#Spencer Reid x (Y/N)

[nereidprinc3ss]

in infinite universes

in which spencer reid picks up uni!reader from a party. you're drunk, and he's in love with you

fluff:) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, university!reader x professor!spencer but you're not his student, unspecified age gap, um statistic about deaths from drunk driving, spencer is a nerd a/n: this is accidentally so romantic I'm gonna puke

The night is chilly—a still, dry type of cold that comes before snowfall. It’s quiet, like the world is preparing for that heavy blanket of white. Even the pounding bass from the frat house doesn’t make it very far before falling flat at the end of the yard. By the time Spencer gets you to his car down the block, it’s a thready pulse. 

“Thanks for walking me,” you say, giving him a saccharine smile as he opens the passenger door for you. His scoff is a thick white cloud, crystallizing against cold, shining skin, slightly pinkened from the temperature. Spencer is glowing like a star tonight. You don’t know if it’s the blurriness from the alcohol in your system smudging the edges of him, or if it’s just that incandescent halo that always seems to follow him around.

“You know I wasn’t going to let you walk down frat row by yourself at one in the morning.”

You pout and look up at him, leaning close. 

“So you don’t want me to say thank you?” 

Spencer’s mouth is curved in absent-minded affection as he takes advantage of the opportunity to study you up close with darting eyes, entertaining your girlish flirtation, and you in turn get to admire the starlit flush of his cheeks, the way his hair falls around his face and thick eyelashes frame irises that could melt ice. You’re not entirely conscious of the huge grin that cracks open your face, but you suspect its presence when his own lips part, still smiling, like he’s maybe going to say something sweet. Or teasing. 

“You’re drunk.”

At this absolute and unarguable truth, you frown. He’s grinning now as he adjusts the thick scarf around your neck, shielding your ears and neck further from the chill that the open car door can’t block. 

“No I’m not.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and before you can process it he’s leaning down, so of course your eyes are going to flutter shut and of course you’re going to kiss him back. The gentle ferocity of it only has you stumbling in place a little bit, and he steadies you with hands around your waist. It’s over entirely too soon. You blink up at him, your shock and fluster betrayed by the visible huff of air dispelled as soon as he pulls away. He’s smiling even wider now. Vindicated. Eyes sparkling. “Gin? Wow. You are drunk.”

It takes you a moment longer than it usually would to decipher how he figured this out. 

“So you just kissed me to prove your theory right?”

The sparkling satisfaction from his indictment softens around his eyes. 

“I knew you were drunk when you almost fell down the stairs a minute ago. The kiss was purely selfish.”

“It’s icy,” you defend, and your heart flutters as he comes in for another kiss. It’s soft and still shockingly deep for being on the street, where anyone could see—although everyone smart is inside, and anyone else is too drunk to care that his mouth is open against yours and the heat of it is translating deep in your stomach. You’re dizzy by the time he laughs quietly against you. 

“What college student is pounding gin and tonics at a frat party?”

The thick wool of his coat bunches under your searching fingers. 

“Me,” you whisper. “I was classing up the joint.”

The final kiss he presses to your lips is sweeter and half smile. “Drunk.”

The murmured accusation shouldn’t make you feel so giddy. Maybe it’s all the gin. 

“Not.”

Another little chuckle warms the tip of your nose and your lips as he breathes it out.

“So you’re good to drive us home?”

You itch to kiss him again, but instead, you respond, “One person dies every thirty nine minutes in America from drunk driving.”

“Good job. You passed.”

The praise is accompanied by a thumb rubbing at your hip through denim. He probably thought you weren’t listening when he’d spouted that particular statistic a few hours ago. 

“Do I get a gold star?”

He kisses your head. 

“We’ll see. Get in.”

On the way home, that last shot hits you. You slump down in your seat and hide your face in your hands. 

“Oh, Spencer. I’m… I’m drunk.”

You feel him glancing at you before he sets a concerned hand on your thigh. 

“You okay?”

Morosely you nod. 

“Yeah. I took a shot with this… Delta Phi Epsilon guy, right before you got there. I wasn’t gonna, but he was like, no, you have to! And now I realize that was dumb.”

Spencer’s hand finds the back of your head, stroking your hair. 

“Do you know what I’m going to say about frat boys pressuring you to drink?”

“It wasn’t like that. He was really nice.”

“I’m sure he was,” Spencer says dryly. “Lots of men become really nice when they think they might have something to gain.”

“I thought he was gay!” You laugh, uncovering your face. “Sorry, dad. I won’t drink alcohol or talk to boys anymore.”

Spencer makes a face and you know you’ve successfully traded pounds of flesh. 

“If you call me dad again I’m making you take an abnormal psych class.”

You give him a lazy smile which he only takes his eyes off the road for a few seconds to admire. 

“I’d take abnormal psych if you were my professor.”

That perpetual upturn at the corners of his perfect mouth flickers wider. 

“Wow. Does gin make you sexually frustrated?”

“It makes me lazy. The professor-student thing is really low hanging fruit.”

“Yeah, it is. You know I’ll expect better material from you once you’ve sobered up.”

You sigh and let your head loll to the front again, studying the tunneling road through the windshield. A few flakes slash the headlights. Your mind wanders. You don’t bother reeling it in. 

“I’m really glad I’m not your student. I’d have the worst crush on you.”

Spencer casts you another side-long glance before adjusting the rear-view mirror. 

“You don’t have a crush on me now?”

“Of course I do. But you like me back. If I was your student you’d never look at me like that. I would just have to pine after you and fall in deep unrequited love like all your other female students.”

He hums skeptically. 

“I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t imagine not being in love with you.”

“There are universes where you’re not. There are infinite realities where I am your student and you don’t like me back and you’re dating other girls who aren’t me and you’re saying this exact stuff to them.”

“True. There are also infinite realities where I find you and I fall in love with you.” Spencer reaches over again, taking your hand and settling them, joined, in your lap. “For each trillionth of a billionth of a second of the life I’ve lived thus far, there are infinite universes which exist solely so I can fall in love with you in a new way. Over and over again. There’s not a choice I could make in any timeline, or in any universe, that doesn’t lead an infinite number of me’s to an infinite number of you’s.” 

The engine hums. The tires roll. 

Other than that—it’s dead silent. 

Because how could he ever expect anyone to respond to that?

You slink low in your seat and bring his hand to cradle your face, warm against your cheek. 

“I hate you,” you mumble. Spencer strokes your jaw absentmindedly, not at all concerned by your dramatics. 

“You hate me? I just said I love you.”

“No, you did not. You said th—I don’t even wanna call it romantic. Romantic doesn’t—I don’t even know what that was. You can’t just say things like that, Spencer! You can’t just casually say stuff like that to me, and especially not when I’m drunk, because I’m gonna start crying!” 

The last word pitches up and perfectly illustrates your point as tears begin to roll down your cheeks—still nipped by the cold. 

Spencer quickly pulls the car off to the side of the abandoned road. 

He’s all affection as he twists to face you and take your face in his hands properly, thumbing away tears. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“You j-just love me so much,” you sob.

“Yes,” Spencer laughs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I do. I love you so much. I didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart.”

“You—you don’t even realize, that you said the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to anyone, and you love me more than anyone’s ever loved anyone, and—and—”

You cut yourself off with another hot wave of tears and a shuddering cry. 

“Oh, my girl,” Spencer coos through an adoring little laugh as he pushes hair out of your face. “You are so drunk, baby. Come here.”

You let him undo your buckle and pull you across the console-less seat (thank you, vintage car) into his arms. For a minute or two you can hardly speak, crying into the warmth of his jacket as he holds you. 

Eventually, you manage to raise your head and pull back enough to look at him. Immediately he’s assessing you with those soft eyes, watching how you wipe away whatever tears didn’t soak into his clothing. Under his watchful gaze, you exhale a sniffing laugh. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

It’s so immediate you’re knocked off balance again. “Well—you were just being nice, and I—”

“I do love you more than anyone has ever loved anyone.”

Usually, you dislike being interrupted. 

In this instance, you’ll let it slide. 

It’s simply too earnest, too honest as his eyes dart between yours like he couldn’t contain it. Like you said it and the thought struck him right in the face—an obvious truth he hadn’t considered before. 

“In infinite universes?” You sniffle. 

“In infinite universes,” he agrees. 

Both of you notice the snow has started to come down outside. Over the course of a few silent minutes, it gets heavier and heavier—a soft hail, sheets of whispering white. 

You’ve never been afraid to break the silence with him. 

But maybe if you weren’t drunk you could keep your questions to yourself. 

“How many snowflakes are we looking at?”

Spencer hesitates, drawn from some kind of hypnosis. 

“Hard to be sure. Heavy snowfall like this could easily put us at six inches within the hour. In that case we’ve watched around point two inches fall. Visibility is probably reduced to about a quarter mile… point two inches across a square quarter mile is a hundred and seventeen thousand five hundred square feet of snow, average density of flakes at this temperature being about three kilograms per cubic foot of snow, and a snowflake weighs maybe… point zero zero zero zero zero two kilograms, so, roughly… very roughly… we’re looking at one hundred and forty two million snowflakes. That’s my best guess.”

You look up at him from where you’d been resting your head on his shoulder. 

“You’re the coolest person ever.”

He blushes. 

Tries to reply. 

Looks back out the window and huffs a nervous laugh, like you’ve flustered him. 

“Lots of people could do that. The math isn’t too complicated. It’s also probably wrong.”

A slow smile blossoms on your face. 

“You’re never wrong. So… what percentage of infinity is a hundred and forty two million?”

“Uh… undefined,” he laughs, looking back down at you. “But… in tangible terms, which is inherently contradictory because infinity is completely intangible, and actually pretty meaningless to mathematicians—more of a philosophical concept than a numerical one… it is a very small fraction. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t want philosophical,” you murmur, reaching up to graze your knuckles along his cheekbone. “I want hard numbers.”

He catches your hand and holds the tips of your fingers to his lips as he thinks, watching hundreds of millions of snowflakes falling from the wide black heavens through narrowed eyes. 

“A googol is written as a one followed by a hundred zeros, and a googolplex is a one followed by a googol of zeros. That’s the largest named number we have. It surpasses the estimated number of atoms in the universe. It’s too large to conceptualize. Mathematicians don’t really have any practical use for numbers above one trillion, but the largest number you’ll find in a dictionary and which might be formally accredited is a centillion, which is a one followed by three hundred and three zeros. It’s bigger than a googol but hardly a fraction of a googolplex. But—okay, we’re setting aside the conceptual numbers. What was your question?”

Your head spins as you laugh. 

Too much gin. Too many IQ points. 

“Infinity divided by, uh… the number of snowflakes I can see right now.”

The engine is still on—heat blows steadily, warming your arm through a coat and sweater, and whatever it can’t reach is warmed by Spencer. 

“Right. Okay. Well—to put it into perspective, with snowflakes, you have around one septillion that fall each year. That’s twenty four zeros, so… a lot. Are you with me?”

“No.”

“Great. So, a hundred and forty two million is basically infinity.”

This earns a clumsy, drunken laugh from you, and he smiles like he’d been hoping for that. 

It’s so warm in the cab of his car. It’s so warm under his gaze. 

Outside, the snow continues to fall. 

For each flake, there is a world where you and Spencer fall in love. And in the grand scheme of things, you’re not looking at very many. 

In infinite universes, you’ll find each other. For eternity. 

You’d be happy with just this one. 

[siriuslylantsov]

be my valentine

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: in which, spencer asks you out after a hearty but incomplete info dump on the history of valentines day.

tags: fluff! idiots inlove, gn!reader, reader is briefly described as shorter than spencer, teasing!spencer, grumpy!reader, penelope is an angel and i love her so much, reader shitting on valentines day and raising some very valid points.

a/n: based on this request, second fic for the event!! i know its still four days till valentines day but! if i didnt get this done now it would've been late. i rewrote this THREE times... but i rlly like how this version came out! happy reading :)

wc: 2.1k

it's your lunch break and you’re glaring at yet another sappy couple that walks by you. grumbling, you take another bite of your blueberry muffin. spencer laughs from his seat in front of you, amused by how your lip curls into an irritated pout. the two of you had walked to a cafe, a brief reprieve away from the frenzied police department you were stationed at for this week's case. 

“motherfuckers,” you seethe, still chewing your food. “i hate valentine's day.”

he laughs again, his tone sarcastic, “really, i never would’ve guessed.”

your glare shifts to him as you cross your arms. his grin is still there, annoyingly persistent, you hate that it doesn't affect him as much as it should. if you told him this, he would’ve told you that it didn't pack much of a punch. 

you roll your eyes and continue with a heavy scoff, “it's just another fake holiday, you know. like mother's day. created by greeting card companies trying to commercialise a day that shouldn't even exist honestly. every day should be dedicated to showing your loved ones how much you care, not just 24 hours in the middle of february.”

he accepts your cynicism with a smirk, completely accustomed to it. he knows you don’t mean it, not entirely, you just like to rant. “you know valentines day actually goes back about 2000 years. i’m sure greeting card companies weren't around back then,” he corrects, biting his lip in suppression.

your eyes narrow into slits, feeling the faint shift in the air of an incoming info dump. you ignore the way you want to hear what he has to say and take a sip of your coffee instead. you stall to torture him a bit, it's funny how he squirms.

