#Dr Spencer Reid | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidmarieprentiss · 2 days ago

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Grass is Always Greener

Summary: based on this ask. Reader is in love with Spencer, he moves on while they're dating. Then reader gets kidnapped and Spencer has some monumental realizations.

Pairing: bi!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: kidnapping, typical CM violence, emotional cheating, bi-sexual Spencer, heartbroken reader

Word count: 7.5k

a/n: i really loved this prompt!! thank you for asking :) there will be a part two by the way don't worry heheh

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For the past six months, you and Spencer have been inseparable, caught in the kind of love that novels fail to describe adequately. It isn't just affection—devotion, a deep-rooted adoration that feels like it has existed long before you met, as though you were meant to be intertwined from the start.

You love him in the way you always wished to be loved. You show it in every trim, thoughtful act—baking his favorite pastries just because, ensuring that breakfast is warm and waiting for him before he even wakes up, making sure dinner is ready when he returns home, exhausted but comforted by you.

You bring him flowers, because why shouldn't he receive them too? You find books you know will capture his mind, wrapping them in delicate paper just to see the soft wonder in his eyes when he unwraps them. You plan excursions he'll adore—museum dates, guided historical tours, moments where he can lose himself in the past while you stay anchored beside him.

Your love isn't just spoken—it's lived, woven into every gesture, every detail, every careful thought put into making him feel cherished. Because that's what he is to you—irreplaceable, essential, the other half you never realized was missing until he was there, filling every space with something more profound than connection, something that feels like fate.

If only Spencer felt the same way about you.

—

Your heart stopped. Your lungs refused to work, your breath catching somewhere in your throat like a broken sob that refused to form. The room around you blurred at the edges, your vision tunneling in on Spencer—Spencer, the man you had given everything to, the man you had loved so deeply, so purely, that it had consumed every part of your existence.

"What?" The word came out strangled, barely audible, your voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes. You didn't want to cry in front of him, didn't want to give him that power, but your body betrayed you.

Spencer still couldn't look at you. His hands, which you had held so many times, trembled at his sides. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. "I thought it was the right thing to do," he muttered, as though that was supposed to make sense, as if that explained anything.

Your stomach churned with nausea, fury, and disbelief. "The right thing to do?" Your voice wavered between a whisper and a scream. "The right thing to do was to fuck someone else?"

Spencer flinched at your words and their vulgarity, but he didn't immediately deny it. That silence spoke louder than anything.

Finally, he swallowed hard and said, "I did not—" he hesitated, knowing every word he chose would dictate what happened next. "—I did not sleep with him."

Him.

It hit you like a freight train, a new layer of betrayal unfolding before you. You stepped back as if distance would protect you from the shattering of your heart inside your chest.

"Then what, Spencer?" You forced the words out, your entire body trembling. "What did you do?"

Spencer's face twisted in pain, in something that almost looked like guilt but didn't quite feel like enough. Not for what he'd done. Not for the way he was shattering you into pieces so small you weren't sure you'd ever be able to put yourself back together.

"I fell in love," he admitted, his voice quiet, like saying it any louder would break him too.

But it wasn't him breaking. It was you.

Your scream ripped through the room before you could stop it. "Spencer, that is so much worse!" Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, grounding you against the overwhelming rush of devastation, betrayal, and fury. "How long?"

Spencer blinked at you, thrown off by the question. "How long?" he echoed as if he didn't understand or know what you were asking.

You took a step closer, the force of your heartbreak pushing you forward even as your body begged to run in the opposite direction. "How long have you been in love? How long have you been emotionally cheating on me like a pathetic, scared loser?"

His breath hitched, his mouth opening and closing like he struggled to find the right words, but there were none. There was no correct answer that would make this better.

Then he said it. "Is this because it's a man?"

You froze, stunned by how wildly he had missed the point. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped you, and you could barely recognize the sound of your voice when you spat, "I don't give a shit what mouth you want to put your tongue in, Spencer." Your hands shook, and you hated it, hated how weak you felt when all you wanted was to be furious enough to drown out the pain. "I care that you didn't respect me enough to tell me sooner! I'm not homophobic; I'm heartbroken!"

That finally made him look at you. Really look at you.

His lips parted slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were just now realizing the gravity of what he had done. As if the wreckage he had left in his wake hadn't been evident from the moment he opened his mouth.

"I didn't—" He stopped himself, inhaled sharply, then exhaled as he could barely hold himself up anymore. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

It was a pathetic attempt at an apology.

"Well, congratulations," you choked out, voice thick with unshed tears. "You did."

Spencer nodded, his expression solemn, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a physical force. He swallowed hard, and for the first time, he looked humiliated. "I'll have my things gone by the weekend," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something inside you snapped.

"Fuck you." The words tore from your throat, sharp and unfiltered, dripping with the kind of pain that no amount of time could ever truly erase. "Get it all out tonight and give me the key."

Spencer flinched. His eyes darted up to yours, desperate, pleading, as if something was still left to salvage. "Y/N—"

"Now, Spencer!" you screamed, your voice cracking, breaking under the sheer weight of the moment. Your body was trembling, fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms, but you didn't care. You didn't care that tears blurred your vision or that your chest ached like someone had physically reached inside you and torn your heart apart.

Spencer didn't argue.

For once, he didn't try to explain, didn't try to rationalize, didn't try to make this something it wasn't. He simply nodded, defeated, and turned on his heel.

You watched as he moved through the shared space, the home you had built together, now nothing more than a place he needed to evacuate. Every step he took, every moment that passed as he quietly gathered his things, felt like a knife twisting deeper into your already shattered heart.

You wanted to stop him.

You wanted to scream at him to stay, to tell him he could fix this, that you could find a way back to the love you had so freely given him.

But he had already thrown that love away.

And so, instead of begging or breaking any further, you turned your back on him. You wiped your face with shaking hands, steeling yourself against the overwhelming grief threatening to consume you.

When he returned, his bag slung over his shoulder, the key to your apartment sitting in the palm of his hand, you refused to look at him.

Silently, he placed it on the table.

Silently, he turned toward the door.

Silently, he walked out of your life.

And the second the door clicked shut behind him, you collapsed, sobs wracking through your body as you mourned a love lost.

—

It had been an ordinary evening. Spencer had been at the library, fingers trailing along the spines of well-worn books, his mind half-distracted by the text messages you had sent earlier—something sweet, something thoughtful, the way you always were with him. You had made dinner and were waiting for him. He had told you he'd be home soon.

But then he had walked in.

Robert.

It started with a discussion—something about Dostoevsky, of all things. A casual remark Spencer had made under his breath, something about The Brothers Karamazov and moral determinism. He hadn't expected anyone to respond, let alone engage with him in a way that made his brain spark like a live wire.

"You know," Robert had mused, leaning against the bookshelf beside Spencer, "it's funny how people always think Dostoevsky was just arguing for free will. There's a case to be made that he was just as much a determinist as Tolstoy."

Spencer had turned, brows furrowed in curiosity, and he had looked at him for the first time.

Robert had sharp eyes, the kind that saw too much. He was well-dressed but not ostentatiously so—just a crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked like someone who belonged in the pages of the books they discussed.

The conversation had spiraled from there, shifting seamlessly from Russian literature to philosophy to quantum mechanics. It was effortless. Easy in a way Spencer hadn't expected, in a way he hadn't even realized he had been missing.

And then—then there had been the moment.

Spencer had laughed—actually, he had laughed, full and unrestrained. When he glanced up, he found Robert watching him with a warm, unreadable gaze.

"Do you ever have moments when you feel like you were meant to meet someone?" Robert asked suddenly, his voice quieter and more thoughtful.

Spencer's stomach had twisted—not in guilt, not yet, but in something else. Something dangerous.

He should have said no. He should have left then and there and gone home to you, to the person who loved him and was waiting for him with dinner, affection, and unwavering devotion.

But instead, he had stayed.

And that had been the beginning of the end.

—

"Who's Robert Nelson?" you asked absentmindedly, flipping through the stack of mail on the counter. Your fingers lingered on the envelope, the name printed neatly in the return address, unfamiliar but seemingly unimportant—until you felt Spencer tense beside you.

It was subtle, the way his entire body went rigid, but you knew him well enough to notice. The way his breath hitched for just a fraction of a second and his fingers twitched before he suddenly snatched the letter from your hands with an almost defensive speed.

"A friend," he said quickly. Too quickly.

You blinked, startled by his reaction and voice, which sounded too tight or too careful. You tilted your head, studying how his fingers curled around the envelope as if he were trying to shield it from you.

"A friend?" you echoed, your curiosity morphing into something heavier, something uneasy. "Since when have your friends sent you letters?"

Spencer hesitated for just a breath too long.

"Since—uh, since he moved out of state," he said, but his voice lacked its usual certainty, the effortless confidence that usually accompanied his explanations. He wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed on the paper in his hand as if it held the answer to whatever silent questions you were beginning to form.

You frowned, your heart beating a little faster, that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach growing. "Why haven't you mentioned him before?"

Spencer finally met your gaze, but something in his eyes unsettled you—a flicker of something unreadable, which looked a lot like guilt.

"You never asked," he said softly.

And just like that, an invisible wall settled between you.

—

"Spencer?" you called out from the living room, glancing at his buzzing phone. The name flashing on the screen sent a strange feeling through your chest. Robert Nelson. Again.

Your fingers hovered over the device before instinct took over, and you answered. "Hello?"

There was a brief silence. Then, a smooth, unfamiliar voice. "Oh—uh, hi. Is Spencer there?"

Before you could respond, Spencer was there. He practically ripped the phone from your hand, his grip too aggressive. His fingers nearly fumbled as he clutched it like a lifeline.

"Why are you answering my phone?" His voice was sharp, defensive, almost panicked.

Your breath caught in your throat, stunned by the hostility in his tone. "I—It was ringing. I thought it might be work," you said, your voice quieter now, weaker.

But Spencer wasn't paying attention anymore.

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

"Hi, Robert!" His tone was bright and warm in a way that you hadn't heard from him in weeks. His body relaxed, his posture unwinding as he turned away from you slightly as if shielding the conversation from your ears.

And that was when it happened.

The slow, aching fracture of your heart.

You didn't need to hear the conversation. You didn't need to piece together the puzzle. It was already evident.

Whoever Robert Nelson was, he had already taken something from you.

—

"Hey, Reid," Derek called out as he stepped out of JJ's office, stretching his arms over his head. The bullpen was winding down for the day, the usual chatter filling the air. "You gonna invite that little number of yours to 'team bonding' at O'Kieffe's?"

Spencer looked up from his paperwork, brow furrowing slightly. "Robert?"

Derek's expression flickered with confusion, his head tilting. "Who's Robert?"

Before Spencer could answer, Elle interjected, her curiosity piqued. "Wait—who's Robert?"

Spencer adjusted his tie absentmindedly, utterly oblivious to the way both of his coworkers were staring at him now. "My boyfriend…"

A beat of silence.

Derek blinked, his mouth slightly open as if he'd misheard. "What?" His tone was a mixture of shock and something else—concern, maybe. "Since when? What happened to Y/N?"

At that, Spencer finally hesitated, his fingers tightening around his pen.

There it was—that fleeting look of guilt, so quick that anyone who wasn't trained to notice microexpressions might have missed it.

Elle's eyebrows shot up, catching on to the shift instantly. "Yeah, what did happen to Y/N?" she echoed, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze locked on him.

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He hadn't prepared for this conversation and hadn't thought about how it would sound when he finally said it out loud.

That he had left someone who loved him more than anything.

He said that he had fallen for someone else while still wrapped in the warmth of Y/N's love.

Her name, which Spencer used to say with so much affection, now felt like a reminder of what he had destroyed.

His silence lingered just a little too long.

And that was all the answer they needed.

—

"Round table. Five minutes." Hotch's voice carried across the bullpen, his usual no-nonsense tone making it clear there was no room for delay.

The team exchanged glances, some groaning about Monday morning's abruptness, others silently gathering their things and making their way toward the conference room. Spencer followed, clutching his coffee; the bitter taste ground him in the early morning haze.

Once they were seated, JJ took her usual spot at the front, but something about her demeanor was off. Her shoulders were tense, her expression pinched in a way that wasn't just professional concern—it was personal.

She clicked on the projector, and the screen illuminated with a digital map of Virginia. Red markers pinpointed locations across the state—too many markers.

"A string of kidnappings has taken place here in Virginia," JJ began, her voice steady but strained. "All within the last two months. The victims all match the same victimology."

As she spoke, she clicked on the next slide.

A series of photos appeared on the screen. The faces were of women in their twenties with similar features and build. This pattern should have been just another set of behavioral data points in the grander scheme of the case.

But Spencer's stomach plummeted.

His grip on his coffee tightened involuntarily, his breath hitching in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs in recognition, dread coiling in his gut like a living thing.

The victims—they all looked like you.

It's the same hair color. Same facial structure. They have the same soft smile in some photos and the same sharp glint in their eyes in others. They weren't you, but they might as well have been.

His pulse pounded as JJ continued speaking, words blurring together as the room suddenly felt too small.

"The unsub is abducting women who fit this profile, holding them for an unknown period, and then—"

Spencer barely heard the rest.

All he could think about was you.

You—who had barely spoken to him since he left. You—who he had destroyed. You—who he no longer had the right to check in on, to protect.

But as his vision swam, his chest tightening painfully, only one thought cut through the noise.

Were you safe?

…

The answer came quicker than Spencer could have ever prepared for.

No. You weren't safe.

Once the team broke off into their assigned pairs, the case had already begun unraveling alarmingly fast. The latest victim's body had been recovered, their time of death recent—too recent. It meant the unsub was either already hunting for a new woman… or they already had one.

By the time Spencer and Elle arrived back at the BAU, the tension in the air was palpable. The office's usual controlled chaos had been replaced with something far heavier. He could feel the urgency with which agents moved in the hushed voices and sharp exchanges. Something had shifted.

Then he saw it.

His first clue was the woman sitting at JJ's desk, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed. It took him a second to recognize her—your best friend.

His second clue was even worse.

His entire body locked up as his gaze landed on the case board. The details of the investigation had changed.

And there you were.

Your picture.

Your face.

Pinned in the center of the board, more significant than any other victim's. A fresh missing persons report was tacked beside it, and the timestamp was barely hours old.

