found at a crime scene, but you all know he’s not your unsub. It makes you getting hurt feel even more pointless. 

“It’s not that bad,” you say.

“I can see his boot print on your chest.” 

“Can you really?” You look down. It causes you to bend slightly, the sort of minute movement you normally wouldn't notice, but now you suck in a breath. “Ow.” 

“Ow,” Spencer agrees compassionately. He covers your side with his hand, gentle but steadying. 

You shift, trying to find a comfortable position. “Could you make out a boot size?” you ask. 

“Probably. Why?” 

“Just curious.” 

“You know we already have him in custody. And he’s not our unsub.” 

“Yeah I know.” You shrug, wincing. You’re discovering all the things rib fractures make inconvenient. “It’d just be cool. Like, if I ever did get kicked by an unsub. In theory.” 

“You’d probably just catch them,” says Spencer. 

“Didn’t catch this one.” 

“Well, you were caught offguard. I’m sure it won’t happen a second time.” 

You laugh, then gasp, hand covering Spencer’s on your side. “Ow. Stop that.” 

“Sorry,” he says, genuinely contrite. “You’re going to have to go to the hospital.” 

“Yeah, I know.” It takes a moment to subdue your grimace, but you push out your bottom lip a little, meeting his eyes. “Hold my hand?” 

Spencer knows you’re likely teasing. He thinks he’ll do it anyway. 

[nubecita040]

congrats on 3k! Could I pretty please have s1!Spencer with fem!reader who just has a big fat crush on him. Dialogue prompt from the falling in love prompts: i've always loved the freckles on your cheeks, and your eyes, and your lips. no i just like you." And from tropes option iii: Hugs lasting a little longer than usual, and it gets all awkward because they are waiting for the other one to pull away, but neither of them wants to. Bonus points for a girly, non-bau reader but not required!

Ps. you dropped this👑

A LITTLE LONGER. /spencer reid/

“i've always loved the freckles on your cheeks, and your eyes, and your lips. no i just like you.”

Hugs lasting a little longer than usual, and it gets all awkward because they are waiting for the other one to pull away, but neither of them wants to.

s1! spencer x fem!reader 1.2k fluff event masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | thank you lovely 🫶

You’re pretty sure you’re imagining things.

Spencer’s arm is still around you. His hand, long-fingered and a little fidgety, rests lightly at your waist. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s… there. And he hasn’t pulled away. Not yet.

You tell yourself he’s just being polite. That maybe he didn’t notice how the casual, friendly hug you initiated—after he carried your obnoxiously heavy tote bag all the way to your door—lasted a little longer than necessary.

Maybe he didn’t feel the way your breath caught when his palm grazed your lower back. Maybe he’s just lost in thought.

But then you feel it. The slightest flex of his fingers, a shift in his hold, like he’s about to let go—and then he stops. You swear you feel him hesitate.

And neither of you pulls away.

The silence stretches, held together by the faint buzz of the streetlamp flickering across the sidewalk and the distant hum of a car passing by. Your cheek is still pressed against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat under your ear. You close your eyes for half a second longer than you should. Just one more second. You memorise the warmth of him—the way he’s all angles and awkward limbs, but somehow still soft around the edges. Still steady.

You don’t miss the way his breath stutters slightly when you exhale. Or how his hand, instead of falling away, shifts just slightly, sliding a fraction lower along your back, just above your hip. It’s so subtle you almost convince yourself you imagined it.

Almost.

“You’re, um… comfortable,” he murmurs suddenly, his voice low and slightly uncertain, the words tinged with that shy, stilted cadence that only makes him sound more endearing.

You huff out a small, flustered laugh, realising—finally—that you’re still holding on to him. Too long, far too long for something platonic. You should step back. Let go. Say something casual to make the moment pass.

But you don’t.

Instead, you glance up at him, your chin tilting just slightly where it rests against his chest. His eyes catch yours, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how close you still are. His face is angled down, his lips barely parted. His breath fans across your cheek, warm and just slightly uneven.

And maybe it’s the soft flicker of the streetlamp or the remnants of the late-spring sun, but you notice the freckles on his cheeks, dusted faintly across his skin like someone scattered them there by hand. You didn’t realise how much you liked them until now.

Your voice is barely above a breath when it slips out.

“I’ve always loved the freckles on your cheeks,”

For a second, he doesn’t move. You feel him still, the subtle rise and fall of his chest halting slightly. His eyes flicker, widening with the smallest hint of surprise, like he isn’t sure he heard you right.

But the words keep slipping out. You can’t stop them.

“And your eyes,” Your voice is softer this time, almost reverent, like you’re confessing something too delicate to say aloud. Your gaze drops slightly, lingering at his mouth before you look back at him. “And your lips,”

His hand tenses slightly against your waist. Not enough to pull away. Just enough to hold you there.