“really,” you drag out, stroking your chin in exaggerated contemplation. you stare at him knowingly, he wants to continue but he's waiting for you to give him the green light. you laugh quietly, mood already improved, “go on.”

spencer visibly brightens, sitting up straighter and hands springing into action. “well, valentine's day has a really fascinating and somewhat convoluted history,” he starts, almost giddily. “the earliest accepted theory can be traced back to the roman festival of lupercalia, which was celebrated from february 13th to 15th. it was a fertility festival dedicated to faunus, the roman god of agriculture, and it included a ritual where men would sacrifice a goat and a dog, then use strips of the goat’s hide to whip women-”

“wait, they used goat skin to whip women?” you interject, eyes widening incredulously.

“yes! they willingly lined up for it too, believing it would make them more fertile,” he explains, far too animated considering the context, but it's okay. you like his enthusiasm. 

you grimace, “weird.”

“right. however, the day of love that we now recognise was brought by st. valentine, though which valentine is unclear—there were at least three martyred saints by that name. the most famous story involves a priest in third-century rome who defied emperor claudius ii's orders by secretly performing marriages for young soldiers,” he pauses to take a breath. you use it to bring your coffee back up to your lips, hiding your smile.

“claudius believed single men made better warriors, so he banned them from marrying,” he clarifies to which you nod. “when valentine was caught, he was executed on february 14th, which is why he’s the namesake of the holiday. some versions of the story even say that he sent a letter to his jailer's daughter signed ‘from your valentine’ which could be the origin of the modern tradition.”

“huh,” you pick your lip in thought, spencer hides the way his eyes dart down to them as you do it. “but that’s still an execution, how did it-”

the shrill tone of your ringtone interrupts you. “mhm, okay,” you respond when you pick up the phone. “we’ll be right there.” 

spencer stares at you expectantly, reaching over to grab your bag. he secures it over his shoulder and stands up. 

“it was jj,” you explain, stuffing the last bits of muffin into your mouth. “wi’ness ‘howed up.”

the food-muffled words make him chuckle and hold out a hand for you to get up. you let him pull you up with a dramatic huff, still holding his hand as you dust crumbs from your lap. you realise it a little too late and let go with a start, frown returning when you realise he isn’t going to let you carry your bag.

the walk back only took about five minutes before but this time's slower pace makes it a longer ordeal. comfortable silence brackets the two of you until it doesn’t when spencer speaks up.

“so, there's actually a lot more to the history of valentine's day. for instance, how the day became one of romance instead of, as you said, one that marked a martyrdom. we could, i don't know, discuss this properly over dinner. or drinks? or ice cream, i know that you like ice cream-”

filler words... he’s nervous. amid his rambling, he doesn't realise that you’ve stopped in your tracks. 

“-we can do whatever you want, i don't mind.” when he looks beside him and doesn't find you, he turns around. he can scarcely read the expression on your face, he usually can. this causes a little bout of concern to bubble up, “what is it?”

“are you asking me out?” your question is immediate, blunt, as a confused crease forms between your eyebrows.

well shit, he was. his lips part as he processes what he just said, he looks a little like a deer in headlights the way he stares back at you. was that too much? are you mad? did you want him to ask you out? what if you say no? he should say something. what if he messes everything up? he can’t-

“spencer,” his name rings out softly, pulling him from his spiral. 

his eyes snap to yours, searching, desperate to read between the lines, to piece together what you’re thinking like he always does—except this time, he can’t. he squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again, “yes.”

he swallows hard and adds, “on a date.”

“i got that,” you murmur, stepping closer to him, and closing the distance that he unintentionally left.

his head dips, voice small. “i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

your head tilts slightly, studying him. “you didn’t.”

the reassurance eases him a little but not enough as the anxiety claws at him while he waits for your answer. your phone sounds again from your pocket, this time a text from morgan. you quickly type out a response–got lost, be there in 2. it's a pathetic excuse, if you focused, the station was in your direct eye line. but you needed to say something. 

“okay.”

he can't help the sign of relief that slips out of him, you giggle at the sound. when he looks at you again, he's unmeasurably happy to see your poorly concealed smile, breaking out in his own matching one. 

“yeah?” he asks sheepishly.

you nod, chewing your bottom lip, “yeah.”

your eyes squint at the corners, a side effect of the same grin that those sappy couples had been sporting, the same one that you’d been complaining about a little while ago. it makes you want to kick yourself, so you do the next best thing. you take hold of spencer's hand and drag yourself back to the pd. spencer shuffles somewhat behind you, trying to keep up with your stride. it doesn't take him long with those long legs of his.

his thumb strokes your knuckles gently–deliberately, you feel–but he pretends it's an unconscious action with the way his eyes are trained ahead. it makes you roll your eyes. when you near, you reluctantly let go of each other, the moment being the last time the two of you are alone for the rest of the day.

-

the team ends up solving the case a few hours later, taking the jet home where a valentines day baking spread is set up in the briefing room. all set up by the resident tech savvy. penelope tells you later that it took a whole week of convincing on her part, insisting that it would be quick and she’d clean up, and that everyone would get home to their own valentine's day plans in no time. 

there are a few heart-shaped helium balloons floating in the corners, and pink streamers in easy to reach places. the room is drastically more inviting, maybe the tones of fuschia and bubblegum have something to do with that. a cake and a bowl of suspiciously dyed punch reside on the table, along with pink plates and cups.

“penelope,” you gasp when you see them.

perfectly curated baskets of chocolate and cookies and associated items for everyone. you pick up the one with your name on it and inside you find: a candle, your favourite candy tied together with a little bow and a letter signed ‘happy valentines day, sweetheart. love, penny xx’. 

oh my god, you could kiss her. 

“it's like christmas,” emily muses from the other end of the table. you hear jj mutter something in agreement. you peek over at spencer, it's probably the hundredth time that you've snuck a glance his way. his eyes were already on you every other time, only now they were accompanied by a pair of red heart-shaped glasses, the clear plastic lenses offering a perfect view of his hazel orbs. the picture makes you laugh to yourself, you can barely hear it echoing from his end. 

-

about 30 minutes later, only the stragglers are left. in better words, the single people. the individuals with partners having rushed off to their own respective plans. you're making small talk with another girl who worked around the office when you feel a light hand on your shoulder, spencer nodding his head toward the elevator to signal your leave. you politely wish her goodbye and walk out with him. 

“cute glasses,” you tease, bumping his shoulder with yours, though the height difference makes it so you're nudging his upper arm. 

“yeah? i might get the lenses medicated, switch them out for my regular ones,” he jokes, his elbow nudging yours gently as he pushes the bridge of the glasses up the slope of his nose instinctively. 

“good idea,” you nod.

“you think?”

“mhm.” 

once again, he beats you to your bag, swiping it from your chair and carrying it along with his own. you meekly toy with the hem of your shirt as the two of you walk to the elevator. 

“so, bummer that neither of us have plans today. it’s so early,” you say, being blatantly obvious with what you're suggesting.

spencer only offers you an indifferent “yeah, bummer” in response, walking in when the doors slide open. when you look at him though, he's anything but indifferent, the corner of his lip pulling up in a crooked smile, irritatingly smug. you don't know where he gets off on being so at ease but the expression on his face makes you scowl as you follow him in. 

he is silent the whole ride down. you become increasingly annoyed, only faltering slightly when his hand reaches down to hold yours. his fingers thread between yours and you not-so subtly curl yours over his, ignoring the way he looks down at you. 

you try not to smile at the domestic picture of the two of you walking out hand in hand. thankfully the basement is empty. he pauses between your cars and mutters a quick “see you monday” before loosening his fingers and turning to walk away.

“spencer,” you groan, almost a whine as you squeeze his hand before he can let go.

he responds immediately, without missing a beat, “yes, angel.”

fuck.

you want to melt but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “would you like to do something tonight?” you grit out begrudgingly.

“i would love to,” he agrees, pulling you closer with your hand. your gaze darts to the two bag straps on his shoulder and you realise he had no intention of letting you go just like that. so you shove him, a little hard that he stumbles a bit. he huffs a laugh and you shake your head dismissively. 

he slowly, tentatively, dips down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. your eyes flutter shut at the contact. 

“how does thai food sound?” he asks, that same bashfulness creeping into his voice that you love so dearly. 

“sounds perfect.”

you share another sweet smile that would probably make you gag from an outside perspective but now it just makes you feel dizzy. he leads you back to his car, muttering something about how he’ll pick yours up tomorrow morning. you want to argue with him but that same dizzy feeling stops you.

you can't help the dreamy sigh that slips out when he connects your hands again over the centre console. thank god for st. valentine, you think.

reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list

divider from @saradika-graphics

[minswriting]

dacryphilia with early seasons spencer?? also I love your work

nsfw | mdni | spencer reid x reader | dacryphilia (taking pleasure from someone crying), sub!spencer, riding

spencer was truly the prettiest person you’d ever laid eyes upon. with his beautifully sculpted face, to his gorgeous lips, to the innocent doe brown eyes, he was the embodiment of beauty. he was even prettier than he cried.

spencer was sat at his desk chair in his room while you were on his lap, riding his cock slowly and teasingly. spencer’s hands were on your hips while your hands rested on his shoulders. your cunt clenched around spencer’s cock so perfectly. you were so tight and wet. spencer felt every movement so vividly. he was so sensitive and he adored how great you felt.

he couldn’t help the welling of tears in his eyes as he relished in the pleasure of your cunt. you just felt so good and he was overly sensitive. “a-ah,” he moaned, his bottom lip jutting out as he teared up.

you frowned for a moment, noticing as a tear escaped spencer’s eye. you stopped your movements, causing spencer to whine in protest. “baby,” you said, bringing a hand to spencer’s cheek and wiping the tear. “what’s wrong?” your voice tender as you spoke, concerned about spencer.

spencer shook his head, trying to move his hips as a signal he wanted to keep going. “i-it feels so good,” he whined, letting out a small sob. “please, please please.”

“do you want me to keep going?”

spencer nodded his head enthusiastically, bucking his hips into you.

and so you complied. you began riding spencer again, allowing him to feel his feelings. as you rode him, you kissed his tear-stained cheeks. you clenched around his cock, causing spencer to let out a pathetic sob of pleasure. “so good, so good, so good,” he babbled tearfully.

after that, you thoroughly enjoyed seeing spencer cry during sex.

[miedei]

sick day

roommate!spencer is sick (and lovely)

a/n: wrote this in a fugue state i think, just couldn't get the thought of being spencer's roommate out of my head

cw: best friends who definitely don't love each other noooo why would you say that, spencer is sick and annoying but also the best

wc: 2k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Living with Spencer Reid is usually wonderful. He’s relatively neat, but messy enough that you don’t have to walk on eggshells around him. He’s always willing to recommend you a new read, he doesn’t judge you when you spend an entire day slumped on the couch, and is always up to help you stress bake. 

It’s decidedly wonderful, until it’s not. A week into your living together, you’d realised what a workaholic he was. After the first time you’d caught him asleep on top of paperwork in the living room, you’d understood how much of a pain Spencer Reid really can be. 

Unfortunately, today is one of those days. Spencer returned from a case last night, and the moment you’d seen the slump in his shoulders, you knew you were going to have to work from home today. 

“You really don’t have to stay home. I don’t even have to stay home! I’m seriously not sick, I swear!” His voice is low, as if attempting to mask the rasp in it. It doesn’t work.

His rambling doesn’t cease, not the entire time you steer him away from the front door and into the living room. 

“Yeah? Spence, do you even remember the last time you got sick? I came home to find you lying on the dining table! I’m not going to leave and come back to you trying to climb out of the window or something.” You deadpan, watching him cross his arm and grumble something about ‘elevating the upper body’, and ‘actually very good for the immune system’. 

Having shoved him not-too-lightly onto the couch, you stand with your arms crossed, eyes narrowed on him.

“I can’t believe you were going to go to work! Living with you is like living with a child sometimes, god. You know you would have been sent home straight away, look at you.” You gesture wildly at him. 

He’s a pathetic sight, curled up on the couch looking distinctly sorry for himself. His hair is limp, flat against his scalp, his weak limbs shoved haphazardly in a button down and slacks. He hasn’t even knotted his tie, leaving it hanging loosely around his neck. 

Grabbing his phone out of his bag, you thrust it towards him. 

“Call your boss and tell him you need a sick day. You said it yourself, it’s just paperwork today, right? You can take a day off once in a while, Spence, it won’t kill you.” Once finished, you stomp out of the room, heading to his bedroom to grab him some clothes. Surveying his closet, you grab one of his Caltech hoodies and a pair of sweatpants, grinning to yourself when you hear his hoarse voice on the phone. 

As you walk back into the living room, he’s settled in, clearly resigned to his fate. 

“Yeah, Hotch, I need the day off. I’m sorry, I’m just- Oh. It’s okay? You’re sure? Um, okay. Thanks Hotch.” He hangs up, his eyebrows pinched as if he’s loath to admit you were right. 

You can’t help it, snickering as you dump the sweats and hoodie on his chest. 

“I told you so.”

“You’re so mean to me.” 

It’s nice, spending a day with Spencer like this, even with how whiny he is. Sitting at the desk in the living room, you’re not being incredibly productive, but Spencer’s fever-induced rambles more than make up for it. 

“So, some moron made a blog called ‘What Would Carl Sagan Do?’, and Garcia - remember her, my coworker? She showed it to me, and oh my god, it’s so ridiculous! I mean, to start, all the entries were lifted from different sci-fi movies and books, and they were all so inaccurate, like, ‘The Martian Chronicles’ were good, but it’s been debunked so many times! Carl Sagan debunked it!”

He’s laying on his back on the couch, slender fingers waving in the air above him, eyes lidded as he speaks animatedly. 