The breath left Spencer's lungs like he'd been punched in the gut.

His vision blurred at the edges, the words and numbers on the board becoming nothing more than meaningless static.

His hands clenched, the phantom memory of holding you flashing through his mind. His brain, the same brain that could recall statistics, equations, and case files with perfect clarity, was failing him now, drowning him in nothing but cold, raw terror.

You were missing.

And Spencer had never felt more helpless.

The room around him faded into a blur of voices, movement, and urgency—but none mattered. Only you mattered. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, pushing him toward JJ's desk, toward your best friend who was still crying into her hands.

"When?" The word tore from Spencer's throat, rough and desperate. "When was the last time anyone heard from her?"

Your best friend lifted her tear-streaked face, eyes red and swollen. "L-last night. We were supposed to meet for brunch this morning, but she never showed up. She—she wouldn't just disappear. She wouldn't—" Her voice broke, fresh sobs wracking through her as JJ placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Her phone's off," JJ said, her face tight with emotion, her voice barely steady. "Local PD found her car still parked outside her apartment. No sign of forced entry. Her purse was left behind."

Spencer clenched his jaw, his stomach twisting painfully. He knew what that meant. She was taken from inside. The unsub had been watching you, had known your routines, and had waited for the perfect moment to strike.

And he hadn't been there to stop it.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Reid." It was Hotch. His voice was firm, grounding, pulling Spencer back into reality. "I need you to focus. We will find her, but we need to move fast."

Elle spoke up, flipping through the case file. "Unsub's pattern suggests he holds victims anywhere from 48 to 72 hours before…" She didn't finish the sentence, but they knew how it ended.

Before he killed them.

Spencer had 48 hours to save you.

He swallowed hard, forcing his mind to snap into place, to work past the terror and focus on finding you.

"Where was her last known location?" he demanded, stepping toward the board, his eyes locking onto your picture, committing every last detail of your presence to memory. He knew he would never forgive himself if he failed and lost you.

JJ pointed at the map. "Er, apartment. The surveillance cameras didn't catch anything obvious, but we're combing through traffic cams now. We need to figure out where he took her."

Spencer's hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

"Then let's start there," he said, his voice steady now, ice-cold determination replacing the panic.

He had failed you once.

He wasn't going to fail you again.

The search was relentless. The entire team moved unyieldingly, combing through evidence, footage, and witness statements with the desperation that came when one of their own was in danger.

But for Spencer, it was different.

It was you.

He felt it in his bones, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest, an overwhelming tide of guilt that gnawed at him with every passing second. He should have never left you. He should have never chosen something else, someone else.

Because now, as he stared at the grainy traffic cam footage of your last known whereabouts, he realized the truth.

Robert was never going to replace you.

He had been a distraction, a fleeting novelty, someone new and engaging in a way that had tricked Spencer into thinking he was feeling something more. But what was new had worn off, and emptiness had remained.

You were never dull.

You were home.

And he had walked away from it—walked away from you.

And now, he might never get to tell you how wrong he was.

"Reid," Hotch's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Spencer turned sharply, his eyes burning, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

"We have something," JJ said, her face tight with restrained emotion. She motioned to the screen. "Traffic cams picked up an unfamiliar van near Y/N's apartment. No plates, but it made three passes before stopping."

Spencer's pulse hammered as he stared.

There.

In the grainy footage, a dark-colored van sat idling just across from your apartment, a shadow behind the wheel. And then—a figure.

You.

You stepped out of your building, completely unaware. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold, knowing precisely what was coming next but unable to look away.

The van door slid open. A person—the unsub—moved fast, grabbing you before you could react. You fought, your body twisting, struggling—but you were outmatched.

Then, just like that, you were gone.

Spencer's hands curled into fists.

"We need to identify that van," Hotch ordered. "Garcia, get into the city's surveillance system—track that route. Find me where he took her."

"I'm already on it, sir." Garcia's quick and focused voice came through the speaker.

Spencer barely heard them. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, on you, on the last moment before you had disappeared.

He had spent so much time thinking you would always be there, that there would always be time to fix things and make things right.

But time was running out.

And if he lost you—if he never got the chance to tell you how much he still loved you, how you were the only person who ever truly mattered to him—

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live with himself.

Garcia worked fast—she always did—but this time, Spencer could hear the urgency in her voice, the rapid clicking of her keyboard through the speaker, and the barely restrained panic beneath her usual rapid-fire delivery.

"Okay, sugarplums, I got something,” she announced, voice tense. "That creepy, unmarked van? It popped up on a traffic camera near an abandoned industrial site about fifteen miles from Y/N's apartment. There are no stops between the two locations. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

Spencer barely waited for Hotch to give the order before he was moving, grabbing his bag and gun and shoving past the concerned glances of his teammates.

This was it.

This had to be it.

The drive was agonizing. His fingers twitched on his knee as he stared out the window, mind racing with every possible outcome. If you were there—if they got to you in time—he could still fix this. He could still tell you the truth.

He had made the biggest mistake of his life, confused comfort with monotony, and was a fool to think there was something better than the love you had given him so freely, so wholly.

That you were the only one he had ever truly wanted.

The convoy of SUVs screeched to a halt outside the factory, tires kicking up dust and gravel. Guns were drawn, and orders exchanged in hushed, precise tones. Spencer's pulse hammered as he fell into formation with Morgan and Hotch, his grip on his weapon too tight, his breathing too shallow.

They breached the building in seconds.

The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of rust and decay. Spencer's stomach twisted as they moved swiftly through the darkened corridors, his ears straining for any sound—any sign of you.

But there was nothing.

No muffled cries, no scuffling footsteps, no you.

Then—

"Clear!" Morgan's voice rang out from another room, frustration cutting through the tension.

"Clear," Elle echoed from the opposite side.

Spencer's heart plummeted.

The space was empty.

Empty.

No unsub. No van. No, you.

They only discarded debris, a few rusted chairs, and the lingering, suffocating feeling they had just lost time they didn't have to spare.

Spencer stood frozen in the center of the room, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The futility of it all hit him like a brick wall.

His knees felt weak.

"No, no, no," he murmured under his breath, his gun lowering as his vision blurred. "She was supposed to be here! He took her here. She—she was supposed to be here!"

"Reid." Morgan's voice was cautious, but Spencer barely heard it.

He couldn't—not over the deafening roar of panic, regret, guilt.

His hands were shaking. His chest was tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to breathe, to focus, but all he could see was your face, your picture pinned to the board, the footage of you being taken—

And the realization that he might never see you again.

"Reid." This time, Hotch's voice was sharper, more commanding. Spencer snapped his head up, his breath ragged.

"We'll find her," Hotch said firmly. "But we need you to keep it together."

Spencer's breath hitched, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear anything else. They were wasting time. Every second spent standing here, every moment spent catching their breath, was another second you were still out there, terrified and alone, waiting for someone to save you.

And he had promised to love you.

And he had failed.

"Oh, you need me to keep it together?" Spencer snapped, his voice shaking, his entire body shaking. His vision was blurring at the edges, rage and fear coiling so tightly in his chest that he could barely contain it. He turned on Hotch, his heart hammering against his ribs like a wild, desperate thing. "Well, Y/N needs me to find her! She needs not to die!"

The words tore from his throat, raw and broken.

Morgan's eyes widened slightly, JJ flinched, Elle turned away—but Hotch didn't waver. He stood firm, unyielding, his sharp gaze locked on Spencer with a kind of patience Spencer didn't deserve right now.

"And we will find her," Hotch said, voice calm but edged with authority. "But not if you lose control."

"Lose control?" Spencer let out a short, bitter laugh, his fingers digging into his arms as if to ground himself and keep from completely unraveling. His throat burned, his head spun, and all he could see was you. You, you, you. "She's out there, and we don't even know if she's alive! We don't know if we have hours or minutes before she—before—"

His breath caught.

Before you died.

The word sat there, a looming specter he couldn't bring himself to say out loud.

Morgan stepped forward, voice softer this time. "Reid, listen, man—"

"No!" Spencer cut him off, wild-eyed, frantic. "You don't get it! None of you get it! I—” His voice cracked, his body swaying slightly, the weight of his guilt pressing so heavily on his chest it felt like it was crushing him. He tried to steady himself, but he felt like he was drowning. "I—this is my fault."

A thick silence settled over the room.

Spencer's vision blurred with unshed tears, and his breath ragged.

"She loved me." His voice was quieter now, almost hollow. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly, his nails digging into his palm. "And I—I walked away. I left her for someone who meant nothing." He let out a shuddering breath, his chest tightening so hard it physically hurt. "And now I might never get to tell her that she was—is—the only person I've ever truly loved."

A lump formed in his throat.

"I don't—I don't deserve to find her," he whispered, the truth burning as it left his lips. "But I need to. I have to. Or I'll never—I can't—"

He couldn't finish.

If he didn't find you and fix this, nothing else would ever matter.

Elle had been watching Spencer unravel since they returned from the failed lead, her sharp gaze tracking every minute detail of his breakdown—the frantic pacing, the erratic breathing, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. And now, after his outburst at Hotch and how he looked like he was about to self-destruct right in front of them, she had had enough.

She moved fast.

Before Spencer could react, Elle's palm cracked across his face.

The sharp smack echoed through the room, cutting through the tense silence like a gunshot. Spencer's head snapped to the side, his breath hitching in shock as pain bloomed hot and fast across his cheek.

For a second, no one moved.

Elle wasn't finished.

She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward, forcing him to look at her. "Get your shit together, Reid!" she hissed, her eyes burning with something more than anger—something more profound.

Spencer froze.

His chest heaved, his mind scrambling to catch up, to process what had just happened. His cheek stung, but it was nothing compared to the tidal wave of rage, frustration, and unrelenting guilt that had been crushing him from the inside out.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped, staggering back, touching his face like he wasn't sure the pain was real.

"That," Elle said, voice low and dangerous, "was me snapping you the fuck out of it." She jabbed a finger into his chest, stepping closer, invading his space, making sure he couldn't look away.

"You're losing it, Reid. And you cannot afford to lose it right now."

Spencer opened his mouth, but she wasn't done.

"You think you're the only one who's scared?" Elle seethed. "You think you're the only one who wants to tear this city apart to find her? We all do. But guess what? You spiraling like this? It's not helping. It's making it worse."

Spencer's breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I—"

"No, shut up," Elle snapped, cutting him off, her voice sharp enough to wound. "I don't want to hear you start whining about how guilty you feel, about how this is all your fault, about how you were an idiot for letting her go."

Spencer's throat closed up.

"You screwed up," she stated, flat and brutal. "You got bored. You wanted something new. And now you've realized you had something irreplaceable and threw it away."

His eyes widened slightly—because, fuck, she knew.

Elle saw right through him.

"But guess what, genius?" Elle leaned in, her voice dropping just enough that the words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"None of that fucking matters if you don't find her."

His stomach dropped.

Elle's gaze was unrelenting, her expression hard as steel. "You want to feel sorry for yourself? Fine. Do it after we bring her home." She stepped back, releasing her grip on his collar. "But right now, Spencer? You need to be the smartest damn person in this room."

Spencer exhaled sharply, still reeling, his cheek throbbing, his pulse raging.

But he understood.

Elle wasn't slapping him because she was angry. She was slapping him because she refused to lose another teammate. Because she refused to lose you.

Because she knew that he was the best chance you had.

Spencer straightened, inhaling deeply, forcing his mind to clear. His face still burned, his chest still ached with remorse, but for the first time since seeing your picture on that board, he wasn't drowning in it.

Elle watched him closely, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she saw the shift.

"Good," she said, giving him one last firm look. "Now, let's go find her."

Spencer nodded, jaw tight, mind finally sharpening into focus.

Because Elle was right. None of his regrets, self-loathing, orlizations meant anything if he didn't bring you home.

"Damn, Greenaway," Derek mumbled, rubbing his jaw as he shot Elle an amused glance. "What's a guy gotta do to get a little love tap?" His smirk was wide, teasing, attempting to lighten the crushing weight pressing down on all of them.

Elle, still standing firm after knocking some sense into Spencer, turned her head slightly, giving Derek a slow, deliberate once-over. "Keep talking, and it'll be a lot more than a tap," she shot back, a smirk of her forming. Then, with a playful wink, she turned back to the case, already flipping through files as if she hadn't just physically assaulted a coworker for his good.

Spencer barely registered the exchange, his brain already re-firing on all cylinders. The sting in his cheek was nothing compared to the fresh surge of determination flooding through him. And so, the team buried themselves back into the investigation, working with precision, intensity, and the desperate, unyielding need to bring you back.

Morgan and Hotch went back through the victimology, looking for any deviation in the unsub's pattern that could hint at where he had taken you.

JJ and Elle were in the batcave, working with Garcia, pushing for more footage, leads, and anything else to tighten the search radius.

Spencer was at the board, staring at your photo, the location pins, and the scattered details. His mind ran every scenario, analyzing every variable. His hand hovered over the map, tracing each route the unsub could have taken.

Think, Spencer. Think.

He had 72 hours.

Time was running out.

And he wasn't about to lose you.

And then he heard it.

Garcia's sharp victory cry rang through the speaker, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Oh, hell yes! Gotcha, you sick son of a—"

Spencer's head snapped up, his heart slamming against his ribs as the bullpen erupted into movement.

"Garcia?" Hotch demanded, already reaching for his earpiece. "What do you have?"

"I have him, sir; I freaking have him!" Garcia's voice was a mixture of triumph and pure adrenaline. "Okay, listen up because I found this guy's most incriminating, unsub-like, foolish mistake—his utility bills."

Spencer's pulse skyrocketed.

Garcia barely took a breath before launching into explanation mode.

"So, I was cross-referencing every possible known location the previous victims were held in—warehouses, abandoned buildings, private properties, all that jazz—but something wasn't adding up. All of those places had been searched already, right? So, I started looking at nearby structures that weren't in use but still had active utilities. Gas, electricity, even just running water, because let's face it—no creepy serial kidnapper is taking sponge baths in a rusty bucket."

"Garcia," Hotch cut in, his patience thin, "where is he?"

Garcia let out an excited, breathless laugh.

"There's an abandoned farmhouse thirty miles outside town, just off an old service road. It's been off the radar for years, but someone's been paying the bills—sporadically, inconsistently, just enough not to raise alarms. And guess what, my sweet crime fighters?"

