#Spencer Reid x (Y/N) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stonedwith30yearolds · 2 days ago

Text

oh these absolute cuties

Professional Hair Dresser (Ph.D)

18+ spencer x reader

summary: after Spencer's knee injury, he starts visiting a salon every week to get his hair washed

warnings: meet-cute, falling in love, hurt/comfort, shooting mentions, love confessions, meeting spencers friends, mentions of Haley's death, teasing, fluff, smut, hand jobs, this sex position,

word count: 6.4K

After he got shot, he realized just how much of his daily life depended on being able to stand up. He couldn’t have showers anymore, he had a hard time bending down into the kitchen sink to wash his hair, he contemplated just buzzing it all off so he wouldn’t have to deal with it, but then Hotch had the best idea.

He noticed Spencer’s hair was greasy and he was looking more and more frustrated with his crutches, he looked miserable and he knew it was because he couldn’t take care of himself currently. He also knew Spencer didn’t like asking for help or being a burden because of his childhood.

He sat on the edge of Spencer’s desk, hands together on his leg as he smiled at him gently, and Spencer knew something was up, Hotch never smiled.

“When Haley was pregnant, she hated showering because her bump didn’t have any support, so twice a week she went to the salon just to wash her hair,” his voice is hushed so the rest of the team doesn’t hear, “you’re not a burden if you’re paying them for their time.”

“Thank you,” he presses his lips together awkwardly and smiles, “for everything.”

He pats Spencer’s shoulder as he stands, “any time, buddy.”

He finishes his paperwork and heads home early, stopping at the hair salon just down the block. There’s a nice lady at the counter, no one is in the chairs and it looks like they’re about to close up. He hobbles in with his crutches under his arms and she looks up at him with a smile.

“Your hair is so beautiful!” She gasps, “please tell me you don’t want me to cut it?”

He laughs, leaning against the counter at the front, “I actually was wondering if you could just wash my hair?”

“Sure!” She smiles, “do you want me to trim the dead ends and blow-dry it too?”

“Sure,” he smiles.

“Okay,” she smiles right back, “come sit back in the chair, here let me help you take your jacket off.”

She steps into his space so he can grip the countertop for support as she moves his crutches to lean against the counter. She helps him shrug out of his blazer and she smiles at the purple shirt and cardigan combo.

“You are mighty stylish,” she compliments him with yet another smile and it’s infectious. He’s a giggly mess as he tries to say thank you.

“I’m Spencer by the way,” he manages to speak as he takes his crutches again and walks with her to the sink in the back.

“I’m Y/N,” she’s very enthusiastic as she sits him in the chair, she wraps a towel around the back of his neck before he lowers him into the sink. “Do you want any special shampoo? I have strawberry, pear, one to get rid of dead skin build-up so it makes your scalp tingle like when you drink cold water after you brush your teeth.”

It makes him laugh, “let’s try the tingly shampoo.”

“Hell yeah,” she cheers to herself as she reaches for the bottle.

It's at that moment that he realizes a pretty, cute, and beautiful woman is about to wash his hair. He didn’t think it through and now he’s nervous. She was going to have her fingers in his hair, doing the thing he loved the most which her boobs were right beside his head.

Shit.

She turns on the water and lightly runs her fingers through his tangled hair, “how did you hurt your leg?”

“Oh, um,” he wonders if he should lie or be honest for just a moment. “I got shot, I’m an FBI agent.”

“Huh,” she sounds really shocked. “I wasn't expecting that.”

It makes him smile again as he closes his eyes, she runs the warm water over his head and presses the faucet against his scalp, it feels amazing. He sighs as he relaxes against the chair, it feels like he’s at the spa.

“How long have you been on your crutches?” She tries to make small talk but he really just wants to appreciate the moment.

“2 months now, it’s been really hard trying to wash my hair.”

“I can imagine,” he can hear her smile, he doesn’t even have to look up at her.

She turns off the water and pours a decent amount of soap into her hands before rubbing it in. She lathers it in her hands and then spreads the subs over his scalp. When her nails start to scratch along and work into the roots, he feels like he’s on a cloud. All the pressure in his body is gone, he was relaxed for the first time in weeks, and his head was actually starting to tingle.

“Wow,” he whispers to himself.

She giggles, “tingly right?”

He just nods as she keeps massaging his head, humming along to the wonderful feeling. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? Having someone wash your hair.”

He hums again, moving along with the pressure of her hands in his hair. She manhandles his head as she makes sure to cover every inch of his scalp with bubbles.

“It’s just something about being pampered, not having to take care of yourself for 5 minutes is really nice,” she keeps talking as she works, “if I use colder water it’ll feel really nice if you want?”

“Sure,” he whispers, relaxed to the point that he can't push the words out.

She runs the water and makes sure the temperature is just right, running it through the ends of his hair, “is that too cold?”

“No,” he shakes his head softly, keeping his eyes closed as he waits for it.

She wasn’t kidding about it feeling like drinking cold water after brushing your teeth. The tingles turn up a notch and it’s like his scalp is numb. Like he’s returned from the dentist and his lips are tingling before the feeling comes back. It’s amazing, but he can’t really feel her fingers against his head anymore as the tingles turn hot.

He knows it’s the eucalyptus in the shampoo that’s doing this, the soothing medicinal feeling was lovely but he missed her nails.

When the water stop’s again, he’s expecting her to tell him to sit up, “was that nice?”

“Yeah,” he opens his eyes finally and squints into the light, “you weren’t kidding.”

“It’s what I use at home once a week,” she nods with a smile, proud of herself.

She reaches for another bottle and he says a silent prayer to thank whoever was looking out for him right now. She pumped some conditioner into her hand and lightly ran it through the ends of his hair, “how long have you been growing this?”

“Three years,” he opts out of saying the exact length, but then he thinks about how she might giggle at it. “my last haircut was 1108 days ago.”

“That’s 36 months,” she smirks at how fast she can turn that into months.

“And 12 days,” Spencer corrects.

“Well, reset the clock, mister, you’re getting a trim today,” she giggled again.

“Doctor,” he whispers. “I have a Ph.D.”

“I’m sure you do,” she smirks, and he doesn’t get the joke she’s laughing at in her head. But he knows she’s thinking of one by the way she bites her lip.

She turned on the water once more, rinsing the ends of his hair free of the conditioner before wringing his hair out. She helped him sit up and wrapped the towel around the ends of his hair. She made sure to get all the water out so it wouldn’t drip down his back during the walk to her salon chair.

“Can you use crutches and keep the towel on your shoulders at the same time?”

He laughs, leaning all the way forward and flipping his hair over, he wraps the towel around his hair the way he would at home and sits back up with a smile, “ta daa,” he smirks.

“Cute,” she compliments him again, “here, let me give you a hand.”

He helps him to his feet and using her as a crutch, she helps him hobble along to her chair. “You’re so tall I don’t even have to boost you up,” she teases as they make eye contact in the mirror.

She takes the towel off his head and wraps a piece of tissue around his neck before fastening the cape on top. She ruffles the fabric to ensure it covers his nice dress shirt before she reaches for a comb.

She stands behind him with her hands on his temples as she tilts his head and looks at him through the mirror. She’s smiling to herself as she takes it all in, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say she found him attractive.

She silently runs the comb through his hair and flattens it out along his back to see just how long it is. “Do you want anything specific before I trim? I’m not going to take any of the length off, I’m just going to make sure that it’s even and healthy.”

“Would you maybe add a layer? It’s heavy at the bottom, I want it to fall nicer and if it’s not as heavy my curls will come back,” he explains, he’s actually been thinking about getting a cut for a while.

She tilts her head to the side and lets out a little puff of air as she swoons, “it’s curly?”

He nods, still making eye contact with her in the mirror.

“Hold on,” she whispers and walks into the back where she was just washing his hair.

She takes something off the rack and reads it before she returns, she uncaps it and puts a few drops in the palm of her hand. She sets the bottle on her counter and rubs it into her other hand before spreading it through his long locks, “I’m not going to blow dry it then, just let it air dry with this and you’ll love it.”

“Okay,” he nods again.

She grabs a pair of scissors and clips a few clips to her apron before stand-in behind him once more. She sections his hair and clips it up, combing out the bottom layer, she notices his hair is long enough that no matter how tall he is, she has to raise his chair.

She pumps her foot on the lever under his chair and it startles him as he starts to go up, it makes her laugh so hard she places a hand on his shoulder and leans in over him. It makes him laugh too, but really he just wants to bump their cheeks together while she’s that close to him.

She rests her chin on his shoulder softly for a moment, “you should come in once a week for a wash, that’s the best thing for your scalp, the longer you go between washes the more it gets used to the oils and won't need to be washed as often,” her voice is soft and she’s looking at him from the mirror as he turns to see her from his peripheral vision.

“I will.”

“Good.”

—

He comes by every week, and every week they have the same 'get to know' each other chats while they giggle and she finds different ways to make him smile. She gets cool shampoos in and he lets her do some interesting braids so that it’s out of his face at work and he’s falling in love with her.

They text when he’s out of town and won't be able to meet up for their appointments, she invites him in as soon as he gets home, even if that means washing his hair outside of business hours. She gives him a discount for keeping people safe every day and as a 'thank you,' he buys a bouquet of flowers in the subway every time he stops by.

By the time he gets his cane, he’s been to see her 13 times. She doesn’t know he’s off his crutches yet, he leaves that part out of his recent text, walking into the salon with flowers in one hand and his cane in the other, walking almost normally as he comes in.

There is an older lady getting curlers taken out of her hair at the back with Y/N, she doesn’t notice it’s him because there isn’t a struggle to get the door open with his crutches. When she looks over at him she jumps up and down a bit with a giddy, child-like smile on her face. “Look at you!”

“I know,” he puts his bad foot forward and leans on the cane, gesturing to himself.

She walks over to get her flowers and put them in the vase that was waiting to be decorated. She knew he was bringing them, and she loved it. She wraps her arms around him and gives him a quick hug as a thank you, and he holds her there longer than she expected.

“You can have a seat in the back and I’ll be with you in a moment,” she says as she pulls away.

“Alright,” he nods and follows her behind the counter, he passes her as she stops with her other client and makes his way to the sink she prefers.

One thing Spencer knows for sure, is that old ladies like to gossip, and this old lady just so happened to be a little hard of hearing. She thought she was being quiet, but Spencer heard every word.

“Is that your boyfriend?” She asks.

“Not yet,” her voice is soft and Spencer sees her smile and his heart drops into his stomach.

She wants to be his girlfriend.

“What’s his name?” The lady asks.

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” Y/N shakes her head with a smile.

“Oh, Doctor?” She calls over to him. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Not yet,” he repeats her words.

They make eye contact and smile, a blush growing on his face as he noticed her smile change from happiness to enchantment. She really liked him and knowing he liked her back made her look happier than he’s ever seen her.

She finishes the lady’s hair; she gives her a hug before she leaves and she wishes her a lovely day. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, and please remind barb that her’s is Thursday this week, I’d hate for her to show up tomorrow and have to come back.”

“You got it,” she cheered. “See you, Y/N.”

“Bye!” She waves as she leaves and the door closes with a chime.

She skips into the back, showing off what she can do with both legs working. “I love her, she’s been coming to see me for 4 years now.”

“Is it just you in here?” He asks, he’s never seen anyone else working, mainly because he came after hours.

“Nope, my mom and my nan used cut here too, my mom only works on weekends and nan only has 3 clients she sees still,” she explains with a smile, “if you ever have a weekend off I’m sure she’d love to run her fingers through your curls too.”

It makes him smile to think about meeting her mom, “my mom is in a sanatarium in Las Vegas.”

“Is she happy?” It’s the first time someone hasn’t apologized for it.

He’s surprised, “she is. She has a lot of friends and they keep her moods regular with her schedule never changing. It’s good for her.”

“That’s wonderful, my brother is in a sanatarium too,” she smiles. “He was in the army and came back with really bad PTSD and had a psychotic break.”

She just drops it like it’s nothing, probably because she doesn’t judge him and she knows Spencer will understand. “Hair time, lean back cutie.”