“Yeah? What was wrong about it?” You rise from the desk chair, heading into the kitchen. “Also, do you want tea?”

His voice softens, speaking slower as he answers your question. “Yeah, that black tea you brought home last week, please.”

You can hear the moment he slips back into his rant, words growing more and more spirited as he continues to rail against whatever that blog was. Puttering around the cramped kitchen, you let his words roll over you, balancing two mugs and a plate in your hands. 

He doesn’t stop speaking, but flashes you a grateful smile as he takes a mug from you, swiping a cookie from the plate before delving back into the topic at hand.

“So, Bradbury, and a lot of the other sci-fi writers of the time, believed that colonisation of Mars would be possible within the 20th century. And then, in 1960, Carl Sagan, along with a bunch of other astronomers, discovered that Mars doesn’t have an atmosphere, so humans living there long term is virtually impossible without a huge improvement in technology, which probably won't happen until the latter half of the 21st century. And this moron with a blog is pretending like Sagan wouldn’t care, and that he would advocate for irresponsible space travel and I hate him.” 

He finishes with a huff, taking a large gulp of tea and sitting up against the couch. His eyes are hazy with exhaustion, eyelids drooping as he looks at you. You can’t help but giggle. He looks adorably dishevelled, and his eyebrows pinching together at your laughter only intensifies it.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

“I’m- I’m sorry Spence, you just look really cute right now, like you’re going to fall asleep.” You can barely get it out, body shaking with mirth. His eyebrows furrow further, a slight pout forming on his lips. 

His attempts to get you to stop laughing go unanswered, and he huffs once more, crossing his arms and settling against the couch cushions. 

It’s the late afternoon when a knock on the door stirs you from your reverie. Spencer is sitting next to you, your legs slung over his lap as he leans back, eyes trained on The Fellowship of the Ring on the television as his hands tap out something on your calves. 

“Are you expecting anyone?” He shakes his head no, not averting his gaze from the screen. 

You sigh, jostling his shoulder. 

“Spence. Spence, can you go get the door? It’s probably a salesman or something.” 

He hums, shaking his head once more. 

“Can’t. Too sick.”

You groan, tipping your head back in frustration before hauling yourself off the couch, flicking his shoulder as you walk past.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?” His only response is a grin, before he turns back to the movie. 

Grumbling under your breath, you trudge through the room to the front door, frowning when you look through the peephole to see two figures. 

One is shorter than the other, a woman wearing a hot pink and orange dress that should be garish, but looks completely natural on her. The man next to her is grinning, holding several plastic bags in one hand, the other arm linked with the woman’s. 

Not salesmen. 

Concluding that they’re probably not a threat, you swing the door open, causing their heads to pop up. 

“Hey, Reid- Oh.” The man speaks immediately, but pauses when he sees you. 

“You’re not Reid.” The woman concludes. 

You tilt your head to the side, confused. 

“Yeah, I’m not. Um, how do you know Spencer?” 

They share a confused look.

“We’re his coworkers. Derek and Penelope. Sorry, who are you? Do we have the wrong apartment?” 

You brighten, recognising the names from Spencer’s many stories about work. 

“Oh, that’s who you are! No, you’ve got the right apartment, of course. Come in.” You turn to the side, allowing them to walk in, although their expressions remain bewildered. “I’m Spence’s roommate, Y/N. He’s in the living room.”

“Roommate?” Derek exclaims before setting his sights on Spencer, striding over to him. 

“Hey, pretty boy.” Spencer jolts, the haze of sickness having made sure that he didn’t notice them till now. His voice is higher than normal, squeaky. 

“Morgan! What are you- Garcia? Why- why are you here?” Penelope smiles mischievously, plopping down on the couch next to Spencer. 

“Well, we obviously wanted to check up on you, Boy Wonder. This is the first sick day you’ve taken in the last two years - don’t try to lie to me, I checked - and now, we’re very interested in your friend here.” Her smile loses its teasing edge when she turns to you. 

A grin spreads over your face, recognising the same teasing affection you feel towards him in the two newcomers. Retaking your seat on Spencer’s other side, you pull your feet up on the couch, tucking them under Spencer’s thigh. 

Penelope squeaks quietly, but averts her gaze when you look up at her questioningly. 

“So, you guys have worked with Spence for a while, huh?”

Derek sits in the armchair across from you, chuckling under his breath.

“Since he was 22. Back when he straightened his hair and wore those sweater vests that were three sizes too big.” Spencer lets out a strangled noise of protest next to you, but you both ignore him in favour of continuing your conversation. 

“Seriously? I’ve seen one photo of him back then, but then he started hiding them all from me. You got any?” 

Penelope perks up, pulling out a tablet from her work bag. 

“Yes! Oh my goodness, sweetheart, I have so many. Did you know, he used to do this thing where he would gel his hair back, said it made him look older but it was honestly just really cute, hold on…”

She shifts and moves to sit on your other side, huddling over the tablet with you and Derek. 

Spencer is suddenly left in the lurch, stuck observing the three of you from the other end of the couch. He feels like he should be irritated, angry even, but he can’t do anything but watch, eyes softening. 

“Oh my god, Spencer, you were so cute, what happened?” Never mind, he’s feeling a bit irritated now.

It’s not endearing, no. No matter how lovely you look, your face flushed with excitement. No matter how easily you fit in with some of his favourite people in the world.

It’s not captivating, not at all.

[velvetwilde]

n/a: this is my first time trying to write something and actually posting it, I'm nervous. 

Ps: english is not my first language so bear with me. 

cw- 1187

tw- explicit language

----------- • ୨ ✦ ୧‎ • -----------

Other ways

where spencer is mad at you for ruining one of his favorite books and doesn't want to fuck you.

I was begging him to fuck me. I thought it was silly to have to beg him to take pity on my sweet, needy pussy, I could display myself naked and wet before him and it just wouldn't affect him in the slightest. It was a little humiliating, although I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me hornier. 

He was upset with me, maybe I deserved to be ignored, but come on, it was just a stupid book, I told him I'd buy him another one. He couldn't overdo it and punish me by not fucking me, I needed it.

''You know you can always punish me in other ways, Spencer,'' I whispered in his ear from behind the couch, pressing my tits against his shoulder so he could feel my hard nipples through my shirt. I nearly moaned when I stood in front of him and saw his hard erection inside his pants.

It was unfair that he was still mad at me, he was already hard - my folds were wet, ready for him to fuck me hard, deep and fast. I squeezed my legs tightly, trying to relieve the heat and throbbing of my pussy with the friction, I was so wet I wanted to cry.

I could just push him down onto the couch and sit on top of him. I'd unbutton his pants, gently pull his cock out as I watched his pretty face contort as he tried not to moan from my touch, then I'd fuck myself with his cock, him feeling my tight walls squeezing him deliciously with each deep thrust.

''Spencer, please, I need you'' I begged him. If he asked me to get on my knees and beg him to fuck me I would do it.

 I would pray to God for Spencer to fuck me.

''You’re a little brat always in need of my cock, aren’t you? You can't wait until I stop being upset to ask me to fuck you?" he spat in annoyance. I could see behind his masquerade how he began to give in, how he stretched his legs trying to hide his erection from me, as if he knew that if I saw him give in it was done for him.

''I’ll be good, I’ll buy you a new book… please, there’s no need to keep me in abstinence for a ridiculous book. You know I didn't see you for a whole week'' I begged him, I carefully sat on his lap - I moaned when his hard cock rubbed my wet pussy against my pantie ''come on, you're already hard, I can feel you'' I told him, grinding my hips on his erection, I moaned feeling his hardness rubbing against my sticky pantie ''I need you.''

''You’re really wet'' he said brushing his fingers against my folds, I moaned sighing as his digits pressed hard against my sweet center. ''What am I going to do with you?'' he whispered looking into my eyes

''Stop making me beg for what's mine'' I ground my hips hard on him, I smiled wickedly when I saw him twitch

''You know, you're right- there are other ways to punish you.'' He looked deep into my eyes with a dominant look that I had never seen in him before.

I gasped in shock as I felt his strong hands grab me by the hips and press my face against the couch.

''You know, maybe it's not so bad to give in,'' I heard him say, standing up.

My heart was pounding against my ears, my hips were rocking back and forth, rubbing my pussy against the couch, it felt good. Spencer would finally end my torture and fuck me, I tried to lift my ass in the air but I never saw the strong spank coming that hit my left cheek.

''Oh God!," I moaned in pain, ''Spencer, what are you…'' Another spank, I moaned, but this time I found myself enjoying it.

Spencer noticed it, he leaned over me and said in a deep raspy voice, "You're enjoying it, like a needy little slut." I pressed my ass against his erection, "Walking around in nothing but a t-shirt and panties... begging for my cock, so sweet''

"Come on, I need you" I said breathless

 I heard him unbutton his pants, he grabbed me tightly by the waist and roughly and quickly pulled down my panties, and without any warning he thrusts his whole cock in, making me scream. Spencer didn't even give me time to react when with a powerful push, his tip smashed against my walls so hard that for a moment my vision get blurred.

''Fuck, you're still so tight'' he growled.

''Please…'' I knew he was smiling as he continued to thrust his cock between my folds with deep languid strokes, showing his ability to leave me speechless as I tried to remember what I was going to say.

He continued his assault on my pussy for several more thrusts, making me bite down hard on the sofa cushion. His balls slapped hard against my ass, I could hear the wetness of my fluids and his mixed with the slaps with each thrust.

Spencer stopped moaning and leaned down close to my face, he could hear me gasping for air. I saw him smile powerfully at my weakness. Without stopping fucking me, he turned me around, leaving me exposed to him, he put one of my legs on his shoulder, the new angle made me moan louder, full of pleasure. With the new sensation on my G-spot I began to feel my walls squeezing his cock, making him moan.

I loved watching him fuck me, his abs clenching beneath his shirt with every thrust, his head falling back, making me drool at the sight of his delicious neck. I tried to keep my eyes open, but the second I closed them I felt one of his huge hands wrapping around my neck, forcing me to keep looking at him. It didn't bother me at all.

''Keep looking at me or I'll stop. Do you understand?''

I kept my eyes locked on his, he didn't stop for a moment, in fact, he thrust into me harder, making me scream. After several thrusts against my sweet spot, I screamed his name, tearing my throat out as I felt my walls tighten around his cock; I was about to cum.

Spencer let out a sinful moan that only made me beg for more, just as I felt myself tense up ready to cum, I bit my arm to silence my loud slutty whimpers. 

I felt him tense up and cum hard inside me, I moaned loudly as I felt his cum filling me and dropping over my folds and onto my legs.

I was about to cum too when I felt him completely withdraw his cock from my sensitive and needy pussy, for a moment I thought he would change the position to make me cum harder, but again he surprised me by grabbing me by the neck.

''Yes, there are definitely other ways to punish you,'' he said with a sideways smile, trying not to laugh.

[gold-onthe-inside]

critical asset

n. def. a specific entity that is of such extraordinary importance that its incapacitation or destruction would have a very serious, debilitating effect on the ability of a nation to continue to function effectively.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you and spencer finally get closer, even if it's just because penelope's too busy. content warnings: pining spencer, r and penelope argue word count: 1.8k

It’s painful how much Spencer likes you, wishing he could just transfer to counter-intelligence and be around you all the time, especially these days. You don’t come downstairs as often anymore, not since they put away Doyle, and it makes him all the more restless. He pursed his lips, looking at the chess game he was playing out, his interest in it sapping the more aware he was of your absence.

A few weeks ago, you would have been sitting right across from him, contemplating your next move, toying with the bishop between your fingers, so focused on the game that he could stare at you as long as he liked. He liked watching your sharp eyes dart around the board, assessing threats to your victory, liked watching you chew your lip as you thought about what to do. He could notice the exact shift in your expression when you knew you were either going to win or lose.

“I see it in 4,” you said, running the tip of your tongue over your teeth, glancing up at him as his gaze shifted to the pieces, the litte furrow in his brow as he wet his lips, trying to see what you did.

“How?” he asked. He was so sure he hadn’t given you a way out… until he watched you arrange each move delicately and his lips pursed into a pout. “Rematch?” he would ask, noticing your smug smile.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you’d say, standing up and squeezing his shoulder before you’d walk away, and he’d sigh, like he’s doing right now, sweeping the pieces into the cloth drawstring bag and folding up the wooden board to put back in his desk.

He’d get one over you more often than not when playing chess at least. He couldn’t say the same for everything else. But if anyone would say yes to a meditation sci-fi film, he knows it’s you — you’re one of the rare few people in his life who has obscure interests like his.

“My Russian isn’t that good,” you said as he waited by your cubicle for an answer, watching you turn off your desktop, drumming his fingers on the top of your transparent divider.

“I can translate anything you don’t understand,” Spencer offered, able to sense that he was close to prying a ‘yes’ out of you.

“I’ve heard your Russian,” you replied, raising a brow at him as the two of you stroll to the elevatory. “Just cause you can memorise the language doesn’t make you fluent, Reid.”

“Well, how am I supposed to become fluent if I don’t immerse myself in the language?” he asked, knowing exactly how to modulate his voice to melt your resistance. He sees your nose twitch and he knows he’s got you.

“Fine, but you’re buying dinner,” you replied, pointing at him and he frowned at you.

“How’s that fair if I’ve bought your ticket too?” he asked, pressing the elevator button. “Plus paying for snacks, and you know those places charge extra than normal—”

“Ugh, fine, jeez,” you replied, leaning against the wall. “I’ll buy dinner.” He was content with that, waiting for you to get in the elevator before following you. A thought crosses his mind, unbidden, that he had never said anything about getting dinner together, and hope flares in his chest. Maybe you wanted this to be a date as much as he did.