Spencer gripped the edge of the table.

"The latest bill?" Garcia continued, triumphant. "It was paid yesterday."

Spencer inhaled sharply.

That meant he was still there.

That meant you were still there.

Morgan was already reaching for his gear, his movements quick and efficient. "That's it. That's our guy. Let's move."

Hotch didn't hesitate. "Gear up. Now."

—

"Can you shut up for the love of God?!" the unsub snapped, his voice cutting through the cold, damp air of the farmhouse basement. His patience had worn thin, and the roughness in his tone carried more frustration than malice.

You hiccupped through your tears, your body trembling—not from fear, but from overwhelming exhaustion. Your wrists ached where they were bound, your face was sticky with dried tears, and yet, despite everything, you couldn't stop talking.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed, sniffling dramatically. "It's just—" Another sniffle, another watery gasp for air. "He left me, and then I get kidnapped, and now he's probably gonna save me, and then I'll go home to an empty house, and he'll go home to his stupid boyfriend."

Your captor's eye twitched.

"For the last fucking time," he growled, turning toward you with visible irritation, "they're not going to find you!"

You barely reacted, too caught up in your despair.

"You don't know that," you muttered, your voice wobbly but oddly conversational. "I mean, he's like a genius or whatever. And his team is good at their jobs. They always catch the bad guy." You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back against the wooden beam. "So, yeah, I'd say the odds aren't exactly in your favor."

The unsub's jaw clenched. He paced in frustration, his hands raking through his unkempt hair.

"You should be scared," he spat, though there was less conviction now.

You sniffled again. "I'm too heartbroken to be scared."

Your voice cracked on the last word; it wasn't just for show this time.

The unsub laughed, a cruel, condescending chuckle that grated against your nerves. "You're pathetic," he sneered, shaking his head.

You let out a soft, bitter huff, your fingers twitching where they were bound. "And you aren't?" Your voice was steady now, sharper than before. "You have to kidnap women just to get one to talk to you."

The unsub's face twisted with rage. His hand shot out, grabbing the back of your head roughly, yanking it back so you were forced to look up at him.

Then, cold metal pressed against your temple.

"I could fucking kill you right now," he snarled, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers digging into your scalp.

You blinked up at him. Not flinching and not pleading.

Just looking.

"Okay," you said simply.

For a long, tense moment, he didn't move.

Your heartbeat was steady, even as the seconds stretched between you. His grip was tight, his breathing heavy, the gun unwavering against your skin.

But you didn't break.

Because, honestly? You didn't care.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. It could be the sheer emotional devastation of everything leading up to this moment. Or maybe it was the painful, gut-wrenching realization that even if Spencer saved you, he wouldn't stay.

That hurt more than anything else.

The unsub groaned, exasperated, and after a few lingering moments, jerked back, lowering the gun.

He paced, rolling his neck like trying to shake off whatever he had just felt.

"You don't fear death, do you?" he muttered, more to himself than you.

You let out a small breath, watching him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Not really."

—

The farmhouse was empty.

It was abandoned.

And that realization hit like a freight train.

As the team swept through the decrepit structure, their boots crunching against the dust-covered floorboards, the air grew heavier with every room they cleared. The farmhouse was utterly vacant—there was no sign of you, no sign of the unsub, no proof of where you had been taken next.

And then Spencer's world crashed down. Again. He didn't know how much more he could take.

His knees hit the ground before he could stop them, his whole body wracked with sobs. The grief that had been building inside him for hours, days, weeks��since the moment he walked away from you—exploded all at once.

Morgan was there instantly, his strong arms steadying Spencer, pulling him into a solid, grounding hold as Spencer fisted his hands into his vest.

"No, no, no," Spencer choked out, shaking violently. "We're too late, we're too late."

"Hey, hey—stop that." Morgan's grip tightened, his expression strained with worry. "We don’t know that."

But Spencer's mind wasn't listening.

Because the only explanation for an empty farmhouse was that the unsub had already killed you.

That he had already moved your body.

And Spencer would never get to tell you.

I never got to say he was sorry. Never get to tell you that he loved you, was a fool for leaving, and would have spent his entire life making it up to you if he could.

That you were his heart.

And now you were gone.

The team stood frozen, the weight of failure settling over them like a suffocating fog.

And then Spencer's phone rang.

His breath hitched, and his fingers clumsily fumbled for the device. His whole body felt numb, and the ringing pierced his grief. It was JJ.

He barely had time to answer before her voice rang through the line, breathless, disbelieving, urgent.

"Spencer—she's here."

His heart stopped.

"What?"

"Y/N just—she just walked into the precinct." JJ sounded just as stunned as he felt. "She's unharmed. She's safe."

Spencer felt his entire world tilt so violently that he nearly collapsed again.

He was on his feet in seconds, his head spinning, his chest heaving.

"She's alive?" The words tumbled out of him wild and frantic, like he feared saying them out loud would make them untrue.

JJ exhaled sharply. "She's alive, Spence. She's okay."

Spencer's legs nearly gave out.

Morgan caught him before he could crumble.

The team exchanged stunned glances, their exhaustion, and devastation shifting into something else entirely.

Hope.

Relief.

Victory.

Hotch's voice cut through the moment, commanding but urgent.

"Let's go. Now."

Spencer was already running.

—

Practically stumbling into the precinct, his breath ragged, Spencer's heart slamming against his ribs as he scanned the room in a frenzy. His eyes darted wildly, looking for you.

And then he saw you. Alive. Standing near JJ's desk, your arms crossed, your expression completely unreadable as you answered one of the officer's questions with a nod. No visible injuries. No signs of distress. Just… there.

Breathing.

Existing.

He felt like he was going to collapse.

The relief hit him so hard that he nearly forgot how to move, breathe, and function. His vision blurred, his pulse roared in his ears, and for a second, he could only process that you were here and safe.

Then you turned, and your gaze met his.

And everything inside Spencer froze.

Because there was no relief in your eyes.

No joy.

No desperation, no tears, no emotion at all.

It's just tired indifference.

His lips parted, and his feet moved toward you instinctively. His hands itched to touch you, feel you, hold you, apologize, beg, and break at your feet if he had to.

But before he could say anything, you exhaled deeply, turning back to JJ, dismissing him entirely without a second glance.

Like he was just… some guy.

Some stranger.

Someone who meant nothing.

The rejection was like a blade to the throat.

Spencer finally found his voice, but it was weak and hoarse. It was filled with exhaustion, guilt, and everything he had wanted to say to you but had never had the chance.

“Y/N—”

You barely spared him a glance.

"I just want to go home," you said flatly, your voice drained, emotionless, like you had nothing left to give—not to the case, Spencer, or any of it.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because he had prepared himself for your tears, he had braced himself for anger, for screaming, for you shoving him away, slapping him, hating him outright.

But this? This emptiness? This indifference? This was worse.

This was so much worse.

Spencer stood there, stunned, feeling himself shatter in real-time as you sighed, rubbing at your tired eyes, before quietly saying to JJ,

"Can someone take me home?"

And just like that—

You were gone.

And Spencer had never felt more alone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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salvatoreloml · 10 hours ago

Text

Nah bc look at that

#dr spencer ‘big brown eyes’ reid #mgg #dr spencer reid

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awordsmith · 1 day ago

Text

i know you 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you tease Spencer for reading a spicy book and get trapped in an elevator right after...karma?

katvalentine

who? spencer reid x bau!reader when? s9 category: novella content warnings: a little freaky tension, none of my novella's are proofed!, read with pleassure word count: 2k

Penelope was just a bit secretive with her life, which is why it caught Spencer off guard when she’d asked him to pick up a few books for her at the front. She was on sick leave and she’d forgotten she’d placed the delivery address to the office.

Spencer didn’t mind, it was just…weird. He didn’t mean to peak, but it was a book, a couple of books, he was curious. What drew Penelope’s interest? He knew she was into acting, and the things Penelope typically liked contrasted the other things she liked, so Spencer was just…just a bit nosey.

He’s set the three books down on his desk and kept one in his hand. It was a series. He wondered why she’d bought the entire series without reading the first one to make sure she’d like it. Maybe the synopsis was interesting and that’s what caught her attention, but there was still no guarantee that she’d like the writing style. Spencer had fallen into a few traps himself.

He’d have to scold her on that later. Spencer took a seat and opened to the first page. It was fantasy, okay, Spencer could dig a little fantasy. Eleven wars and magical realms. It was romance, but there was a war, Spencer was scanning the pages, and as the romance grew, it seemed so did his ability to read.

Spencer began flying through the pages, he would never have picked up such a book himself, but he also couldn’t be surprised. It was Penelope, of course, her tastes differed starkly from his own.

What surprised Spencer was how deeply he was eating up each word. He’d never been so intrigued before–and then, it happened. The characters were full-on going at it–he was more than halfway done when someone cleared their throat.

Spencer jumped, startled. It was late, he’d thought everyone had gone home already. He leaned back in his chair and craned his neck, chuckling slightly to mask the embarrassment he was feeling, “h-hello?”

“Hey, Spence,” you stepped forward, pushing yourself off the wall. You’d been in the break room–how had he missed you? He should have noted the light that was still glowing, though a few were, he should have picked it out.

“Oh, hey,” he shut the book, though kept a hand in between the pages. “What are you reading?” You stepped forward, eyeing Spencer cautiously.

“Nothing,” he shook his head and tried to subtly slide the book out of your view. You–of course caught it though and reached out to grab it.

“Hey–Spence!” You huffed when he snatched the book away and stood. You followed him and folded your arms, “what are you doing? Let me see it.” He mumbled some incoherent excuse, but you weren’t buying it, he could tell. “Come on,” you whined, “we always share books, why are you gatekeeping?”

He spun around suddenly, quickly holding the book out of your reach. You frowned and began tugging on his clothing, trying to get him to stay still so you could grab the book. It was a book for goodness sake, why was he so adamant about keeping it from you?

“Spencer!” You tackled him.

“Hey! Okay–okay–okay, I surrender.”

He settled you on the ground first, then slowly brought the book to a steady and held it out in front of you. “That’s what I thought,” you scoffed, turning away with your prize.

Spencer fiddled with his hands as he approached his desk, settling the other books in his arms. He grabbed his satchel and turned off his light.

“Spencer–Reid.” You called. He winced at the sound of your voice. It was exasperated, but he could hear the lilt in it. “You. Were. Not.” You came up beside him, Spencer refused to meet your gaze, he hoped you would spare him the embarrassment, but it was you–and like Penelope, he should know better.

“It’s Penelope’s,” he answered, praying you’d forget him.

“And you were reading it,” you did not. “I can’t believe this. Spencer, I didn’t know you had it in you–

“Had it in me?” He practically shrieked.

“Don’t be shy,” you cooed, a smug smirk mimicking the way you sounded, Spencer hated that smirk.

“It’s none of your business,” he grumbled, stepping into the elevator.

“It’s not?” You followed him, your bag slipped across your shoulder. Spencer typically didn’t mind your teasing, it wasn’t much more than any of the other team teased him, but for some reason, you were really getting under his skin.

“Please stop,” he glanced at the book in your hand.

“Stop?” His eyes caught the movement of your lips, they were glossed over. He wondered if your lipgloss tasted like anything. He bit back a scream, he shouldn’t be thinking about that. It was that dang book, he shouldn’t have read it in the first place. He should have stayed curious, and why didn’t he?

Because he was an idiot.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You frowned, taking a step away, “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to really offend you. I was just kidding.” And Spencer should have forgiven you, but he didn’t want to.

Spencer swallowed and huffed out, “whatever.”

“Spencer,” you frowned, tugging on his sleeve, “seriously, are you really mad at me?”

“Mad at you?” he scoffed, “no–” he shook his head, feeling tears pool in his eyes, he didn’t know why he was being so emotional. He didn’t know why he was getting so worked up. “No, it’s fine, —. I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure?” You were genuinely concerned, you loved Spencer, maybe more than a coworker should, and you loved teasing him. You were sure the others noticed by now, though they’d been smart and kept it to themselves. Spencer’s the only one you were sure hadn’t noticed your constant targeting of him was because you had a minor crush on him.

You knew it was unprofessional, but you also knew no one on the team would judge you. “Yes,” he waved a hand, “yes, yes I’m fine.”

You wanted to reach out and hold him, but you knew that was weird, considering everything. You didn’t know how to flirt and even if you could, you were both coworkers before you were friends–agents before you were people. You had a job to do and it always seemed to get in the way of your personal agenda.

You relented and pulled away, leaning back against the elevator walls, and a few seconds later you were screaming, “What the hell?” as the elevator shook and launched you forward.

Spencer didn’t know why or when, but sometime between you turning away from him and the elevator shaking him into the next dimension, you’d grabbed onto him. He didn’t mind it, he never really minded you touching him. He was always too focused on a better comeback because right before you touched him–typically a kick under the table, or if you were sitting next to him, a shoulder push or small smack to his back–you would have normally said something offhanded, meant to get under his skin.

He always felt a need to best you, to prove he could keep up–sometimes he did–other times he’d get stumped, or overwhelmed by your presence. You never seemed to care that you were always so close to him, he wondered why that was. He didn’t mind it though, he found he’d insert himself in places that were typically closer to you. He’d always brushed it off, but with how close you were to him–with how hard you were breathing. Spencer gripped the back of your shirt and yanked you against him as the elevator shook again.

You both fell to the floor as the lights flashed in and out until eventually, they stayed out. Spencer didn’t know where his satchel had gone, it left him as he’d tried to grab on to you to brace your fall. He heaved a breath, then swallowed, “are you okay?” He must have not known he was breathing on your neck, for if he had known, he surely would have given you more space than what had been initially granted. Though you knew this, you froze.

You nodded, but of course, he couldn’t see you, so you forced out words, though wobbly, “Yeah.”

Spencer tensed up, now, you thought, he must know how close we are. He didn’t pull away like you thought he would, but he didn’t say anything about it. “I think one of the cords snapped,” Spencer ran his free hand down his face, the other one was currently stuck under your butt. He didn’t mean to, it was a reflex, you squeaked and tensed, leaning forward when you felt it.

“I–I am so sorry!” Spencer’s face fell, it was a mix of mortification and horror.

He snatchded his hand back and your relaxed against the wall a bit.

“We should call Hotch…or someone.”

You agreed, but stayed quiet.