He smiles, resting his cane between his legs, she wraps a towel around his shoulders and leans him back for the 14th time. He’s going to miss this, sure he could take his cane in the shower and he and he got a shower stool from Derek a few weeks ago as an early birthday gift, (it was left in a house he bought) but he didn’t want to stop coming to see her.

“How are you doing?” She asks her first of many questions as she runs the water over his scalp.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, he relaxes into her touch and starts talking, this should be a form of therapy. “I’m okay, I’m really tired from our last case. My boss's wife died, remember? He stepped down and still isn’t back in charge so agent Morgan is in charge. And while it’s working, it’s incredibly stressful because they are constantly bashing heads about simple things.”

She hums along as she listens, “is Hotch doing better? Did his son like that casserole I made for them?”

“Oh yes,” he smiles, she didn’t tell him she was making him anything. He only told her because he had to miss their appointment, and she knew he was the one suggesting Spencer get his hair washed by someone.

So she sent him a casserole, she sent it to the bureau for him. Texting Spencer to say she promises it’s safe and that he shouldn’t freak out when he receives a random tinfoil-covered dish.

“Hey Hotch,” he whispers from his seat on the plane. “Um, my friend who washes my hair sent a casserole to the office for you and Jack?”

He informs him in the form of a question because even he doesn’t understand why she did it. And suddenly Emily and Derek's heads are popping over the back of their seats and staring at him.

“Your friend who washes your hair is sending the Hotchner’s an ‘I’m sorry a family member died’ dinner?” Emily teases him, “tell us the truth.”

“She washes my hair, I tell her about my day and when I can use my leg properly I’m going to take her on a date,” he explains.

That was 4 weeks ago now.

“Good, do you want the vanilla shampoo again or the tingly one?”

“Surprise me,” he shrugs, and she does.

It’s ascent he hasn’t smelled before as she lathers it in, he tilts his head back as he breathes it in, he can hear her snickering as he tries to guess it.

“Cardamom,” he whispers, “lavender and orange?”

“2 more,” she smiles as he gets it right, he almost always does. “There’s something beachy in it.”

“You’re close,” she teases him as she massages it in and he bites his lip so he doesn’t accidentally moan. It’s been 14 weeks and he’s been good so far.

“It’s not coconut, but it’s earthy…”

“Pineapple and bamboo,” she finally tells him.

“Ah,” he smiles with his eyes still closed as she turns the water back on. “You’re really good at that.”

“you should see me at work.”

“I wish I could,” she whispers, softly washing the shampoo off his scalp again, she’s petting his head, running her fingers through the locks and keeping him there as long as possible. She knows he’s almost better too.

“My co-worker's birthday is this weekend, would you like to come with me and meet my friends? Jack and Hotch will be there.”

“Sure!” She’s overly cheerful and he opens his eyes just in time to see her smile with her eyes squeezed shut as she celebrates silently. He closes his eyes again before she can see that he saw it.

“Fantastic.”

—

The only person he tells is Penelope. Because it was her party and also so that there would be enough food and drinks for an extra person. She was excited to meet this friend of his, and he was surprisingly excited for her to meet Y/N as well.

Her personality was perfect for his friends, she was going to bounce jokes back and forth and understand their conversations and be sympathetic to the things they went through. She was honestly pretty perfect, and he knew they were going to love her like family. Heck, they might even keep her around even if they don’t work out.

He meets her outside of her salon, he would offer to drive so she could drink at the party. But he still couldn’t use his leg that well yet, so instead, she leaves her car at work and they take a cab to Rossi’s house. She’s in a nice dress and a nice coat. The winters in Virginia weren’t all that bad, but it was night and she bundled right up.

He had his hand resting on the seat between them as he looked out the window and she rested her’s on top. She squeezed it lightly and he turned to look at her. Seeing her smiling as she looked out the window at all the mansions on Rossi’s street.

“Can all FBI agents afford places like this?” She whispers as her eyes widened.

“Rossi’s kind of a sellout…” Spencer admits, “he was on Oprah at one point.”

“You know who Oprah is?” She teases him soft enough for the cab driver not to notice them flirting.

“My mom used to watch her show,” he’s honest. No one knew that fact but her now.

“That’s cute,” she smiles. “My mom was more into Rachel Ray and Ellen during the days.”

He hums along as he listens but he’s really just staring at her, she always speaks with such wonder. Her eyes always glisten no matter what the topic, she’s absolutely stunning.

She catches him staring at the glimmer dims, “who did you tell them I am to you?”

“My friend who cuts my hair,” he whispers.

It makes her laugh, “and did they believe that?”

“Nope,” he smiles, “if they ask again tonight, what should we tell them?”

She knows what he’s trying to ask, “you can do it better than that Mr. Ph.D.”

“Would you like for me to introduce you as my girlfriend?”

She laughs again, “as long as I stay your girlfriend on the way home.”

“You can be my girlfriend as long as you want,” he replies before thinking the words through, “that implies that you’re going to have to propose to me or just tell me we’re married one day which doesn’t sound that romantic in the long run.”

She laughs again, “slow down there, can I have 2 years as your girlfriend before you decide to promote me? I haven’t even settled into my desk yet?” She teases him with a smile and his heart is so full it could burst.

Before they know it, they’ve arrived and the cab driver is waiting to be paid, “thank you, sir.”

“Anytime, congratulations,” he replies to Y/N, smiling as he heard everything.

“Thanks,” she smiles again before taking Spencer's free hand and walking him carefully up the icy driveway.

Inside, she takes off her coat and he’s stunned by her dress, it’s a long sleeve, turtleneck, knit black dress with a cut out for her cleavage, only it’s covered by lace. It’s a stunning dress and now he’s going to be forced to look at her in it around his friends.

She catches Jack running around first, her face lights up as she walks over to him and his dad, ditching Spencer in the hallway. He just watches it happen, she smiles wide as she extends her hand, “hi, you must be Aaron, I’m Y/N.”

“Thank you so much,” Hotch replies, “for both the casserole and taking care of Reid’s hair. It was getting out of hand.”

She laughs, brushing her hand over his arm before pulling back, “you’re welcome, I’m also a pretty decent babysitter if you need anything else, ever. Spencer’s family is my family.”

Hotch actually smiles, for the first time since Haley died, he smiles at Reid's girlfriend. The whole team watches and Y/N doesn’t see it as such a big deal, she turns around at the sudden silence to see all the eyes on her.

“Hi?” She waves around the room as she turns back to Spencer, “I’m Y/N, Spencer’s girlfriend who also cuts his hair. I know, I know, hold the applause,” she teases them all as she curtsies, proud of herself for stealing the good doctor's heart.

They all snap out of their trance and laugh, walking towards her to shake her hand and smother her in hugs, Spencer keeps watching from the doorway. He knew she’d fit right in.

When Jack comes to say hello to her, she completely steals him away to go play with him and Henry, leaving Spencer alone with his friends in the kitchen. They wait for her to be far enough away before patting him on the back and attempting to embarrass him.

“I didn’t think your leg was fixed?” Derek teases him first, bumping his shoulder with a smirk.

“She didn’t want to be introduced as my friend who cuts my hair,” he smiles as the blush rises over his cheeks, “she told me in the car that I had to ask her.”

“I like her already,” Penelope smiles, “also where is my gift?” She raises her brow playfully, Spencer’s presents were always the best.

He pulls 2 tickets out of his coat pocket, “Lady Gaga, Madison square garden, I’m unfortunately busy that day.”

He just really doesn’t want to go, but she’s been talking about this concert for weeks. “No way!!” She jumps a little before pulling him into a hug.

Y/N rounds the corner to see what all the commotion is about, “you’re the best friend a girl could ask for!”

“He is,” she agreed as she popped up behind him. “I got you a present too, hold on.” She runs off into the main room to get her purse and returns with a small box.

“Here you go, thank you for letting me come,” she smiles as she hands it to her, “I made it myself.”

She opens the brown box to find a candle in a nice glass container, “Spencer said that you’re sweet and bubbly, so I made a candle for you that smells like lemonade for you.”

The jar has a label, it’s yellow and says, “The Penelope” on the front, she takes the lid off to take a whiff and her eyes roll back in her head, “oh my gosh... this is amazing!”

“Awe, thanks,” she smiles again, bouncing a little every time she gets excited.

“Are you available on,” she looks down at the tickets, “July 6th?”

“I should be,” she smiles, “I wasn’t hoping you’d pick me, but I was hoping you’d pick me…” she whispers as she leans in and laughs.

This was everything he wanted.

—

She asks to go back to his apartment with him, not wanting to go home in a cab alone and too intoxicated to drive. He was going to suggest it, he was still building the courage when she did. They stop at his apartment, and he has to hold her and make sure she walks up the stairs carefully. She had way too much fun meeting Penelope and Emily tonight.

She was funny and very loving when she was drunk, it was like her personality was turned to level 10 when she had alcohol. When she wasn’t drinking, she was right beside him. He sat on a bar stool by the counter with his leg up, and she was just tall enough to rest her chin on his shoulder with her arms wrapped around his bicep.

She rested her head against him as she listened to his friends talk, and the whole time he just thought about how nice it would be to always have her around.

When she’s finally inside his apartment, she’s really calm and settled down. She sits on his couch and throws her head back, closing her eyes she lets out a deep breath.

“I’m an introvert,” she whispers. “I’m good with people but I have a time limit. And I worked today so I’m extra exhausted.”

“Okay,” he whispers, “what would you like for the night?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a nice big t-shirt and a spare toothbrush? Would you?” She looks at him again with very tired eyes and he nods.

“Yeah, come with me.”

She follows him into his bedroom, he gets her a plain grey t-shirt and she steals some boxers from his drawer before she heads to the bathroom, “there are a bunch of toothbrushes under the sink, it’s easier to just grab one and go for cases.”

“Alright,” she smiles. “I expect to find you comfortable and in your jammies when I come back.”

“Okay,” he holds back a laugh as she closes the door.

It’s difficult changing with a sore knee, there’s a lot more bending than he remembered as he tries to slip from his clothing and replace them with his pyjamas. He never really wore any unless someone was over, which was hardly ever. He just wore boxers most of the time, so he grabbed his grey academy training shorts and a white long sleeve shirt, and he sat on the edge of his bed as he waited for her.

She opens the door and skips out, jumping into his bed she pulls his covers up to her chin as she settles against the pillows, Spencer smiles and gets up to leave when she sits straight up. “Where are you going?”

“The couch?”

“No, you’re injured you get the bed,” she reminds him. “If you’re against having a sleepover, I will take the couch.”

Even in her slightly drunken haze, she’s making sure he’s taken care of, “I don’t mind having a sleepover.”

“Come on then,” she opens her arms and he snuggles right into her space, under the blanket.

“Maybe in the morning, when I’m not drunk I can see that Ph.D. of yours,” she teases, “I’m sure washing your hair hasn’t been the only struggle.”

“What does my knee have to do with my Ph.D.’s?”

“Wait plural?”

He nods, “engineering, mathematics and chemistry.”

“Holy,” she’s blown away, forgetting why they were talking about Ph.D.’s.

“You never answered my question,” he whispers.

“Pretty huge dick,” she whispers before laughing.

He tenses up, she runs her hands along his back, “I have a Ph.D. too…” she smirks, “cause I’m a professional hair dresser.”

It makes him laugh again, which is exactly what she was looking for, “I know you’re too much of a gentleman to let me touch you like this.”

“I thought you were exhausted?”

“Of people,” she smirks at him, “I’m tired of everyone who isn’t you.”

“Oh,”

She rolls her eyes, “oh?”

“What?”

“You do know you get a little hard every time I wash your hair right? Or are you so into the feeling of my fingers on your scalp that you’ve never noticed the little tent in your pants?”

His eyes widen as her words continue, he really had no idea. He was so relaxed and comfortable with her that sometimes he was just… hard… it was a hard thing to explain, literally.

“If you still want to tomorrow,” his voice is scratchy as his throat goes dry. “That would be nice.”

She smiles and settles in more, cuddling into him as she wraps an arm around his waist, “it’s like Christmas Eve.”