It’s dashed when he overhears your argument with Penelope when he’s supposed to be asking her to track down gas stations close to their crime scene — “Well, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling left out if you weren’t constantly shutting me out!” you cried. “God, I mean, you didn’t even let me know you were going to work this early, but you seemed fine calling up Kevin to carpool with.”

“It’s… That’s… It’s just complicated, okay?” Penelope cried, already on the edge since they’d lost Emily.

“Yeah, a lot of things seem complicated with you lately,” you said, scoffing. “It’s kinda hard to support you when I don’t know what’s going on with you, Pen. You’re either working or you’re with Derek or you’re with Kevin—”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same about you!” Penelope shot back. “Been on any dates with Reid lately?” she asked and his breath stuttered where he stood, out of sight, behind the slightly ajar door.

“What else am I supposed to do when you’re always bringing Kevin home?” you demanded. “Seriously, it’s starting to feel like he’s a third roommate lately. He certainly eats like one.” His heart sinks at your words — were you only hanging out with him because you had nowhere to go? Spencer pressed himself back against the wall. “You know what, if he’s gonna hang around that much, you could at least get him to split the groceries,” you snapped at her, heading for the door.

“Yeah, well…” Penelope struggled to come up with a retort as fast as you did — she didn’t have a cruel bone in her body. Or at least, she wasn’t as quick with using it. “Well, if you’re gonna spend that much time with Reid, the least you could do is throw that boy a bone,” she called after you as you stormed out, slamming the door behind you and letting out an enraged huff as you stalked down the corridor, oblivious to Spencer.

He swallowed, watching your retreating figure and letting a beat pass before contemplating whether he should go to Penelope. Maybe he should just have Morgan talk to her instead. He turned on his heel, making his way back to the briefing room instead.

Spencer stared at the clock, watching the hands tick round until you would finally leave. All this week he had been trying to convince himself that you were avoiding him, but that was just his paranoia talking. You’d been avoiding everyone, really — him, Garcia, Morgan… your behaviour towards other people was almost exactly the same. Almost, but not quite. You had been colder to him specifically.

He just couldn’t help thinking you were upset with him.

“You okay?” he asked, catching up to you outside the building, a slight pant to his voice due to the short sprint he had to do to catch up to you in time. Your pace had slowed, and with your gaze to the floor, you let him fall in step beside you. Spencer tried not to pay too much attention to the distance you kept between the two of you.

He noticed everything about you. He couldn’t help it. He had noticed the stiffness in your shoulders, the rigid way you carried yourself.

"Fine," you replied half-heartedly, turning your keys over in your pocket. "I just hate taking the train home."

“Why not get an apartment that’s closer to here?” he suggested, stuffing his hands in his own pockets, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he fell into step beside you. He’d noticed you had been taking the metro a lot more than usual. He wondered if everything was okay with your roommate.

"I like living in DC," you replied, walking with him to the station. He hated driving as much as you hated the train.

He nodded, walking alongside you. He wished you’d look at him, though. He could never guess what was going on in your head — was everything okay? Had he done something wrong? You seemed colder to him these days. “What’s been going on with you?” he asked, his voice soft. “You’ve been a bit down lately, are you sure you’re alright?” You finally looked up at Spencer and he had to catch his breath — he’d never get used to your eyes, the sharp intelligence in them, the focus.

You sighed, looking ahead again. "Penelope's been... I dunno, things aren't great between us."

“Why’s that?” he asked, reminded of your argument again. The two of you were always together, you were inseparable. “Is everything okay?” He was about to reach out, touch your arm, but he second-guessed himself, not wanting you to push him away. He couldn’t take it if you did.

"I don't know," you confessed, your nose tinged red with the cold, still turning over the key in your pocket to keep yourself grounded. "She's working overtime, if she's not on a case, she's working on something with Derek that she won't tell me about, which is fine, I get it. If anyone understands classified projects, I do. And then she's always with Kevin and I just..." You let out a breath, like you haven't let all of it out in a while, and it fogs up a little, your eyes glassy. "You know, you see yourself as this central person in someone's life and then suddenly... all these other figures come in and you just... don't know where you fit in anymore."

The look in your eyes made him ache to comfort you and he had to look away to stop himself from being overwhelmed by what he saw there. “People get busy,” he said, softly. “It doesn’t mean she doesn’t value your friendship, or that she doesn’t want you around as much as you want to be.” His fingers twitched against his own palm as he spoke — he knew the feeling in your words all too well. He hated the idea that you were going through what he did on a daily basis.

You blinked the dampness in your eyes away, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. "It's whatever," you murmured, tucking hair behind your ear.

Spencer looked at your profile as you walked and he had to look away again. He was starting to lose count of how many times he’d stopped himself from reaching out to you. He wanted to, he wanted to so desperately… but he was also terrified of rejection from you. He didn’t have an endless well of confidence, and he couldn’t bear it if you pushed him away. So he settled with wishing he could help you more than he currently was.

"How are you doing?" you asked, glancing at him. "With Emily and everything."

Spencer cleared his throat as he walked beside you, staring at the ground in front of him. “I think I’m still in shock,” he said, softly. “I miss her a hell of a lot, I’ve never connected with someone so quickly.” He didn’t even hesitate before he added: “Except maybe with you.”

You huffed a little, smiling. "Nerds of a feather, right?"

He nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He glanced over and met your gaze, and he couldn’t help the way a grin bloomed on his face, your eyes meeting his.

You smiled at him, your eyes lighting up in that way he loves — not just with amusement, but with warmth, and his chest started to ache, just a little. He could do this forever.

His heart skipped, and for a moment he could forget everything. For a moment, everything was perfect, just you and him.

[mrsholmesreid]

WEDDING DAY | spencer reid x reader

summary: you and spencer reid dated for a couple of years before having a daughter, lily. now that lily is three, the two of you can finally get married!

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

word count: 1,7k

content warnings: fluff

author's note: this one shot was based on a character ai bot me and iru (@ireid here and @/spookyrydel on twitter) wrote together. here's the link to it:

The guests had all settled into their seats, the soft hum of anticipation filling the air. The altar was framed by delicate flowers, the evening sun casting a golden glow over everything. Spencer stood at the aisle, his hands clasped together, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.

He wasn’t nervous—not in the way people expected. He was just overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with love, with the sheer enormity of this moment. He was about to marry the love of his life, the person who had given him everything, including their little girl.

Beside him, Morgan nudged his arm, smirking. "Hey, kid," he murmured, pulling something from his pocket. "Your wife-to-be and babygirl sent you something."

Spencer blinked, confused, as Derek pulled out his phone and pressed play.

Then he heard your voice.

"Spence," you began, your voice warm and full of love. "Right now, you’re probably standing at the altar, fidgeting with your tie, maybe pushing your hair back like you do when you're overwhelmed. And I just want you to know… I love you. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love someone. Today, I get to marry you, but you've been my home long before this day."

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his eyes already misting over.

Then a smaller, higher voice chimed in.

"Daddy!" Lily’s giggle filled the speakers. "Mommy says today is a big day! You look sooooo handsome, I just know it! I love you, Daddy! I love you lots and lots and lots—"

There was a tiny shuffle, like she was moving too close to the mic.

"I can't wait to dance with you! And eat cake!"

Derek chuckled under his breath as Spencer pressed his lips together, his vision blurring.

"So, we’ll see you soon, okay?" your voice returned, soft and full of emotion. "Take a deep breath, baby. We’re almost there."

The message ended.

Spencer exhaled, his shoulders shaking. His hands came up to wipe at his eyes, but it was useless—he was full-on sobbing.

Never in his life had he felt this much happiness, this much love.

Then the music started.

Everyone turned as the wedding march played, and when Spencer finally lifted his gaze, there you were.

Walking toward him, arm in arm with your father, your dress flowing around you like something out of a dream. And right beside you, tiny hands clutching a basket of petals, was Lily—beaming, waving at him like she hadn’t just talked to him minutes ago.

Spencer had already been crying, but now? Now he was absolutely gone.

Because this was it. His forever. His family. His everything.

As you walked down the aisle, Spencer felt like the world had slowed. The music swelled around him, but all he could hear was the pounding of his heart, the distant echo of Lily’s voice still ringing in his ears. “Daddy, I love you lots and lots and lots.”

His eyes flickered from her to you—your smile radiant, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as you looked at him like he was the only person in the world. And to him, you were. Nothing else existed at that moment. Just you and him.

His breath hitched when Lily let go of your father’s hand for a moment, running ahead on her tiny legs to reach him first. The guests chuckled softly as she stopped just short of stepping onto the altar.

“Daddy,” she whispered, her big, round eyes full of excitement and a bit of concern for her father. “You’re crying!”

Spencer let out a watery laugh, crouching down to her level despite the weight of his overwhelming emotions. “I know, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing a hand through her soft curls. “I’m just really happy.”

Lily giggled, reaching out with her small hands to pat at the tears on his face, like she could wipe them all away. “No more crying, Daddy. It’s your wedding day! But you and Mommy keep crying, you should be laughing!”

His chest ached with so much love he could hardly breathe. The guests chuckled softly at Lily's adorableness.

“I know sweetheart, I know,” he patted her head, sniffing his tears.

Then, as if she knew she had stolen enough attention, Lily spun on her heel and hurried back to your father’s side, her little basket swinging with each step. The guests let out a collective sigh of adoration, but Spencer—he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You were almost there now, just a few steps away.

He straightened, trying to blink away his tears, but it was impossible.

When you reached him, your father gently kissed your cheek before taking a step back, his own eyes a little misty.

Spencer barely had time to whisper, “You look beautiful,” before you reached out, catching his hand in yours, squeezing it.

His grip tightened, his thumb brushing against your skin like he was grounding himself in this moment, making sure it was real.

“I meant every word,” you whispered, your voice meant just for him.

Spencer swallowed, overwhelmed, his lips parting like he wanted to say something—anything—but he couldn’t. All he could do was look at you, heart in his throat, knowing that in just moments, you’d be his wife.

And for the first time in his life, everything felt perfect.

The officiant began speaking, but Spencer barely registered the words. His world had shrunk down to just you—the warmth of your hand in his, the way your eyes shimmered with love, the soft rise and fall of your breath.

Lily had settled in her seat beside Derek, swinging her legs excitedly, still beaming from her tiny moment of importance. Morgan played with her, holding her hand and telling her to pay attention. Spencer could feel her gaze on him, could hear the small giggle she let out every time he sniffled and wiped at his tears.

“This is real,” he thought. “This is my family. This is my entire life, my whole future until the day I die. Good god, I couldn't have been luckier.”

When the officiant asked you to exchange vows, Spencer let out a breath, trying to steady himself, but his hands were trembling as he pulled out the small card he had written them on, as if he needed to read it to remember the words. He had it memorized front to back; but this day was so important to him that he couldn't help but want to make sure this wouldn't be the first time his eidetic memory would fail him. But of course, it didn't. Barely glancing at the notes, his voice wavered as he spoke.

"From the moment I met you, my world changed. You have given me the kind of love I never thought I deserved, the kind that makes every day feel like coming home. Home. You taught me the meaning of that word. You make me feel things I never thought possible, a kind of safety, of love, that not even in my best dreams I could've pictured. And Lily—our Lily—she is the most precious gift we have ever created together. The way you love her, the way you love me… I can’t imagine a life without you. I don’t want to. Today, I promise to do everything in my power to always be the best husband I can be, the best father, the best partner. I promise to love you through everything, to be your safe place, always. Today, you give me the honor of vowing to spend the rest of my days trying to make you feel the way you make me feel. So that means today is not only the most important day of my life, it is also the beginning of my dream. This is what I asked for, baby. You and Lily and this beautiful family we're building together… There's nothing in the world I wished for more than this. I love you with every fiber of my being, today, tomorrow, and forever."

You reached up, brushing a tear from his cheek. “I love you,” you whispered, your tone drenched with emotion.

The officiant turned to you, and as you recited your vows, Spencer felt like his heart might actually burst. 

“Spencer, from the moment our lives intertwined—first as friends, then as partners, and now with the light of our lives that is Lily—you have filled my days with laughter, solace, and unexpected joy. I’ve watched you overcome pain and fear, and in your quiet strength, I’ve found my courage. I promise to stand beside you, to support you through every challenge, and to celebrate every tender moment we share. I may not have all the answers, but I know that with you, I’ve found home. I choose you today, tomorrow, and every day after, with all my heart. I love you and the family we're building together more than anything in the world, and the care you put in everything that you do for us overwhelms me with gratitude and pride. You’re my everything.”

The way you spoke about him, about your life together, about the family you had already built—it was overwhelming. He had never, in his entire life, felt more wanted, more cherished.

And then came the moment—the moment he had waited for.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Spencer barely heard the words before he was pulling you in, his hands cradling your face as he kissed you—soft and deep, filled with all the love he had been holding inside.

The guests erupted into cheers, but the loudest sound of all came from Lily.

“Yay! Daddy kissed Mommy!” she squealed, clapping her hands together, kicking her legs excitedly.

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Spencer pulled away just enough to laugh against your lips. “We did it,” he whispered.

You grinned. “We did it.”

Then, as if she couldn’t stand waiting any longer, Lily came running toward you both, her arms stretched high. “Mommy! Daddy!”

Spencer bent down, scooping her up in his arms, holding her between you.