“Look, I rally am sorry,” Spencer huffed, “if–if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, just…” he sighed again. This is not how tonight was suppose to go. By now he should have left Penelope’s house, maybe stopped by the convenient store near his house to pick up a few snacks and binge watch the Notebook or some other sappy romance Penelope had recommended. Apparently, he taste wasn’t as bad as he’d thought…

Spencer shook his head and tried to stand, but as the elevator swung back and forth, his heart dropped. You snatched his arm and yanked him back down, “gently,” you coerced. You bit your lip and tried to look around, though it was pitch black, “we shouldn’t move. Do you have your phone on you?”

“Yes, but,” Spencer sighed, “it’s in my bag,” and hsi bag was curren’ty nowhere near him.

You huffed, “alright, my phone is in my back pocket…” Spencer raised a brow at your pause, “...well,” your tried not to roll your eyes at th eobvious awkwardness that would ensue, “I can’t reach it without moving too much.”

Spencer nodded, “alright,” he didn’t want his heightened emotions to get the better of him. The two of you were in a bad horrid situation, he didn’t need to make worse by acting like a teenager with a crush. “Can you…” he began.

“Oh for goodness sake,” you wanted to roll your eyes. “Spencer, just feel for it.”

“Right,” he gulped, come on spencer, this is normal. You do htis all the time. Oh, yeah? Like when? Okay, Negative Spencer this is not the time.

“Spencer just grab the damned phone!–

“–I am!”

“–Really? Cuz’ it seems like you’re having trouble.”

“Oh don’t start with me,” he scoffed.

“And what’s that suppose to mean?” You narrowed your eyes, useless in the dark, but it was habit.

“You know exactly what it means, with your pouty lipgloss and your–smug smirk.” Spencer was getting uncomfortable now, but on the bright side, he’d gotten the phone. He turned it on with both hands, about to ask for the password when you shouted no and trie dot reach for it.

Spencer paused, starting at the screen. You were stock still, face the image of horror. Spencer was quiet for a long time, or at least it seemed that way. You shuddered when he flipped the screen to you and you saw–in all your creepy shame–your phone screen, “what’s the password?”

He seemed intent on ignoring the the photo. You kept your head down as your mumbled the four digits to unlock the phone. He took a few moments, starting at the background on your homepage, still not saying a word.

After the phone call with Hotch, Spencer set your phone in your lap. The silence was deafening.

“You want to talk abou–”

“Nope.”

Spencer clapped his hands, then frowned and leaned toward you, his face scrunching up, “I really think we should talk about–”

“Do you hate me?” You scoffed.

Spencer pressed his lips together, “well,” he shrugged, thinking about the photo on your lock screen, “you know for someone making fun of–”

“Alright, Spencer,” you shuddered, “you don’t have to say it.”

“...”

“Right but just what kind of books do you read? And also, where did you get that photo? Is it…is it of you and–”

“GOD–NO–” you groaned, “Spencer, jeez–no! It’s a photo I found on the internet. It’s the non-subtle cover of a book.”

“So the books you’re normally reading–those are just.. What? Safe covers?”

“Spencer!” You shrieked, “it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “you’re right.”

“Thank you, now can you be quiet? I’m trying to think.”

“Of the book?–”

“SPENCER–”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid spicy #spicy fic #spencer reid fluff #dr reid #criminal minds fanfiction #bau team #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #written by katherine #i know you

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mariasont · 10 hours ago

Note

short n sweet but we need one where spencer loves head scratches and getting his hair played with

Heart Nebula - S.R

summary: spencer tells you every atom in your body was once part of a star, but you think he's the celestial wonder worth studying. pairings: spencer reid x reader warnings: fluff galore, existentialism, star-gazing, astrophysics inaccuracies im so sure wc: 2.1k

"You'd be so proud of me today, you know."

You scoot closer, disrupting the careful folds of the blanket. The fabric bunches beneath your legs, damp soil seeps through, not quite wet enough to be a problem, but enough to make you aware of it. A blade of grass tickles stubbornly at your ankle. You wiggle your foot once, twice, it stays. Some things do.

Your pinky grazes his, the barest of contact, but he turns his head anyway. The night seems to fold him in shadow, softens his features, makes him look almost ethereal. His eyes give him away, glinting back at you, tiny shards of cosmos blinking back at you. It should be impossible to feel jealously of the sky, and yet.

"Yeah?" The familiar crease settles between his brows, a well-loved marker in the pages of him. His head tilts, waiting, not impatiently, already certain he's going to love your answer. "Why's that?"

Your smile jumps ahead of you, swells into one of those too-big-for-your-face grins. The kind that crinkles your nose, bunches your cheeks, makes your face ache after a while.

"I learned about a nebula."

Spencer's laugh starts in his chest and works its way out, rattling through his ribs, shaking his shoulders, until the momentum knocks his knee into yours.

"Look at you," he says, all teasing admiration. "I am proud. Which one?"

"I think It was called the Heart Nebula?" You glance at him, waiting, watching, half-hoping that he'll recognize the name, that he'll give you that little nod of confirmation.

He does. You beam.

"I saw a picture earlier, and it was just—," You trail off, eyes tipping upwards, letting the sky steal whatever poetic explanation you were about to give. "I don't know. Too beautiful to be real."

Spencer had been so excited when you told him you wanted to stargaze, his eyes had practically glowed, already rattling off a dozen facts about atmospheric conditions and celestial visibility, and why tonight was perfect.

He barely took a breath before he had been launching into a dozen more reasons, winding himself up so tight with words that the only way to release them, apparently, was kissing you. Feverishly.

Like he had no other way to translate his excitement into something tangible, something felt.

It made you want to promise him everything, to tell him you'd do this forever, that you'd let him drag you under the stars a thousand times over if it meant being kissed like that.

Spencer glances at you, his mouth twitching like you've just said the punchline to a joke you don't realize you're telling. You're here, waxing about a sky full of ancient light, calling the Heart Nebula too beautiful to be real, and he's looking at you like you've missed the most obvious part.

You narrow your eyes, but he only shakes his head, like whatever crossed his mind was his to keep.

"The Heart Nebula is full of newborn stars," he tells you, gaze still pointed on the sky. "Their radiation makes the gas glow red, pink. The whole thing shifts under stellar winds, reshaping itself, over and over again."

His voice wades its way through the parts of your brain, finding its place. He has this way of explaining things, of turning something infinite into something intimate.

And you love that. Love how he does that. Love the way he sees things. Love him.

"It's about 7,500 light-years away. Which means the light we're seeing now left before humans even figured out agriculture." A small, disbelieving laugh escapes him. "By the time it reaches us, whatever we're looking at doesn't exist the same way anymore. It's already changed. Probably unrecognizable."

His fingers twitch against his thigh, probably resisting the urge to gesture. "Space is weird like that."

"I don't know, Spence," you tease, fingers pinching the sleeve of his shirt, catching just enough of him to feel real. His dimple carves into his cheek and your heart stumbles, caught between beats. "It kind of sounds like you're telling me I can't trust my own eyes."

"Well, technically you can't." He turns fully toward you, dimple still firmly in place, eyes flicking, too quickly, too obviously, to your lips. "The human eye takes in scattered bits of light, and your brain—" he taps your temple for emphasis "—fills in the blanks. Adjusts for shadows, alters colors based on what it thinks is there. Your eyes are compulsive liars."

He pauses, tiling his head, considering. "And since our perception is limited by our optic nerves, no one really sees their own eyes the way others do. Which is a shame, because if you could see yours the way I do, you'd understand why I can't help but stare."

There are moments when Spencer says something so casually devastating that your brain just empties, and this is absolutely one of them. Your mouth opens, then closes again.

"That's—" Your voice catches, so you clear your throat, shake your head, try to reassemble your thoughts. "That's a really unfair thing to say, you know."

Spencer blinks, like he’s running back through the conversation in real time, replaying his own words to figure out what, exactly, made you forget how to breathe.

"Why?"

"Because some of us have a very delicate hold on their emotional stability, and you—” you point at him, accusing “— just shattered it in two sentences."

"Technically, that’s the limbic system at work. The amygdala controls emotional reactivity, but the prefrontal cortex tempers it."

You would try to unpack that, really, you would, but then his hands find your waist, and suddenly the ground isn't where you thought it was. You gasp, giggle, crash right into him, catching yourself with shaking hands against his chest.

"So really," he continues, as if you aren't sprawled across him, "if your emotional stability was shattered, you should blame your neural pathways, not me."

Your fingers twist in his hair as you lean in to kiss him, deeply and thoroughly, like proof, like inevitability maybe, a thought forming in real time, one you can press straight into his skin.

"Maybe my neural pathways are just adapting to something worth remembering," you whisper, and the way he stills, the way his lips part just slightly, makes you think you might not be the only one.

Spencer makes a small, pleased noise against your lips, something that was half sighed and smiled, and you feel it, all of it, in the way his throat moves beneath your fingertips as he swallows.

"That... might be my favorite use of neuroscience yet."

You flash him a grin. "And you thought I wasn't paying attention when you ramble."

"I should've known you'd find a way to weaponize it."

You let your full weight settle onto him, chin perched on his chest, his heartbeat a slow song beneath your cheek. Your fingers slip into his hair, threading through soft strands, nails scraping lightly over his scalp, testing a theory you already know the answer to.

Yeah. Definite reaction.

"So that's what it takes, huh?" you tease, lips curling against the material of his shirt. You scratch again to be sure, and his next breath comes slower. "Just a well-placed brain chemistry reference?"

"From you? Yeah, that'll do it."

"Noted." A pause. Then, softer. "Keep talking to me about space."

"You know, you're kind of demanding." Spencer's fingers skate along your waist before he squeezes, firm and quick, like a punctuation mark to his sentence.

Your head lifts, eyebrow quirked, fingers hovering just out of reach, close enough for him to feel the absence. "Excuse me?"

His smirk vanishes instantly, wiped clean, replaced by something perilously close to distress. His hands twitch at your waist, fingers moving like he can pull you back, like he can make you continue if he just wants it badly enough.

"Wait, wait, I was kidding," he rushes out, voice just shy of frantic. “Don't stop."

You grin, tilting your head like you're considering it. "Hmmm. Apologize."

"I—okay, I'm sorry, you're perfect, please—" his breath hitches, his laugh a little wild, a little helpless, "please keep going."

You giggle, fingertips weaving back into his hair. His response is immediate, a low, shaky sound that buzzes against your skin, something so content it makes warmth spreads through you like a lit fuse, spilling all the way down to your toes.

Spencer smirks, fingers drumming against your waist.

"You really don't let a guy off easy, do you?" He pauses for a second, glancing past you at the sky like he's taking in his options.

"Alright. Here's a fact you might like, every single part of you was once part of a star. All the heavier elements in your body, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, they were formed in the core of ancient stars, forged under immense heat and pressure, then scattered across the galaxy when those stars died, reforming."

His words drift to you, but you don't catch them all. You're too busy watching him.

Out here, in the absence of light pollution, you can see him more clearly than ever. The starlight doesn't just touch him, it claims him, dusting his skin in silver, catching in his lashes, turning the slopes of him almost unreal. Like if you blink too long, he might disappear, slip back into the night where he belongs. A constellation carved into the shape of a person.

You used to think brown was such a simple color. But then you met him, saw his eyes, now it's in everything. Wet earth after rain, cinnamon dusted over coffee, burnt sugar on your tongue.

And now, he’s teaching you it’s also carbon and oxygen forged in the cores of dying stars, pieces of the galaxy that had traveled billions of years to become chocolate flecks on a beautiful face.

He was right, it is a shame people never see their eyes the way others do.

"But how?" you ask. "Like... how does something go from being part of a star to being part of us?"

Spencer exhales softly and you can see the way he loves the question.

"It's a long process. Billions of years, actually. When a star explodes, it sends all those elements out into space. They mix with other interstellar material, forming new stars, planets, and eventually..." He taps a gentle finger against your stomach. "You."

"That's kind of incredible."

Spencer huffs a quiet laugh, grinning, that beautiful grin, the one that makes your chest feel too small for your heart. His fingers find your temple, trail gently down to your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Then, without pause, he leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to your nose.

"It is," he murmurs, thumb brushing against your cheek. "We're built from pieces of space, borrowed, passed down, stitched together by time."

"So you're saying we've been part of the same universe forever? That's kind of romantic, Spence."

"It's also backed by astrophysics. Science just happens to be romantic sometimes. "

"Well, good," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his neck. "I like knowing there's proof... but I think I would've believed it anyway."

You barely have time to register the flicker in his eyes before, he moves. In a second, you're on your back, the sky stretching endlessly behind him. The stars flicker, countless and beautiful, but right now, they might as well not exist.

Because all you see is him.

He hovers over you, gaze intent, studying you, like you're a phenomenon he never expected to witness up close. Like he's sure now, more than he's ever been about anything. Like you are the discovery of a lifetime.

"The universe has been expanding for 13.8 billion years," he murmurs, fingers trailing along your jaw. "But I don't think it's ever made anything more beautiful than you."

Heat blooms beneath your skin. "More than the Heart Nebula?"

It should sound like teasing. It doesn't.

Spencer exhales, almost like he's amused by your doubt.

"The Heart Nebula exists purely because gravity and radiation dictate that it must. But you..." His gaze softens. "You exist because of a thousand tiny impossibilities stacking on top of each other. The odds of you, of this, are so astronomically low that it shouldn't have happened at all."

Spencer just looks at you for a moment. You don't move, don't breathe. And then he kisses you.

It crashes over you, stealing your breath before you even realize it's happening. His hands tighten at your sides, pulling you closer, like the space between you is unbearable. It's not rushed nor desperate, but it is consuming, the kind of thing that makes it impossible to think of anything else.

When he breaks away, he doesn't go far, forehead resting against yours. "If the universe was capable of making something more beautiful, it would have done it by now."

And maybe that’s true. Maybe the universe, for all its galaxies and nebulae and infinite expanse, never did anything better than this. Not just you, but you and him together.

Or maybe the universe will never quite get it right again. Because maybe this was its best work.

But it won’t stop trying. It never does. Even after you’re gone, even after you and Spencer are nothing but scattered atoms, the universe will keep going. Creating. Expanding. Changing. New stars will be born, dust will settle into something new, planets will form, galaxies will stretch apart. And maybe, somewhere, the pieces that were once you and him will find their way back to each other. And maybe, if the universe has any kindness left in it, they’ll get to love like this.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x gn reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot

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blluesiide · 1 day ago

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You stop dead in your tracks, preventing yourself from calling out and ruin the moment in front of you.