“We haven’t even kissed yet,” his words are small, she was basically hanging off him all night, she left a lipstick stain on the collar of his shirt and told him he was cute most of the night, but she wouldn’t kiss him for the first time in front of his friends.

She sits up and moves to hover over him, she brushes his hair from his face as she looks down at him, “how long have you wanted to kiss me?”

“14 weeks, 3 days and 7 hours,” he gives her the exact time.

She tilts her head with a sweet smile, “I think I love you, Spencer Reid.”

His whole body freezes again he can barely breathe as he just stares with wide eyes. She keeps petting his face as she waits for it to settle in, “I’m sorry if it’s too soon, but I’ve felt this way for 14 weeks 3 days and 6 hours.”

“Kiss me?” Is all he can say, looking desperate as hell as his hands travel up her back and he waits for her lips to connect with his.

She’s so delicate with him, her lips are velvety smooth and her hands stay pressed to his cheeks as she breathes him in. It's long and deep and by the time she’s pulling back his hands are in her hair to keep her there.

She smiles against his lips before deepening it, playing with his tongue, it’s hot and wet and her breath is fresh and he’s pretty sure he loves her too. He has no idea if the feeling in his chest is love or lust so he’ll wait to tell her, but he knows there is something new coursing through his veins as she touches him.

She pulls back and looks at the alarm clock on his night table, 12:04, “yes,” she smirks and turns back to him. “It’s technically tomorrow.”

“So you’re that kid at a sleepover?”

“Shut up, can I touch your dick or not?” She can’t help but laugh as she says it, completely serious and very convincing.

“Yes, you can,” he’s not scared, it’s definitely new and every time he discovers a new level of comfort and safety with her, he realizes that it’s love that he’s feeling.

“Lift your hips, please?” She asks, “I don’t want to hurt you when I pull your pants down.”

She knees beside him and pushes his blankets down as she takes his pants off with him, and then she takes her own shirt off and throws it to the floor alongside his shorts, she looks at him like it’s normal to be naked in front of each other, not phased in the slightest.

He, however, twitches at the sight of her body and he notices the boxers she stole from his drawer, “those are mine?”

“Observant, you are,” she teases, laying back down on her side, facing him as he turned to rest of his good leg.

She takes a pillow and rests it between them, helping him position himself where he’s comfortable first before anything else, “you’re comfortable?”

“Everywhere but my Ph.D,” he smirks, finally getting her joke and actually thinking he might use that one often now… It wasn’t a lie on either end.

She licks her hand before stroking him and his eyes close the same way they do when she washes his hair, and she loves to just watch his face. He’s so expressive and he doesn’t even know it, his eyes twitch and his forehead wrinkles as he licks his lips and scrunches his nose. He’s so fucking cute.

She feels amazing on him and right as he gains the strength to speak and thank her, she’s letting go of him and rolling onto her back. “What?”

“Wait a sec,” she laughs, pushing the boxers down her legs and off her body, “do you have any condoms in here?”

“Top drawer,” he points and she immediately is reaching for them. “I know a position that won't hurt you if you’re okay with me manhandling you?”

“Oh yeah,” he laughs, flustered and horny beyond his wildest dreams. “Manhandle away.”

She rolls the condom over him and then lays on her back, her ass comes right to his groin, perpendicular to him, with her knees over his hips. Her legs aren’t resting on him, there’s no pressure on his legs at all as she spreads her’s slightly and reaches for him again.

She presses him to her entrance and pushes onto him until she’s flush against him. His eyes stay glued on her this time, eyeing her breasts as she starts to rock her hips. He reaches a hand between her legs to rub her clit, he can watch himself fuck her from this angle and it’s the most spectacular sight.

She controls the pace of it all, based on her rhythm he rubs her clit to match and she is the one with her eyes closed this time. She lays against the bed, arms spread as she grips the sheets and grinds down on his dick again and again.

Her little moans and gasps are so nice, he doesn’t feel that embarrassed about his little grunts and whines as she rolls her hips and adds a slow drag of pleasure, making him twitch as she slams down on him a little harder, and surprisingly his leg feels fine.

She reaches to play with her boobs and Spencer tosses his head back with a moan, “you’re so hot, you have no idea how long I’ve thought about your tits, you rest them so close to my face every time you wash my hair and I always just want to bury my face in them.”

She smiles, bounding on him faster as his movements speed up, she moans slightly before making eye contact with him again, “we’ll fuck on a chair later so you can.”

That’s what does it, the idea of fucking her again, “I love you,” he admits, “god, Y/N, I really love you.”

“Show me,” her words are seductive as she snaps her hips against his and reaches the edge of her orgasm, her legs start to shake and try to close as she traps his wrist between her legs and fucks down onto him one last time.

He stills inside her at the feeling of her orgasm, her walls clench around him as she cums and so does he. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in months, and it was with his girlfriend.

When she can breathe again she opens her legs to free his hand and pulls off, she makes sure to move her legs so that she doesn’t hurt him and then she’s lying beside him as she continues to catch her breath.

“You love me?” She smiles, “did you feel it before tonight?”

He nods with the little power he has left, “14 weeks, 3 days, 6 hours and 24 minutes ago.”

taglist: @g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk @thatsonezesty13 @awrfhi @mercy-burning

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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inkdrinkerworld · 2 days ago

Note

You said you were up for Spencer requests!! I’m sitting here feeling a little sad on Valentine’s Day so maybe something with Spencer asking shy/sunshine reader to be his valentine? Or just something involving Valentine’s Day? 🫂💌❤️

Sorry this is two days late babe :( hope you still enjoy it post prison!spencer x sunshine!reader

Spencer taps on your desk as he steps into the bull pen.

You’re in red and white today, a pair of red trousers and a white blouse that’s got hearts on the sleeves. You’re doing your crossword puzzle with a steaming cup of tea near your hands, relaxed like this Spencer thinks you look even more gorgeous than normal.

Spencer suspected you’d dress for the day and decided that it was the perfect time to ask you.

“Hello,” he murmurs when you don’t look up, flowers hidden behind his back.

You perk instantly, scribbling the letters into their boxes quickly before looking up at Spencer with a smile. “Hi Spencer, happy Valentine’s Day.”

Spencer smiles, nodding along to your words. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he moves his hand from behind his back. “These are for you.”

They’re a bouquet of pink peonies and a few sprigs of orange foxglove that makes your body heat.

“Spencer these are gorgeous.”

He smiles even wider, “Then they’re perfect.”

You shake your head at his flirting. “Are these just because today’s Valentine’s Day?”

Spencer shakes his head, hand itching to twirl the loose strand of hair that’s caressing your cheek as you smell the flowers.

“No, I figured I could do a two parter and ask you on a date tonight too.”

You look up and Spencer can’t help himself as he twirls the hair between his fingers before tucking it behind your ear.

“Ask me then.”

Spencer chuckles, loving this side of you- when you’re bold with him not caring who’s around to hear.

“Will you go out with me tonight? On a proper, fancy date.”

You smile, “I hope you know what you’re getting into Dr Reid.”

Spencer leans down, just a hairs breath away from you. “Oh I’m well equipped, angel. I’ll pick you up at 8.”

“Thank you Spencer, for the flowers.”

He kisses your cheek while he still has his nerve. “You’re welcome, angel.”

#spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x black reader #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #post prison!spencer #post prison!spencer reid x sunshine!reader

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mggslover · 2 days ago

Note

🤓☝️ may i request for your first time series the first time spencer lets reader take control during sex? not too sure how you feel about sub spencer but im horny for it and i’d love to see what you do

edging sub spencer genre: smut 18+ cw: sub!spencer x dom!reader, mentions of spencer being insecure about his masculinity, mentions of p in v sex, tied hands, handjob, edging, breastplay, oral (f receiving), thigh fucking, bit of degradation, religious comparisons wc: 2,4k a/n: am i a sub spencer fan?! pull up in the- yes lol i very much am. i cannot even call these drabbles anymore. if anyone is wondering why your requests are taking so long, this is the reason. my first time exploring this dynamic. i hope you'll enjoy, let me know your thoughts!

“Come on, baby. You’re the one who begged me for this.”

Spencer whimpered underneath you in response. He sat up straight on your shared bed, upper body rested against the headframe, long legs spread over the sheets, as your naked body hovered over his. And most importantly, his hands were tied behind his back with a silk red fabric.

Spencer craned his neck, trying to press his lips to yours, but you simultaneously leaned away from him. You shook your head, tsking. “What did I tell you?”

Twinkling hazel eyes blinked up at you, his eyebrows caught in a slight furrow.

“You can’t tell me you forgot,” you purred, fingertips trailing the curve of his jaw. “What did I tell you, Spencer?” you repeat with more force in your tone.

He visibly swallowed as your nails dragged down his neck. “That I’m not allowed to touch you.”

“And why’s that?” You hummed.

“Because sexual denial will increase the release of dopamine, and—oh…” he closed his eyes in delight as your nails continued their path down his chest.

“—and the release of oxytocin and serotonin. It will… in general… Jesus… make you more sensitive, which will heighten your pleasure.”

He had hurriedly finished his last words, letting out a deep breath of relief once you nodded in confirmation.

“And all we want is for you to feel good. Isn’t that right, baby?”

He nodded fervently, a deep moan escaping his throat as your fingers grazed the skin of his upper thigh, carefully avoiding his throbbing length.

-`♡´-

It had all started last week, when you came home on a dreary Thursday evening. Immensely frustrated from your day at work.

Spencer oftentimes suggested sex when you were feeling stressed out. Sexual intercourse is known for lowering blood pressure and boosting happy hormones.

Usually this would result in him leading you to the bedroom where he’d gently press you down onto the mattress. He’d crawl on top of you, lips immediately finding yours, giving gentle pecks as his hands roamed up and down the sides of your body.

You’d have sensual sex. Sweet. Vanilla. It was the norm, and when it came to sex, Spencer wanted to keep to the norm. Sexuality and masculinity were deeply intertwined for him, and in both of these aspects, he felt like he didn’t fit into the traditional roles of a man, causing him to feel the need to approach sex textbook-wise.

The sex was good for the both of you. You never minded seeing your boyfriend on top of you. His lips slightly agape as he fought back his moans, hair falling into his face with every push of his hips, shoulders shuddering as he came inside of you. And for Spencer, he was always happy to be there.

So, it was entirely new when you came home that day and tugged him by the collar of his shirt the second you entered the house. Spencer’s mouth was still in a gasp when you hungrily pressed your lips to his, tongue finding his without building the moment up like you’d usually do.

Your body pulled flush against him. The softness of your breasts pressed against his hard chest. He was able to feel the peaks of your nipples even through the fabric of clothes.

“Are you okay?” Spencer choked out as you cupped him roughly through his pants.

“I just need you, Spence. I need to use you.”

Those words were almost enough to make him spill in his underwear. And indeed, the second you had moved to the couch and straddled him (an entirely new position), taking his cock in your soft hand as you sunk down onto him, it took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to fill you up with his release.

You needed the control and security after having been bossed around at work. Spencer, on the contrary, felt too much in control at his job. Setting a profile and finding evidence and whereabouts on an unsub was very precise work, not even mentioning the huge amount of pressure on saving people’s lives.

He never realized how good it felt to let go. To trust someone else in taking charge, in taking care of him. At that moment he didn’t think about portraying a certain type of masculinity. Instead of holding back his moans and settling on deep groans, he whimpered against your mouth as you fucked him. Squirming and whining underneath your touch as he begged you for more.

His reactions didn’t go unnoticed by you. When you both had recovered and were cleaned up, you brought up the subject of this sub-dom dynamic, and it was very easy for Spencer to give in to exploring it more.

-`♡´-

“P-please.”

“What’s that?”

“Please touch me,” Spencer softly cried, fisting the pillow behind his back with the little grip he had.

You leaned in closer. Your breath tickled against his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before you licked a bold stripe up the skin.

A strangled moan left his throat. You smiled at him, pleased with yourself. It deeply turned you on that you could do whatever you wanted to him, that he’d beg you for anything that you could give him.

His body responded to every ghost of your touch. Your lips trailed his throat, feeling the heat radiating off of him. Occasionally leaving lingering marks and bites until you made your way up his jaw.