And in that moment, with his wife in one arm and his daughter in the other, Spencer Reid knew he had everything he had ever dreamed of. Everything he would ever need.

author's note 2: this one shot was shorter, but i still had a lot of fun wiriting it, like i always do with iru!! let us know what you think <3

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[hanaridulsetcheese]

unspoken agreements ~ spencer reid

The sky outside the BAU's windows was a dull, oppressive gray, matching the tension lingering between Spencer and Y/N. The case had been brutal, unraveling the worst of human nature. And yet, that wasn't what had Y/N pacing the hallway near his desk, heart racing with every step.

Spencer stood nearby, his brow furrowed, tapping a pen against his palm. He was always a little awkward, a little too brilliant for the world, and Y/N had always loved that about him — not that they were supposed to use that word.

Love.

They had made a pact when this whole mess started. Keep it simple. Keep it casual. No messy feelings. But Y/N knew that pact had shattered long ago. The pieces cut deeper with each stolen glance and lingering touch.

"You've been quiet," Spencer finally said, breaking the silence.

"So have you," Y/N shot back, folding their arms. "Everything okay?"

He hesitated, eyes flickering to the floor. "Not really."

Y/N's breath hitched. "Spence—"

"I almost lost you today," he interrupted, voice strained. "Do you know what that would have done to me?"

Y/N's throat went dry. "We agreed not to talk about this," they whispered.

"Why? Because it's easier to pretend?" Spencer's voice wavered. "Because it's safer?"

Y/N felt the walls they'd built crumbling under the weight of his words. "It was supposed to be simple. No strings, remember?"

Spencer stepped closer, his eyes dark with intensity. "I can't do this anymore — pretending I don't care when I do. I love you."

Y/N's heart stopped. "You love me?"

Spencer nodded, the vulnerability in his expression breaking down every defense Y/N had left.

"I thought we agreed to not fall in love," Y/N said weakly, clinging to the last shred of their resolve.

"Yeah," Spencer whispered, "but I'm a genius who makes bad decisions sometimes."

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, tears stinging their eyes. "You're impossible."

"And you're everything I can't lose," he murmured.

Y/N closed the distance between them, hands trembling as they cupped Spencer's face. "I guess we're both breaking the rules, huh?"

His lips curved into a faint smile. "Guess so."

They stood there, tangled in each other, the world falling away as they rewrote every rule they had made.

~•~•~•~•~

specer reid playlist

[reidrum]

let it once be me | the prophecy part 3

note: hey ,,, remember her ,,,,,,,,, ! feeling hashtag nervous to post this but pls tell me ur thoughts this went through !!! so many drafts !!! almost lost my mind like thirty times lol but thank u for reading <3 (reading prior parts may be helpful in having context for this part but im not really sure it's necessary, they're way shorter than this part either way)

summary: you and spencer are faced with yet another wedge in your relationship, and you're not sure if it'll survive this time

cw: heavy spoilers for everett lynch arc (15.10), we're ignoring the cm tl and time doesn't exist, maeve flashback, hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending !

wc: 8k (wtf)

part 1 part 2

Spencer feels he’s lived many lives, and that his lived experiences have thoroughly prepared him to navigate novel situations with a small familiarity. A cushion really, to allow him the comfort of seeing the path before he has to walk it blind. It almost acts as a sense of pride for him, a testament to what he’s overcome and capable of facing.

There’s nothing prideful about how awful things have been going with you.

It’s been weeks since your talk with him. Weeks since he vowed to prove to you that you were it for him, and he’s made so little progress he finds it embarrassing for someone with his caliber of intellect.

He’s toeing a fine line between being in your presence enough for you to see that he’s trying, and giving you  space so that you don’t feel smothered. It was harder in the immediate days after your talk, when you couldn’t even stand to stay in the same room as him for more than five minutes. You had come home to his apartment the day after having decided Penelope had enough of your moping. Once you got in you immediately went to settle into the guest room.

It was near radio silent between you both those first few days. He didn’t want to force you, but it didn’t feel great when you would leave a room as soon as he’d enter. As the days went on, Spencer started getting resourceful. He’d make you breakfast in the morning and leave it on the table for you, your coffee next to it made exactly how you take it. Then it was little notes left in the most random places, all written with different things he loved about you. He never saw your reaction when you read them, but they’d always disappear from its spot the next day. Little things to remind you he’s there for you.

More days passed and it finally felt like the ice was starting to melt away. You’d started lingering longer in the living room if he was sat at the table still. One time you even made breakfast for the both of you, and although you weren’t there to eat it with him Spencer had never felt more hopeful.

In the field your dynamics changed even more. Normally, he would make sure to be paired up with you in the field to personally ensure that you were being safe. Since the fallout however, he didn’t want to be an unwelcome presence that only left you more tense in high stake situations. So he’d do things like privately tell Emily to double check your bulletproof vest, or make sure Luke was at your 6 if he couldn’t do it himself.

The last thing he wanted was for your current circumstance with each other, one that he knows he created, to distract you in the field and god forbid cause something to happen to you. He would never forgive himself if you got hurt because of him, but Spencer remembers he’s already done the worst hurt he can fathom to you, and what he really means is that he can’t afford to hurt you any further. As much as it worried him to do so, he had reluctantly learned to place some trust in his teammates to keep you safe. It was a balance he’d learned to adapt to.

It worked fine until it didn’t.

The silent car ride from the jet back to your apartment was so thick with tension, but not the one you’ve both become accustomed to over the weeks. No this was a different strain of anger, one that descended down to the primal nature of your relationship—you endangering yourself.

Spencer opens the door, barely waiting for you to enter behind him before slamming it shut. “That, what you did today, was fucking reckless.”

The anger flares through your widened eyes, “Reckless? I saved the hostages, Spencer. He would have killed them!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me, I had it handled.” you huff.

He raises his hands in exasperation, “He had a gun to your head!” he yells, “You have no idea what it’s like to see that.”

“This isn’t the first time someone drew a weapon on me, and there’s definitely more times than I can count when they’ve drawn one on you,” you pause, “Or is it different right now because you got deja vu?”

“What’s that supposed to mean—” Spencer’s face pales in recognition, “That’s not fair.”

“The hell do you mean it’s not fair? You expect me to believe otherwise?”

“He was going to shoot you!” he loudly repeats, “You don’t think I care about your safety?”

“I think you only give a shit right now because you thought another girl you loved was about to get her brains blown out in front of you. Again.”

He’s stunned into silence. Your words feel like a paralytic to Spencer. Like venom slowly traveling down his veins seizing any chance for his body to save himself. All the progress he thinks you both have made just unraveled itself into nothing. It’s paradoxical that his mind is quiet. You’re usually the reason his mind can relax, but somehow you’ve achieved the same outcome by metaphorically stabbing him square in the face.

He can’t understand when you developed the idea that he could care less about you. He can’t understand how you can even think he would be capable of 

of not being with you entirely. He can’t understand where along the line you started believing that he stopped loving you.

It may not be a sentiment you actually hold, but he prides himself on being a good profiler, and more so knowing you better than himself. He knows that’s what you’re thinking, and there’s nothing he can do to fix it.

He speaks under his breath after a couple of minutes,  “How long are we going to keep doing this?”

“Doing what—“

“This!” He gestures wildly with his hands. “This back and forth where you’ve convinced yourself you’re able to move past this but clearly can’t!”

You stare at him, “Look, I’m trying.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

The familiar sting burns the backs of your eyes, the first sign of your resolve crumbling. “That’s not fair.”

He sighs and moves closer, your head hanging low and finding the wooden floor patterns deeply interesting. “You won’t even look at me.” he whispers, “Do you still love me?”

You look up at him stunned, “Spencer…I—I do…It’s just…”

He feels his heart breaking in a new way, “That’s not convincing.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No, I guess I can't,” he shakes his head defeatedly. “I don’t know what else I can do, baby.”

“…I want to forgive you.”

Spencer’s eyes blur from tears, “But you can’t.”

“I don’t know how,” you whisper before a sardonic chuckle leaves you, “You know me, memory like an elephant.”

Spencer refrains from telling you that dolphins are actually the species with the longest memory capacity, and that the reason for possessing such a feature is to maintain the social dynamics and relationships that come with survival in the ocean. A dolphin’s memory is what keeps them rooted back to where they belong, being able to remember individuals and behaviors even after being apart for so long. That no matter how far they stray, they’ll always come home. 

He settles for a soft agreement, “Yeah, I do know you.”

You make the mistake of meeting his eyes, equally and tragically as broken as yours, puffy and red rimmed.

“I don’t know what to do.” you whisper brokenly.

“I don’t either.”

The silence weighs heavy in the living room. The metronomic tick of the clock becomes louder, the birds and the wind outside whistle louder. You’re cornered, forced to come to face the results. And like a prey backed into the corner you do what the prey do best—You run.

“I have to go.” you grab the keys and put your shoes on.

“What?” he steps closer, “You can’t just leave, we just got home.”

“I can’t be here right now,” your voice cracks, “I just…need some time to think.”l

Spencer’s heart falls straight through the floor. Time to think about what? Is this when the foundation beneath you both finally buckles under the immense pressure it’s been on for weeks, and you’re left to scavenge the ruins?

As much as it pains him to let you walk out the door, he knows that nothing would be accomplished at home and it would only hurt you more to stay.

“Okay.” he whispers.

“Okay.”

“Be safe.” I love you.

You look back, “I will. You too.” I love you too.

The door shuts gentler this time, as if careful not to disturb the few pieces of Spencer still left standing behind the door. It doesn’t matter, they’ve already fallen over. Any resolve he had left is slipping away with every step you take further away, never feeling more defeated in his life than this moment.

He trudges over to the study, hoping he can at least bury himself in work to distract himself from the turmoil of his reality. The desk is strewn across with files and papers, mentally making a list of the tasks he has to do. At the top of his to-do list is the Everett Lynch case, having just closed the case a few days back meaning the paperwork would be due to the brass soon.

Spencer glances over the open file and reviews the details of the final moments of the case, recalling the stark change in Lynch’s MO that still left him puzzled. The victimology and the profile just didn’t add up to what actually happened, why he ended up dying with his mother in the house. That wasn’t supposed to happen, Spencer wasn’t supposed to send five SWAT agent in not knowing their fate only seconds later. How the case simply ended anticlimactically after nearly a year long chase. A dull ache begins to form in his head as he thinks, the bureau is going to have a field day processing this case.

He rubs his forehead with his hand to soothe the pain building up, making a note to get painkillers after he finishes. As he continues to read the file he starts to see his confusion take a basis as the initial profile doesn’t add up at all to what actually happened, in fact for as long as he evaded the FBI he really shouldn’t have just, died.

Spencer freezes. Did he die?

Lynch wouldn’t just commit suicide, that was too easy. He watched the house blow up with him and his mother inside, not even including the agents the explosion took out with it. The pain in his head is too much to bear at this point and he decides that getting Advil can’t wait until he’s done. He stands up and immediately wobbles as he grips the desk for support. Through the blurred vision and spinning room Spencer tries to makes sense of Lynch’s discrepancy. 

Everett Lynch wouldn’t commit suicide, because he didn’t. 

“He’s still alive.” he realizes gravely. Then it all goes black.

———

You get in your car and drive off to god knows where, just not there. It’s sheer autopilot driving you to the other side of town, which is more than welcomed as the tears threaten to blur your vision coming down in hot trails. You end up pulling into the parking lot of your favorite donut shop, one that you discovered with Spencer a little before you started dating. There was time to kill after being paired up to visit the unsub’s  dump site and you were so insistent about needing a sweet treat, Spencer thought it was clinical.

“You’re acting like you’ll die if we don’t stop for a, what did you call it? A sweet treat?”

“I will!” you whine, “Don’t you know that girls, specifically me, are mandated to have at least one sweet treat per day?”

He pulls into the parking lot of the donut shop he’d spotted on the way there. “Oh yeah? What happens if you don’t?” he teases.

“You’ll see me as the unsub in the next case.”

Spencer can’t help the laugh that leaves him, loud and earnest. “Alright, c’mon. We already have enough criminals to last us till retirement.”

You and Spencer are definitely not together at this moment in time, but the little old lady owner of the shop really can’t believe otherwise as she watches you both bicker about which flavors you’re getting for the half dozen box. She’s almost certain you’re together as she watches Spencer end up getting all the flavors you wanted despite putting up a fight for others. And she’s fully convinced, with no room for sway, that you are together as Spencer pulls his card out before you can even protest and watches as you miss the look he gives you as you dramatically sigh in content after the first bite.

Spencer would later tell you after a few months together, that the donut shop was the first time he realized he was in love with you. You recall how the same half dozen would appear on your desk every Friday since that first visit, with one chocolate sprinkled donut missing but placed on a napkin on Spencer’s desk. You would joke that he pavloved his way into your heart with donuts, but wouldn’t reveal your true cards that you fell in love with Spencer after a month on the job. The donut shop happened the week after.

“You alright, hon?” the little old lady owner breaks your thoughts.

You look around and realize you’ve walked yourself into the shop. You wipe at your eyes quickly, “I’m okay, Dolores. Can I just get the usual half dozen please?”

She’s not convinced but it seems she knows better than to ask and pry. She gathers the usual six donuts for the box, slipping in an extra one just for good measure, and rings you up at the register.

“Seven right?” you mumble as you file through your bag for the loose ten.

Dolores smiles, “It’s on the house today, hon. Don’t worry.”