Spencer sleeping on the sofa, one of his classical records playing softly on the victrola in the background.

You lower your things to the ground, softly padding over to sit down in front of the sofa.

He's peaceful like this, truly peaceful, even nightmares wouldn't have the audacity to bother him in this state.

You watch him sleep, listening to him breathe evenly, steadily for a while before you can't help yourself, anymore.

You reach a gently hand out to softly pet his grown out curls. You manage to do it for a while before he finally stirs, softly letting out a quiet, "What?"

"Nothing, sweetheart." You lean in to press a kiss to his sleep warmed forehead, "Go back to sleep."

His eyes close automatically, his hand softly flopping over the edge of the sofa to tug at your sleeve loosely.

You don't hesitate, pushing yourself up and carefully laying yourself along the sofa with him.

He lets out a soft sigh of content, his arm drooping over you heavily, asleep again within seconds.

You smile against his neck, burying yourself there, letting the soft violins carry you and him away into a gentle slumber, that for the sake of your backs, may eventually end up in your actual bed.

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gold-onthe-inside · 2 days ago

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orbiting around you

who? spencer reid (s3) x tough!reader summary: after an injury to your shoulder, you and spencer start a friends with benefits relationship to help with your pain that is sure to break his heart. content warnings: situationship-esque, no happy ending, borderline smut, PG-13, read with caution a/n: based on magnets by NIKI

88 days. That’s how long it’s been since Spencer and you had started this thing. 88 days was a year on Mercury, that’s how long he’s been orbiting you, basking in your glow. It’s what keeps him sane - the thought of Mercury. He remembers the scrunch of your nose, the confusion when he had explained how technically, the small planet orbits the Sun in 88 Earth days, but takes 176 of those for sunrise and sunset.

He’d drawn the orbit on the plane of your stomach, relishing your soft squirming. You were adorable in your post-sex haze, too serious when you were out of it. He makes the most of it anyway. “How awful,” you had posed, “to have a single day go on for… how many hours is 176 days?”

The math had been the easy part - 4224 hours. The hard part was explaining how to him, his day starts and ends with you. Which may as well be 4224 hours. 176 days. One day on Mercury.

Spencer was always amazed at your willingness to learn. He had grown used to no one caring when he spoke his mind, and while you didn’t always understand everything, it was endearing that you tried. The little scrunch of your nose, the furrow of your brow when you were trying to work out what he was saying; to him, it was adorable. You were adorable.

This whole thing had started out as pain relief — you recovering from an old gunshot wound, being forced to share a room with him, and one thing had led to another and you had crushed your lips against his, barely able to mutter out the apology before he returned it, clutching your jaw and sinking into you. Better than a needle, he had rationalised, to give you something to focus on other than the dull throbbing in your side; the lingering thought of a bullet lodged in your body.

He’d kissed you back passionately, gently pulling himself on top of you before trailing kisses down your body, pausing on the scars left behind by the metal. 88 days from then, he knew your body almost as well as he knew his own, and he knew exactly which spots would make you gasp, make you whine, make you mewl. How you liked him to take you and when you needed what, all of it in the back of his head.

He knew your body better than anyone else ever had; the spot on your ribs that made you squeal when it was poked, the soft moan that only came about when he lightly trailed his hand up and down your spine. How easily you responded to being touched, how pliable you were in his hands. Every whimper, whine and gasp was perfectly catalogued in his genius brain.

“It’s called spin-order resonance,” Spencer explained, his spindly fingers still circling your navel like Mercury orbits the sun, like he orbits you, two fingers dragging over your flushed skin, spots of darkness where he’s left his marks on you. “One side of Mercury remains in sunlight for the first 88 days, and then in darkness for the next 88 days,” he explained. His fingers continued to map the soft flesh of your stomach, his touch soft and gentle, feeling you shiver and squirm underneath him. It’s because of the gravitational pull of the Sun, he’s about to say before you kiss him and he sinks into you, your gentle force tilting him on his axis.

When your mouth met his, the words he was about to mutter died on his lips, replaced with a moan as he leaned his body over yours, pinning you gently to the bed with his weight. The kiss is fierce, needy. He’s desperate for you, wanting to be as close as possible, his mouth exploring your jawline hungrily. The sun doesn’t set. Not for 88 days.

It’s suggested, he thinks as you shield your eyes from the glare of the sun while getting coffee for the team, that Mercury was formed from a solar nebula before the Sun’s energy had stabilised, initially twice its current mass, melted by the heat of a young star. He notices you waiting on the curb while the barista makes the half a dozen drinks, the crowd in the cafe unappealing to you. The sunlight makes you glow as you tilt your head to the sky with your eyes closed, letting the rays soothe your irritated eyes. His solid silicate crust finds it’s melting point in your smile as he joined you again with the tray.

He found himself smiling back as he approached you, handing you your coffee. Your fingers brush his as you accept it, continuing to talk about the case like you hadn't paralysed him where he stood. You keep pulling him in. Again and again and again. And every time, he fell deeper, further, faster.

All his genius amounted to nothing when you looked at him that way, and you were so oblivious. It was like you didn’t even realise the effect you had on him - the way you knocked the breath out of him, the air buzzing around him, grasping onto you like air to his lungs. But why would you? What’s Mercury to the Sun but the first in a long line of planets? Mercury, with all its craters and wrinkle-ridges, all its highlands and plains, is nothing compared to the stunning Venus, to Earth that brims with life, to Saturn’s gorgeous rings, and Jupiter’s 12 moons, or the cold beauty of Uranus and Neptune. He’s just the one that’s closest to you.

He was the tiny rock that rotated around you, drawn in effortlessly by your gravity, desperate for you. He knows you didn’t realise the effect you had on him - the way you simply existing made his heart pound, like he’d just run a marathon. How long until his orbit completes and he’s forced to spend another year in darkness? How long until the sun sets?

You avoid the conversation, like you can tell that he’s hurtling to his wit’s end, unable to just be a source of pain relief anymore, pulling your shirt on as he calls your name from bed, with his pleading hazel eyes and sweet lips. He wants to pull you back into bed with him, to trace his fingers over the soft flesh of your body, but knows you wouldn’t let him.

"I can't do this anymore," he tried, unashamed of how desperate he sounds. "I... I need you. I need more." The words spill from his lips desperately, his fingers gripping at the bed sheets so he doesn’t reach out and grab your hand to yank you back towards him. He can’t just be a distraction anymore.

"We talked about this, Spencer," you said, trying to hold fast as you pull hair out of the neck of your shirt. It was for the best.

"This stopped being just sex a long time ago and you know it,” he replied. "Don’t act like you don't know how I feel about you."

"It would never work," you said, your words weak to your own ears.

He rolled his eyes, scoffing slightly. "Oh, and why’s that?" He asked, his voice tinged with anger.

"Because you deserve better," you said simply.

This time, he actually laughed. "Better?" He repeated mockingly. "I don’t want ‘better’. I want you."

"We're friends, Spencer," you insisted. "We're good like this. Why does anything have to change?"

"Because this isn't normal!" He protested, his voice growing louder. "I'm not a normal friend, and you're not a normal friend. This-" he gestured to the both of them, in his bed, "This isn't what normal friends do."

That gave him pause. He didn’t expect you to agree with him. He’d expected you to argue back - the way you always did. To fight your case, to defend yourself. He’d never even entertained the idea that you’d be the one to apologise.

"I thought..." You let out a breath, closing your eyes. "I was in pain, and I wasn't thinking, and I let this get out of hand, and I'm sorry, Spencer."

His face fell, any anger he had previously felt melting away, replaced with hurt. He knew he shouldn’t have got too attached, knew it would only end in heartbreak. Hearing you say it - that you regretted this entire thing, and it was nothing but a mistake for you - left his chest feeling tight.

The phone buzzed on your nightstand and you grabbed it, checking the text. "I have to go. Crime scene."

"I..." He watched you grab your jacket from the chair and slinging it over your shoulders. He wanted to say something, anything, to make you stay, but he couldn’t get any words out past the lump in his throat. What was there left to say, anyway? The sun had set.

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x tough!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #rucha's 1k event

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nubecita040 · 1 day ago

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Spencer Reid Recs

WARNING: Some of this are NSFW +18. MDNI (the authors put the respectives warnings in they works)

This is a Masterlist of my favorites fics (some are series or have more than one part) of Spencer Reid separated by gender (Meaning fluff, smut, angst, hurt/comfort,etc.) and other masterlist/recs of other people that i like.

(English is not my first lenguage, please be kind)

SMUT

FLUFF pt2

HURT/COMFORT

OTHER MASTERLIST and RECS

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #sub spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr spencer reid

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rynwritesreid · 9 hours ago

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You found me| Spencer Reid

A/N: you know that episode where Derek is making Garcia and Reid do a field/physical test? Yeah that is my inspiration for this😋

Summary: Spencer needs to get fit for a physical, and you know just the trick ;)

Content: Fem! Reader. BDSM themes (dom/sub dynamics). Primal play. Mentions of marking (tattoos and marks from spanking). Nicknames (only princess and good girl). Orgasm denial. Oral (both Male and female receiving). Spencer is our consent king in this though!)

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

Spencer had been working out, which for someone who had hated exercise and had turned you down every time you had invited him to come on a run with you, is weird. You wanted to ask him what was going on, there was obviously a chance he just wanted to get fit, but something was telling you that just wasn’t it.

You were sitting on your sofa, when you heard your front door unlock and Spencer come through. He was sweating and practically panting, you recognised this look though, it was someone who had just come back from a run. Instead of greeting you, he walked straight to the fridge grabbing a bottle of water

“Spencer, what’s going on? I have never once seen you go on a run. Is everything okay?” Spencer took a long swig of water before finally turning to face you, his breathing evening out. “Yeah, everything is okay. It’s just the FBI are making me, and Garcia do a physical.” He paused briefly, as he tried to catch his breath some more, “and as you know, I don’t work out, so I’m scared I’m not going to pass.”

You pat the side of the sofa next to you, inviting him to sit down. “We’ll lucky for you, you’ve got your own personal trainer right here,” you tease, giving him a little wink. Spencer chuckles slowly as he takes a seat beside you, leaning back against the cushions.

“I don’t want you to go out of your way to train me.” Spencer has never been one to ask for help, and unless push comes to shove, he never takes the help people offer him. “I won’t be going out of my way to train you, and you know I love running.” Spencer doesn’t respond though, you know he will be thinking it through. “Plus, if you want, I can make it fun for you. I have a few tricks up my sleeve to make it enjoyable.”

“Oh really? And what might those be?” he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You practically know everything about him, what motivates him, what makes him smile and laugh, and what makes him talk when he’s going through something. You could tell him that you’ll watch every single doctor who episode, or go to that Russian film festival with, but he knows you’d do that anyway.

“I can make it a game, give you a reward,” you give him another wink. “But before I suggest anything, maybe you should do some homework, just to make sure it would be something you’d enjoy.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow, “alright, I’m listening. What kind of game are we talking about here?” you let a small giggle, but you could feel your cheeks heating up. You had done what you were to suggest before, but not with Spencer because you thought he would hate every second of it.

“Okay, don’t laugh at me, and you can absolutely say no.” But Spencer just smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I won't laugh, I promise. Tell me what you have in mind." You let out a sigh, “erm okay. I…” you pause, maybe you shouldn’t be bringing this up, but it’s too late now “oh god, okay I just need to spit it out. Maybe, we could turn it into primal pay.” You watch his reaction, but he just continues to smile at you, “you know what it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry.”

Spencer's smile only widened at your suggestion, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "Primal play, huh? I've never tried that before," he said, clearly intrigued. "It could be fun to give it a go."

You couldn't believe he was actually considering it. Your cheeks flushed even more at the thought of what you had just proposed. "Are you sure? I mean, we don't have to if you're not comfortable with it." You fidgeted nervously, unsure of what his response would be.

Just like you knew he would, Spencer had researched everything there is to know about primal play. And, unlike what all his friends thought about him, Spencer was a very dominant person. You could psychoanalysis this and say it was because Spencer couldn’t give up control, not with everything he’s been through. But you also knew Spencer loves knowing you take care of him in ways no one else can.

“So, I’ll be chasing you? That doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Spencer’s tone was thick, and questioning. “Well, that’s because you need motivation. Plus, I’m already in tune with my body when I’m running. I know when to stop, when to slow down, how to control my breathing and when I should speed up. You need to learn this, and that’s how you’ll pass.” You grinned mischievously at Spencer as you explained your plan.

While Spencer had been working and researching, you’d been planning out a route, one away prying eyes. Indecent exposure would most likely get Spencer fired, and that would wreck him.

“Also, if you think about, you can chase me like I’m a criminal.” You let out a little giggle, while Spencer stared daggers at you. Spencer had done a lot of things to you, he has deprived you of all your senses but touch, he’s gone weeks without letting you cum because you’d pushed him a little to hard while meeting his friends, he’s made you beg, ride his thigh, spank you so much that the next morning it was hard to sit. But this was new to him, and you didn’t want him to do something he was comfortable with.

“And when I catch you, do you want me to treat you like a criminal?” Spencer sounded too cocky for someone who had just started running. You couldn’t help but laugh at him, “if you catch me Spencer, if. You can treat me however you like. But remember I get a 10 second head start, I’ve been running way longer than you, and I know these trails like the back of my hand.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "I like the sound of that," he said, his voice low and husky. "It's on then."

“No cheating Spencer, I’ll know if you have started running before the 10 seconds are up. Okay?” Spencer smirked, "I wouldn't dream of it."

You got yourself ready, mentally psyching yourself up. Spencer just stood there and watched, his eyes roaming all your body. “Okay, I’m going to start now Spencer.” And without any other warning you started, you’d done this before, you knew your body.

This was second nature to you, you knew you could outrun him. You had gained a good amount of distance before you heard Spencer’s footsteps speed up. You knew that fear was all a part of this, it was part of the enjoyment. But Spencer been taller than you and having chased people far more dangerous than you made you nervous.

“I’m going to catch you princess, you know I am. So why not just give up?” Spencer was taunting you. But you weren’t going to answer him though, that was just going to give up where you were.