“Is this what you wanted, Spence?” You teased as you put your hand around his thick shaft.

“Yes,” he moaned, his head falling back against the headboard. “Exactly that.”

You pumped his length in a steady rhythm, flicking your palm to enhance the sensation.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. Such a pretty boy. Your cock is so hard and ready for me.”

He shivered at your words. He didn’t know how he got so lucky to have you hovering above him, breasts swaying with every movement of your hand. You were so good to him. When his gaze blinked from your breasts to your face, seeing you seductively smile but your eyes radiating a gentle sweetness, he started wondering if there might really be a God. You were too heavenly to be here on Earth, pleasing him like there was no better enjoyment in life.

Your eyes were fixed on his cock, watching his precum gather at the tip. You circled the sensitive skin with a soft stroke of your thumb. Spencer used the momentary distraction to dive in, his lips catching around your nipple. “Oh god,” you gasped in pleasure, the sensation going straight to your core. His tongue made quick work of stimulating the nub. His cheeks were hollowed as he sucked, giving his everything for the mere moments he might get of tasting you.

Spencer was internally grateful when you didn’t stop him. As a matter of fact, your fingers knotted through his hair as you tugged him closer to you. It helped him keep his balance as his still tied hands clenched around the air.

He continued his kisses to the rest of your breast once he was confident enough that you wouldn’t tell him to stop. He sucked on the soft, full flesh, leaving marks that would remind you of this moment days from now.

“Look at you sucking on my tits. You’re so desperate, aren’t you? Such a little slut for me.”

He moaned around your nipple, a wave of need fluttering through your stomach. You pulled on his hair, sharp enough to leave a pleasurable sting of pain. “Look at me.”

Wide doe eyes met yours. “‘m sorry.”

“Too distracted by having my tits in your face to look me in the eyes, huh?”

“Sorry, you’re just too pretty,” he truthfully muttered, eyes fleetly falling onto your breasts before blinking back up.

He looked so pretty like this. A red flush painting his neck and cheeks. His lips were just as swollen and red as he pouted at you. A smug smile lingered on your face, and you pulled him back in, leaning forward to not have him stretch his neck too far. The kiss was sloppy, hungry. You were not able to tell whether his whimpers were because of the kiss, or because of your touch as your hand had found its way back to his cock.

You fastened the motions of your wrist. His mouth was parted, a pretty song of whines escaping. You sucked down on his bottom lip, mirroring the action he always did when kissing you.

“Oh, baby.” The moan came out in a gasp. His hips started stuttering, stomach clenching as he neared his release.

“Are you almost there, Spencer?”

“Yes! I’m almost there, I’m almost there baby. Please don’t stop.”

You released your grip on him. His length remained hard, standing upright as if you were still holding him.

The desperate cry that left his lips should have made you feel bad. Instead, you found yourself getting even more turned on. Sure that your thighs were slick with your wetness by now.

“Why—why did you do that?” He whimpered accusingly, as if betrayed. “I was so close.”

“Ah, I know, baby,” you faux pouted. You had to bite your lip to hold back a sadistic smile as you noticed his glossy eyes, looking more green than they usually were.

“I’m just keeping you to your promise,” you reminded him. He tilted his head like a confused puppy. “When you told me you’d always make sure to make me come first.”

“But we weren’t—”

“Uh, uh, uh,” you shushed him, index finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t you want to please me?”

He softly kissed your finger, “Of course I do.”

“Then start using your mouth for better things than complaining,” you cooed at him before carefully standing up on the bed, making your way forward until his face was right below your cunt. Spencer wiggled on the sheets until he lay flat on his back, arms in a bit of an uncomfortable position, but not enough to bother him as he had a perfect view of your dripping pussy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in a prayer. You softly chuckled, bending your legs so that they were spread on either side of his face. Slowly, you lowered yourself until his tongue, which was already sticking out, made contact with your folds. You hissed at the sensation, your clit throbbing in the same way it always did before he ate you out.

He started lapping at your pussy, gathering your sweet slickness and spreading it over the lips. He flicked his tongue over your inner lips before sucking on them. As much as Spencer adored giving you the reins, nothing compared to the shaky, uncontrollable whimpers that left your mouth. Sounds that were made because of him. Sounds that were made for him.

“Keep making those sounds, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your pussy, the vibrations echoing through your body.

After more worshipping kisses to your cunt, his lips finally settled down on your clit. Your back arched when he started sucking on the sensitive button while simultaneously pressing on it with the tip of his tongue. He truly was your toy, no silicone object giving you the ecstasy that he could give you.

“Oh God, Spencer. You’re so good at this,” you stated in a heavy breath. The feeling of your orgasm coming up was close to overwhelming, and you were whimpering as your vision hazed.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. Oh, fuck, I’m—”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence, instead crying out a moan as your release hit you. Your legs started shaking uncontrollably, your pussy pressed even harder against his mouth as you rode out the aftershocks, muffling his deep moans. The feel of his nose against your overstimulated cunt was dizzying.

“I need to lie down,” you said, out of breath. Shaky Bambi legs as you climbed off of him. Your body didn’t allow you to move much further. Settling on lying down on top of his body, spreading your legs to give his achingly hard cock room to breathe.

Your cheek rested against his sweaty chest. Spencer reached out to trace your face, huffing in annoyance when he remembered his hands were still tied behind his back.

He hummed when you pressed a wet kiss to his chest. “Finish for me, baby.”

Then you squeezed your thighs together. Spencer swallowed when he realized what you meant. His cock was enveloped between your plush thighs, and when he experimentally lifted his hips, he discovered how good the act felt.

“Jesus, that’s nice,” he groaned.

Wasting no time, he started pumping his hips up, using your thighs as a cocksleeve. The wetness that was gathered on your inner thighs (and was still dripping out of your pussy) working as lube.

Your fingertips lazily trailed over his chest. “Doing so good for me, baby. Show me how good you can make yourself feel.”

He nodded, a whine leaving his lips as he fastened his speed. His eyes were transfixed on the curve of your ass, craning his neck to get a better look.

He’s never experienced a feeling as sentimental as this. The rough pleasure of the sex mixed with the gentleness of your head resting against him. He couldn’t get closer to Heaven than this.

“You feel so good,” he whined. “You’re not stopping me this time. Right?” He asked for confirmation, his voice shaking in doubt.

You laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest. “That really took a toll on you, huh? I won’t, I promise.”

The slight tension in his body resolved. Making him feel enough at ease to let go. He placed his feet firmly on the bed, using his knees to lift himself up, making you let out a yelp as he fucked your thighs.

The silk wasn’t enough to hold him back, the fabric tearing as he moved his wrists. His hands immediately found your head, holding you against him as his hips stuttered. Your moans were entangled in each other as he spilled his cum all over your ass.

His stomach clenched underneath you, and you soothingly shushed him. Reassuringly caressing his chest and shoulders as he came down from his height.

-`♡´-

“You okay?” You softly mumbled once his heartbeat had calmed down.

He nodded, a lazy smile displayed on his lips. “I’m okay.”

“I wasn’t too rough with you. Was I?”

“No,” he answered, holding you closely against him. “You were perfect.”

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gublerryswift · 2 days ago

Text

Museum meet cute | Spencer Reid x Reader

meet cute | fluff

In which you have your own meet cute in a museum visit

Warnings: None

Content: Reader meets spencer in a museum and he does a classic Reid ramble (she loves it, it's cute)

All the studying for your master’s degree was starting to get to you, the sleepless nights, the stress and one of the most draining: the lack of fun. You had never been one to spend weekends in parties and clubs, hating the crowded spaces and loud music, your type of fun consisted more of slow things like vising libraries, museums and expositions, but lately you couldn't even find time for those little things that brought you so much joy. Well, this ended tonight.

After sending what you hoped would be the last draft for your thesis, you decided you deserved to finally have some fun. You got ready in your favorite outfit, and stepped out the house, the first stop was your favorite coffee shop to grab a caramel macchiato before heading to your favorite museum. You had heard of this new exposition of a painter caller “Walter Sickert” that sounded fascinating and were excited to finally see it, as you walked into the exposition you were mesmerized by the beauty of the work there, never been one to totally understand art and all the meanings and references, but you always had a soft spot for it, a thing that captivated you to those paintings and sculptures.

As you walked into the exposition, the soft lights above the paintings, the faint sound of the surrounding conversations, it all made you feel at home, you noticed how much you had missed these places. One in particular caught your attention, a painting of a woman looking straight out, her gaze seemed lost and half of her face was not painted, you were intrigued by it and stood there trying to make understand what might be the history behind what you were seeing.

A couple of minutes later, you felt a presence beside you, you looked to the side and saw a tall man standing there dressed with a cardigan you internally wished were yours and these glasses that made him look like one of those philosophy professors, his hands inside his pockets also admiring the painting.

“Mesmerizing, isn't it?” He speaks, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice is soft and quiet as to not disturb the other people in the gallery, you look over to him, a small smile forming on your lips as you nod.

"Absolutely." you reply. "There's something about this style of art that just catches my attention, it's so…" You drift off, trying to find the right words for how you were feeling

“Hauntingly beautiful” He completes your sentence, giving you a small shy smile that made your heart flutter

“Yeah, exactly that. I couldn't put it into words before”

You two fall in a comfortable silence, admiring the painting in front of you until he breaks the silence. “You know, some people believe that this artist was actually Jack the ripper”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, not expecting the random mention of a serial killer, “What, really? Why?” You turn to him, your genuinely curious expression seems to only fuel his excitement, he smiles and begins talking. The words roll out his mouth like he’d just been waiting for the moment to drop this.

“Some DNA analyzed from the letter jack sent to the police matched with the author's, also he has a series of paintings called 'Camden town murder’ which were made at the same time jack committed his crimes in the same town, also he is said to have worked in a studio that once was occupied by the ripper himself” You nod along and smile, being a sucker for true crime and history you really were interested in what this guy was saying, plus the speed in which he talked was perfect for your brain, and you found yourself immersed in his explanation.

“However” He lifts his pointer finger in a way that makes you hold back a giggle, god this man was cute – Why were you finding a man who was talking about a painter possibly being a killer cute? Maybe all the time inside your house made you lose your self-preservation skills. “Forensic scientists believe that most, if not all the letters sent to the police weren't actually sent by the killer, and all the other possible evidence is very circumstantial so the probability of him actually being jack the ripper is almost none, still an interesting hypothesis though.” He smiles and nods as he finishes his explanation, and he starts fidgeting with the strap of his satchel bag.

“Wow, that's actually really interesting, I would never imagine it” You smile at him “It's really impressing how you just know all that”

“Thank you, my brain is basically filled with a bunch of random facts just waiting to be said” He chuckles, and you notice a light blush showing up in his cheeks as he looks away from your gaze, going back to staring at the painting.

“I never got your name” You say, trying to keep the conversation going, you were drawn to him for some reason and didn't want to part ways so soon.

“I'm Spencer, and you are…” You tell him your name, smiling at him.

You were never the girl who would ask guys out or try their number, always being shy you were terrified of rejection, but right now you met this really cute guy who seemed so smart and was exactly your type, and you really didn't want to just leave it at this, so with a sudden courage you decide to take the plunge.

“You know, this museum has a really good coffee shop downstairs, would you like to go?” You smile at him, feeling your heart thump on your chest from the nervousness.