You look up at her, knowing she’s only doing that because you showed up with tear streaks on your face, “Oh, no it’s okay you don’t have to do that let me just—“

She pushes the box towards you, “You both tip enough to cover the box anyway, please just take it. Hope you feel better soon, hon.”

Her kind gesture thaws your heart out a little and you give her a small smile. “Thanks, Dolores.”

You walk back to your car, locking the doors once you get in. You don’t move to turn the car on, opting to allow your emotions to overflow again in solitude with the comfort of a bavarian kreme donut. The tears prick your eyes on instinct thinking of the current state of your life, of your relationship.

Spencer was right, have you convinced yourself you’re capable of moving past this? You do still love Spencer, you knew that much. But you are hurt, you are tired, and you just want to stop feeling like you’ll always come in second place even when there’s no one to occupy first place. You’ve waited so long to feel chosen, like someone has waited all their life for someone like you to come around. Meeting Spencer felt like finding the little daisies that grew in between the cracks of concrete, proof that despite your stone hard exterior you were still worthy of being loved.

The sound of your phone ringing jolts you up, almost dropping your donut. With your free hand you look at the caller and press accept.

“Hi, Emily.” you try to make your voice sound even.

“Hey we’ve got a—wait are you okay?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, totally fine don’t worry. What’s up?”

It’s clear she doesn’t believe you but Emily really doesn’t have time right now, “Listen, Lynch is still alive.”

You almost choke. “What?”

“The casualty report doesn’t include Lynch and they couldn’t find his body anywhere. While they were searching the house they found tunnels. He escaped.”

“Fuck, okay what do you need me to do?”

“There’s a gas station clerk who thinks he saw him and his car, I need you and Matt to go check it out and see what he knows.”

You scramble to put your donut down and wipe your hands on the napkin, “Yeah, of course I’m on my way.”

“Okay, Matt will meet you there,” she pauses, “I…Is Spencer with you?”

Your heart clenched again, “No, he’s not. He’s at the apartment.”

Emily hums, “He didn’t pick up when I called, it’s okay I’ll send JJ and Penelope to go get him. Reconvene at the bureau in a couple hours?”

“Sounds good.” you hang up and immediately start driving over to the gas station. Something doesn’t feel right, you can feel it in your gut. You quickly check Spencer’s location just to be safe, and relax when you see he’s still at home. He’s probably just taking a nap.

What Emily decides you can’t ever know about is the call she gets twenty minutes later from a hysterically crying Penelope, who in between sobs tells her that they’re on the way to George Washington Hospital. That when JJ and Penelope opened the door to Spencer’s apartment he was passed out on the floor, blood dripping from his nose. How when JJ went to start CPR he entered a seizure and coded in the ambulance.

No, you can’t know this, because Emily knows that the call alone that she has to give you is going to shatter your broken pieces even further.

—

You pull out your phone to call Emily and see an incoming call from her, “Hey, I was just about to call you. The guy said he drove a red ford pickup, we were able to get the license plate from the security cameras but it came up as a stolen plate—“ 

Emily says your name in a tone you’ve never heard her use. It makes you stop in your tracks, an icy chill shooting down your spine, “What?”

“Something’s happened.”

You step outside of the gas station shop holding your breath, “What do you mean?”

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose, “It’s about Spencer, he’s…”

She pauses for too long. The panic rises fast. “Emily.”

“They found him passed out on the floor of his apartment. Penelope called 911 and they’re on the way to the hospital right now.”

No. 

No, no, no.

The color drains from your face as fast as your heart plunges to the ground. “Wh—what?”

She’s lying, she has to be right? You just saw Spencer literally a few hours ago and he was fine. No signs of distress or anything, she has to be lying. She has to be lying.

“The EMT thinks he has a brain bleed, it um…caused him to have a seizure when JJ and Penelope found him.”

The nausea rises before you can anticipate it, scanning your surroundings for a trash can and immediately hurling up the contents of your stomach. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve you put the phone back to your ear, “Which hospital?”

“George Washington Memorial, they should already be there by now.”

“Okay, I’m on the way.” you sniffle.

Emily doesn’t know what other encouraging words she can provide you, she doesn’t think any words exist to comfort herself even let alone you. “Keep me updated please.”

The call ends and you have to steady yourself on the nearby wall, head reeling with mountainous emotions and unable to make sense of any of them. 

You look around through blurred eyes for Matt calling out to him, “Matt, Matt give me the keys I need to go to the hospital.” you hold a shaky hand out.

He looks at you confused and concerned, “What? Are you okay, why do you need to go—“

“Sp—“ you stutter, unable to even speak the words into existence, “Spencer’s in the hospital.”

Matt’s face pales, “I’ll drive you, come on.”

—

“They said it’s a brain bleed.” you mumble after a few minutes of silence in the car.

“A brain bleed? How could that have…” he trails off in realization.

“What?” you ask nervously.

He grips the steering wheel harder, “The bomb, at the Lynch house.”

Fuck. The EMTs who checked him out that day said he only had a mild concussion, nothing else to be concerned about. A few cuts and scratches but nothing that wouldn’t heal. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

You sniffle and hastily wipe at your face again, your skin growing red with irritation with every contact.

Matt looks at you with a look he wouldn’t call pity, but certainly close, “It’s going to be okay, he’ll pull through. He always does.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as if it could prevent the fresh wave of tears from falling, “You don’t know that.”

He sighs deeply and turns into the hospital parking lot, stopping in front of the entrance, “Go in, I’ll park the car.”

You open the car door and rush inside the lobby, finding the receptionist immediately. She looks up at you and her face softens in empathy, “Who are you here for?”

“Um, Spencer Reid. He should have just gotten in.” you strain.

The receptionist clacks a few buttons on her keyboard before speaking again, “It looks like he’s in the ICU, are you blood related?”

“Are we…what?” you ask confused.

“Well honey, because he’s in the ICU we can only let in blood related family or spouses to stay with them.”

You outwardly deflate, “Oh…I—“

“She’s his fiancée!”

You look to the source of the new voice and are met with Penelope, donning matching red rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. Her eyes look at you in silent communication and you turn back to the desk, “Y—Yeah, I’m his fiancée.”

If the receptionist isn’t convinced she doesn’t show it, willing to turn a blind eye in pure understanding of the situation. “Room 204.”

“Thank you.” You duck down the hall scanning the numbers before coming up on 204, the door cracked open slightly. Your hand hovers over the handle in hesitation, scared of what you’ll find on the other side. Penelope comes up behind you and rests her hand on yours and helps you open the door.

The sight hits you like a truck. All the wires hooked up to his limbs pumping IV fluids and the heart monitor beeping steadily. He’s paler than you’ve ever seen him. His skin is clammy, the hair sticking to his forehead. You can see that from across the room and all you can think about is how uncomfortable he must feel from the sweat coating him. You used to tease him once upon a time when he’d sometimes take multiple showers a day because of how much it bothered him.

“Another shower? Spence, our water bill is about to be crazy.”

He laughs and waves you off, “Don’t worry about that, I can charge the water bill as bureau compensation.”

“Okay, one that sounds illegal. Two, the more time you spend in the shower, the less time you spend with me.” you moan with fake petulance.

You yelp as he suddenly sneaks up behind you, caging you to his chest with his arms, “So join me.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of getting clean?” you giggle, leaning your head back into the crevice of his neck.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “You do know what showers are for, right?”

You nod, “To get clean! It would get even dirtier before it got cleaner.”

“I think that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

The smile on your face grows the widest it can before you break off into a sprint down the hallway towards the bathroom, Spencer trailing behind with your laughs mixing in the light air.

You don’t know why you’re thinking so deeply about the state of his perspiration, maybe a convoluted defense mechanism your brain conjured up so you don’t have to come to terms with Spencer lying near comatose a few feet away.

Your feet hesitantly carry you closer to the bed, feeling somewhat calmed by the slow rise and fall of his chest. You lean down and look him over, as if you could see the damaged inflicted on him even though it’s nestled deep in his brain. Spencer always said his brain would lead to his demise, and you hope all those times you played it off as a joke that it cemented itself as one, a joke. That you would be able to see his hazel eyes open again and they’d fill you with reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere, that all he needed in this world was you, and that he loved you.

You will and wish and hope to have his eyes open. You try not to think about if you’ll ever get to see them again.

A choked sob escapes your throat before you can help it, your hand coming over your mouth to muffle the impact. Spencer is hurt. Spencer is fighting for his life, and you were fighting him not even a few hours ago.

“Oh, honey,” Penelope reaches for your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, “He’s gonna be okay, the doctors said the surgery went well. Just waiting for him to wake up now.”

You cry even harder and Penelope tightens her grip on you, determined to not let you fall further down the slope.

“W—We got into a fight,” you sniffle, “before I left. It was bad, Penny. He was so mad, and then I was so mad. And then I just left.”

“You didn’t know this would happen, honey. None of us did.”

“I didn’t even say I love you. Th—The last conversation we had was a fucking fight a—and now…” you cry, “He can’t die, Pen. He can’t die I didn’t even get to tell him—“

Penelope grabs your face with both of her hands, “Hey. No, we’re not doing that. We are not spiraling, not when there’s no reason to. Okay?”

Whatever response you had falls dead on your lips when you take another look at Spencer’s motionless body on the bed. The calmness on his face is a stark difference from the Spencer you saw only a few hours ago.

She was right, there’s nothing you can do right now but wait. You’d just have to trust that Spencer would pull through.

You almost chuckle dryly through the tears. Trust and Spencer? The irony of it all laughs in your face.

—

Spencer’s eyes blink open and adjust to the bright light blinding him. He takes in his surroundings and realizes he’s standing in the middle of the bullpen. That’s weird, he thinks, I thought I was in the study.

“Reid, you sure you don’t want to join me and Elle in Jamaica?” Derek sings, “My guy can swing you a great deal.”

Derek? Elle?

He snaps his head in the direction of the voice, seeing Derek not even looking in his direction but still looking towards Spencer. Just, a different and much younger Spencer.

“Have a great two weeks off everyone, you all deserve it. Don’t call me at my cabin.” Gideon rushes out as he beelines to the door right past Spencer. “Seriously, don’t call me.”

Gideon? But Gideon…died. Where is he?

The scene changes with a snap and suddenly he’s back in his apartment, his old apartment. The one he lived in before he moved in with you. He is definitely in a dream, though with the vividity and theme of important people in his past he’s not entirely sure he’s only sleeping. A head of blonde hair on his couch catches his eye. He slowly walks around and his breath hitches at who he sees.

“Maeve?”

She smiles softly, “Hi Spencer.”

He slowly walks around the couch and kneels in front of her. The tears prick his eyes before he can help it, “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. I—I’m so sorry for—“

Maeve holds a hand up, “What happened to me wasn’t your fault, I promise. You did what you could. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“It’s not?”

She shakes her head. “You’re dying, Spence.”

His face falls, “I am?”

“Collateral from the explosion, you have a brain bleed.”

It takes a few minutes for him to comprehend what she said, and he can feel his head spinning fast in his head. He can’t actually be dying right? The explosion happened days ago and yet now is when his brain decides to tap out, that can’t be right.

It simply cannot be right because that’s when he remembers you and the last conversation he had with you, and he has to clutch his heart at the prospect of his fate.

He won’t know if you’ll ever forgive him, if you’ll ever learn to trust him again, if you even still love him. He won’t know anything if he dies. He cannot die.

“M—Maeve, I can’t be here I—“

She places her hand atop of his own and he feels her. He can feel her hand on his, like she’s real and here.  It’s alarming, and warm. “I know, it’s okay. C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

Maeve gestures for him to follow her and before his eyes the scene changes again to a nearby park, one that looks a little too familiar to him.

She starts walking through the park, “We’re all okay up here you know? I get to read a lot more now, there’s so much time to read and postulate. Sometimes I get lucky and I can meet the authors. I got to meet Kant and Dostoevsky a while ago, very interesting people. Gideon plays with this nice little octopus friend. I know he’s having the best time.” she laughs, “But you, Spencer Reid, are not okay down there.”

He looks up at her and swallows, “I know.”

She turns onto the fork in the trail, “What’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

“I think you do know.”

A few silent minutes pass. “I…I’m scared to let myself be happy again,” he admits.

Maeve looks at him with a saddened smile, “And why’s that?”

Because everything he loves leaves him. Because when he laughs just a little too hard, he’s already scanning the surroundings waiting for the other shoe to fall. Because when Spencer feels he’s trekked up the mountain with long and winding breaths, something always seems to be waiting at the top ready to knock him down.

“Don’t think I deserve it, to be honest.” he admits, “I keep…messing up everytime.”

Maeve stops walking, “You love so deeply, Spencer. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“Emphasis on the curse.” he deprecates.

“It’s only a curse because you don’t let yourself feel wholly. I know given everything that’s happened it’s hard but,” she pauses, “You’re not a clipped bird, Spence. You just…lost a few feathers. Nothing you can’t get back.”

It’s easier said than done when it feels like his mere existence causes you pain as of late.

“I feel like I have to hold parts of me back so I can protect her…from myself.”

Maeve turns to him, “She deserves all of you, Spence. It is a privilege to be loved by you, but it’s a greater privilege to be loved. And you deserve to feel loved.”

“What if I ruin it?” More accurately, what if he’s already ruined it, is what he means.

“You are not destined for sorrow and misery, despite what your life has made you think. She loves you. She would not have stayed this long if she didn’t. But there is one thing I think she could use from you.”

Spencer looks at her expectantly waiting for her to continue.

“She wants to feel chosen, Spencer. And I know you think you choose her everyday just by loving her. But the reality is, you can’t fully choose her without choosing yourself first. That means allowing yourself to be happy.”