You felt your breathing pick up; your heart was starting to beat faster. “Princess?” Why was Spencer calling you? You knew he would say the safe word if needed. You could feel him getting under your skin, maybe that was all part of his plan.

You started to feel your shins start to burn, you knew you needed to give your body a little break, but you didn’t want him to catch you this early on. You found a tree that seemed big enough to hide, which allowed you to slow your breathing down.

Spencer could see you were slowing down, but he knew you wouldn't give up that easily. He had to be strategic in his approach. As he neared the spot where he thought you might be hiding, he slowed down his own pace, trying to listen for any signs of your whereabouts.

Just as he reached the tree you had hidden behind, you darted out from the other side, catching him off guard. His heart raced as he scrambled to catch up with you, his eyes locked on your back. "Gotcha!" he exclaimed, laughing as he tackled you to the ground.

Spencer was putting a fair amount of weight on you, ensuring you couldn’t wiggle free from him. His eyes were pinned on yours; he could see the fear in them. This is where he would normally stop and ask for verbal consent, but he had researched enough into this, and he knew you were scared of him.

“You did say I could do whatever I wanted to you, didn’t you?” Spencer’s tone was gently, he was making sure you were still okay with this, he wanted you to feel safe with him and that his wasn’t going to push you into something you didn’t want.

“Yes, Spencer, I did say that” you paused as you tried to catch your breath, “and I meant it as well.”

Spencer smirked at your response, his eyes scanning the rest of your body, and he allowed you some more wiggle room. Maybe he knew what you were going to do and wanted you to fight back a little, or maybe he has just been nice. But once you realised you could move, you realised yourself from his grip.

“Brat.” Spencer spat out as he watched you run away, “I caught you fair and square, Princess. I’ll catch you again.” You didn’t let up though, you just looked back a little and continued running.

But Spencer was determined to catch you again, but he also knew this was helping him train a little more. You could feel your legs start to hurt again though, but you didn’t want to stop, you couldn’t stop. Spencer saw you though, he watched as your pace slowed and knew he didn’t have to wait long before he could catch you again.

He caught up to you quicker than expected, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close to him. You could feel his breath on your neck as he whispered, "Gotcha again, Princess."

Without any warning, Spencer lifted you of the ground and draped you over his shoulder, which made you realised he had obviously been weight training. “Why’d you run again, princess?”

You didn’t reply though and just allowed him to carry you back to your apartment. But by not replying, it made Spencer give you a firm spank, but you still didn’t react. You were still draped over his shoulder as he unlocked your front door, and as he reached for his handcuffs

You felt the cold metal of the handcuffs wrap around your wrist, securing them in place. You knew what was coming next; Spencer always played by his rules.

He carried you into your bedroom, laying you down on the bed. "I'm going to make you pay for running again, Princess."

Spencer practically threw you on the bed, which allowed him to take of your trainers and running shorts. “Did you go commando just for me?” You gave him a small nod.

“Your glistening princess, does getting chased turn you on this much?” You blushed, feeling vulnerable and exposed in just your sports bra. "Yes, Spencer," you whispered.

“Now, I was promised a reward for catching you, but then you decided to run off again, which means I’m going to have punish you.” he tutted at you. “How am I going to punish you for that, huh?”

He retrieved a leather paddle from the closet. "This is going to sting a bit, princess," he warned as he raised the paddle high above your head.

Spencer brought the paddle down hard on your thigh, making you cry out in surprise and pain. He gave you one more strike on the other thigh.

You squirmed beneath him, the pain from the paddle strikes mingling with arousal. You were both in pain and turned on.

"Please, Spencer," you pleaded, "I won't run from you again."

Spencer smirked, his eyes roaming over your body as he held the paddle in one hand. "You're so beautiful when you're like this," he murmured, trailing his finger over your heated skin.

Spencer leaned down close to your ear, his breath teasing against the sensitive skin as he whispered, "I promise you, princess, I'll make sure you never want to run from me again."

Spencer started kissing your neck, this didn’t feel like a punishment though, this felt like his reward for you. Spencer lips seemingly were kissing you every part of your body, apart from the part that wanted him to the past. But that was long, his tongue and teeth glided over your clit, which caused you to let out a small loan. You knew Spencer loved doing this, he had once stated that if he died by suffocation by your thigh’s he die a happy man, so maybe he was giving himself the reward.

Spencer’s tongue continued explore, it mainly focused on your clit, his fingers were curling up in your, which caused your hips to book. Which made Spencer stop, his chin was already dripping. “You know I love this tattoo” Spencer stated refer to the little teddy bear with S.R. initialled on its paws that sat just above your pubis bone.

He didn’t wait for your response and continued his assault on your clit. Your heart raced as Spencer's tongue and fingers continued their dance, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing yourself further into his expert touch. The feeling of his fingers curling inside of you, combined with the skilled attention he was giving to your most sensitive spots, was sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Spencer," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as the intensity built within you. You could feel your orgasm rising like a tidal wave, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before you would crest over that edge.

Spencer smirked against your skin, his hands never faltering in their movements. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, and he revelled in the control he had over your pleasure.

You whimpered, needing him to continue, urging him on with your pleas and movements. But he seemingly didn’t care, you wanted to shout at him for stopping but you knew that wouldn’t get you anywhere.

He waited till he knew it had died down enough before starting again. His fingers curled inside of you again, and his tongue swept over your clit with expert precision. The sensations were overwhelming, and you knew that you were close once more.

"Spencer," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as the intensity built within you. "Please," you pleaded, needing him to finish what he had started.

“Aww princess, do you want to come?” Spencer asked, his voice husky with desire. You knew he could hear the plea in your voice, and you couldn't help but blush at the thought of admitting your need to him.

"Yes, Spencer," you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion. "Please, I need to come.”

Spencer pulled his fingers out of you; you felt your eyes start to water. He had done this before, but this time it felt mean. “Do you think it’s fair that you get to come first, even though you ran away from me when I caught you?”

You shook your head at him, you didn’t want to speak as he would be able to hear your voice wobble. Spencer got off the bed and pulled you to sit up as your wrists where still handcuffed behind your back.

You watched as he stripped himself out of his workout clothes. “Okay, princess. Get on the floor and kneel for me.” With a deep breath, you nodded and slowly moved to kneel on the floor.

"Good girl," Spencer murmured, approaching you. He gently guided you to move between his legs, positioning yourself so that your face was level with his erection. "Now, open wide for me, princess."

You did as he instructed, opening your mouth obediently. Spencer grinned down at you before guiding himself into your mouth.

You could feel his throbbing member between your lips, and as he moved in and out of your mouth, you could taste the pre-cum that had collected there. Your eyes locked with his as you tenderly ran your tongue over the head of his cock, eliciting a moan from him.

"You're such a good girl," Spencer praised, his voice filled with arousal. "You always know just what to do to make me feel good."

You felt your eyes start to water again; he was basically choking you. Spencer placed his hand on the base of your skull, grabbing a handful of hair as he started to take control, his hips moving against your face.

You struggled to breathe as his grip on your hair tightened, but you didn’t really care about any of that right now.

Spencer moaned loudly, his hips bucking against your face as he neared his climax. You could feel the tension building in his body, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before he would reach the peak of his pleasure.

"Princess," Spencer groaned, his grip on your hair tightening even more. But he didn’t have time to finish his sentence before you felt him cum down your throat. You looked up to him, and it was a sight to behold really. His lips were slightly parted, his body was glistening with sweat and it truly felt you were worshipping him like this.

You tried to pull away, struggling to breathe as his grip on your hair tightened, but he held you in place, forcing you to endure the sensation until he was satisfied. Finally, he released you, and you gasped for air, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Spencer looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and dominance. "Good girl," he said again, reaching down to stroke your hair gently. "I think you've learned your lesson."

Spencer helped you stand up, his eyes drifting to your knees he knew they were going to be bruised in the morning. “Now I think I should let you come now, huh princess.”

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patchs-curiosity-corner · 2 days ago

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“You look different…”

“Your eyes look tired…”

[If I wrote the post-prison Spencer x Wife Reader fanfic would you guys read it? Because I can’t stop thinking about it. The song is just so Spencer coded…]

#spencer reid #criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #post prison spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x wife!reader #songfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #hurt/comfort anyone? 👀#spencer reid angst #would you fall in love with me again?#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #Spotify

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mmickeygeee · 2 days ago

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The creature

Spencer Reid doodle lol

#artists on tumblr #small artist #art #criminal minds #criminal minds fanart #criminal minds fandom #art comms open #spencer reid #spencer reid fanart #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #mgg fanart #autism creature #the creature

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ltgubler · 2 days ago

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Behind closed doors. | s.r. |

pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

word count: 1.1k

summary: forbidden relationship, secrets, college professor x student.

The dim light of the hallway was guiding your path down to his office; the darkness of night covered every window, there wasn't a soul around to hear the sound of your steps echoing, or maybe that echo was the beating of your heart chiming like clockwork in your eardrums.

His office door was slightly open, an orange hue of light casting from the lamp sitting at his desk. It was that familiar sight of the previous moment to get to his arms. With a soft knock to announce yourself you stepped in, closing the door behind you.

"Hi." —you said with the shy voice you always have when you see him, something that has become inevitable. He raised his head from the pile of papers on top of his desk. As you looked at him you dissected every tiny detail: the frame of his glasses delicately resting on the bridge of his nose, the loose tie around his neck, that soft rebel curl that always fells down over his forehead, the blue ink stains on his hands.

"Did anyone see you?" —he asked you as you dropped your bag and walked to him. The rules have been crystal clear since this started, no one can see you, no one can find out.

The first time it happened was on accident, pure coincidence, right place, right time, and definitely right person. There wasn't any scenario were this was going to end up well, everything was at risk. His job, his reputation, your scholarship, everything you two worked so hard to get, to achieve; in a blink of an eye you could lose everything, but neither him nor you seemed to care.

"The building was empty, kind of creepy actually." —you pointed out, standing beside him, waiting for his touch. His arm strongly wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his embrace.

"I missed you, my classes are dull since you finished my course." —he confessed as he sat you on his lap, his nose ghosted over the skin of your shoulder. –"No one comes close to your brain, you know?"

His words were music to your ears, the way he praised you was what got you into this, into him.

"I don't think that's fair for your new students." —A soft little laugh escaped his lips.

"Maybe not, but I couldn't care less about them." —You raised your eyebrows, surprised. –"No, I mean... Of course I care about them. I just miss you." —he breathed out, defeated.

"I missed you too, by the way." — you confession made him squeez you tighter. As his chin rested on you shoulder, his nose buried on your hair, you couldn't stop yourself from wondering. –"Do you think this could have a happy ending?" —your words hung on the air for a little too long.

"I don't know." —he finally responded. His fingers traced loose patterns over your thigh, his mind trying to put together something to say, something that could make both of you feel better. –"It's hard picturing the future... We been living day by day, why would we be worried about something we can't control?" —His words fell heavy on the pit of your stomach, the uncertainty, the empty promises. Risking it all for something he couldn't project forward.

"Then why are we doing this?" —your voice broke the silence that flooded his office. –"If you don't see a future with me, why do you keep me around?" –his demeanor shifter, his body tensed up.

"That's not what I mean, not at all." —he leaned back on his chair, his hands still on you, but it felt like he was taking distance, even if you where still sitting on his lap. –"I want to see a future with you, believe me. But that future feels far away, and I don't want to lose what we have now."

"What we have is a secret, Spencer." —your words hit him. His eyes scanned your face, trying to read you. –"Is it worth it risking everything? I could lose it all, I'm in constant fear of being caught, and I'm not only scared about me, I am for you too. This job is your life, and in the blink of an eye everything can crumble down..."

"Please... Please don't." —his whispered words made you stop, his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer. Your forehead rested on his, his breath warm against your skin. –"Maybe I can't face the fact that I'm terrified, I can't imagine losing you, my love. The idea of not having you is devastating. I can't picture my mornings without you, not waking up to the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of your laughter." —the worry in your eyes made him realize that everything he thought was wrong, there wasn't a single scenario in his head where you weren't a part of. After the longest pause he spoke again, putting you at ease. –"I guess I am picturing a future with you, because the sole idea of being without you is making my heart ache."

It felt genuine, it felt real, it felt right. You felt yourself melting into his embrace, your body fitting against his like two puzzle pieces that belonged together. His lips ghosted over yours, leaving you craving for more that just a caress of them.

"___, I love you more than words can describe, for you I would risk everything, because there's nothing left for me if there's no you." —his words were pure, a raw emotion that came straight from his heart, aiming for yours. "And if I have to prove myself to you, I'll do it."

"You don't have to prove anything." –your soft, vulnerable whisper made his heart skip a beat.

"Wrong. I have to prove everything, because how are you gonna know that I love you if I keep quiet." –there was a hint of playfulness in his voice.

"Knowing that you love me is enough." —he could feel his heart beating faster at your words.

"Then I'll keep telling you until you get tired of me, but please, don't get tired of me." —there was a vulnerability he never showed before.

"I promise I won't get tired." —he smiled and buried his face on the crook of your neck.

The silence grew for a moment, comfortable and warm, no words were needed after that confession, nothing else to say. You closed your eyes as you sat comfortable on him, the place where you belong.

"I love you, ___" —he whispered and you knew there was no turning back now.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fandom #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #my fic #fanfic #one shot #forbidden love #professor x student

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reidmarieprentiss · 1 day ago

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First Time For Everything

Summary: Spencer is worried he isn't experienced enough for you; you're glad he hasn't made a move yet.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, mild angst, suggestive content (16+)

Warnings/Includes: virgin Spencer, talks of virginity, past of being used for sex, everyone is insecure, Derek being the best wingman

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: oh to not be used for sex ... i wish baby

main masterlist

"Hey, Morgan, can I talk to you about something?" Spencer asks as he slides into the seat across from Derek on the jet.

Derek puts his phone down, glancing up at him. They're the first and only ones on board so far. "Yeah, kid, what's up?"

Spencer hesitates for a second before shrugging. "Well… I started seeing someone."

"Aye, Reid, good for you!" Derek grins, leaning over the table to give Spencer a light punch on the shoulder.

"Ha, thanks…" Spencer chuckles, rubbing at the spot where Derek hit. His amusement fades as he shifts in his seat.