Spencer's eyes widen in surprise, but a warm smile spreads across his face as he nods eagerly, agreeing to your spontaneous invitation “Yes, I'd love to, maybe I can find more painter fun facts to tell you”

“Oh can't wait” you let out a giggle as you both start to walk out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x y/n

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gold-onthe-inside · 3 days ago

Text

adam's ribs

This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called ‘woman,’ for she was taken out of man.

who? spencer reid (pre-s1) x codependent!reader summary: when spencer meets you right after admitting his mother to a sanitarium, all he wants is to be loved, no matter the cost. content warnings: codependent relationship, unhealthy dynamics, sub!spencer, r calls spencer 'lovely', implied that r is a caregiver like spencer, handjob, humping, penetrative sex (p in v) NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI word count: 2.5k a/n: i'm not great at writing smut at the best of times, least of all when i'm supposed to make it biblical but i gave it my best shot. song ref is adam's ribs by jensen mcrae

He wants to say it’s romantic, how you both met. Mostly because he’s not proud of the fact that you first saw him being rough-housed by his mother in the lounge room of the Bennington sanitarium. He’s not proud of the way he grovels for his mother to forgive him, nor is he proud of how he sits at the window alone when Diana leaves to go to her room. He’s well aware what he looks like when you approached him with a cup of coffee and an ear to listen - his back arched, a gangly set of limbs curling in on himself. But he’s been holding it in for so long, his ribs caging his secrets from the world, shaking from the effort. Bones and skin and unshed tears. That’s all he is. His mother’s son.

Your hand running over his back makes him think that he might become someone else. Coffee turns to lunch, turns to dinner, turns to fumbling kisses in the living room of your dingy apartment. It’s reckless and stupid and he barely knows you, but he bares his soul to you when your hands cupped his neck because who else is there that wants him? He kisses you with everything he has, holding your jaw like you might run away when your hands slide over his chest. Keys and bags and coats fall away in the back of your mind, thoughts consumed by this sad boy.

Two failed caregivers seeking mastery with each other, it’s a recipe for disaster and he knows it. But you taste so sweet, your hands so gentle and your eyes so caring, and you both mean well, and it’s not that he doesn’t like you. And he aches for this tenderness. So he lets you slide your hands under the hem of his polo shirt over his chest, lets you tug him closer by the loops of his trousers. Claim me as your own, he begs you in his head, and you pulled away to look up at him, taking his breath away in the process.

“Wanna take care of you,” you murmured, hands resting under his ribs, pressing your lips to his collarbone.

He doesn’t know what to say to that, his eyes fluttering shut as your hands rove up, fingertips tracing the outline of muscles in his chest. He wants to whimper underneath those hands, wants to tell you to never stop, never pull away from him. “Please.” That’s all he can think to respond. Oh, please.

“Sweet boy,” you whispered into his skin, leaving light marks as you tugged him to the bedroom. It’s unfair, unfair that the universe would hand him this heavy a burden to bear — he’s no Atlas to carry the skies on his shoulders. He’s almost in awe of you, the way you pull him down to the mattress, the way you slide a thigh on either side of his hips. He’s pliant underneath your touch, his long fingered hands cupping your jaw. He’s not used to being touched like this, not used to being wanted. His wide hazel eyes look up at you with a mix of awe and desire. He’s like putty in your hands, so open and inviting and innocent and tortured all at the same time.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confessed, his hands brushing along your side in clumsy impulse.

“No-one said you have to,” you replied, leaning over him as your hand cupped his jaw, and lowering your lips to his.

He melts under these touches, his tongue darting out to trace yours as he whimpers against you. He’s breathless when you part for air, his cheeks flushed pink. He feels safe in your arms, he realizes, like nothing can touch him now. “Please,” he begs you softly, his long fingers gripping the fabric of your dress. “Don’t stop.”

“So polite,” you murmured, tracing his bottom lip with your thumb.

His breath hitches and he opens his mouth for you, chasing your touch. His eyes are locked on you, watching your every move. “I could beg, if you’d like me to,” he said, his voice a little raspy from being so out of breath. It’s meant to be teasing but comes out more desperate than he’d hoped.

"I don't doubt it," you whispered back, kissing the corner of his mouth to tease him.

The whine that he lets out borders on humiliating. He’s never been so desperate to be touched before, but you’re making him insane. He tries to follow your mouth, but your hand holds him at bay. He lets out a soft curse, his hands tightening around the fabric of your dress.

You let your hand run through his soft hair, silky strands that parted like they were meant for you. It felt right, like you were both the same person, like Zeus had split the two of you for fear of the power you would hold. Because this thing between you both is too intense, dangerous, like nothing you've experienced before.

He all but purred at the touch, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He was beautiful like this, vulnerable and needy, and all for you. He nuzzled his face against your hand like he was trying to burn the feeling into his memory, wanting to keep it and make it a part of himself. “More,” he pleaded, looking up at you through messy bangs.

“Anything for you, lovely,” you murmured, kissing him deeply in your dim bedroom, and he held your waist like you might disappear through his fingers, dissolving to mist when he wakes up from what will inevitably be a dream.

He moans into your mouth, your words like a sweet prayer to his ears. Lovely. His stomach is in knots, his chest tight, and your words of affection are making his head spin with want. He thinks if you asked him now, he'd promise you anything. He's drowning in you, in your touch, in the way you say lovely.

Heat warms you all over as his hands roam over your back, spindly fingers dragging over your spine, too nervous to slide under your dress. You pull back for breath, barely leaving an inch between your lips and his, about to tug at his shirt when you look at him, locked onto wide hazel eyes, dark and framed with pretty lashes. “Tell me this is okay,” you whispered, warm breath fanning over his cheek.

“It’s okay,” he assured you, his voice a mere whisper. He’s sure he looks a right mess, skin flushed, lips kiss swollen, eyes wide and hopeful. Your proximity is making it very difficult to think straight, his fingers gripping a little harder on your waist, wanting to pull you even closer but afraid to touch where he hasn’t been invited.

“Arms up, lovely,” you murmured, tugging on the hem of his polo shirt with the smallest smile. He obeyed, lifting his arms so you could pull his shirt up and off him with little hassle. He was thin, the expanse of his torso pale and smooth except for the scattering of moles. He shivered a little, both from you looking at him so keenly and the chill of the air against his skin.

You look at him with nothing but fondness and want, gentle hands trailing over his shoulders. "All mine?" you asked softly, nose brushing his as your hands ghost over his chest, like you were checking again. That's all you want, to take care of him. This sweet boy that you can't let go of.

“All yours,” he replied, his answer as soft as your touch. He shudders, almost whining when your hands brush over his ribs, making him squirm. He’s so responsive to you, every touch sends a shiver through him, until he’s squirming restlessly in your lap. When you reach for his belt buckle, he gasps softly, looking up at you with wide, pleading eyes.

"It's okay," you assure him, gently prying the belt apart. "M gonna take care of you, promise," you whispered.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his heart drumming a staccato beat, his cheeks flushed deep red. He nods slowly, his breath hitching a little when you slowly peel open his trousers. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, his slender fingers flexing and gripping the sheets. A whimper escapes him when your knuckles brush over the sensitive skin of his flat stomach, so close to where he wants you. “Please,” he whispers, his wide eyes begging for your touch, like his body is thrumming with a desperate ache that only you can soothe.

"Words, lovely," you murmured. "Tell me what you need." You’d give him anything he asked for, reach inside your ribs and pull out your heart for him, for this boy you barely know. You can’t name it, there’s just something there that pulls you to him.

“I need you,” he said almost immediately, his hands gripping your thighs, needing something to hold on to. “I need you to touch me, please.” He’s so flushed and wanting, his eyes wide and pleading. He wants, he needs, he aches. To be touched, to be wanted, to be loved.

Your hands are like fire against his skin, leaving goosebumps in your wake, making his heart sing. He squirms weakly, his body arching towards your touch. He moans so prettily when your fingertips trace over his hipbones, so close to where he needs you. “Please,” he says again, his voice raspy. “Please, please, please-”

His begging quickly devolves into panting, the air in his lungs escaping him all at once, your fingers tracing his cock. Your touch is like a drug, a delicious sort of torture, until he's a trembling mess underneath you. He needs more, he wants more, but he can't form the words. All he can do is arch into your hand, desperate and wanton. "Does that feel good?" you asked, your voice barely above a breath, sharp eyes watching his features move with your strokes.

He tried to respond, but a soft whine is the only thing that escapes his throat. Your touch is driving him wild, his hips canting up of their own will, so desperate for friction that he can hardly think straight. He's never felt like this before, desperate and needing, unable to speak because he's too busy moaning incoherently.

You grind your hips against his experimentally, propped over his lap, hands bracing you. He moans loudly when you grind against him, his head flying back into the sheets. His long slender fingers grip your thighs, his nails biting the flesh, trying to ground himself. His eyes are shut tight, his hips lifting up to meet yours, wanting more, needing more.

"Eyes open, lovely," you murmured, feeling his erection through your underwear, rocking your hips against it. His eyes snap open quickly, cheeks flushed red, mouth parted and panting. He’s trembling so hard he doesn’t trust himself to speak, his breath coming out in short, sharp huffs, punctuated with soft whines. He’s so impossibly hard, it’s almost embarrassing how easily he’s come undone by your touch, and then you’re grinding on him and he sees stars, his back arching and a gasp of profanity falling from his lips.

He’s whimpering, and whining, and begging you, but you couldn’t tell even if you tried. His words are lost in a jumble of unintelligible noises, each one a plea for you to bring him to the edge, each one a silent thank you when you rock against him. He’s almost beyond words, beyond coherent thought, his mind a litany of your name. You can feel your own control slipping, your movements becoming frenzied, your own release imminent.

His hands are grasping everywhere, desperately searching for purchase, grasping at your back, your hips, the sheets. He’s close, so close, he’s practically begging you now, your name the only thing he’s able to form. He’s trembling from head to toe, his skin slick with sweat. "I'm gonna... Fuck, you feel so good," you muttered into his shoulder, feeling your arms weaken as you get closer to the edge.

He’s babbling softly now, words about how close he is, how he needs more, please more please. His hands are gripping your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh. He’s delirious with desire, the only thing he can think about being how good you feel. He’s so close and it’s almost too much, the edge of pleasure painful from how good he feels.

Everything crumbles when you shift your underwear to the side to sheath him, slowly easing yourself onto his swollen cock, and he's sure if heaven exists, this is it. He’s crying your name like a prayer, his head thrown back, his long body curving towards you, trying to get closer despite the fact that he’s buried deep inside you. He’s trembling, shaking, his hands gripping your waist.

“Please,” he whispered, and it’s the first word that you’ve been able to make out in the last several moments, and then he’s gripping your hips harder, pulling you down onto his lap, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. He’s panting, his chest heaving, his mouth parted and begging. “Please, please, please—” He’s so desperate that it borders on pathetic, his eyes wide and wild, looking up at you to try and convey just how badly he needs you. He’s practically whining with need, his hips arching up as if he’s begging, and when he moans your name it sounds obscene, almost too much. “Please, I need - I need-”

You quicken your thrusts, still with the same care, but pushing him over the edge all the same, his head lolling back in pleasure, his hips meeting your movements eagerly. He’s gasping for air, his breathing coming in short, sharp huffs, as he teeters right on the edge. He’s so close, so desperate to find his release, and it seems like he’s on the brink of pleading, his eyes wide and pleading, until—

"That's it, lovely, let go for me," you murmured, your body still moving against his in a rhythm that gives him no other choice. It’s like that’s all he needed, his breath catching in his throat, his body tensing up, his hands holding onto to your waist so tight you think he might bruise you.

And then he’s tumbling over the edge, a long moan ripping its way through his chest, his eyes rolling back into his head, and you whisper his name and he’s gone, completely wrecked, his body trembling, his breathing coming in sharp gasps as he comes down from his high.

He’s clinging to you like he’s drowning, his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. He’s spent, wrecked, utterly ruined, and when he speaks, his voice is wrecked, too, the one word that manages to escape his mouth sounding almost hoarse. Your name. Nothing else in the world exists. Not with you here.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #rucha's1kevent

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baestruly · 2 days ago

Note

Spencer reid, who is crazy nervous around the reader who is like this cold,quiet, and scary person and Spencer like wants to ask them out but he keeps messing up like stuttering everytime he interacts with reader or accidentally ruining something of hers and reader knows his crush on her and agrees to go out with him. It could lead to smut if you'd like. Hope this is acceptable.

for the poetry books ━━ spencer reid

( 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ) spencer reid x fem!reader

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 spencer has had a crush on you for a while, making it painfully obvious to the rest of the team. finally, one day, spencer's usual clumsiness around you sparks new informed feelings warnings - fluff, reader is usually grumpy, spencer is giving s1 spencer, morgan is their biggest shipper, (my poetry skills um) wc: 1.5k

It was fair to say you’ve always been distant and closed off.