You feel your pulse flutter violently beneath your skin, a wild, thundering rhythm that you’re sure he can hear. You want to look away—to hide the vulnerability you know is written all over your face—but you don’t. Instead, you meet his gaze head-on, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“No, I just…” You shake your head slightly, like you’re scolding yourself for not making sense. “I just like you,”

The words hang in the stillness. There’s no going back now.

For a split second, he only stares at you. You watch the faint crease between his brows, the slight parting of his lips, and the flash of startled disbelief in his eyes. And then, you see it—the exact moment he realises what you mean. When he understands that you didn’t just mean you like his features. You like him. You like him.

The sharp, nervous tangle of his words. The way he always forgets to take his jacket off when he gets too caught up explaining something. The way his hands flutter slightly when he talks, gesturing with a frantic, uncontrolled energy that only makes him more endearing. The way he always notices when you’re shivering, even before you do, and quietly shrugs off his sweater without saying a word.

His lips part slightly, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you think he’s going to say something distant and polite. Something kind, but dismissive.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his eyes soften, the sharp intelligence in them blurred slightly by surprise and something gentler. Something warmer. And then, slowly, hesitantly, he lifts his hand from your waist.

Your stomach drops slightly at the loss of his touch, but then his knuckles brush lightly along the curve of your jaw, the faintest featherlight touch. His fingertips linger at your cheekbone, tracing the edge of it with a delicate reverence, like he’s memorising the shape of you. His thumb barely grazes your skin, and you feel yourself lean into it without meaning to.

“I, um…” His voice is soft and slightly breathless. His lips twitch faintly at the corner, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to smile. “I like you, too,”

And suddenly, you’re very aware of just how close you still are. His hand is still at your cheek. His eyes drop—briefly—to your lips. He glances back up, waiting. Letting you decide.

So, you do.

You tilt your head just slightly, closing the small gap between you, and press your lips softly to his. His breath stutters slightly against your mouth, and for a moment, he goes still. You feel his lips part in a faint, startled inhale—and then he’s kissing you back.

It’s hesitant at first, almost careful, like he’s afraid to touch you too much, too soon. But then you feel his hand slide along the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. His lips part slightly against yours, and the kiss deepens by degrees. Slow. Sweet. Warm.

When you finally break apart, your forehead rests lightly against his. You feel his breath against your cheek, still slightly uneven. His hand is still at your jaw, his thumb brushing absently over your cheekbone.

You open your eyes to find him already looking at you. His gaze is wide and slightly dazed, and his lips are parted faintly, as if he’s still trying to catch his breath.

And neither of you pulls away. A little longer wouldn’t hurt.

[nubecita040]

kissing spencer reid till his glasses fog up and he’s giggling into your mouth when you press his cheeks together to leave tiny pecks. he’s rushing into the briefing with bright red cheeks, stained lips, his tie a slight crooked, but his glasses? are the ones that give him away; they’re clearing up on the fog.

between hidden kisses he selfishly keeps you as his though he knows nothing escapes the bright minds of his team.

[nubecita040]

YOU NEVER ASKED • S.REID

SUMMARY: when the team requests additional funding from Strauss to upgrade their equipment due to multiple accidents related to their function, you reveal a secret they never would’ve guessed. Over the weeks following they

PAIRING: bau!reader x spencer

tags: cold!reader, established relationship, sugarbaby!spencer, rich reader, needy clingy spencer (even at work),

a/n: this was a request btw thru dm!! If you make a dm request it might take longer or less time entirely depending on if you’ve reposted my work before and I know you or your work and how interesting ur request is, sorry!! My brain is so scrambled

w/c: 1.1K

THE FIRST TIME your co workers saw the extent of your wealth was on a fairly ordinary day.

Spencer’s hand was wrapped around yours under the table.

It wasn’t unusual—Spencer always had to be touching you, whether it was a lingering brush of fingers, his arm slung around your waist, or his head resting against your shoulder after a long day. He wasn’t possessive, just clingy in a way that you had long since accepted, and honestly, found endearing.

Right now, his fingers were loosely laced with yours, thumb brushing absentminded circles against your skin as the team sat in the conference room, focused on a discussion with Strauss.

You were only half-listening. As the BAU’s new liaison, you had to be present for meetings like this, but the budget discussion wasn’t exactly riveting.

“We understand the financial constraints,” Hotch was saying, his voice level as he addressed Strauss, “but this is a necessary expense. We’ve had three major equipment failures in the past month alone.”

Morgan leaned forward. “Two of those put agents at risk. We got lucky, but next time? Maybe we won’t.”

Strauss sighed, clearly unimpressed but unwilling to outright deny the request. “The Bureau’s budget is already stretched thin. I’ll bring this to the director, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be approved.”

Without much thought, you spoke. “I’ll take care of it.”

The room went quiet.

Strauss blinked, turning her attention toward you. “Excuse me?”

You scrolled through something on your phone, barely looking up. “I’ll cover the cost. Just send me the final amount, and I’ll handle it.”

There was a brief pause before Morgan spoke. “You’re serious?”