Derek immediately notices the change in his demeanor and furrows his brows. "Is there something wrong with her… or him?"

"No… it's just that—" Spencer exhales, hesitating before shaking his head. "No, it's fine. Never mind. Pretend I didn't mention it."

"Pretty boy, don't be like that," Derek presses, leaning in slightly. "Come on, talk to me."

Spencer takes a deep breath before starting again. "It's just… I think she's more… sexually advanced than me," he mumbles, his face flushing as he drops his gaze down the aisle.

Derek raises an eyebrow, barely holding back a smirk. "Ohhh," he drags out the sound, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. "So, what, she got you out here feeling like a rookie, huh?"

Spencer groans and rubs his face with both hands. "I don't know, I just— I feel like she knows so much more than I do in that… department, and I don't want to disappoint her." His voice drops to a whisper, his fingers still covering his face.

Derek chuckles, shaking his head. "Reid, man, first off, if she's with you, she's obviously into you for more than just that. You think she's keeping score or something?"

Spencer peeks at him through his fingers before lowering his hands and sending Derek an unamused look. "Thanks."

"Come on, kid, you know what I mean," Derek says, rolling his eyes.

Spencer sighs, still looking incredibly uncomfortable. "I mean… maybe not exactly keeping score, but she just—she's confident. She's comfortable in her own skin, and I feel like… I don't know. I might not meet her expectations."

"Do you think she has expectations? Have you talked to her about it?" Derek asks, his tone calm but probing.

Spencer shrugs. "She knows she wasn't my first kiss."

"Alright, Reid." Derek leans forward, resting his elbows on the table between them. "You don't have to answer, but just know—I'm not judging."

Spencer shifts uncomfortably. "Okay…"

Derek tilts his head slightly, watching him. "Are you a virgin?"

Spencer's entire face ignites in a deep, burning flush. He feels the heat creep down his neck, his ears practically throbbing. He lets out a humorless laugh, looking away toward the jet window. "Yeah," he admits, his voice quieter than before.

Derek lets out a low whistle, nodding thoughtfully. "Okay, I hear you. You're worried you ain't got enough experience to keep up with her."

Spencer exhales, relieved that Derek actually understands. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Does she know that? Did you tell her you're a virgin?" Derek asks, his voice still even, not pushing too hard.

"No," Spencer mutters, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Derek questions again, still using that gentle tone, not teasing, just curious.

Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's embarrassing, man," he grumbles. "I'm 27 years old."

Derek watches him with an understanding expression. "Reid, come on. Nothing is embarrassing about that. It's not a race."

Spencer waves him off, ready to drop the whole conversation, when Derek leans in slightly, his smirk softening into something more reassuring. "Listen, man, confidence doesn't come from experience alone. It comes from knowing what your partner likes and caring enough to make sure she's good. And trust me, if she likes you enough to be with you, she ain't thinking, 'Oh, I wish he had a little more experience under his belt.'" He pauses, then grins. "Pun intended."

Spencer groans again, looking like he wants to sink into the floor. "I walked right into that."

"You sure did, kid," Derek laughs. "But real talk, just talk to her. You're the communication expert, right? Women appreciate a guy who listens and actually cares about what they want. And besides, half of this stuff is about chemistry, not a résumé. You can't fake that."

Spencer nods slowly, considering his words. "Yeah… that makes sense."

Derek claps a hand on his shoulder. "Good. And hey, if you ever need some pointers, I'm happy to—"

"I'm not having this conversation with you," Spencer interrupts quickly, shaking his head.

Derek throws his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright! Just know I got you, kid."

Spencer huffs a small laugh, finally looking a little less mortified. "Thanks, Morgan. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, Pretty Boy. I'm always game to talk about your sex life." Derek smirks, grabbing his phone again.

Spencer groans, covering his face once more. "I never should have said anything."

"Said anything about what?" Emily asks as she and Hotch step onto the jet, both of them pausing near the entrance as they take in the scene before them.

Spencer immediately stiffens, his face still burning from the conversation. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to be deeply interested in the clouds outside the window.

On the other hand, Derek just smirks, leaning back in his seat. "Nothing, Prentiss. Just giving the kid some sage advice."

Emily raises a skeptical brow, exchanging a glance with Hotch, who looks equally unimpressed but chooses not to engage. "Uh-huh," she says slowly, clearly not buying it.

Spencer clears his throat, desperate to change the subject. "How was the debrief?"

Emily lets it slide for now, but the amused suspicion in her eyes lingers. "Long," she says, dropping into a seat across from them. "And now I'm even more curious about whatever it is you're talking about."

—

When the team returned from the case, the first thing Spencer did—before even stepping inside his apartment—was call you. He didn't care that he was exhausted, that the case had drained him in ways he didn't want to think about right now. He just wanted to hear your voice, to know you were there.

He barely let the door shut behind him before pulling out his phone and dialing your number without hesitation. The call barely rang twice before you picked up.

"Hey," you greeted softly, the warmth in your voice immediately settling something restless inside him.

Spencer let out a breath he was holding, his body sagging against the doorframe. "Hey," he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. "I just— I just wanted to hear your voice."

You were quiet for a second, and then he heard the familiar sound of rustling sheets. "Are you okay?"

He huffed a small, tired laugh. "Yeah, just… long case."

"You want to come over?" you asked, and God, did he ever.

"Yeah," he admitted, already toeing off his shoes, his body running on nothing but muscle memory and the need to be near you. "Yeah, I do."

"Aww, Spence, you sound exhausted. Do you want to come over tomorrow instead?"

He knows you're probably just being considerate, that you're thinking about how drained he must be after the case. But he can't help how his stomach twists, quiet insecurity creeping in before he can push it away.

Maybe you don't want to see him. Maybe you're not as eager for him as he is for you.

His fingers tighten around the phone, and he swallows hard, forcing himself to keep his voice even. "Oh—uh, yeah. Yeah, if that's better for you," he says, trying to sound casual, but he knows he's not fooling anyone.

"Spencer," you say gently, and he hates that you can probably hear everything he's trying not to say. "I just don't want you running on fumes. You need to rest."

"I know," he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I just—I wanted to see you."

There's a pause, and then your voice softens even more. "Do you want me to come to you?"

His lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the offer. "You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to," you cut in before he can finish. "But do you want me to?"

Spencer exhales, tension slipping from his shoulders. "Yeah," he admits, quieter this time. "I do."

"Then I'm on my way."

When you arrived at Spencer's apartment, it was as if the entire atmosphere shifted the moment you stepped through the door. The weight of the case, the exhaustion pressing down on him, the restless energy that had been buzzing under his skin—it all faded, dissolving in the quiet comfort of your presence.

Everything felt calmer with you around.

Especially when you were in his arms.

The second he pulled you close, it was like his body finally understood it could relax. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly against him, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he let out a slow, tired breath. The tension in his muscles melted away, his heartbeat slowing to match the steady rhythm of yours.

"You okay?" you murmured, your hands running gently along his back, grounding him even further.

"Yeah," he whispered against your skin. "Now I am."

You held him a little tighter like you understood exactly what he needed without him having to say a word. And for the first time in what felt like days, Spencer felt like he could breathe again.

"How do you do that?" Spencer murmured into your shoulder, his voice soft, laced with something vulnerable.

"Do what?" you asked, fingers threading through his hair, gently combing through the strands. You felt him sigh against you, his body sinking further into yours like he was trying to memorize the feeling. He loved when you did that.

"Make the world seem less scary," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your hands stilled for just a moment before resuming their soothing motions. His words settled deep in your chest, wrapping around your heart, filling you with warmth and something almost indescribable.

You kissed the side of his head, letting your lips linger there for a second longer than necessary. "Because I'm big, bad and scary," you murmured.

Spencer couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up before he could stop it. He pulled back just enough to look at you, still grinning, and was met with your own wide, goofy smile. The kind of smile that made his chest feel too tight, his heart pounding just a little harder than it should.

And then he realized—this was it.

This was the moment.

With your hips pressed together, your gorgeous smile beaming up at him, and your dreamy eyes shining with amusement and something softer beneath them, Spencer suddenly remembered the second piece of advice Derek had given him.

"You just gotta be confident, walk in there, and lay it on her."

For all his intelligence and ability to recall and analyze even the most minute details, Spencer had never quite mastered confidence when it came to things like this. But as he stood there, looking at you, feeling the warmth of your body against his, he thought—maybe he could try.

He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching against your waist before he finally spoke, voice just a little unsteady but full of intent.

"Then I guess I should just... lay it on you, huh?"

Your smile faltered for half a second, your eyes widening slightly, and that reaction alone made his breath catch in his throat. Because for the first time, he saw something shift in your expression—something knowing, something new, something that made him want to follow through.

He didn't overthink it this time.

The moment Spencer leaned in, the rest of the world faded away. The second his lips met yours, it was like a spark ignited between you, something electric and all-consuming.

The kiss started slow and hesitant as if Spencer were still testing the waters. But something inside him shifted, and his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you impossibly closer.

Time became irrelevant.

The kiss deepened, turning from something careful into something desperate, something that felt like it had been waiting to happen for far too long. His hands moved up your back, fingertips pressing into you like he was afraid you'd slip away if he let go.

Spencer was about to try something new—maybe slip his tongue past your lips, bite your lip, or something else entirely. The possibilities felt endless, thrilling, completely uncharted territory. But you pulled back just as he was about to take that step.

He blinked at you, still slightly dazed, lips parted as if he hadn't expected the moment to end so suddenly.

You sucked on your own lip shyly, your eyes darting up to his before dropping away again. Then you laughed—soft, a little awkward, a little hesitant. "Is that why you invited me over?"

Spencer furrowed his brows, still caught in the haze of what had just happened. "What?"

"Just horny, big guy?" you teased, but there was something off in your voice, something uncertain beneath the humor, something that made Spencer's stomach twist.

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. "What? No, no, Y/N, no. I missed you. Really." His voice was rushed, desperate to make you believe him. "I'm sorry—I don't know what got into me."

You nodded, lips pressing together as if trying to push down whatever you felt. "It's okay," you said lightly, though the weight in your eyes told him it wasn't just okay.

So much for trying new things.

Spencer let out a quiet breath, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling frustration—not at you, but at himself, at his own inability to navigate this without stumbling. "I didn't invite you over for that," he said again, softer this time like he was trying to erase any doubt you might have. "I just… I just wanted to be with you."

Your expression softened just a little, but the moment had already shifted, and the atmosphere no longer crackled with the same intensity as before. Spencer swallowed hard, unsure how to fix it or even if he could.

So instead, he did what he always did—he overthought, panicked internally, and, worst of all, let the silence stretch between you.

"You can go home if you want," Spencer sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't meet your eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere near the floor instead.

It felt like a knife twisting in your stomach. Your breath hitched as you stared at him, disbelief and hurt tightening your chest. "Wh-what? You want me to leave now? Because I wouldn't have sex with you?"

Your voice wavered despite the edge of anger creeping into it, but underneath it all was something much more painful—betrayal.

Spencer's heart dropped the second he heard the hurt in your voice.

His head snapped up, his eyes wide with panic. "What? No! No, Y/N, that's not what I meant," he rushed out, his words tripping over themselves in his desperation to fix what had just gone wrong. Y/N, I swear that is not it," he said, shaking his head frantically. That's not what I was saying."

"Then what were you saying, Spencer?" You searched his face, your voice steadier now but no less wounded.

Spencer inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the words. He felt like everything was spiraling, like no matter what he said now, he had already made you feel like you weren't wanted here.

And that was the last thing he wanted.

"I—I just thought maybe you felt uncomfortable," he admitted his voice quieter now, tinged with frustration at himself. "I didn't want you to feel pressured or—trapped here with me."

You stared at him, and for a second, neither of you spoke. The weight of the moment hung heavy between you.

"Spencer," you finally said, your voice softer than before, "if I felt uncomfortable, I would leave. You don't have to tell me I can go."

His heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

"I want to be here," you continued, stepping a little closer, searching his face for any sign that you weren't completely misreading everything. "I just… I don't want that to be the only reason you want me here."

Spencer's head snapped up, his eyes wide, filled with something close to panic. "It's not," he said quickly, shaking his head, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you but wasn't sure if he should. "God, Y/N, it's not. I swear."

"Okay," you murmured, offering him a small, hesitant smile.

Spencer let out a breath, his hands still fidgeting at his sides. "So… you're staying?"

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head but smiling wider now. "Yes, Spencer. I'm staying."

And just like that, the tension in the room began to dissolve.

"But we need to talk about this again later," you said, your voice gentle but firm. This wasn't something that could just be brushed aside, and you needed him to understand that.

Spencer nodded quickly, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly like he feared you'd change your mind and leave anyway. "Yeah," he agreed, swallowing hard. "We will. I promise."

You studied him for a second longer before sighing softly, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Okay," you murmured, letting the tension ease just enough to move forward, at least for tonight.

With that, the two of you headed to bed. Spencer climbed in beside you, hesitant at first, unsure if he should keep his distance after everything. But as soon as you nestled against him, your warmth pressing into his side, he exhaled deeply, finally letting himself relax.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just lying there in the quiet, feeling the rise and fall of each other's breaths.

And even though there was still a conversation to be had—still things to work through—at least for now, in this moment, you were here. And for Spencer, that was enough.

—

The next evening, after dinner, you curled up on Spencer's couch, your legs tucked beneath you as you turned to face him. He was clearly tense, hands clasped between his knees, and his eyes flickered toward you and away again.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself before you spoke. "I just want to start by saying I do believe you," you said, watching the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. "I know you didn't invite me over just for sex. And I'm really grateful for you, Spencer. You have no idea."

His brows knitted together, his head tilting slightly. "Grateful?"

You nodded, your fingers twisting together in your lap. "I've been in relationships before where… that's all I was. Where the second I wasn't giving them what they wanted, I wasn't worth their time anymore." You swallowed, looking down for a second before meeting his gaze again. "So, to finally be with someone who isn't just using me for sex? It means a lot to me."

Spencer's face softened, something aching in his expression as he shifted slightly closer. "Y/N… I would never do that to you," he said earnestly, his voice thick with emotion. "I—I don't even know how to be that kind of person. I just…" He let out a breath, shaking his head. "I messed up. I moved too fast and made you feel like that's all I wanted, even when it wasn't true. And I hate that I made you feel that way."