If anyone were to peek a glance at you from across the room, they might say you’re angry, mean and bossy.

But Spencer never saw that.

He saw your strength and courage. The way you’d scrunch your nose when catching onto something in a case, or the way your hands would slightly unclench when talking to the people you cared for most.

Because you were comfortable.

He saw things he thought you didn’t even notice.

It was fair to say, he was a profiler after all.

But so were you and it wasn’t impossible to see these continuous and not-so-subtle glances Reid threw at you every day from across the BAU.

“Oh look, pretty boy’s at it again.” Morgan chuckled, shaking his head.

The comment had you looking up from the files scattered across the desk, the ones you’d carefully been scanning for any clue on how to find this UNSUB. So far, it’s been a day without any luck and Hotch had told the team to stay low until the UNSUB left a blue on to who his next victim or whereabouts would be.

“What now, Morgan?” You spat, frustrated. “You’ve been talking nonsense for 10 minutes now.”

He laughed again, his famous teasing smirk toying his lips. “Well, I'm sorry for trying to put my head in another place rather than the amount of things we’ve seen today, Little Miss Sunshine.”

You only scoffed, shaking your head, but rather still amused with his playfulness. Only the team could secretly cheer you up after a long and stressful day.

“Looks like you got the real sun beaming at you from over there though, that why you’ve been so gloomy until now?”

Finally, you looked up from your papers, shooting him a warning glare before scanning your eyes to find who he was so obviously talking about.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

Morgan had been teasing the two of you for weeks, mentioning Spencer's glances he made when you weren’t paying attention━━head elsewhere, or how he’d be a stuttering mess whenever having a conversation one-on-one.

Unlike Reid, none of the team can say they’ve ever seen you crack. Emily had disturbingly called you the female version of Hotch━━also younger.

“Leave him alone, Derek, you think I haven’t noticed? I practically feel his stare.” You defended your friend. Although you and Reid had very different personalities, you got along well. While Reid was always looking for opportunities to spit out his knowledge or jump to inform anyone on his interests and theories of the deep pits of his genius brain, you were calm and collected, rather than keeping your interests and thoughts to yourself━━except on certain cases of course.

You were strict and determined while Reid was more reserved and quiet. But it didn’t make you think of him any less.

“C'mon (Y/N), I see the way you soften that cold exterior you got over there around him, what are you waiting for?”

The truth was, you were scared. And when you were scared, you always pushed it aside and went with what had to be done.

But when it came to Spencer, you were scared.

It wasn’t something you’d ever admit, especially to the little snitch Morgan over there, but your friendship with Reid was strong and it’s something you would never intend to break.

“I don’t have time to be talking about this.”

Morgan held his hands out in surrender. “Alright, alright. But c’mon, it pains the team to deal with the tension between you two lovers every day.” His voice mocked what could be a dramatic romantic monologue.

“Goodbye, Morgan.” You yelled back, watching him turn his back with a laugh as he walked to his desk.

After about an hour, you decided it was time you headed home to get some sleep—if you even could. Cases left like these always keep you awake, prying at all the things in your brain looking for something to give you a clue to crack the case.

When you opened the door to go outside, the soft brush of the summer breeze comfortingly grazed your face.

Unfortunately, Spencer’s appearance at your side couldn’t have come across any softer.

Just like that, all the files in your hand go flying from your grasp when Spencer quickly tries to get to the door to catch up to you. This had to be the third time this week he’s accidentally knocked something out of your hands or off your desk.

“Oh, crap━━I am so sorry, here I'll just━━” He quickly started picking up the files on the ground in a hurry, his anxious demeanour practically radiating off of him. It was starting to make you even more anxious than you’d like to admit.

This couldn’t refrain you from giggling at him, bending down to meet his level as you started to help him with the files he’d dropped.

He looked embarrassed, a faint redness tinting his soft, beautiful features. “Sorry again, I━━”

“Spence,” your eyes softened among your last few chuckles, “it’s okay I got it.”

He still picked up a few before placing the remaining papers in your hands as he gave you an anxious smile, the wind blowing his hair softly.

You stood up, shifting your head from downwards to upwards as he now stood in front of you and scrunched his nose.

“I was just trying to catch you before you left, I, um━━need to ask you something.” Spencer declared, looking down and then into your eyes. You noted the extra pitch to the end of his hesitant words and how anything he said sounded what was very faint of a question.

“You do, huh? Is it worth ruining all my papers for?” You teased, looking up into his eyes with a small smile. He’d only chuckled quietly as if he were trying to stay calm. You weren’t supposed to profile each other, but to anyone, this could’ve been obvious.

Unexpectedly, he reached into the brown bag he had strapped over his shoulder and pulled out a book.

A book?

“I just wanted to give this to you. You mentioned the other day about how you were starting to get into poetry. I thought you might like this.”

You gently grabbed the book from his hands, your eyes sparkling as you studied the beautiful artwork on the cover. “Wow━━Spencer, yes I have been, thank you so much for this, this means a lot.”

No one had ever given you gifts. Not ones on days like these. You’d never gotten gifts on your birthday let alone the one gift you needed from your parents most.

Love.

What was it like? Was it the racing of your heart whenever that one person looked at you with such admiration you wanted to melt━━because if that was true, you’d be a mess right about now.

You hoped the heat rising on your cheeks couldn’t be seen, the cool breeze giving relief to the heat in your face.

“I guess I'll see you tomorrow then.” He smiled with a little wave before he turned on his heel to the parking lot.

You couldn’t help but admire the book, gliding your finger over the front cover and opening the front page━━to the dedication.

To your surprise, there was a note written there━━not from the author, but with a gel pen.

seeing this book made me think of you, but truth be told, my mind is a cloud, floating elsewhere, taking me away from all the bad when I see your face. my heart starts to race before every case. but it’s not from fear, it’s from your presence. the presence of your eyes, your soft hair you always put in a bun, your mind. it’s all so beautiful. so, that’s why i’m giving you this. because not only are the words etched from ink beautiful but so are the pair of eyes reading.

You feel unglued from the pavement before you hurriedly race after Spencer━━the man who you so badly wanted to hug, kiss, and tell him how much he meant to you at this very moment.

Because he felt the same.

Somehow you knew he had for a while now, but this was real. The note was real.

Everything in this moment was so real.

“Spencer, wait!” You shouted after him, Spencer turning around with his eyebrows pinched together.

You stopped before him, heart racing a million miles per minute.

His eyes beamed with hope and admiration in the moonlight and you reached up to brush his hair out of his eye.

He looked down nervously, but looked into your eyes again, slightly shocked from your bold gesture.

“I like you too.”

“You━━you do?” He asks, eyes softening even more.

“Yes.”

The moments of longing and emptiness were filled from the touch of you and Spencer’s lips. That tension through many months of stares across the bullpen and smiles on the jets were made up until this very moment, where it’s just you and the man you liked so much.

You finally could say it. It was real.

You pulled away softly, eyes being hooked to his as your face moved away. Giving him a smile and an aggressive hair ruffle, you walk in front of him, leaving a still-dumbfounded Spencer in the parking lot.

“Guess it’s a date then, pretty boy.”

masterlist | spencer reid masterlist

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid oneshots #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #imagines #writing

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thelostmagicians · 3 days ago

Text

Sunshine and the Shadowed Heart | Spencer Reid Part : I

Shadows of the Past

Series Masterlist

Summary: Spencer hasn't been the same since prison, and you're just the rookie

Fluff, comfort, angsty, mean spencer, post-prison spencer [6.3k]

♡

He looked like the same Spencer you’d seen in a guest lecture seven years ago—the legend you’d heard about—sharp, legendary, and unmistakably handsome—but something was different. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. His sharp wit had been replaced with silence. Emily had warned you it would be tough—being imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit was bound to leave a mark. But you hadn’t expected him to be so… cold.

At first, you didn’t know what it was. The Spencer you’d heard about had been animated, full of life and quirky jokes. Now, he was quiet, distant, almost like a ghost. Everyone couldn’t help but feel the weight of his absence. It wasn’t that he wasn’t physically present—he was right there, in the bullpen, behind his desk, his eyes glued to the screen. But mentally? Emotionally? He was miles away.

You weren’t around for the events that led to his imprisonment, but you were here when he came back. You were hired just a month into Spencer’s absence, after a twist of fate turned your world upside down. Fresh out of college, you had no idea that a random visit to a crime scene would lead you to the BAU. You’d stumbled across a clue—a small, seemingly insignificant detail—that no one had seen. A clue that broke the case wide open and connected the dots in a way no one had even considered.

It was Emily who saw something in you that no one else did. You’d never expected to hear from her, but one evening, as you were packing up to leave, her card had arrived in the mail. You never expected it to lead to an interview—especially not one that would end with you joining the BAU.

You were still trying to find your place in the chaos of the BAU. The team feels like a new family, but it’s hard to truly fit in when you’re still the "new kid." Every day felt like a new challenge. You’d expected the job to be like the textbook cases you’d studied in college—neat, clean, solvable. But the BAU was messy. Real lives were at stake, and sometimes, there were no perfect solutions. The pressure was constant. Every case felt like it could be the one that would break you, the one that would make you realize you didn’t belong. Every day felt like a mountain to climb, and you, fresh out of college, were still learning how to scale it. There was so much to absorb—procedures, protocols, personalities—and sometimes, it felt like you were drowning in it all. The days blurred into nights, the cases piling up, each one more complicated than the last.

The dynamic between the team was established, years in the making. They had a rhythm, an understanding that came with time and trust. You hadn’t earned that yet. You were still trying to find your place, to carve out your spot in the chaos. But there were the moments of levity—Luke’s jokes that never failed to make you laugh, Penelope’s infectious energy that seemed to brighten even the darkest days. It was their way of reminding you that, despite the darkness that came with the job, there was still room for humanity. Still room for laughter, for connection.

Still room for you to grow.

But then there was Spencer.

Spencer Reid, someone you thought you had an idea of who he was when you first saw him—the genius with the messy hair. But now, five weeks in, he’s become something different: a shadow. Brilliant, tortured, and untouchable. He barely spoke, kept to himself in a way that made him seem even more unreachable than the walls he’d built around himself. He hardly acknowledged you unless it was for work, and even then, it was a quiet exchange, all business. It wasn’t that he was rude—it was that he wasn’t… there. It was like talking to a shadow of the person everyone had described to you. The legend of Spencer Reid remained just that now, a folktale that once was.

—

You kept trying though—maybe not all at once, but little by little. You'd try to make small talk while working on the latest case, commenting on a theory, or discussing a strategy. You'd caught a glimpse of Spencer looking at something on his computer once and, with a smile, asked if he wanted to grab coffee after finishing the report. He had nodded curtly, but his response wasn’t an invitation. It was a polite rejection that you couldn’t quite place at first, until you realized it wasn’t just the work. He just didn’t want to engage.

On another occasion, when the team had gathered around the conference table for a case briefing, you shared a funny memory from a training session at the academy. It was a small anecdote, one that usually drew a laugh from Luke or JJ, but Spencer only offered a barely noticeable grunt of acknowledgement, his eyes still fixed on the file in front of him. The briefest of glances, and then he was back to his usual space, mentally miles away from the conversation. It stung more than you’d expected.

Even simple gestures didn’t seem to reach him. One day, after a long stretch of overtime, you left a fresh cup of coffee on his desk, knowing he’d be up all night. When you came by later to check in, the coffee was still there, untouched, as if he hadn’t even seen it.

It wasn’t that he was cruel—he was never outwardly dismissive or rude. But his silence spoke volumes. Every attempt to connect felt like it fell short. You’d find yourself lingering by his desk, hoping for a spark of warmth, but he remained like a stone statue, absorbed in his world of facts and logic, leaving no room for small talk, no room for you.

You knew it was because of what he’d been through—the years on the job, seeing the darkest corners of humanity, and the months he’d spent in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. You didn’t expect him to open up immediately, but you couldn’t help feeling like you were being shut out, as if you didn’t even exist in his world.