A few stray tears streak down his face and he haphazardly wipes them away. For the entirety of Spencer’s life his purpose was to be of service to others. With his intelligence, his kindness, his courage. His needs always came second because the few times he thought to put himself first, disaster struck. 

When he met you this notion only reinforced itself, wanting to ensure he could make you as happy as he could. You became his priority and he didn’t mind that at all. It was easy being with you, you made life feel easy. So when Spencer started to let his guard down piece by piece, allowing himself the little bits of your happiness to seep into his being, he wasn’t thinking about the abyss that had always loomed over him his whole life.

He couldn’t, not when you managed to infiltrate his entire existence by wrapping and tethering yourself to him with strings of gold. How could he? You made things so easy.

But then prison happened. Then Cat, again. Then Maeve, again. Three strikes. It should have been game over by now. He broke your trust, betrayed your love and he wasn’t sure if you would even stay long enough to see the damage unfold. But you did, and he still can’t really figure out why.

So here he is in limbo? Purgatory? Some figment of his mind in the wake of near death that is giving him the opportunity to make amends. Not with Maeve or Gideon or you or any other grudge he has yet to settle in his life. No, he has the chance to make amends with himself and forgive himself for standing in the way of what he really deserves.

A faint beeping in the distance reels him back to the present moment, Maeve’s face coming into focus again. The dull ache in his eyes coming forward again with how many tears are falling.

“Love is our true destiny, we do not find the meaning of it alone, we find it with another.”

He smiles with a watery chuckle, “Thomas Merton.”

“Spencer, I promise you, you will be happy again. And forever. Just keep the door open when it comes knocking.”

The beeping starts to get louder, like it’s approaching him fast. A warm glow begins to build around him, then light. He looks around the park again and sees the trees and benches begin to blur. He looks at Maeve as she stands with a fond smile, her figure slowly fading as well.

“Take care, Spencer.” and with a blink Maeve is gone.

In the silence he is left in, he looks to the epitaph of Jason Gideon in front of him and back to the spot where Maeve was standing, whispering a soft, “You too.” before closing his eyes and succumbing to the beeping.

—

It’s been 4 hours since you’ve been sat next to his bed. You’d be a lot more concerned than you were, which is already a lot, if it wasn’t for his heartbeat monitor beeping steadily throughout the hours. A sign of life, as morbid as it sounds, but it’s hard to be rational given the circumstances.

It had taken all of 3.5 hours for you to braven up and hold his hand in comfort. Hour one you simply stared at his hand, as if it would regain mobility and reach out for you. Hour two you were able to place your hand on the bed, not anywhere near his obviously. But enough to feel close, satiated. By hour three you had your fingers mere millimeters from his own, feeling like a magnetic force of the same poles was repelling you.

The 3.5 hour mark is when the exhaustion of the day caught up to you, and finally allowed yourself to relax in his hand.

At hour 4.5 is when you felt the twitch.

You look up and whisper, “Spencer?”

He slowly opens his eyes, revealing his hazel brown irises with gold flecks on the insides that meet yours sitting right beside him. You can see the recognition begin to flood his face, but is stopped momentarily when he starts to panic realizing the breathing tube is still in his throat. You hit the call button besides his bed and watch the doctors rush in to help stabilize him back down.

It’s another two hours of testing and scans before the three of you are left alone again, with the nurse promising to check on him in a few hours.

You’re stiff next to him, unsure what to do now that he’s awake and perceiving you again. With a small voice you speak, “They said they found you in the study.”

Spencer racks his brain for memories of before his fall, only able to remember bits and pieces. He remembers fighting with you and when you left. He remembers walking to the study. And he remembers reading…”Lynch! Did you get him? He’s still alive, you have to call Emily—“

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” you shush. “We know he’s still alive, they’ve almost got him right now. It’s okay.”

That seems to make him visibly relax knowing the immediate stressor was almost resolved. Now there’s just the matter of the other elephant in the room.

“You’re here.”

Your eyes soften as your brows raise in shock, “Of course I’m here, Spence.”

He stares at you and takes in your features—your puffy cheeks and red eyes, the skin around your nails picked to death, your lip nearly split in half from the bites and bleeding. He needs to apologize again, he knows that. But the second he opens his mouth you cut him off.

“Penny, can you give us a minute please?”

She smiles and stands, “Sure hon, I’ll be right outside.”

Once she leaves you turn back to Spencer, “We don’t have to talk about all of that anymore, it’s okay. You’re hurt and that’s more important right now.”

He should have expected that you would do this, selflessly push your discomfort and feelings down because someone you cared about was hurting. It was one of the few things he didn’t like that you did, and he’s not going to let it go again.

“Angel, you can’t forgive me just because you thought I was going to die.” he says sadly.

You’re taken aback. “I—I know.”

He swallows, “I really want you to.”

Your eyes blur again, “I know.” Another pause. “I’m trying really hard.”

A gentle squeeze, “I know.”

“I…I still love you, Spence. I don’t think that will ever change, but I’m nervous if one day it won’t be enough…that I won’t be enough.” you trail off.

Again, he shouldn’t be surprised that’s what you’re thinking. He hasn’t done a very good job at convincing you yet. It still hurts knowing that you feel that way.

“Do you know what I thought about everyday when I was in Millburn?”

You shake your head as he continues, “I thought about how when you eat cupcakes you tear the bottom half and stick it on top to make a cupcake sandwich. When we’re watching Doctor Who and you’re singing along to the theme song with only syllables. How you let me eat the olives on your plate and I give you the pickles on mine.”

“Why would you be thinking about that?” you ask confused.

“Because I don’t think I would have survived if I didn’t.”

The lump forms in your throat, “But…you took me off the visiting list after the first time I came to see you.”

“I couldn’t let you keep seeing me like that, honey.” he strains, “The way they were looking at you, what they did to me. I had to protect you.”a

You swallow hard, a few tears falling down your face, “Th—That’s not fair, Spence. I understand why you did it, but then when all the other shit happened… I don’t know what I was supposed to believe. I couldn’t stop wondering if I ever was enough for you.”

Spencer can feel his heart splintering.

“You will always be enough, because it is always you. God, sweetheart it’s not even a question of how much, it just is. I see you in everything I do—you’re the tangled headphones we use to listen to music flying back on the jet. You’re the annotations I make when I read something that reminds me of you, or if I think you’d enjoy it. You’re the smell of bavarian kreme donuts from Dolores’ even though the chocolate sprinkle ones are far superior.”

His heart blooms hearing a soft giggle from you, an earnest smile forming on your face.

“You are entangled in the things that make me happy, and you make them too good to be true. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I meant it when I said I would spend all of time making it up to you. You are my Catalina comet, and I love you.”

You can’t help the sob that leaves you as you remember the memory.

“I’m cold Spence, are you sure we’ll be able to see it?”

He tugs you closer under his arm as he keeps trekking to find the perfect spot, a chaste kiss to your temple, “I promise it’ll be worth it. Come on, I think it's a good spot over there.”

You help Spencer set out the blanket on the ground and use the extra one to wrap around you both, huddling closer together as you wait for the celestial body to make its appearance.

“The first time they did the calculations they used old observational data that led to some incorrect results, and they thought the orbit was only four years.”

“They just got it wrong?”

“Not everyone gets it right on the first try, sweet girl.” he says softly, “But then they did the math again, made sure all the factors and numbers were correct. And you know what they found?”

You ponder for a moment, “Did they realize the orbit was longer?”

Spencer beams down at you, “My smart girl. That’s exactly what they found. So when they did the calculations again, they found out that the Catalina comet is even more special than anyone thought. It’s even more of a rare sighting to get to see it, once in a lifetime really.”

You hang onto his every word, captivated by the story, “Do people wish on comets?” you ask doe eyed.

His hand smooths your hair back, “They do, some say the rarer comets have extra special energy to aid their wishes.”

You look at him skeptically, “Do you really believe that?”

“Do you?”

You look back to the sky, “I think I do.”

Spencer doesn’t look away from you, “Then I do too.”

You giggle and lightly shove him, “Cheesy…” He smiles fondly and pulls you closer into his chest, his arms warming you up before you gasp, “Look!”

There across the night sky streaks the Catalina Comet in all her glory, Spencer watches the comet track through Ursa Major and before he can start telling you about why it goes that path, you’ve already clamped your eyes shut and squeezed his hand, silently gesturing for him to do the same.

He complies, obviously. You open your eyes again after making your wish, “Did you make yours?”

Spencer opens his eyes and admiringly looks at you, “Yeah, I did angel.” 

He didn’t need to make any wishes.

“Spence…” you whine through sobs.

His hand comes up shakily to wipe the tears from your cheeks, “Didn’t mean to make you cry, honey.”

“Well, what did you expect by bringing that story up?” you laugh with fake anger.

“To be fair, you were already crying.” he chuckles.

You scoff, “Mean.” You look at his eyes, and really look at him and see nothing but love and adoration staring back at you. You take a deep breath, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you.” his eyes soften, you continue, “I love you.”

He brings your hand up to his lips and gently kisses it, “I love you so much. I’m sorry again, sweet girl.”

You lean up to him on the bed and press a soft kiss to his lips, and Spencer can feel his wounds start to hurt less and less. “You should get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You make yourself as comfy as you can whilst sat on the armchair, bent over to be able to rest your head next to Spencer. It feels okay for a bit, and then he tangles his hand in your hair gently moving back and forth and suddenly you’re satisfied with never moving ever again.

The quiet air between you both is enough to lull you to sleep, before a thought runs through your mind.

“You know something funny,” you mumble, “Pen told the receptionist I was your fiancée so they’d let me see you.”

And poor Spencer, in between his sleepy haze and the dull ache of pain from his injuries, only hears the word fiancée.

“You found the ring?” he sighs, “I thought I hid it well.”

You still under his hand.

“…There’s a ring?”

His eyes shoot open, realizing he misheard you and tries to play it off, “So…Penelope lied to staff. Tsk Tsk.”

“There’s a ring.” you say pointedly, the corners of your lips upturned to reach a smile.

Spencer thinks he can try and get out of this but decides it’s better to come clean, “Fine, okay. Of course there’s a ring.”

“Of course?”

The surprise on your face honestly stuns Spencer, and he feels a little saddened that you were in disbelief of the possibility.

“Yeah baby, of course.”

Your bottom lip wobbles with a creeping suspicion of his answer, “How long have you had it?”

“Got it after our six month.”

You shakily exhale. There is no ounce of doubt in your body that he loves you, and that you really are all he needs. “ ‘M sorry I ruined the surprise.”

He grins, “It’s okay, you won’t know when I’m going to do it. It’ll knock you off your feet, I promise.”

You definitely aren’t expecting it during a Planetarium date months later where he got the museum people to show the Catalina Comet passing over you both as he got down on one knee. You are expecting the endless stream of tears from the both of you, the aching cheeks from smiling too much, and the multiple missed attempts at sliding the ring on from how much you both were shaking.

[r0rysreid]

spencer x gn!reader

spencer hated seeing you sick.

he felt horrible that inevitably he’d have to leave you to take care of yourself, so every chance he got he made sure to take care of you the best he could.

he made sure to clean the bedsheets for you, insisting that if you laid on a fresh clean bed it’ll help you get over it sooner.

he’d run you a hot shower, even offering to join you so he could wash your hair if you didn’t feel like it, peppering gentle kisses across the back of your neck and shoulders.

the second you mention being thirsty or hungry he’s immediately in the kitchen, making you your favorite meal—or at least trying too—and bringing you a cup of your favorite tea.

he would make sure you take your medicine every couple hours, setting alarms on his phone so you know when to meet him in the kitchen for your next dose.

at some point he’d put your favorite movie on in the living room, setting up a spot for you on the couch to get comfortable. he’d keep a bit of distance between you, but of course he would willingly risk getting sick to hold you if you wanted.

―୨୧⋆ ˚

“spence.” you mumbled out, glancing at him across the couch. you reached a hand out to signal you wanted him closer, and of course he obliged.

“hey angel,” he smiled and kissed the side of you head. “how’re you feeling?” he settled next to you, a hand coming up to gently cup your jaw.

you couldn’t help but grin at him, leaning into his hand and sighed. “i’m better than this morning. i’m kinda sad though.”his brows instantly furrowed at this, his thumb running across your skin as a small frown tugged at his lips. “what’s the matter?”

“i didn’t get my good morning kiss.”

spencer couldn’t help but laugh a little, leaning a bit closer to you, his breath hitting your face lightly. “i would love to kiss you, but you insisted on not getting me sick.

you sighed and adjusted yourself, giving him a look that silently told him to forget about your earlier remarks and to simply kiss you.

“but if you insist..” he whispered before leaning closer, his lips leaving a light kiss on your lips before he pulled back. “don’t feel bad if i end up sick tomorrow because of this. okay?”

you nodded and smiled, pressing your lips to his again, feeling the heat begin to radiate off of his face from your actions.

of course, the next morning you woke up to find a very cranky spencer curled up next to you, his forehead warm and a thin sheet of sweat draped over his skin. however, he insisted it was worth it. as long as he got to make you happy he’d be sick any day of the week.