You exhaled slowly, nodding. "I know you didn't mean to," you admitted. "But Spencer, sex is… complicated for me. I can't separate it from how I've been treated in the past. So when things escalated like that, I panicked."

His jaw clenched, guilt flashing across his face. "I should have been paying more attention to your feelings instead of just going with the moment."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours, feeling the tension in his fingers before he relaxed against you. "I just need you to understand that it's not that I don't want you," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "I do. But I need to go at a pace that doesn't make me feel like I'm just… filling a role, you know?"

Spencer nodded, his grip tightening slightly. "I understand. And I—I want to do this right with you." He swallowed hard, his voice quieter now. "You're not just anyone to me, Y/N. I don't want to do anything that makes you doubt that."

You felt your heart swell at his words, at the sincerity in his voice, and at the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Spencer smiled softly, his fingers lacing through yours. "I just want to be with you."

Your chest warmed, and you felt completely, undeniably safe.

"I want to be with you too," you said softly, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you cuddled closer, letting your body melt into his.

Spencer exhaled, his arm tightening around you instinctively like he never wanted to let you go. He rested his head on top of yours, his breath tickling your hair. For a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing, the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync.

Then, after a brief pause, he spoke. "I need to tell you one more thing."

You tilted your head slightly, your fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against his chest. "What's up, Spence?"

He hesitated, his grip on you flexing ever so slightly before he finally said it. "I'm a virgin."

You froze momentarily, processing his words, before you pulled back slightly to look at him. His face was already tinged pink, his gaze flickering away like he expected you to react a certain way—like he wasn't sure if you'd be surprised or disappointed.

But you weren't either of those things.

Instead, you smiled, gently kissing his cheek and guiding his eyes back to yours. "Spencer," you murmured, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone, "that doesn't change anything for me."

His brows furrowed slightly. "It doesn't?"

You shook your head, your smile softening. "Not even a little. It just makes me feel even luckier to be the person you want to experience that with whenever you're ready."

Spencer swallowed, his throat bobbing as he took in your words, letting them settle into the quiet, insecure part of him that had been holding onto that secret for so long. Finally, he exhaled, a small, relieved smile ghosting over his lips.

"You really mean that?" he asked, almost shyly.

You nodded, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to his lips. "Of course I do."

And when you pulled back, Spencer was still blushing—but now, it wasn't out of embarrassment.

It was love. And maybe a bit of lust.

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le0ni318 · 3 days ago

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using Reid as incentive for my friends to watch criminal minds

#spencer reid #i love you spencer reid #i need him #mgg #criminal minds #dr spencer reid

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zummmii · 6 hours ago

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Calls | S.R

Pairing: S1!Spencer Reid X Reader (use of yn, kinda had to)

Summary: After years of not calling Spencer shows up at your police department to help with a case, you avoid eachother until you can’t.

Wc: 2.5k (wow)

Warnings: Kidnapping, victim gets burned alive, murder by gun, weapons, death, sassy Spencer, the case they are working on is heavily influenced by Hannibal Season 1 Episode 4, ‘Oeuf’, not proof read

The bullpen flooded with life, with officers running in and out with new insights connected to the biggest case in the precinct. The case was a big one, in fact it was the biggest one since Gacy, or better known as The Killer Clown.

But with it being a big case, the media breathing down the Police Departments neck, and the public panicking about their safety, it brought in the professionals. Which you would have been fine with, you had no problem with the FBI, you had no problem with profilers.

You only had a problem with him. And it was quite obvious he had a problem with you too.

It’s not that you left each other on a bad note, because you did, but that is not the point. You and Spencer go way back, all the way to Nevada where you were both well into your late teens, doing stupid teenager things without thinking. But despite a few moments that were spent with little to no thought you had no intention to be friends or even friendly towards each other. Though towards the end of your school years you both vowed to keep in touch.

Spencer was always better than you, always one up-ing you, and making sure to rub it into your face as much as he possibly could. You always let him, his mom was too nuts to acknowledge his achievements and his dad- well you never actually met his dad. So you figured he just wanted someone to listen to him.

Though that’s not what annoyed you when he walked into the bullpen, his team in front of him as he tailed in, head down and reading a pamphlet in his hands which he would have picked up from the entrance of the PD.

It was the fact he acted like he didn’t even know you. You’d sent a small smile his way but he just put his head down and gave his undivided attention to, who you’d learnt to be, Agent Gideon. But before you could think too deep into his ignorance and start overthinking about what you may have done in the past 7 years to cause this, your attention was snatched by a police officer.

You follow the crowd, taking a spot in a secluded space in the back, note book tucked into your arm, pen tapping aimlessly against the pages. Since you were one of the higher ups in the precinct you were allowed to take part in the pre-discussion where the unit chief talks to the higher ups before briefing the rest of the department, which in this instance, is The BAU.

But still, since the brief awkward awakening of your previous interaction with your childhood anti-nemesis you chose to keep your distance. Standing off the side seemed to be the best option, the notebook in your grip containing the basic evidence you’d gathered yourself.

In the case a series of family murders had taken place. Two families were found murdered, both with the mothers killed last and the only link between the families is that they both have sons who have been on the missing persons list for approximately a year.

In your notes you’d written down that there are at least four murderers, which the BAU already know, from which you can hear. But you believe at least three of them are children, boys. But that’s all you know so far, what else could you know?

What you did know, the one leading this, the one in charge, is a woman. A mother like figure.

“-I think we’re ready to deliver the profile.” Agent Gideon nodded, his hands placed firmly on the desk in front of him as he hunched over it. His voice held a confidence you couldn’t identify.

Your Unit Chief holds a single finger up, his chubby fingers wrapping around the top of your note book, pulling it out your grasp with a satisfied sigh when he sees the page it’s open on filled with scribbled handwriting. “Just a second agent, please.” The fake pride in his voice filled your ears with a ringing sound. “This is Y/n L/n, our detective in- well, everything.” He shrugged, flicking through the pages until he reached the sub title: Profile.

Feeling all eyes on you, you shift on your feet, hands finding their way to your pockets to hide the facts you wanted to pick at your nails until there were none left out of pure awkward anxiety. You give a small nod, your lips pulled into a tight lined smile.

The group before you were rather intimidating, all well known within the police and federal department of the jobs of the world. Agent Gideon and his genius in profiling. Agent Hotchner ability to negotiate with anyone he wanted. Derek Morgan’s speciality in obsessive behaviours. And then Spencer. You didn’t think much of him anymore, which is the decision you’d thought of out of pure petty-ness in the past 22 hours.

Agent Gideon only stands up straight, his hands coming up to fold across his chest as his eyes land on you in the corner of the room, having only just noticed you. “Huh.” He murmurs, turning to his side to look at Spencer who only shrugs.

Your unit chief hands over the note book. “Uh, there may be a few things in there you might find-“

“Why don’t we let Agent L/n tell us?” A straight forward voice broke through the unit chiefs voice, the familiarity in it breaking past the ringing that echoed in your ears. Spencer held a dismissive expression as he stared at the chief, hands clasped together in front of him.

Taken a back the chief simply closes his mouth and nods, taking a step back.

As your eyes land on Spencer you want to throw something at him. He comes in here pretending he doesn’t know you, and then defends you, against your boss?

Before your eyes could speak for you and glare with a tone that would only say hateful words Spencer turned his neck to look down at the notebook in Agent Gideon’s hands.

“It’s not much, really.” You mumble, but the words fall under deaf ears as a phone starts ringing. Morgan flicks a phone out his pocket and holds it up to his mouth with a soft sigh. “Garcia, baby girl, please tell me something I want to hear”

Looking down you shift on your feet. “You are a statuesque god of sculpted chocolate thunder?” A voice on the other end of the phone replied within a beta of a second, not a smidge of hesitation in her tone.

Your head shot up, your eyes surprisingly finding Spencer’s but instead of your shocked expression he simply shook his head and gently took the note book from Agent Gideon’s hands. He joined you at your side, placing the note book on the table in front of you both. “What makes you think it’s children?”

Looking down at where his finger was pointing you pull up a small smile, fake but still you put on your best efforts. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Genius.” The words left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

But Spencer only sighed, straightening his lips into a thin line of disappointment. He opened his mouth to reply but was quickly cut off by a sharp whistle. “She talks.” Morgan grins placing the phone on the table.

Agent Gideon looks up to the Chief. “If you don’t mind we would like to talk further into the case with Agent L/n for a few moments.” He said with an assertive tone. As if he was telling and not asking.

The Chief could do no more than nod, put his head down, and walk out, having burnt out his 20 minutes of fame.

As the door clicked close behind him the same voice from the phone sparked again. “Okay so who was snappy-snaper-son and why are they angry at our Boy Wonder?”

“Garcia.” Hotch grumbled from the sidelines, rubbing the side of his head in irritation.

There was a beat of silence before the voice spoke again. “Right, sorry, okay. Whoever you are, I like your fire. I’m Penelope Garcia, technical analysts, but my friends call me wonderful.” She spoke, again flawlessly. Her bubbly voice just made you swell and forget about the anger you held for the lanky boy who stood shoulder to shoulder beside you, his eyes focused on the notebook you had.

spencer now wasn’t your top thought, this random lady on the phone was. And all you could think about was getting to meet her and trash talking Spencer or anyone you please with her.

“Anyway, I got a video in, I sent it to you all. A convenience store just 15 miles from the last crime scene. The footage pretty much explains itself. Three boys, one woman.” As the mysterious woman on the other end of the phone, Penelope Garcia, continued further into her description Spencer’s stare only bored further into the side of your head.

“Poor boy looked terrified.” Garcia’s frown can be heard through the phone.

After the phone hung up with a few flirtatious words spewing from Morgan’s mouth like impulse all attention was on you, most importantly Spencer.

“How did you know that?” He demands, placing the note book down on the desk again.

You squint your eyes at him, every bit of dislike spiking back up and bubbling over like a boiling pot left on the stove at maximum heat for too long. “Okay.” The word leaves your mouth quietly and you turn to look down at your notes. “Two family murders, two missing boys. In both crime scenes the mothers are left till last and shot in the forehead: instant kill.” Your explanation starts off brief, the entire room going quiet as they listen to you. “The mother dies last, like some sort of ritual goodbye. But in the first family murder the body of Scott Wilkins was found in the fire place. The fourth ‘Lost boy’.” You use air quotes.

“Miss Wilkins was shot twice, once in the thigh and once in the head. I just.. guessed. The execution shot was the Unsub, Scott didn’t step up to the plate to kill his mother and take the Unsub on as his new mother so she killed him too. Left him behind. And since that footage came in, the only family left is 10 year old, Graham Lester’s, 30 miles away from the last crime scene. They’re probably already there.”

Spencer only nods slowly, the silence of the room crowding in comfortable understanding as everyone takes in what you just said. You fidget with your fingers in front of you.

Agent Hotchner sighs. “Well, you just single handedly solved the entire case.” He says flatly, though you could hear an undertone of respect.

With a nod of agreement Agent Gideon turns to you as well. “We’ll still give out a quick profile, and then we’ll set out to stop the next murder.” He looked around for agreement and received firm nods from everyone.

The door opened and a woman with dark hair poked her head in. “We’re getting impatient out here.” She says, a cool atmosphere holding her to the loud voices of awaiting officers in the office.

Everyone except Reid joined her outside, leaving just the two of you in the conference room alone. The silence was now unbearable. The boy who once knew everything about you, won’t even look at you.

His eyes stayed glued to the notebook, as if looking anywhere else would shatter the resistance in the room around you both.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you shake your head. “What happened to yeah I’ll call?” You murmur, a sharp edge covering your words.

He winced internally, he never meant to stop calling, he wanted to stay friends and possibly become more than that, but he pussied out. "I got caught up with the job," he finally admitted, eyes still refusing to meet yours.

You almost scoff, the calling system had worked so well for a year, and then he slowly starts to deteriorate into never calling again. Maybe a message on Christmas or your birthday. But, other than that, he won’t pick up.

“Is that it?” Your words become heavier with years worth of regret and anger seething beneath you into one big ball of pure emotion. “That’s all you have to say? It was the job? Because I thought we were doing fine. It was working.”

You didn’t take a step back and instead stayed where you were, staring up at him, shoulder to shoulder. “It’s a bad excuse.” He admits quietly, not having the courage to break the silence with a louder voice.

“It’s a-“ You pause, trying to summon the right words, your hands coming up to his chest the shove him away. “Shitty, that’s what it is.”

Though Spencer didn’t argue all he did was slowly take ahold of your fighting hands, holding b them in his own. “Very, very shitty. But now is not the time to tell me off, Y/n. We’re working.” He states with a shit eating grin and a teasing tone, bringing his face down to yours. “Time and a place.” He whispers.

All words leave your mind and you stare at him in disbelief. You try to hoard any words you can to make any sentence, but you can’t. Not when he’s this close, not when his cologne is invading every sense available. Spencer’s hands hold your own so gently you feel almost numb. You feel stupid for calling his excuse shitty, even though it was.

The door opened and your hands place firm enough to Spencer’s chest to shove him away, acting as if you weren’t invading eachother personal space like it was a normal Tuesday. It was Agent Hotchner. “Reid, Agent L/n, we’ve delivered the profile. Please Prepare to head out to the Lesters.” Agent Hotchner gave a firm nod as he spoke, reminding you both that you were in the middle of a case.

“We’ll be right out.” Spencer nods, holding a shirt thumbs up and offering a curt nod.

Agent Hotchner nods towards Spencer and turns his attention towards you. “The BAU’s Media Liaison will be in touch. Please don’t shy away from replying.” A ghost of a rare smile splashed across his lips before he disappeared again.

Standing in stunned silence you let out a huffed hum. Not sure whether to be jumping with joy or crying out of pure overwhelming emotion. “Why are you always so moody? You should be squealing.”

And just like that, within seconds your eyes widened. “Do not make me slap you in front do all those people out there.” You motion to all the officers outside in the bullpen.

Though Spencer only shrugged and walked past you, his hands running over the lower half of your back as he did. “Okay.”

Maybe you did just get offered a job, maybe you will actually get to meet that Mystery Garcia lady, or maybe Spencer is a forever asshole. Regardless, you take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand, you can deal with him later, now is not the time

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #season 1 reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid x reader #fem!reader #fem reader #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #x reader #sassy reid

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