One afternoon, after another grueling case, Emily pulled Spencer aside. You watched from a distance as they spoke quietly in the hallway outside the bullpen. It wasn’t unusual for them to have private conversations, but this time, you could tell it was different. The tension in Emily’s posture spoke volumes, her usual calm demeanor strained as she spoke to him in a low, controlled voice.

"Spencer," Emily said, her tone gentle but firm. "Go easy on her. She’s still learning the ropes."

Spencer didn’t respond immediately, but you could see the furrow in his brow. He crossed his arms, a familiar sign of resistance. "I don’t know why she’s here in the first place," he muttered, his voice tight. "You brought her in like she’s going to replace me."

Emily sighed, her patience palpable. "Spencer, that’s not what’s happening. She’s here because she’s talented. She solved that case when none of us could get close. There’s something in her that we don’t have. This job has toughened us all, but she’s in tune with emotions in a way that lets her read people better. She thinks outside the box and picks up on things we miss. That’s a skill we need."

"She’s just a rookie," Spencer shot back, almost as if to dismiss her entirely.

"Rookies can make a difference," Emily replied, her voice softening. "You were a rookie once, give her a chance. She’s not here to replace you. No one ever could." She patted his shoulder before walking away, Spencer’s frown now morphing into a glare as he caught your eyes through the halfway open blinds.

—

The case was already making waves back at Quantico—a chilling pattern that left even the most seasoned agents unsettled. Young women, all in their early twenties, had been disappearing without a trace, only to be found days later in isolated, hauntingly serene locations. Each scene felt deliberate, almost ceremonial, with the victims bound and posed in ways that suggested some twisted form of reverence or ritual.

The killer’s signature was unmistakable: he wasn’t just abducting and murdering these women—he was creating a spectacle. At each scene, small tokens were left behind, items that seemed personal to the victims but whose significance the team had yet to decipher. There was no discernible link between the women—no shared acquaintances, no overlapping routines—but the precision and consistency of the unsub’s methods made it clear he was following a meticulously thought-out plan.

What pushed the case into even darker territory were the videos. Hours before each body was found, the unsub would send footage to the victim's family—a harrowing glimpse of their loved one in her final moments. The videos were devoid of color, the black and white feed only amplifying the horror. The unsub would taunt the families by delivering the footage in person, leaving USB drives on doorsteps or mailing them with cryptic, handwritten notes. It was a psychological attack as much as a physical one, designed to shatter the survivors and leave them with a burden of unanswered questions.

—

After the team wrapped up the debriefing on the jet, Emily turned to you and Spencer. “I want the two of you to work together on interviewing people associated with this case,” she said, her tone firm and leaving no room for argument.

Your eyes lit up with a flicker of hope. This was your first real assignment—no shadowing, no taking notes in the background—actual fieldwork where you’d be directly contributing to the case.

Spencer Reid—the prodigy, the one with a photographic memory and an endless well of knowledge—was someone you admired since before you joined the BAU. You smiled faintly, eager but trying to hide just how much this opportunity meant to you.

Spencer, however, didn’t share your enthusiasm. He glanced at Emily, then at you, and though he didn’t say anything, the faint tightening of his jaw and his unreadable gaze told you everything. He wasn’t thrilled about the pairing.

Still, you told yourself it didn’t matter. This was your chance—to learn from him, to prove to him and the rest of the team that you had what it took to contribute. Spencer’s reluctance might have stung, but you weren’t going to let it deter you.

—

The first stop was to interview the family of a missing woman, a college student who’d been found dead three days after her disappearance. The parents were devastated—shocked, grieving, and desperately trying to piece together anything that could help them understand who had taken their daughter. You listened intently, jotting down notes, but there was something off about one of the alibis given by a neighbor—the last person to see the girl alive. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something felt wrong.

You brought it up to Spencer, speaking carefully but with conviction. “I don’t think he’s telling us the whole truth. Something about his story doesn’t add up.”

Spencer barely glanced at you, his tone sharp. “His alibi checks out. There’s no reason to think he’s lying.”

You shook your head, the feeling in your gut growing stronger. “But something is off, I can’t really explain it but I just feel it.”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “You feel it? We’re not here for feelings. This isn’t some sort of instinct game. You have to trust the evidence.”

“But something’s not adding up,” you pressed, feeling the frustration rise in your chest.

Spencer’s tone grew colder. “This isn’t a job where everything works out because you think you have some sort of spidey sense. You can’t go around guessing. You need to understand what it really takes to solve a case.”

You let the conversation drop, trying to focus on other details, but his dismissiveness was starting to sting. Spencer wasn’t just disagreeing with your instincts—he was questioning your competence, as though your opinion didn’t matter at all.

The day dragged on, with Spencer continuously shutting down your ideas. Every time you tried to offer a new perspective or suggest a potential lead, he dismissed you with a harsh, dismissive comment.

“This isn’t the job you think it is. It’s not about theories, it’s about hard work and experience,” he snapped at one point.

The more you tried, the more it felt like Spencer was deliberately undermining you. Every suggestion, no matter how thoughtful, was met with a cold refusal.

When you finally presented another lead from a witness, Spencer’s frustration exploded. “You’re inexperienced. Everyone here earned their place through hard work. You? You got in because you were in the right place at the right time. Nothing more. Maybe you wanted to experience the darkness, to see what it’s like, but you don’t really understand what it costs to live in it every day. One day, your luck is going to run out, and when it does, no instinct or gut feeling is going to save you. You don’t think like a profiler, you just react. You walk into things blind, hoping the answer will just come to you. But in the real world, there’s no safety net. No one’s going to follow some gut feeling into the dark and magically find their way out."

The words hit you like a slap to the face. You stood there, trying to hold yourself together, but his words tore into you. Spencer wasn’t just dismissing your ideas; he was attacking you personally, questioning your entire existence.

You kept your composure, nodding absently as though agreeing, though inside, you were cracking under the weight of his accusations.

—

When the day finally ended, you excused yourself, telling Spencer you needed to clear your head. As you stepped outside into the crisp evening air, the weight of the day pressed on your shoulders. You needed a moment to breathe, to process everything Spencer had said.

That’s when you saw him—the neighbor you’d interviewed earlier, the one you were convinced was lying. He was standing by his car, watching you. Something about his posture, the way he loomed in the shadows, sent a chill down your spine.

“Can I help you?” you asked, keeping your voice steady.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, stepping closer. “I wasn’t completely honest earlier. Can we talk privately?”

Every instinct in your body screamed for you to leave. “Actually, I need to get back—”

Before you could finish, he lunged. You fought back, kicking and clawing, screaming as loudly as you could, but he was stronger. His hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your cries.

He wrestled you into a car, duct-taping your mouth and wrists as he muttered to himself. You could see the gleam of excitement in his eyes, the satisfaction he got from the struggle.

You forced yourself to breathe deeply, shutting out the pounding of your heart. Stay calm, you told yourself. Panic wasn’t an option. You had been trained for situations like this, and you knew fear was his weapon.

As the car sped away, you focused on observing everything around you. The unsub kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror, his lips twitching into a twisted grin. You realized then—Fear gave him power. That was his fuel. He didn’t just want to hurt his victims; he wanted to break them emotionally, to revel in their terror.

Don’t give him that power, you thought, straightening your posture and meeting his gaze with an icy calmness. His smirk faltered for a split second before returning, but you saw the flicker of frustration.

You started piecing together his personality. He wasn’t impulsive; this was calculated. He had planned every detail, which meant he was confident, methodical, and most likely familiar with his hunting ground. His muttering gave you a glimpse into his psyche—fragments of sentences about being “misunderstood” and “showing them” painted the picture of someone who felt wronged by the world and used his crimes as a way to reclaim control.

The car took a sharp left turn, and you counted silently. One left turn. You pressed your bound hands against the door for stability, straining to catch the noises outside. Gravel crunched under the tires as they left the pavement. Two right turns. The road sounds uneven now—it’s gravel, maybe leading to a more isolated area.

You kept your eyes sharp, scanning for anything that could give away your location. A small victory came when you caught a glimpse of a weathered sign as they passed under a flickering streetlight. The sign was faded, but you managed to make out “Thornhill Dr.”

Thornhill Dr, two right turns off the main street, and we’re heading north, you calculated.

The sound of an approaching train caught your attention, and you noted the rhythm of the horn. You mentally mapped where train tracks were in proximity to Thornhill Dr—another clue you could use later.

Your mind sharpened as adrenaline coursed through you, heightening every detail. A slight creak in the car’s suspension suggested the vehicle was older, poorly maintained. The air grew colder, hinting that you were moving into a less urban area, away from the warmth of the city’s dense buildings.

Every observation mattered. Every detail was a potential key to your survival. You couldn’t scream for help, but you could think, analyze, and stay one step ahead.

The unsub’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “You’re too calm. You think you’re brave, huh? Acting like you’re not scared.”

You met his eyes through the mirror again, your face expressionless. He leaned back in his seat slightly, as though unnerved by your lack of reaction.

The car began to slow, and you braced yourself. We’ve arrived, you thought. You made a mental note of the landmarks—a rusty mailbox near a dirt driveway, the faint outline of a barn in the distance. The weathered boards of the barn seemed to match the descriptions from the case files.

I know where I am, you realized, a small surge of hope igniting within you. Now I just have to stay alive long enough for them to find me.

Your heart pounded, but your mind stayed sharp. You had everything you needed to leave a trail for your team—now it was just a matter of time

You sat stoically bound to the chair, your eyes cold and unwavering as the unsub stood before you. His anticipation was palpable, as if he expected you to break, to cry, to beg. But you didn’t. You simply met his eyes with calm indifference.

“So your dad left and your mother doesn’t love you,” you said, your voice steady. “That doesn’t give you a right to do this.”

His grin faltered for a moment, the words hitting him harder than he anticipated. There was a brief flash of anger in his eyes, but you could see the confusion behind it. He wasn’t used to being challenged, especially not with the emotional weight of his own troubled past.

“Where’s your family?” he asked, his voice low and taunting. “Don’t you have anyone who cares about you? Anyone who’s going to watch this and cry for you?” You held his gaze, emotionless. There was a chill in the air, but it wasn’t fear—it was control. “I have no one,” you said quietly, your words landing with deliberate weight. “The only ones who would care about seeing this... are my team.”

He seemed to hesitate, his fingers hovering over the phone as if unsure how to respond to your calm. But soon, his frustration took over, and he hit the ‘record’ button, turning the camera on you. The feed blinked to life, broadcasting your image across the screens of the BAU.

—

Back at the base, chaos reigned. Penelope, usually confident in her skills, was visibly breaking down. Her fingers trembled as they flew over the keyboard, trying to track the signal. Her mind raced as the seconds dragged on, but the pressure was beginning to get to her. “He’s jumping between different servers. This isn’t random. It’s deliberate,” she muttered under her breath, her voice shaky. She wiped a tear away, fighting the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. The desperation was palpable in her voice as she typed furiously, willing herself to focus.

Emily, standing beside Penelope, shot her a supportive glance, though the worry in her eyes was unmistakable. She was all business, trying to calm the team down and make sense of the situation. “We’re going to find her,” she said, voice steady but tight with the weight of leadership. Her mind was already formulating the next steps, calculating the possibilities with quick efficiency.

JJ, still pacing back and forth, shot a glance at the screen. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her gaze flicking from the monitor to the team. “We’re not losing her. We’re not,” she repeated, more to herself than to anyone else. The anxiety was evident, but so was her determination to stay focused.

Rossi stood nearby, scanning the screen. His brows furrowed as he muttered to himself, trying to make sense of the livestream. His calm, composed demeanor was cracking, and frustration bubbled to the surface.

Luke’s chest tightened as he watched the screen, unable to look away. The helplessness gnawed at him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Matt grabbed at his hair, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t shake the fear that gripped him, the uncertainty of the situation weighing on him.

Spencer, who usually remained calm in the face of danger, was visibly shaken. His mind kept returning to his own experience, the terror he’d felt when Tobias Hankel had taken him. The helplessness, the fear—he remembered it all too vividly. Now, seeing you in the same position, his heart raced with a familiar dread.