You glanced at him, almost confused. “Yes.”

JJ, seated across from you, furrowed her brow. “That’s not exactly a small amount.”

“I know.”

Emily tilted her head slightly. “And you can just… do that?”

You finally set your phone down. “Mhm.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I gotta ask—how?”

Spencer, beside you, stiffened slightly. His grip on your hand didn’t loosen, but you could feel the tension in his posture.

You sighed, as if this was mildly inconvenient rather than a massive revelation. “My parents have money.”

Hotch studied you. “How much money?”

You exhaled, tilting your head slightly. “Enough.”

Garcia adjusted her glasses. “Okay, but what does that mean? Are we talking ‘nice house in the suburbs’ rich or—”

Spencer finally spoke, voice quiet but firm. “…they’re from a long line of friends Ivy league founders”

That sent another wave of silence through the room.

Morgan let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Emily smirked. “That does explain a lot.”

JJ shook her head, laughing. “And you never mentioned this before because…?”

You shrugged. “It’s not relevant.”

Garcia looked vaguely betrayed. “Not relevant? Not relevant? You have generational wealth, and you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”

You gave her a flat look. “Would it have changed anything?”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. “…Okay, maybe not, but still!”

Rossi, who had been listening with mild amusement, finally spoke. “If you’re willing to fund the upgrades, I don’t see why we’d turn it down.”

You nodded. “Just let me know the amount.”

Strauss, looking slightly thrown but not displeased, simply nodded. “I’ll coordinate with the Bureau’s finance department.”

With that, the discussion moved on and everyone but you and Spencer left the conference room.

Spencer, who had been silent throughout the latter half of the conversation, finally exhaled, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

You turned to him, lips twitching. “You okay?”

He huffed quietly, glancing at you. “You could’ve given me a heads-up.”

“Mhm, but what’s the fun in that?” You cooed before kissing his nose sweetly

The second time was when they caught you pampering your hopelessly adorable boyfriend.

Okay well… for the record.

Spencer Reid was not spoiled.

At least, that’s what he told himself. And everyone else.

Sure, his coffee appeared on his desk every morning, still piping hot from the overpriced café down the street. And yes, his wardrobe had significantly improved over the past few months—his old, slightly ill-fitting sweaters replaced with custom-tailored cashmere ones that felt suspiciously nice against his skin.

And maybe the watch on his wrist was worth more than the entirety of his apartment’s furniture.

But he wasn’t spoiled. Not at all.

The rest of the team, however, seemed to have reached a different conclusion.

“You know, pretty boy,” Morgan drawled, leaning against Spencer’s desk with a smirk, “I never pegged you as the type to have a personal assistant.”

Spencer frowned, looking up from his paperwork. “What?”

Morgan nodded toward the cup of coffee sitting on Spencer’s desk. “That your usual delivery?”

Spencer sighed, setting his pen down. “It’s just coffee.”

“From a place that charges twenty bucks for a latte,” Emily added, appearing behind Morgan with a grin.

Spencer huffed. “It’s not twenty dollars.”

“No, but it’s close,” JJ teased, leaning against the desk beside Morgan.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, the sound of approaching footsteps caught everyone’s attention.

You walked into the bullpen, a small bag in hand, and made a beeline straight for Spencer’s desk.

“Hey,” you greeted, dropping the bag onto his desk before pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Lunch.”

Spencer’s lips twitched in a smile as he peered inside the bag. His favorite Italian , a side of fruit, and—he pulled out the container—homemade cookies from the expensive French bakery he loved.

His heart swelled.

“Thank you,” he murmured, glancing up at you with something bordering on pure adoration.

You just smiled. “Of course.”

Morgan, JJ, and Emily exchanged a look before Morgan spoke. “Okay, I have to ask—how often does this happen?”

You tilted your head. “How often does what happen?”

“This.” He gestured to the coffee, the lunch, everything. “Bringing him food, buying him clothes—spoiling him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call it spoiling.”

Emily scoffed. “Oh, it definitely is.”

Spencer crossed his arms, shifting slightly in his seat. “I am not spoiled.”

JJ smirked. “Reid, when was the last time you paid for your own coffee?”

Spencer hesitated.

Morgan grinned. “Exactly.”

You chuckled, crossing your arms. “What, am I not allowed to take care of my boyfriend?”

“Oh, you definitely are,” Emily said. “It’s just funny watching him try to pretend he’s not completely pampered.”

Spencer huffed. “I am not—”

“Pretty boy, you don’t even drive anymore.”

Spencer scowled. “That’s just practical. Why should I drive when I can be chauffeured—” He stopped, realizing his mistake immediately.

Morgan grinned. “Chauffeured?”

Emily outright laughed. “Oh, that’s rich.”

Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate all of you.”

JJ patted his shoulder. “No, you don’t.”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay, baby. Let them tease.”

Spencer groaned, but his cheeks were already tinged pink.

Yeah. He was never going to live this down.