[flow33didontsmoke]

please guys i’m begging you send me (comment) your fav and most heart wrenching and horniest fics because now those tags bore me i feel like it’s just the same at the end but i love those characters too much and you know what send me long fics, i love dark ones and sugar mommy/daddy, age difference even idk my only boundary is that i hate bad endings (and i don’t like dom!reader and male!reader too)

(and please for the wanda and nat tags don’t send the boring porn without plot fics we keep seeing otherwise i wouldn’t ask)

edit : please avoid step-parent and stepcest too it makes me uncomfortable, i didn’t know how to express it but i was talking about smut-based plots and series when i talked about « porn without plot fics »

[temporarywelcome]

Hospital Visit - Spencer Reid

REQUESTED!

The Request: Your smooth criminal series is actually perfect!!!! Ahh I love the way you write both of them and their dynamics with the team. Obsessed 💕 Request: Kleptomaniac!Reader twists her ankle or like gets hurt due to practices during a dance and ends up at the hospital and worried spencer comes and sees her stealing little equipments again and her trying to leave because she doesnt want to miss her dance. (I really didn't know how to frame what I was thinking but honestly i think whatever you write will be amazing) -anonymous

CW: swearing, a bit suggestive towards the end. Technically part of my "Smooth Criminal" series though you don't need to read the other parts to understand!

AN: I'm half Dominican so yes I can poke fun of Dominican people 🙄 lmao this character I created for this is loosely based off of my grandpa-. Also totally forgot the "her trying to leave" part so I might make a seperate fic with that, mb...

_____

Words: 2k

Spencer Reid wasn’t one to leave work early. 

When there was not a case and the Behavorial Analysis Unit was busy at the office, Spencer never left early. For him, that is ridiculous. Other members of the team like Hotch and JJ would have their moments where they would have to dash out of the building with barely any warning, due to little emergencies with their children. It barley happened, but when it did, it was understandable. 

Spencer, on the other hand, did not have children to worry about. He never had a reason to leave work. 

Until his phone rang. 

Flipping it open, his brows furrowed when he noticed who it was. His girlfriend. Her calling him in the middle of work never raised any alarm. She probably just brought him some lunch again, which she did a few days ago. Or some drama happened in a show she was watching and she just had to let it out. Probably something silly like that. 

But, wait! She had said she was going to be at the studio early today to get in some extra practice before rehearsal. So why would she be calling him instead of practicing?

“Hello?” he placed the phone to his ear. 

The voice on the other end answered in panic, “Hello? Is this Spencer?”

That was not his girlfriend. Instead, it was a man with a heavy accent, the genius deduced Dominican. What the fuck was she doing with this guy? 

“Yes, I’m Spencer, as the contact ID says,” Spencer replied curtly, feeling a hint of jealousy brewing within him, “Who is this?”

“I am Flavio!” the man replied confiently, “Flavio Herrera de León! I-”

“-Why are you calling me from my girlfriend’s phone?” Spencer interrupted in annoyance, “Where is she?”

“Oh!” the man laughed awkwardly, “On the floor! I will be taking her to a hospital now!”

Now Spencer was shooting up to his feet, gathering his things as he spoke, “Hospital?! Why do you need to take her to the hospital? Why is she on the floor?!”

“Very bad injury,” said Flavio, “I worry for her,”

Very bad injury?!

“What do you mean by that?!” Spencer mouthed to Hotch a quick ‘I gotta go’, not waiting for an answer as he sped towards the door, “How bad-”

“-Must take her to hospital. Blood everywhere. Bye bye!” And with that, fucking Flavio hung up the phone, leaving Spencer in an even worst panic. Blood everywhere? What the hell was Y/N doing?

Knowing her, it could have been anything. Every possible thought went through his head, every possibility. She was zoned out and got hit by a car. She tried to befriend a dog that wasn’t very friendly. She fell down a flight of stairs. 

She stressed him the fuck out. 

After breaking at least twelve traffic laws, Spencer found himself at the ER, pushing past people to get to the receptionist. “Y/N L/N,”

Not looking up at him from her computer, the woman replied with: “Relation to the patient?” 

Ugh. “FBI. Let me see her,” he waved his badge at her. He knew this was unprofessional and an abuse of power, but this was his girlfriend. The girl he was planning to marry someday. Who he was convinced stupidly got herself into this medical emergency. 

Abuse of power be damned. 

He was led through the ER to her room, bursting in. He was expecting tubes and machines connected to her unconscious form, maybe a cast or two. He was expecting to be completely traumatized by the sight before him.

Not his girlfriend shoving surgical gloves into her pockets. 

Her head snapped into his direction, eyes wide, but when it hit that it was Spencer and not a doctor, she sighed, body relaxing. “Shit, Spence, why didn’t you just kick the door down while you’re at it?” she said sarcastically. 

He did not find her amusing. She didn’t even know if her words registered to him. “What happened?!” he felt like he repeated that quite often today. He cupped her jaw, turning her head in all different directions while looking for any wounds, “That guy said there was blood everywhere! Where are you hurt?!” his eyes went from her face to the rest of her body. 

“He’s so dramatic,” Y/N groaned, “There was blood everywhere because I had gotten a bloody nose from hitting the floor.” She grabbed his hands that were now on her shoulders, bringing them to her cheeks. Her eyes closed and lips curled into a smile, nuzzling into him. “No broken nose,”

“Then why the hell are you in the hospital?” 

“Sprained ankle. Doctor said I won’t be able to dance for about three weeks,” Her eyes opened, meeting his, and all his anger and anxiety vanished. She was okay. She was safe. Not mauled by a dog or hit by a car. 

Safe. 

“Next time you get an injury like this, please call me yourself,” Spencer sighed in relief, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, “Your friend scared me to death,” 

“My friend is super dramatic,” she giggled, already sensing his dislike towards Flavio, “He thought I broke my foot and my nose,” 

“Of course he’s dramatic. Birds of a feather flock together,” Spencer tried to joke, hands now resting on her waist, “You know… You never told me you were practicing with this friend. I thought you were practicing alone,” 

“Didn’t think I had to specify,” Yeah, he was so jealous, it was so obvious to her. 

“You should, so in the case you get kidnapped, I would have somewhere to start-”

“Spence!” she gasped, playfully hitting his shoulder, “Not only is that really anxiety-enducing, but I know for a fact that’s not why you wanted to know.” Y/N smirked, leaning closer to him, “He has a wife, Spence.”

“And? People cheat all the time. About twenty percent of married men cheat on their spouses-”

“How little do you trust me though?” she huffed. 

“It’s him I don’t trust,” Spencer corrected himself, “I trust you. Of course, I trust you,” As he spoke, he removed the surgical gloves from her pockets, “Even when you steal all of my things and I have to buy replacements because you lost them after, I still trust you. It’s just…” he trailed off, throwing the now contaminated gloves into the trash bin. 

“Just what?” As he distracted himself with the gloves, she reached out and grabbed a handful of q-tips from the table next to the examining bed she sat on, now putting those into her pockets.��

Spencer turned to face her again, “It’s just that, with this job, I see so many horrible things happen to women. And the thought of something happening to my woman scares me,” His arms went around her again, “Every time I get a case file and see a woman’s body, it occurs to me how easily it could be you,” 

“...damn,” she cleared her throat, looking down, “Gee, now Imma be scared to go outside,” 

“No you’re not,” his hands slipped into her pockets, taking out the q-tips. Spencer always noticed everything. “You’re going to continue being you and I’m going to continue worrying about you every time we’re apart. I do wish you would be more careful. I know right now you were with this guy for work-related reasons and you had to, but at least tell me?”

“Mhm,” she nodded softly. He went to throw out the q-tips, and while he did so, she began shoving gauze into her pockets next. 

“Put the gauze back,” he said firmly, not even looking at her as he disposed of the material. 

“I can’t help it,” a huff left her lips as she tossed the box (yes, she attempted to steal the whole box) back onto the counter. 

“Tell me why you need a whole box of gauze, dear,” Spencer always spoke like that when addressing her kleptomania. Why do you need this object you are stealing? And they both would know she didn’t need it, and she would keep repeating that in her head until the urge (hopefully) went away. 

“I don’t need a whole box of gauze,” she stated the obvious, taking a deep breath, “I don’t need a whole box of gauze,”

“You don’t need a whole box of gauze,” Spencer confirmed, taking her hands like he always did when she was getting her urges, “Or q-tips. Or surgical gloves. What do you possibly need to examine with those, hm?” he said the last part lightly, nuzzling her nose with his. 

A smirk formed on her face as she spoke, “You?” 

“Me? And how would you do that?” 

“Can examine the part of you I love most….” she trailed off, in thought, “Wait, that’s hard. That was supposed to be me saying your dick however is that really what I love most? ‘Cause, like, look at you,” 

She always knew how to make his cheeks burn red. “What else do you love then?” 

“Oooh, where do I begin?” she threw her arms up in the air dramatically, “Okay, let me start with your facial features…”

____

By the time she was cleared by a doctor and allowed to leave the room, Spencer had a good hickey or two (four actually) on his neck and a giddy expression on his face. Once in the waiting room, a man shot up seeing Y/N, Spencer immediately assuming Flavio. 

“Ah, mi flor,” he exclaimed, examining her all over, “Nothing is broken! How good!”

“Yep, all good,” Y/N replied, “Flavio, meet my boyfriend, Spencer. Spencer, meet Flavio, one of my dance partners for my current show,” 

Spencer and Flavio shook hands, Y/N giggling softly at the look Spencer was giving him. Oh, she knew damn well Spencer was profiling the fuck out of him. To most people, Spencer looked like he had a blank expression on his face, but Y/N knew him better. There was something about Flavio that Spencer did not like. She wasn’t sure if it was the simple fact this was a man who spends alone time with his woman, or something else entirely. 

“It is so nice to meet you, Spencer!” Flavio shook his hand cheerfully, “I have heard many good things about you!” 

“Oh, really?” that made Spencer cheer up slightly, “I’m glad to hear that,” he draped an arm around Y/N’s waist. Spencer didn’t look like the type, but he was incredibly possessive, which was fine, because Y/N was possessive as fuck over him. Spencer precieved everything friendly said to her as flirting, though, when someone actually flirted with him he wouldn’t catch it. It was cute, but also frustrating, because then the only way to get these people to leave him alone is a threat or two coming from her. 

Flavio opened his mouth to speak, but paused when his phone rang. He flipped it open, seeing the caller ID. “Ah, I must take this. My girlfriend is calling,”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, “I thought you were married?”

“Yes yes, I am,” the dancer shrugged, “My wife is here. My girlfriend is in la Republica Dominicana,” And with that, he was off, babbling into the phone. 

“I told you,” Spencer rolled his eyes, glaring at Flavio’s retreating form in disgust, “Twenty percent,” 

“You best not be part of that twenty percent in the future or I’ll end up being an unsub your team has to catch,” Y/N threatened lightly, pinching his side. 

“Hey!” he gasped, “What makes you think- wait,” hard stop, “Does that mean you see yourself marrying me someday?”

She smirked, beginning to walk (limp) towards the exit, “Hmmmm, maybe?” 

“Wait! Wait, you can’t just drop that and wobble away from me!” He followed after her, a huge shit-eating grin forming on his lips.

[dawajlanek]

i have a really bad urge to write a spencer x reader x emily fan fic- would anyone like to read it?

[minswriting]

can you give me a fic/headcanon/whatever where spencer comes home from a case in another city that took him an eternity to close and he gets home just to find you sleeping. he’s so frustrated all he does is get into bed WITH

his clothes ON barely takes his time to literally take his dick out of his work pants just to fuck you on your side, from behind in a way that both of your legs are against your chest because he just happens to need you and miss you real bad?

im sorry. im very slutty for him and this is how i want to be fucked by him. don’t mind me.

nsfw | mdni | spencer reid x reader | somnophilia

i love thinking about desperate and needy spencer. he’d come home so exhausted but so sexually frustrated. before he had left for the case, you guys were in the middle of having sex when hotch had called, telling spencer where was a case. so you guys weren’t able to finish. and spencer was PENT UP as it had been a week since that happened.

and when he comes home and sees you sleeping on the bed, on your side, spencer almost cried in frustration. that was until he noticed that you were naked. so ofc he takes that as an invitation because you guys have already discussed waking each other up with sex. so he drops his things and unzips his pants just enough to free his cock before lying down next to you. he kisses along your spine, moving up towards your neck while guiding his cock to your cunt.

and when you begin stirring, spencer doesn’t hesitate to just insert his cock, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you whine from the intrusion. he’s thrusting into you in a desperate sort of way while you’re whining and moaning, reaching behind you to grab one of spencer’s hands and intertwine your fingers. the pace begins to get frantic as spencer uses your cunt to relieve himself of the pressure built over the past week.

when he’s close, he’s whining hotly into your ear, telling you how much he craved and needed this before burying himself so deeply inside of you and releasing his cum into you with a loud groan.

i love desperate spencer so much

[hereforhalstead]

HAPPY TUESDAY

[plutoispurplw]

Do I Wanna Know

Summary: Mini ramble about two scenarios about Spencer with the song "Do I Wanna Know" by Arctic Monkeys and the cover of Hozier.

When I started to imagine the Arctics Monkeys one I was thinking of Spencer getting frustrated and angry after you both broke up after a big fight a few weeks ago.

He went to your apartment at 3 AM, The encounter would be more angry but you both would ended sleeping together and probably after everything the next day you both would act like nothing happen and not get back together.

But with the Hozier one I imagine Spencer and you running up on a coffee shop or in a bar that he went with the team.

In both cases it would be after almost two months of having broken up, the reason would be a fight or bc of his job. The encounter would be more sad and not angry, his eyes would probably be filled with longing and love for you.

You both would probably ended up getting back together in this scenario.

Pd: Sprry if this ramble is bad, here is 3AM and I don't get too much sleep so