But what gnawed at him even more was the guilt. The last conversation you had kept replaying in his mind. He had dismissed your concerns about the neighbor. If he had listened, if he had trusted your instincts like others had done for him when he first joined the BAU, you wouldn’t be in this position. The guilt ate at him. He silently begged for another chance, wishing he could take back his words and make things right.

—

As the live stream continued, the unsub’s taunting voice cut through the tension in the room. He kept his camera trained on you, trying to get a rise out of you, his twisted satisfaction evident in his every movement. But you didn’t break. You stayed calm, your mind working at full speed, calculating, analyzing. You had to focus, remain steady, and find a way to give the team the clues they needed—subtle enough for the unsub not to catch on.

“Do you think they’ll come for me?” you asked softly, eyes fixed on the camera, keeping your tone even. “Do you think they'll find me before the next train comes?”

The unsub scoffed, amused by your apparent defiance. “They won’t find you,” he spat, looking away, clearly oblivious to the significance of your words. But Spencer wasn’t. His eyes snapped to the screen, and his mind began to piece together the details. The mention of the train, the faint rhythm of the horn in the background. He knew exactly what you were doing. You were giving them a hint, telling them you were near the tracks.

The unsub didn’t respond, busy with his phone, and you knew he had his attention fully on the camera now. It was the perfect moment for you to speak in code—something only Spencer would understand.

You paused and added, almost casually, “The sky’s still gray, like it’s waiting to rain. Makes you want to drive a little farther into the hills, doesn’t it? Somewhere the roads are too narrow for anyone to follow.”

Then, as if you couldn’t keep it inside any longer, you looked straight into the camera and addressed Spencer directly. “Spencer, I don’t know why you’re so mean to me sometimes. You told me my luck was going to run out. That I walk into things blind, hoping the answer will just come to me. But you need to start trusting me, I promise I won’t lead you astray. I may be a thorn in your side, but thorns are there for a reason."

The moment you spoke those words, Spencer’s eyes widened at the base. He had caught it—the final clue. Thorn. It wasn’t just the pain of those words—it was the road. Thorn Hill Drive. It all clicked for him.

Without hesitation, he turned to Penelope. “Thorn Hill Drive. Check the train routes, the roads, everything. We need to know exactly where she is.”

Penelope worked furiously at her computer, cross-referencing the details Spencer had given her. Within moments, she found the location.

—

The team rushed into action, each agent moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine. Emily was the first to stand, her voice clear and commanding. “Penelope, pull up the map of Thorn Hill Drive. Luke, Matt, Reid you’re on the ground—get ready to go. Rossi, JJ, stay here to monitor the live stream. We need to move fast, people.”

Luke and Matt didn’t hesitate. They grabbed their gear, ready to head out the door, their determination etched across their faces. The urgency in Emily’s tone pushed them forward with a sense of purpose that only years of experience could cultivate.

As the team dispersed into their assigned tasks, Penelope’s fingers flew across her keyboard. “I’ve got it! Thorn Hill Drive is in the outskirts of the city, about twenty miles north. There’s a set of train tracks that run parallel to the road.”

Spencer’s mind raced as he watched the details unfold on the screen. He was no stranger to the chaos that followed a kidnapping, but this time, it felt personal. He couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at him. He should’ve listened to you. Your instincts had been right, and now you were paying the price.

“She’ll be okay, Reid,” Emily’s voice broke through his thoughts. “We’re going to bring her home.”

He snapped his attention back to the task at hand, shaking off the guilt and focusing on the case. “I know, the unsub underestimated her. I underestimated her.”

Penelope’s voice was strained but full of determination. “I’ve got eyes on the location. There’s a barn near a dirt road—looks like the area she described. There’s only one way in and out.

“Perfect,” Emily said, her voice all business. “Everyone, gear up. Luke, Matt—take the lead. The rest of us will follow. Let’s move.”

The team was in motion within seconds. They moved with urgency, knowing that every second counted. Spencer was out the door before anyone else, his legs pushing him faster than he thought possible, the guilt and fear weighing heavily on his chest. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being out there, alone, in the hands of a killer who was savoring your terror.

—

You had been tied to a chair for what felt like hours, though time seemed to stretch and warp in the silence. The unsub had retreated into the shadows, likely hoping you’d break under the pressure, but you refused to give him the satisfaction. Your mind kept racing, cataloging every detail you could—every sound, every movement. You weren’t about to give up. Not when you were so close.

The sound of a car engine revving in the distance made you stiffen, but you forced yourself to remain calm. It could be him preparing to leave, or it could be the team. You’d left them all the clues you could; now, you had to trust that they were on their way.

The unsub returned, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he approached. “You think they’re coming for you?” His voice was dark, twisted with amusement. “I’m not stupid. I know they’re out there looking for you. But you know what? They’ll be too late. They always are.”

You didn’t respond, keeping your face expressionless, focusing on your breathing.

He seemed to enjoy your silence more than anything, pacing around you. “Do you want to know why I picked you?” he asked suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Because you’re just like me. Alone. Abandoned.”

You blinked, your pulse quickening. “You’re not alone,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “You have your family. You have your victims.”

His eyes flashed with anger at your words. “No,” he snapped. “I don’t have anyone. Not anymore. I’m the one who’s been forgotten. I’m the one who’s been ignored. But this? This is my revenge. I’ll make them remember me. I’ll make them know what it’s like to feel powerless.”

You inhaled sharply, feeling the tension between you grow. But something in his words clicked in your mind—a piece of the puzzle fitting into place. His desperation, his need to show the world his pain—it wasn’t just about power. It was about feeling seen. He wasn’t just hunting women. He was hunting validation.

As if reading your thoughts, the unsub smirked. “You’ll be the one to show them. You’ll be the one to remind them that they can’t forget.”

You didn’t have time to entertain his twisted philosophy. You needed to focus on the one thing that mattered—surviving.

The car engine noise grew louder, a flicker of hope rising in your chest. You were running out of time. You needed to find a way to break free, to survive.

Matt and Luke leapt out of the vehicle, their weapons drawn, ready for action. “We’ve got to move fast,” Luke said, his voice low and urgent. “He’ll be expecting us. Let’s breach the barn from both sides.”

They flanked the barn, eyes scanning every inch for movement.

Spencer’s heart was pounding in his chest as he finally caught up with the others. Emily’s words replayed in his mind: “You were a rookie once, give her a chance.”

The team moved with precision, no longer just a group of agents but a family, united by the mission to save you. Spencer’s chest tightened, a storm of emotions warring within him. He had to make things right. He had to.

Inside the barn, you could hear the footsteps approaching. Your heartbeat quickened.

This was it. The moment you’d been waiting for.

You closed your eyes and whispered, “Spencer.”

And then everything went black.

—

the first thing you noticed was the sterile scent of the hospital room and the steady, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor beside you. Your body felt heavy, every inch of you sore, but there was a deeper ache—a lingering exhaustion that settled in your bones. You groaned, and it was the sound of discomfort that made Spencer stir beside you.

His head jerked up from the uncomfortable chair he was slouched in, eyes wide and clouded with sleep. The exhaustion on his face hit you all at once. He'd been there for a while. His hair was tousled, his clothes wrinkled, and his posture was stiff, as if he hadn’t moved in hours.

“Hey,” you croaked, your voice raw.

Spencer blinked at you, clearly startled by your groaning. His gaze softened as he pushed himself up from the chair, stretching his stiff neck. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes scanning you for any signs of distress.

You nodded slowly, trying to push yourself up in bed but wincing at the ache in your muscles. Spencer immediately moved to help you, his hand gently pressing against your shoulder to keep you steady.

“Don’t try to move too fast,” he warned softly. “You’ve been through a lot.”

You sank back into the pillows, feeling the weight of everything that had happened crashing down on you. “How long…?”

He didn’t answer immediately, instead running a hand through his hair and exhaling sharply. “A while,” he said quietly. “I’ve been here all night. I didn’t want to leave.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the exhaustion and worry etched deep into his features. It was clear he hadn't left for hours—maybe longer. You felt a pang of guilt but pushed it away.

“Spencer,” you whispered, your throat tight. “You didn’t have to stay here.”

“I wanted to,” he said firmly, his gaze intense. He took a breath, eyes flickering with hesitation. “You did good back there. How did you stay so calm? The whole time… with everything he was doing, the livestream, the situation… you never cracked.”

You hesitated for a moment, the question hitting too close to home, but you knew it was time to be honest.

“It’s not about being calm, Spencer,” you said quietly, voice trembling. “It’s about survival.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed, and he leaned in a bit closer. “What do you mean?”

You inhaled shakily, struggling to find the right words. “The reason the unsub livestreamed my abduction… the reason he didn’t send the footage to my family... it’s because I don’t have anyone, Spencer. Not really.”

His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but you held up your hand to stop him.

“I know it sounds crazy,” you continued, voice trembling, “but he knew. He knew there was no one waiting for me, no one to watch the screen and beg for my return.” You looked down at your hands, unable to meet his gaze. “My parents were negligent. They were never there. My whole life… it was like I didn’t exist to them. And when they did pay attention, it wasn’t in the way a parent should. I wasn’t loved, Spencer. I wasn’t protected.”

The words felt heavy, a weight that had been buried deep inside you for so long. Spencer was silent, his expression unreadable as he watched you.

“And that’s why I’m good at this,” you said, the words coming out almost automatically. “Why I’m so focused, so good at picking up on things that others miss.” You swallowed, struggling against the lump in your throat. “I had to survive. I had to learn how to read people, to hone my instincts. It was the only way to stay safe in my own home. I lived like that for so long, always waiting for something to happen. Always trying to figure out the next move before it happened.”

Spencer’s face softened as he listened to you, his eyes filled with empathy and a sorrow that you hadn’t expected. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “It’s not about deserving it, Spencer. It’s just what happened. And I had to learn to live with it. But that’s why… that’s why I reacted the way I did. I couldn’t just let him control me. Not like that. I had to stay calm. I had to keep fighting.”

Spencer reached out, his hand gently brushing yours, a gesture of reassurance. “You’re strong,” he whispered. You’ve earned my respect.”

You looked at him, not sure how to respond at first. You were still feeling the sting of his earlier words, the harshness that he’d used to shut you down. “I don’t need your respect, Spencer,” you said quietly, your voice tinged with frustration. “But I do need you to stop taking advantage of my kindness. You’ve been so cold, so dismissive. And all I’ve tried to do is help—especially with this case. Every time I tried to contribute, you brushed me off. It’s like you think I don’t belong here.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, the guilt flooding back. He opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hand to stop him.

“You can’t keep doing that,” you continued, your voice steadier now, though the anger still burned in your chest. “You can’t keep treating me like I’m just the ‘rookie.’ You’re better than that.”

Spencer nodded slowly, his throat tight. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve been an ass. I… I don’t know why I’ve been so hard on you. Maybe it’s because I’ve been shutting everyone out, and it felt easier to push you away too. But that’s not your fault, and you don’t deserve it. I’m sorry for not listening to you when I should’ve.”

You stared at him for a long moment, considering his words. The apology didn’t undo the hurt, but you saw the sincerity in his eyes.

“Just… try to trust me next time,” you said quietly, your voice softening. “I know I’m new, but I’m not stupid. I’m not here by accident, Spencer. I’ve earned my place just like everyone else.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze steady but still guarded. “I’ll try to do better,” he said, his voice quieter this time, less defensive. “I’ll listen more, take you seriously. I won’t shut you out like I did before.”

There was a pause, and you could sense the effort it took for him to even say that much. It wasn’t a perfect apology, but it was a start—one that made you wonder if there could be more to this than just the professional walls he’d built around himself.

The silence lingered, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You both seemed to understand, without saying it, that this wasn’t the end of the conversation. It was only the beginning. And though Spencer’s walls were still up, there was something different in the air—a shift, a subtle change in how he was letting you in, even if just a little. Maybe, just maybe, you were both ready for whatever came next.

For now, though, you let the quiet settle between you. The weight of the case, the uncertainty of the future—it all still hung in the air. But somehow, you felt like you weren’t carrying it alone anymore. And that was enough—for now.

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